Log: Fighting towards Silverspire
Setting by Beatrice at Thu Jul 23 07:40:35 2009
This is the group traveling to Weirmonken more or less reporting to Dame Beatrice Solaris and (off-duty) Knight-Captain Taleyn Feldane, in that order. They are made up of: army reservists (Greys), off-duty Defenders of Kolvir (First of Foot, Browns) wearing brown but not uniforms, Lincoln green-clad scouts, archers and foresters who have a captain named Tell (Greens), and a detachment of Black Sheep dressed in, well, black, who have the jaded tough-as-nails manner of Vietnam Vets back for a second tour (Blacks).
In camp, before marching:
Beatrice raises her voice then, and it carries richly and easily over the assemblage. "Today we cross into Weirmonken proper. At the best of times, Weirmonken is a dangerous path, but these are not the best of times. We may find trouble beforehand, but we'll find worse there. The path will be obscure, and dangerous. The Black Road has taken hold there and is not geographically confined but spread out, and insidious." Gloom! Doom! But she somehow makes it sound... fantastic! The men are listening with ears pricked as she goes on.
Beatrice says, "Today, we march to Silverspire, there to join the Regent's forces and find the Prince Marshal. From there, who knows. I can promise you only it will be dangerous and likely deadly for some of us. I also know, however, I have men best-traiend for this excursion, reliable and keen to sink their blades into the foe, and I could not ask for better." There is a light to her features, and a real swell as she speaks. "We will see horrors, yes. But we will get through this and home again, and we of the Blacks, Greys, Greens and Browns can say when we are done that we held the line in Weirmonken and did not let the forces that wish to rip our very universe asunder have the day. Are we ready?" She lets the cheer go up, then nods to cut it off before it can die away. "Excellent! We march."
And they march!
On the path:
They march -- moving easily through woods, heeding the scouts' warnings, and following the trail set by the Weir. By late morning, they cross into Weirmonken itself, or at least close enough on the shadowpath to make no difference. The woods, already dark, become darker. Taleyn's warnings about the sun are true. The weather is miserable and changable and all those with oilskin cloaks are very glad of them.
Krieger has marched through Kitezh blizzards. Rain /literally/ doesn't bother him. In fact, if they get a good storm on he might burst into song. His people have an intimate relationship with storms after all. Freaks.
Taleyn is clad all in leather today, with an oilskin backpack, but she does take out a battered tricorn hat to plop onto her head. She doesn't seem to mind the rain /overtly/-- this is probably more due to infantry training than any great love of storms, however. She keeps the bounce in her step and her chipper demeanor, but those who know her well might be able to see she's only doing it to set a good example for the men. The chill Death-Wind about her as she casts about with her Sight-Beyond-The-Veil is enough to be uncomfortable for any who stray too close to her in this weather.
RPG: Packet 94 section 3 unsealed. The IC condition to unseal this was:
Something Strange is Afoot
Smaller packs within Weirmonken are starting to send out distress howls that carry through the night. Go out into the darkness and investigate. This section will lock when opened.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You are met by a small force of Black Road Tainted Weir. +Challenge 9 to take them on. Success? You drive back the hostile baddies. But a Monologue by their dying leader speaks of distraction - and in the distance, a wildfire sparks, and howls of death erupt from the Redfoot Pack. There is no time to save those that could not escape on their own. The player running this section should use their discretion as to how helpful major fire-magic will be, remembering that this is Weirmonken, and success is only for the toughest.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RPG: Beatrice challenges a difficulty of 9, using her Wits plus SKL-MC SKL-IN. Beatrice succeeds.
RPG: Taleyn challenges a difficulty of 9, using her Grace plus SKL-MC. Taleyn succeeds.
RPG: Krieger challenges a difficulty of 9, using his Force plus STY-SC SKL-WS PHY-ST BLD-KT. Krieger overwhelmingly succeeds.
At the first note of the twisted howls of the tainted Weir, Taleyn draws her sword, left-handed. It is a different sword for her-- doesn't look like it was made for her at all, in fact. But the Weir around them may recognize it as Emrys's sword, silver and platinum, all Noble Metals lethal to the Weir-- and most especially to the ones twisted by the Black Road. She raises it aloft as a beacon to the pack in distress and lets forth with a howl of her own, clear-throated and true, of help on its way! An unusual number of her Browns actually understand this strange tongue, and deploy themselves accordingly, while the rest she orders in Thari to take up defensive positions on either flank, letting in the incoming pack, then closing in on the Black Road baddies like those smashing walls in a Cibolan Tomb!
One of the tainted Weir is a huge dire monster, bigger even than Krieger, and he howls into the night a cry of horror and menace. "DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
The big Weir spots Krieger and bellows a challenge. "Is THIS what they send against us?? *Outsiders?*" He spits the word.
While the rest of the column rushes to move, forming up in possitions and placements, Kri seems to grow calm. His feet plant in the center of the path and he leans down to pick a bit of wet earth from the ground and rub it against his palms. He stands and turns to eye the direction of the screams as he lifts his great horned helm and slides it down over his head. His lips part as he spots the massive beast. He snarls an animal sound any Weir should understand, it's a challenge, a threat, an insult. He slides the massive axe from his back with a graceful move and then lifts his face to the sky. His roar is louder. His roar shakes the earth, trembles the bones, vibrates against the sky. His roar is answers with a divine explosion of thunder and lightning forking it's way across the sky lending his cry of violence more merit then that of the larger Weir. His eyes fill with blood, the world pink in his vision as spittle flies from the giant's lips, "PREY THING!!" he bellows, motioning to the massive enemy, "COME! I'VE NOT TASTED A CRIPPLES BLOOD IN FAR TO LONG!" Kri lets the rage take him away, his insult using the last of his composure as he grips the haft of his weapon and begins a charge towards the enemy. It's slow, but like a train builds speed and force as it goes, his long strides devouring ground his course aimed straight for the most obvious target.
Beatrice is in the thick of battle, shouting orders with a clear, clarion voice that can be understood and relayed well. That she is giving orders, however, does not in any way keep her out of things. There is no 'rear with the beer' to be had here in the woods where they are sharp-pressed. The manoeuvres are so clear they must have been drilled -- the lines open, and one of the enemy weir manages to find a too-easy path in, then then line closes behind them and they are surrounded and isolated. A wall of shields go up and each Black-tained Weir they can surround is speared until prone, then disemboweled.
Taleyn shouts, "Burn the bodies of the Tainted!!! It's the only way they won't rise again!"
Beatrice calls, "First we win, THEN we burn," in answer to Taleyn.
The bodies are being pretty thoroughly disemboweled; enough to buy a few hours.
Krieger lowers his shoulder and roars as he nears the massive leader of the war party, charging fearlessly at a creature larger even then he is. The impact is loud and solid, the sound of it reverberating through the area like the explosion of land slide or a meteor strike. But as powerful as it is, as solid as it is, it's over before it even began. The details are impossible to catch amid the sudden spray of bloody and the squelching scream of the enormous Weir, all hidden away behind a curtain made of unraveling entrails. A moment later when gravity takes hold and pulls all of the mess to earth the giant monster now occupying two entirely separate spaces. Krieger turns around to eye his handy work, the two halves of the nearly ten foot tall beast laying nearly six feet apart. The barbarian screams at the halves as if annoyed that they aren't moving, aren't fighting back. He spits on them before turning to pay them greater insult still. While his armor had nary a drop of blood on it before, it is soon covered in bits of fur and bone and gore as he beings to lay into the body with his great blade, each tireless hacking motion sending up great crimson fountains of blood and flesh, slinging them about in a wild fit of frenzy. So many believe it's the undying part of the Kitezh that makes them so feared in battle. It's not. It's this. The unrestrained blind brutal violence of them, beautiful and gruesome, horrible and glorious all at once. It's here the fear lays, where the legends are born.
The black Weir are badly outnumbered, even for Weir, and set up a howl of intense displeasure -- is that a sound echoing them in the distance? Are there reinforcements? It is hard to guess if is that, or the distant group being warned and, for now, staying clear....
Several of the black-road-tainted Weir have found their way into death traps in Beatrice's ranks, mostly amid the fierce hunters of the Greens and the bloodlust of the Blacks. The Greys she uses, but keeps them back and out of the worst of it, perhaps preferring to deliver them to her prince as fresh as possible.
RPG: Miranda challenges a difficulty of 9, using her Wits plus BLD-PT BLD-OB. Miranda succeeds.
The well-drilled precision of the troops suffices to keep the enemy from truly threatening Miranda; and, more often than not, when one of the Black Weir comes face to face with her and find the young woman to be rather small, they are inclined to underestimate her. The results do not bear out this approach. One, though, a bit older and perhaps slyer than the rest, a grey-furred beast with a wicked scar twisting one size of his muzzle upward, is not so easily gulled. Spear-point tracks his eyes; wolf and human eye each other warily; and then the two spring into simultaneous motion.
It is clear that, to the men following Beatrice, her *presence* on the battlefield carries with it an extra weight. They do not even need to see her; knowing she is there with her spear and sword as close to the muck as they are themselves is enough. This is all the more true when her position is threatened by one of the Weir who has been trapped by a shield-wall and is thrashing too much to be pinned. The men have been ordered to give way to let the momentum of these tremendous beasts be used against them, and they do -- but this brings that beast's position right in hard to Beatrice's. Like her men, she gives way, pivoting and working in tandem with the shield-men as she raises her spear and with a countenance both vibrant and deadly drives its shaft into the twisted creature. Blood is soon everywhere, including on her golden braid, but the Weir is sufficiently pinned, and she leaves the men to dismember it for burning.
A ripple of encouragement goes through the men after the unnamed general is blooded.
The confrontation between Miranda and the scarred old Weir is as quick as it is brutal. /He/ dashes in to try and rip into a vulnerable spot at the back of her knee; rather than attempt to spear him so close in, /she/ brings the shield around to strike him in the skull with stunning force. That is all the time the soldiers nearby need to finish the bloody work.
Soon, a cheer goes up as the front of the line realizes there are no more crazed half-wolves running at them. This is picked up by the rest of the men, but does not last; they have work to do, and the fallen, hacked-up enemy is meticulously brought together for charring in contained fires as the wounded are tended. It is dirty work, and not short, and the pickets keep up their guard and the scouts go back to their patrols throughout.