Soulriders 5.0: Legend of the Unending Games

The ceremony is set to begin.  Bjorn is there, at Brekes side, along with Lord Kevin, Sir Lammermore, Radagast, Mirellia, and (they arrived earlier that morning) the followers of Aestock.  Apparently, the storm-riders and the second priestess never arrived.

   Either way, everything is set for the ceremony.

   Lord Kevin stands in the doorway of the keep, Radagast and Lammermore behind him and to either side.  Breke is off further to the west side, Bjorn standing next to him, and the elven archer standing opposite him on the other side.  Between them is a broad avenue clear of people that leads to the strange perch in the middle of the courtyard, and beyond that, to the gate.

   Mirallia is standing directly in front of Lord Kevin, and the other priestess is standing to one side -- opposite her (and her retinue) are Paul and Parthipan.  A small giant made of living stone with steel-wool for hair stands nearby, everyone around him giving a wide berth.

   Torches have been lit all across the courtyard in anticipation of the setting sun, and the sides of the courtyard are flooded with soldiers who wanted to get a look at the ceremony.  The ramparts are full too, but at least the people up there are spending half of their time looking out across the wastes to the north.

   After a minute, everything goes dark, as the sun sets, and everyone is left with the light of the torches to see by.  Then, the sound of wings beating sounds through the night air, and a cheer is raised, starting from the battlements, and then creeping south through the crowd.  Looking up, as you're right in front of the keep, you can make out a massive flying creature, which makes for the perch in the center of the courtyard.

   It comes down, and makes a landing -- the wind from its buffeting wings knocking many of the foot-soldiers back, and into one-another before it settles onto the perch.  The flying creature is a light brown, almost golden color, and you can make out some of the scales from where you are.  Huge, leathery wings fold up as it settles itself comfortably, four sets of claws gripping the perch.  It's got a broad, flat snout, and three horns -- two on its head, one at the tip of its nose, right between two nostrils which emit very faint plumes of smoke.

   Astride this beast, standing a good three meters at the shoulder is the tallest, and at the same time, skinniest being you have ever laid eyes upon.  This Archon looks like a normal person, stretched to double their normal height, without being given any extra mass.  He climbs down from a saddle on the beast's back, and steps carefully onto the avenue leading towards the door of the keep.

   You think he's a he, because he's got a beard that flows almost all the way to his waist, black, but run through with silver.  He's wearing fine-looking armor, ring-mail that flows across his stick-like limbs, and hangs there as though to emphasize his slender frame.  A pouch large enough to contain a human head is strapped to his belt, and he spends a second opening it.  His inordinately long fingers quickly untangle the knot, and he delves into the pouch, pulling out a large crystal.  It's rough, and irregular, very like a chunk of quartz.

   It emits a brilliant golden light.  He speaks, then, and his voice is high and breathy, but resounds throughout the courtyard.  "And the oracle spoke, and in the years of our counting, she said to us:

   "'And lo, through the deeping days of dark in winter,
   when the night of dread draws near,
   it shall mark the end of an era,
   and there shall be one hundred years and one hundred days left for the rule of the Archonae.'

   "We fear the end of our reign," he says, slowly stalking forward, but with great, ground-eating strides.  "For when we are gone, who shall protect?

   "But we bear you this, our light of hope, that we may stave off the destruction of our kind, and protect your own," he finishes, reaching forward with the crystal, and bending down low to place it in Mirallia's outstretched hands.

   Mirallia reaches up to take it, a slight nervous tremble in her wrists betraying her true emotion, as her expression is placid.  Both hands rise, cupped gently to accept the crystal ... but before she touches it, the golden light flickers, motes of red rising through the spectrum.

   The Archon slows his delivery, now reluctant to entrust this artifact to Mirallia, and she freezes, as well.  A flash of red lightning bounces around the interior of the crystal, until it glows red, not gold.  "No," the Archon says.  "No!  The Great Sin!  You!"  He draws the crystal back, and points an accusing finger at Mirallia, "You have doomed us all!"  He raises his voice in a shout, and holds the crystal directly over his head, shedding blood-red light across the courtyard.  "Hope has fled this place!  Your kind has one hundred years from this day!  Hope has fled!"  With that, he turns around, double-timing it to his dragon, as the courtyard erupts into panic.

Quickly, Bjorn surveys the panic in the courtyard.  If we leave it like this....   "Parthipan!" he barks.  "The crystal from the pass!  Get it out!"

And then, pausing only to mutter, "Excuse me a sec," to Breke, he breaks into a sprint after the leaving Archonae.  The goal is to prevent him from leaving -- even if it means tackling the fragile-looking bastard.

<@Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> {11}Weaving through the panicking soldiers, you manage to slip through them faster than the Archon can.  No one else will step within two meters of him, so you leap the final distance and tackle him to the ground.

Or, at least, that's the plan.  What ends up happening is that you latch onto him, and he freezes, as though he can't believe one of those tiny humanlings would even try to sieze him.

Everyone in the courtyard falls silent at this, turning to look at you and the Archon.

At about this time, Parthipan manages to free the crystal you liberated from the cursed pass out, and it flares a brilliant blue, pulsating with someone's heartbeat, and drowning out the red light that the Archon is still holding.

"If the rule of the Archonae has come to an end," Bjorn growls in a low voice, "then the time has come for Man to rule instead, and I will not let you doom us.  Either way," his voice rises, to a more normal and conversational level, "perhaps, My Lord, you should not be so hasty?  There is another crystal here, and it is not so pessimistic."

The Archon makes a noise that can best be described as 'unhappy', and then a wave of some force -- you can't see it, but you can sure feel it -- picks you up and throws you back towards the keep.<@Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ...: 3d6 --> {8}Your armor protects you from the worst of it, and you manage to land well enough, near Breke, without seriously injuring yourself.

The Archon turns around to look at you, and the dragon leaps off the perch, scattering men across the courtyard as it stalks to the Archon's side, at about the midpoint between the perch and the keep.  "Hope has left this place," the Archon repeats.

Lord Kevin draws his sword, and yells, "Hope is never lost!  Mark your days, Archon, once we stop the Dreadmarch, we grant you your one hundred years and one hundred days to live, and no more!"

Everyone else that's still standing readies their weapons, though the majority of those in the courtyard are bearing spears.  The elf nocks an arrow, and directs it at the dragon.  Looking arounds somewhat nervously, the Archon's elongated facial features twist in distaste.  "I cast you to your fate," he declates, mounting his dragon.

"Flee while you can, coward!" Lord Kevin yells back.  "No more will you use us as a shield and a sword against your foes -- we fight for ourselves!"

Bjorn rolls smoothly to his feet, but his face is twitching, trying to suppress the snarl building below it.  Fuckers trying to rule us.  Fuckers use us as toys.  Fuckers think they know better.  Fuckers... no.  Gotta keep calm.  Gotta do something.

Snapping his head around, inspiration strikes, and he falls to one knee, bowing towards Lord Kevin.  "My lord Kevin!" he calls out -- not shouting, but pitching his voice to carry.  "The Archonae might try to deny us his hope, but there is another hope here!"  He points to the crystal carried by Parthipan, and continues, "A hope for man, brought by man!  With that hope, and by your command, we will prevail!"

Edit:  Must keep anatomy straight.  As it were.

With a snort, the Archon takes off, his dragon's wings throwing nearly everyone in the courtyard onto the ground before winging south.  Lord Kevin nods, and Sir Lammermore breaks off from his train.  After some quickl shuffling around, the newly arrived priestess (you don't know her name yet) accepts the crystal from Parthipan, then Lord Kevin, Radagast, the priestess, and her four attendants enter the keep.

"They'll place the stone," Lammermore says to you, nodding.  "I've a dark suspicion we need to see about securing the gate.  Follow me."

Paul and Parthipan hesitate, but fall in behind Lammermore as he jogs across the courtyard.

"This way, Sir Breke," Bjorn says.  Taking up the chains, he adds, "We'll need to run.  Be careful."

With that, he jogs after Lammermore, making sure to keep the way clear for Breke.

Breke has no trouble navigating around living creatures, so you lead him around the dragon-perch, and to the gatehouses.  The gates are open, but Lammermore is already slowly working the massive wheel that actually closes the exterior gate.  With the help of everyone (save Parthipan, who Lammermore sends up to the battlements to scan for the Dreadmarch) you manage to wheel and lock both gates shut, and then lock the doors to the gatehouse with Lammermore's key.

At about the same time this is finished, Parthipan breathlessly runs down the stairs and reports that there's an ocean of lit torches on the horizon, drawing closer.

"We'd best see for ourselves," Lammermore says grimly.

Bjorn nods, grimly.  "As you say, Sir."  He stares at the gate, as if he could see through it.  "I hope Sir Bloom got to the storm-riders.  If he did, they might not be lost to us entirely."  Shaking his head, he follows Lammermore up to the battlements, taking more care this time while guiding Breke up the stairs.

Breke slows a bit on the stairs, and you doubt he'll find the view as informative as you will, but he follows.  "Some display," he whispers, when no one else is immediately near you on the staircase.  "How big was that thing?"

"The dragon?" Bjorn whispers back.  "Ten men from snout to tail, I think."  He snorts.  "Big enough to prove that the Archonae don't give a bloody damn about men.  If we had even one of those dropping rocks on the Dreadmarch, this would be easier than picking daisies."

"Unruly and tempermental beasts, from what I hear," Breke whispers back, nodding.

At about this time you reach the top of the ramparts, and can see across the northern wastes.  Aside from a few small fires (most of them keeping medium-sized cauldrons of pitch warm, ostensiably for dousing arrows with) there's not much light on the ramparts.  You have to see by the stars to make out what's going on, and it takes your eyes a bit to adjust.

Once they do adjust, you can see the horizon, as Parthipan mentioned, completely lined with distant bobbing flames, which appear to be handheld torches.  As your eyes adjust further, you realize there are more, and more behind that.

There has to be more than ten thousand flames out there.

"By Hamar!" Lammermore swears, his jaw dropping open.  "This...."  He trails off, and you see one of the nearby bowmen drop his arrow, staring at the approaching army in mure horror.

A few second later, you hear more bowmen drop their arms, a few of them falling to their knees.  You feel despair gnawing at you yourself, but having grown accustomed to people entering your mind, you recognize it as something foreign that's being forced into your head, not something entirely of your own devising.

There's probably a subtle, gentle way to handle this, Bjorn reflects, in keeping with the social status of his other-self.  But aldrenaline and rage are still pumping through his system, and he's always been a fan of the tough-love approach.

"Stand up," he snarls at the bowmen.  "Pick up your bows!  Are you soldiers, or are you children playing King of the Hill?"

He turns to Lammermore.  "Fight off the despair," he says, flatly.  "It's not real.  It's magic, forcing its way into your mind.  There may be ten thousand of them, and there may be more, but they are outside these walls.  This Keep will not fall while we fight to defend it."

Lammermore shakes it off, but the bowmen don't, more and more of them giving into despair.

"Uh," Paul grunts, unslinging his lute.  "Got this one ... from the book," he mumbles.<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> {7}
<Brian> roll 6d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 6d6 --> {28}
His fingers cross the strings in a simple scale, and then a sound comes out of the lute like audible silk, or maybe more appropriately, it's like someone just played the sound of a shield to stave off the despair.

The bowmen shake their heads, and pick up their weapons, climbing to their feet again.  You can feel the despair warring with the music at the fringes of your mind, and aware of both, you can ignore them entirely.

Also, the song is kind of catchy -- after a few seconds, the men start singing along.  You don't recognize the lyrics, but it's about a battle against hopeless odds, and never giving up, and then winning anyway.  Formula for what you're about to face, you hope....

Bjorn nods to Paul, and then resumes his study of the horizon.  "I can see the torches out there," he says, partly to help keep Breke aware, "but I can't quite judge the distance -- or see the storm-riders."

"The storm-riders probably won't be coming," Lammermore says dubiously.  "But.  We exercise a defensive position.  Hmm.

"We'll wait until the stone is placed -- we should know when that happens -- and then we'll require your assistance in examining our strategy.  Lord Kevin will have some idea of what's going on, I think, and hopefully some way to deal with it ... in the meantime, I would suggest you keep a close eye on Mirallia."  He turns to look at you straight on.  "I don't know what this 'great sin' is, but you can bet that Lord Kevin is going to want to find out.

"More importantly, not all of the soldiers are likely to agree entirely with Lord Kevin on his management of the situation...."  Dropping his voice, he explains, "Some of them might believe that slaying her would garner the Archon's approval."  After giving you this warning, he straightens up, and looks out over the approaching army again.

Bjorn nods, gravely.  "As you say, Sir Lammermore."  And thank you, he does not say aloud.

He looks up and down the battlements, and then says, "There is likely little that Sir Breke or Master Parthipan can do here, I think.  Perhaps it would be best if I escorted them back to Lord Kevin?"

"Wait for a moment," he advises.  At about that point, the sense of lingering dread vanishes entirely, and Lammermore frowns.  "The stone must be set, then.  Let us go."  He turns to follow you.

Well, Bjorn reflects, seems I wasn't bullshitting after all.  That's nice.

Again, taking care with the steps and Breke, Bjorn leads his way back to the keep, and in the direction of the place where the crystal is placed.

The actual location where the crystal is set is hidden, but you run into Lord Kevin in the middle of the main hall, so it can't be far.  Mirallia is there, though she doesn't look like she went with Lord Kevin.

"We need to talk," Kevin says, adressing pretty much everyone there, and leading you (and them) to his office.

Dozens of chairs have been brought in, when you enter.  Kevin takes a seat behind the desk, Radagast sits to his left, and Lammermore sits to his right.

In attendance for this meeting are: Breke, Bjorn, Paul, Parthipan, the priestess, her four vassals, Mirallia, Radagast, Lord Kevin, Sir Lammermore, and that elven guy you can't quite remember the name of (not Liandrall).

Lord Kevin drums his fingers across the desk for a moment, after the guards close the door, leaving you in the quiet room, though someone saw to it that several lanterns were lit.

"So," he says conversationally, eyeing Bjorn.  "Where did that crystal come from?"

Bjorn glances from Lord Kevin to Mirallia, as if to say, Why are you asking me?, but he answers anyways.  "We found it in the depths of Hadrick's pass, my Lord, in a holy place of Aenstock."

Lord Kevin grunts, and nods.  "Good enough.  That saves us no small amount of trouble....  Now, more to the point, we're missing the Storm-riders, which would be no small suppliment to our forces.  The number of foe is greater than I'd believe possible, had I not been told otherwise by Sir Lammermore.

"I believe it's safe to say our tactics are worthless.  There's enough of the enemy there for us to exhaust ourselves to a man and barely weaken them.  I think we need to use a brutal and simple strategy.  No matter the cost, we must make directly for the generals and destroy them.

"Your thoughts on this?"  He looks around, inviting input from everyone.

"Your assessment is correct, my Lord," Bjorn says respectfully, "but a simple strategy might not suffice.  The Dreadmarch also has sufficient forces to do severe damage to us if we simply sally forth and strike at the general."  He ponders.  "If I might ask, my Lord, what is the status of the Keep's forces?  How many soldiers, and what equipment do we have?"

"We've nearly fifty thousand soldiers, about five thousand of those archers.  Another ten thousand are swordsmen, and the remainder are spearmen.  In addition, we've two priestesses who can, I hope, aid in healing the wounded."   Both priestesses nod at this.  "Loremaster Radagast will aid how he can, but without the assistance of his fellows ... those not dead or trapped in the Archonae city to the south ... there is a limit to that aid."

"A moment," Radagast interupts, frowning.  "There is...."  He trails off, and stares blankly for a a minute.  Then he shakes his head, clearing his expression.  "There is a new Loremaster -- one I have not yet met.  He is with the Storm-riders now, Wardmaster Mattias.  He says that the storm-riders came to aid, but too late -- one of their own had betrayed their advance to the foe."  He nods at Parthipan at this.  "They are trapped behind the advance without the number to fight their way through and reach us.

"The Wardmaster also has met Sir Bloom, now recovered of his lost torc, though not dominion over the storm-riders.  Mattias also said that while one of two brothers was cast out, he suspects it was not the one it seemed."  Radagast looks slightly puzzled at this.  "I apologize.  He has further determined that there is some seal around the entire northern mountain range ... some barrier that halted Gatemaster Eske.  The Gatemaster is not dead ... but trapped.

"Perhaps most importantly, he reports that his wards have counted the foe ... unfortunately, our numbers are not adequate to express this count, Lord Kevin.  Think of it as a thousand thousand, and that, three times."

"Very well," Lord Kevin grumbles.  "Outnumbered, outmatched, and with our best and brightest cut down before they reached us.  It is an unkind star that watches over us ... but we are not dead yet.  Have any of the other Lorekeepers arrived?"

Radagast nods.  "They are currently quartered in the tower," he explains.  "All, save Lorekeeper Parthipan."

"Hmm," Lord Kevin muses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"They must not stay alone," Bjorn says.  "They must be watched, and guarded at all times.  For their own safety, as much as our own."

"Sounds sensible.  I can spare a thousand swordsmen to add to the existing guard of the keep.  I will use those I know to be loyal for the protection of the Lorekeepers, and the priestesses," Lord Kevin says slowly.  "Additionally, some will be sent to watch over the food stores, and the kitchen staff.  I will ask Lord Ekim Boneforge to craft a seal on the chamber holding the stone that wards off the despair of the Dreadmarch."

He waits a second, here, looking around.  "Am I forgetting something?"

"A watch must be kept on the gate, my Lord.  If by magic or treachery, the Dreadmarch opens it, we will perish."

"Undoubtedly," he agrees.  "Very well.  If there's aught else, we will discuss it later.  For the moment, you asked for our equipment.

"Radagast has seen to the construction of three ... what did you call them?" Lord Kevin asks, turning to look at Radagast quizically.

"They are called Trebuchets," the Loremaster supplies.

"Ah, yes.  Three of these, which he assures me can hurl stone some distance.  This may help, I suppose -- there's mine tailing and stone aplenty out back.  We can keep the children busy and out of harm's way gathering small stones to supply them.

"We've wagons, which have been arriving and leaving steadily from the south, bringing us new food and equipment.  We replace the worst pieces of armor we see on our troops, and give the scraps to Lord Ekim Boneforge.  When he is humoring us, he turns them into arrow heads, and when he is not, he crafts other things.

"There are cauldrons of pitch on the walls, and bales of soiled cloth.  Our archers can wrap the arrow-heads in these rags, dip them in pitch, set them afire, and launch them at a foe."  The other vassals sit up straighter at this, apparently new to this concept.

"And, perhaps most importantly, we've spare arrows and spears.  No throwing spears, mind, but spears.  They break easily, and I'd not have our soldiers fight weaponless.  I do not remember the exact number of these things -- more arrive every day from the south, but we have a great many.

"In terms of other equipment, we've got shovels, though their usefulness is past us for the immediate moment.  Radagast took some men out earlier and prepared some traps for the Dreadmarch."

"Hopefully, they will think we've more than we do," Radagast chips in.

"Right," Lord Kevin agrees, steepling his hands together in front of him, and leaning down until his nose is level with his fingertips.  "Is there aught else we require?"

"The trebuchets can be loaded with pitch as well, My Lord.  Fire and small stones, together -- even if the pitch does less damage, it instils much more fear.  If we could make more of these trebuchet, even smaller models, we would do well.  Anything that allows us to strike at the Dreadmarch without endangering men will suit us well."

Tapping his fingers against his cuirass, Bjorn studies the ceiling, lips pursed in thought.  "The men will be of low morale, after the... performance the Archon gave us.  If I might be so bold, perhaps Master Durant could do his part to brighten their spirits.  Some stories of men's glory, rather than the glory of the Archonae, perhaps?

"The problem before us," he muses thoughtfully, "is how to draw the General out where we can reach him, without putting us at the mercy of all the forces the Dreadmarch can bring to bear."  Voice trailing off, Bjorn rummages in his other-self memories, trying to find something that will help.

OOC: Tactics 6 to come up with a plan... we hope.

The most logical thing that comes to mind would be figuring some way to lure the general to the gates, and then leading a charge directly at it, or just using the trebuchets and archers to take him out, if possible.  The question, of course, is what you could use as an effectively lure, especially the second time around.

Well, Bjorn thinks, drily, at least he'd agree with me.  Then inspiration strikes.

"Master Radegast," he says, thoughtfully, "can any of the Loremasters produce illusions?"

"Yes," he says, frowning.  "That's, er, my domain, actually."

Bjorn nods, slowly.  "I think that for an Archonae, the General himself would come forwards," he suggests.  "Especially one unharmed by the weapons of his underlings.   What do you think?"

"I'm sure that's true, and that's all very well and good, but--"  He cuts off, blinking.  "Oh, yes, yes indeed.  Mmm.  A cunning trap."

Lord Kevin nods, raising his eyebrows.  "This is not a gambit we can depend on overly ... but I suspect that done properly, we could claim a single day without too much effort.  If they throw their best armed and most dangerous at us on the first day, which tradition suggests they do, this could do quite a lot to even out the odds, costing them the majority of their elite guards, and a general, to boot."  He nods again, then points at you.  "When this is over, and we've won, I will purchase your freedom so that we can use your genius at tactics to plot the downfall of the Archonae."

This causes the other vassals to look a bit jealous, but they say nothing.  Mirallia merely hides a very subtle smirk.

Bjorn bows, slightly.  "Thank you, my Lord, but we have not won yet.  Let us do that first, and then think about the future."  He shrugs, slightly.  "The illusion ploy will work only once, I'm sure, but as you say, we must take all the victories we can."

He frowns, then.  "Illusion... if I might pry, Master Radegast, what can you accomplish with illusions?  Can you render a force invisible, and make an open gate seem closed, or a closed gate seem open?  Could you use illusion to make it seem we have far more trebuchets firing than we do?"

"I could make most of these things appear to happen, yes," Radagast says, shaking his head.  "Illusion is the art of adding something that is not there.  I can make an open gate appear sealed, and I could make one man appear as twenty.  I could make a trebuchet into a sea of trebuchets, and their shot into a rain.  But I'm afraid that it's beyond my power to make a single man appear as nothing at all.  That aspect of warding was something I admit I was clumsy at, at best.  As long as there is a seed of something for my illusion to work with, I can make an image, though."

Bjorn hums.  "And the other Loremasters, might I ask?  What will they bring to our cause?"

"Mmm," Radagast frowns.  "Myself and Loremaster Mattias are the only Loremasters, here, and he with the storm-riders, still.  The Lorekeepers that came to join us are mostly followers of Ashton, the follower of the Path of Water.  Also, there is a single follower of Huron, Lorekeeper Devin ... he is, as I recall, very close to taking his test for mastery at the collegate.  The rest study the teachings of Larrisa, the Firemaster.  Lorekeeper Parthipan is the only one who follows the path of winds.  Beyond that, I belive there is a single student of Lightmaster Rowic."  He shakes his head.   "Astryd, her name is.  She could help with illusion, perhaps."

"You must excuse me, Master Radegast," Bjorn says, apologetically.  "I am simply a vassal of Hamar, and ignorant of things outside war.  I'm afraid your answer leaves me more confused than I was.  Is it possible that you might explain for me in simple terms what the Lorekeepers might do?"

"Oh, ah, sorry," he says, shaking his head.  "We can rain fire on the enemy from above, turn the frozen moat into water cold enough that it should still be frozen, yet isn't, and with Devin's aid, mend any damage that is actually done to our walls.  It will be important for many of us to keep the spiked moat clear of bodies, as well.  If it becomes filled, then it offers no defense at all, and the Dreadmarch will trample across their own fallen to reach us."

Bjorn nods.  "Thank you, Master Radegast.   And pardon my interruption, Lord Kevin."  Bjorn falls silent and stands quietly at attention, waiting to see if anyone else has something to add.

"If I can say something stupid... It might be too risky for anyone to try cleaning out the moat during a battle, and it will probably fill eventually. Instead of -- or, maybe, along with -- filling it with freezing water, might we fill it or top it off with more pitch or anything else that burns, for when the moat is overcome? You said they would walk over their own dead, but I don't think they can fire-walk.

"Or wait. Can they fire-walk?"

"There's a thought," Lord Kevin murmurs, turning to Lammermore.  "Do we have enough pitch?"

Lammermore frowns.  "No," he says slowly, turning to Radagast.  "Is there anything you can do?"

"Yes," Radagast says with a nod.  "We could ... ah, the details will take some puzzling out, but we could flood the channel with fire, certainly."

"That should save us some manpower then," Lord Kevin decides, nodding.  "Good thinking.  Alright ... is there anything else?"

"I can think of nothing, other than to ask how far the bowmen can shoot. If we are able to flood the moat with fire and concentrate our snipers on anyone operating the siege engines, the Dreadmarch would pretty much stand there as we rained fire on them.

"The moat of fire would prevent them from getting close enough to put up siege ladders, I think, or grappling hooks, so they can't try to get in just yet. If we keep to the arrow-slits, set up some more on the ramparts, then barring godlike shooting ability they would need to damage the keep itself instead of picking off individual defenders. I don't know how many trebuchets they are coming with, but likely far fewer than there are footsoldiers. So long as the footmen and archers aren't a threat, we can concentrate entirely on disabling or destroying their rock-hurlers."

"That will be something to tend to," Lord Kevin agrees, frowning.  Turning to the elf, he asks, "How far could you place a shot, Sir Shivershaft?"

The elf blinks languidly, and raises an eyebrow.  "The reach of my bow is not as great as most Dreadmarch stone-hurlers, but with the advantage of height we possess over the battlefield, I'd dare to say were equal.  I've practiced enough with the flaming arrows to know their range well."

"Well, then I guess we should hope that they don't set up their engines exactly at maximum range, and that we can figure out the aim on our trebuchets well enough to nail those that are out of bowshot.

"With your permission, I'd like to go see if me and perhaps some of the other noncombatants can cobble together some arrow-slits out of wood, to use on the ramparts. It would give us a much larger area to work from without exposing more archers to danger; and even if you have some already, it would be good to have a great deal of replacements. If they should be hit with a flaming arrow and ignite, the person covered behind it could just duck under the rampart, shove it over the wall into the moat of fire, and bring up a new shield to resume firing without ever exposing his body to enemy fire."

"That, we've already got," Lord Kevin says, shrugging.  "I'm more worried about the shots that go overhead and rain upon the courtyard."

"Couldn't we juststay out of the courtyard, under cover, then? Clear out all the flammables first so nothing ignites a fire, and then get every non-combatant into the grand hall or somewhere else inside."

"That's the plan," Lammemore agrees.  "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself -- I'll see to it our preliminary plans, save those you'll be taking care of, Loremaster Radagast, will be taken care of."  With a bow to all, he strides out of the room.

Paul nods deferentially to Lammemore on the way out, then turns to Radagast. "Need my help for anything?"

"Not at the moment," he says, frowning.  "I should instruct the other Lorekeepers as to our plans," he adds, rising, and following Lammermore out.  He pauses before the door, and turns to Parthipan, "I'll trust you to manage yourself for this, though."  With that, he steps outside, to assign duties as he sees fit.

Dorian Shivershaft rises, and bows slightly.  "I will go and ready the archers," he says quietly, before vanishing.

"Well then, I guess I'll get the civilians into the hall and try to keep them calm while everyone else is actually defending" Paul says, to nobody in particular. Then he exits the room and looks about for random non-combatants.

Turning to Lord Kevin, Ginrai asks, "Is there anything in particular you want me to do at this point?"

"I've heard you can see across the winds?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Huitzil leaves this thead and moves on to Instant Music (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=34221#34221).

Ginrai nods.  "I have already done that once yesterday to track the Storm-riders.  Who do you want me to search for?  The Dreadmarch general?"

"Yes," Lord Kevin agrees.  "The moon isn't yet risen ... and it might be hard to pick out a single likely candidate from all that are there, but any more information would be useful.  Don't put yourself in any danger that you don't have to, however."

"Okay.  I do recall from the previous time that he was able to detect a change in the wind, though that was because I was eavesdropping on a conversation between him and some Storm-rider.  I'll get to that immediately."

Ginrai prepares to cast the 'seeing the wind' spell and first makes an astrology check.

Ginrai: This will take some time, and you'll need access to the open air, like you had from Radagast's tower.  Lord Kevin doesn't look like he expects you to give him an answer right that second anyway.

"Good," he says, nodding.  "When you've got any ideas, or any information at all, go ahead and pass it on to me, or to Loremaster Radagast."

Now he turns to the other priestess, and says, "Thank you for your aid in setting the stone.  I'd like you and your men to rest while you still can, since rest will soon be a valulable commodity."  He eyes Mirallia, and then Bjorn.  "We will discuss the rest later," he says.  "For the moment, we've the present to worry about."  Nodding, as though everyone was dismissed, he rises from behind his desk, and marches towards the exit of the room.

Bjorn bows after Lord Kevin, and then discreetly approaches Mirallia.  "I am required to escort Sir Breke back to his rooms," he murmurs.  "Could you follow me, Madame?"

"Of course," she agrees, as the other priestess and her vassals exit, leaving you with her, Breke, and Parthipan in Lord Kevin's office.

"Anything you need to tell me, Bjorn?"

Bjorn shrugs.  "Don't die?"  Somewhat more seriously, he adds, "Watch the other Lorekeepers carefully, Master Parthipan.  I don't think Lord Kevin entirely understood me when I said they should be watched.  There may well be traitors among them, and with their magic, that makes them very dangerous.  Watch them, and watch your back."

"Sure thing.  Also, I was wondering if you guys can be around my body while I'm performing the 'seeing the wind' spell.  I doubt it'd be a smart thing to do that while alone."

Bjorn hesitates for a second, and then grunts.  "Certainly.  Sir Breke, do you wish to come along, or would you prefer to return to your chambers?"

"I've got nothing better to do," Breke says, shrugging his shoulders a bit.

Bjorn nods, and then looks at Parthipan expectantly.

"Okay, first thing I need to do is find a place that has access to outside."

"Either the ramparts or one of the towers, then?"

"Preferably one of the towers."

Bjorn shrugs, again.  "All right.  If you'd all follow me?"

Taking up Breke's chains, Bjorn leads the way to the closest tower he thinks he can get access to.

After Radagast's tower, the next highest one is the central tower.  It's got lots of rooms in the sides that are sealed, but the roof opens up into a flat area that gives you a really good view down onto the courtyard, and beyond that, to the plains where you can see the dreadmarch milling around in the starlight, out of bowshot.

Cookfires lie scattered about, like a secondary field of stars, just below the horizon.  In the far, far distance, you can catch glimpses of the white snowy wastes beyond the Dreadmarch.  The wind here is very cold.

Quote<Ginrai> roll 3d6 because Suu likes me and won't screw me over now especially since I sent her a crate full of bananas
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Ginrai ... : 3d6 because Suu likes me and won't screw me over now especially since I sent her a crate full of bananas --> [ 3d6=15 ]{15}
<Brian> It's going to take a while to set the spell up.  You're going to be completely unaware of your surroundings for about an hour.

After completing his astrology check, Ginrai begins the next step for the spell and meditates.

Breke shifts around.  "He still alive?" he asks quietly.

Bjorn studies him closely.  "I think so," he says, somewhat dubiously.  "I haven't really much idea what magic involves."

"It's complex, from what I've seen of it," Mirallia opines, looking up at the sky.  "The stars are coming out."

Breke grunts, obviously not interested, and crosses his arms over his chest.

Bjorn does not say anything, but merely stares out over the plains, studying what he can see of the movement of the Dreadmarch.

Looks like they're setting up camp, for the most part.  None of them are coming within bow-shot, at any rate.  In the distance, you can see the moon rising, peeking up over the horizon, and shedding light across the army below.

"When the moon sets," Mirallia warns, "the battle begins."

"Then we have time," Bjorn says, quietly, "but not too much."  He grimaces.  "I don't like this," he admits, quietly.

Parthipan's spellcasting takes some time, but eventually he pronounces it ready, and then looks blank, like he's not even in his body for a minute or two.

Parthipan: You're not riding the winds very far this time, so you've got a little more time.  You fly out to the wall, then across the ground before the keep.  The moon has just risen (which explains why your astronomy details were no good -- you forgot about the moon) and illuminates the structures that Radagast left behind.  Every twenty meters or so, there's a large pole stuck in the ground.

You don't really have time to investigate them, though, and can probably ask Radagast later.  Either way, you can make out the Dreadmarch from here, and the majority of the creatures within it resemble the ones you found in the room you woke up in.  They're sitting around cookfires, setting up tents, and analzying whatever weapon fragments they happen to be carrying -- there's quite an assortment, too.

Looking for someone who stands out from the crowd, you eventually spy the man in the dirty-snow colored cloak, now standing out against the dark-skinned orc surrounding him.  He's speaking with a particularly large creature -- maybe a troll?  Hard to say, but it's pretty big, and looks up as you draw near.

You freeze, and he looks around, like he's sure he caught something ... but you're still, and he shakes his head, turning his attention to the creature.  "So be ready for the first day," he says.

The creature just nods, saluting the man crudely, and then your time is up, and you return to your body atop the tower.

"Damn....  Okay, it'll take me a few minutes to try and recall everything I just saw."

Ginrai wonders if he was able to notice just where the Dreadmarch general was.

Bjorn feigns a cough, keeping his eyes from meeting anyone else's.

Ginrai: You're positive he was within the Dreadmarch army.  As far as where he was specifically in that mess, you'd guess towards the back square miles of their camp, but he's moving, so it probably wouldn't make a lot of difference.

Bjorn: The costs of the spell seem to have taken their toll on Parthipan; he's pale, and wobbling slightly in place, like he might fall down shortly.

Breke leans towards Bjorn and whispers, "You sure he's not dead?"

"Not really," Bjorn grumbles, and reaches out to take Parthipan's shoulder to steady him.

"Thanks, Bjorn... anyway, it was the same guy from before.  The one in the snow-colored cloak that was talking with the Storm-rider.  At this point I'm more than sure he's one of the generals.  He seemed to be talking with with some huge troll... at least, I think that was a troll.  That's all I was able to get."

Bjorn frowns.  "This man... he was a man, right?  A human?  How many other humans did you see in the army of the Dreadmarch?"

"He seemed to be the only one."

"Could you hear what he was saying to the... troll, or whatever?"

"Only the end of the conversation.  Something about being ready for the first day."

Bjorn hums thoughtfully.  "I'm willing to bet that the troll was the first general," he says, slowly.  "The man... he may or may not be a general, but he's certainly the commander, if you see what I mean."  

He smiles, coldly.  "The first we kill to win tonight's battle.  The man we have to kill to win the war."

"Tomorrow's battle," Mirallia interjects.  "We've enough time to sleep before the moon sets ... and it may be a good idea to do so."

Struck by sudden whimsy, Bjorn sketches a brief bow.  "As you say, Madame," he intones.  "Then we shall return Master Parthipan to the tower with the other Lorekeepers, Sir Breke to his quarters, and then you to yours."

Mirallia looks at you askance, as if she thinks you're up to something, but says only, "Lead the way, then."

Taking up Breke's chains, Bjorn does so.

You reach the tower first, where there's extra guards watching all who enter.  "Can't let you through with weapons, Sirs," the lead guard says, shaking his head.  "Sir Lammermore's orders -- Lorekeepers only."

"Strange orders...."  Ginrai shrugs and waves to the others.  "I guess I'll see you guys later, then.  Take care!"

With that he heads off to find Radagast.

Parthipan now leaves to Focus (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=34305#34305).

After this, you escort Breke to his room, which is unguarded.

Opening the door, Bjorn says, "We are at your room again, Sir Breke.  I will escort Madame Mirallia back to her chambers.  Will you need me again tonight?"

"I can sleep well enough alone, thanks," he replies dryly.

"Then good night, Sir Breke," Bjorn says, equally drily, and leads Mirallia back to her chambers.

There are two guards standing before the doors to Mirallia's quarters, who look at both of you, but say nothing.

Bjorn stops in front of the door.  "Good night, Madame."

She nods at you, and enters her room, closing the door behind her.

Waiting until Mirallia has shut his door, Bjorn turns to the guards.  "I will be in the antechamber," he says.  "If anything occurs, or when your replacements arrive, would you please wake me?"

The guards nod at you, as you settle down to try and sleep.

Bjorn, you are woken by a knock at the door.

Quietly rising, Bjorn opens the door without saying anything.

The guards from before are there, along with two others.  "As you asked," one of them says, shrugging.  "We're changing guard now.  The moon is nearly set."

Bjorn nods.  "Thank you.  Is there any news of the Dreadmarch?"

"None," he says, shaking his head.  "But I imagine it can't be long now."

Bjorn nods, and then smiles faintly.  "Then sleep well.  After all, as a wise man once said, 'Never turn down a chance to piss or sleep.'"  With that, Bjorn bids them good night, and goes back to snatch as much sleep as he can.

You sleep for ... you're not really sure how much longer before someone knocks on your door (again) and wakes you up.

Bjorn gets up.  Again.  And answers the door.  Again.  And doesn't expect the best.

Again.

Before you are the two new guards, and a winded-looking servant.  "Lord Kevin sends for you," he says quickly, gasping for breath, as though he'd jogged here from the other end of the keep.  "The moon hasn't set yet, but the Dreadmarch is moving."

Bjorn nods.  "I will waken Madame Mirallia quickly.  Please wait one second."

Suiting actions to words, Bjorn makes his way to Mirallia's bedroom and knocks on the door.

She mumbles something at you through the door you can't quite make out, and then says, "I'll be right there."

Suiting actions to words, she's prepared in a few minutes, and opens the door.  "Is it time?" she asks somewhat blearily.  "Oh, you mustn't forget about Sir Breke."

Bjorn nods.  "Thank you for reminding me."

Leading the way back to the waiting guardsmen, he says, "We will need to stop by Sir Breke's quarters on the way.  Shall we go?"

"Yes, let's," Mirallia says, shaking off the tiredness.

In short order, you've gotten to Breke's rooms.  The pair of guards at his doorway eye you, but say nothing, simply moving aside so you can enter.

Bjorn knocks, and then enters, without necessarily waiting for a response.  "Time to get up, Sir Breke."

He's sitting at his normal place (the one before the carved circle in the table).  And untouched plate of what looks like eggs and some kind of meat (chicken?) sits on it.  He nods, reaching out with a grace that seems to mock his supposed blindess, snatches up his goblet from its own carefully carved circle in the table, and drinks a bit of it before rising.

"The big day then," he says dryly.  "Let's see what it brings us."

Bjorn shrugs.  "Orcs, I imagine," he says drily, before taking Breke's chains and following the guardsmen to Lord Kevin.

"I've fought orcs," Breke muses, as you lead him past the door-guards.  "They smell pretty foul, you know."

Mirallia smirks at this, but says nothing.

The guards lead you to Lord Kevin, who is not in his office, but is actually in the courtyard, which is jam-packed with men.  The ramparts are thickly lined with archers.  You don't see the elf anywhere among them, though, and you'd think he'd stick out.

Radagast is standing nearby, and you can see some of the Lorekeepers -- or just people in brown robes -- loitering atop the towers lining the court-yard and looking down over the walls.

Sir Lammermore is standing nearby.  While Radagast and Kevin speak about the defenses, Lammermore is inspecting the troops -- he looks like he's assembled five groups of twenty men who look like they know what they're doing, and he's explaining to them that their role will be to work as leaders for the others, and to direct them in the battle.

Lammermore's got a different sword on, this time, too.  Looks like a broadsword, instead of his standard shortsword.  Breke stiffens up a bit once he's outside and surrounded by so many people, but you've been around him long enough to know that it's just his 'publicicty' face.

The other vassals are going over their own groups of twenty (apparently hand-picked) men, and explaining what their tactics for the day is, and the other priestess is already deep in conversation with someone who looks like a healer or doctor; it's a woman carrying a basket of herbs and clean, hopefully sterile cloth, at any rate.  This woman has a number of armed men who are carrying large shields, but no weapons standing behind her, listening in to that conversation, whatever it is.

Making his way closer to Lord Kevin, Bjorn waits patiently for someone to notice him.

Lord Kevin notices you first.  "Ah," he says, nodding, and glancing around the courtyard.  "It's nearly time, then.  Bjorn, are you ready?"

Bjorn bows, slightly.  "I am ready in all ways but knowing what it is, exactly, that you wish me to do, my Lord," he says, slightly apologetic.

"Well," Lord Kevin says thoughtfully.  "I'd like you to win.  Now, we can use the strategy you've discussed with Radagast, or you can choose to withold it until it's more opportune to do so.  Either way, the Dreadmarch is on the move -- it's also going to be dark, soon.  The keep's great lamps will be lit, which I will have to attend.  Before that, I suggest climbing the wall and surveying the foe yourself."

"I'll wait here," Breke says boredly.  "No sense laying an eye on what my blades won't reach."

Lammermore finishes adressing the soldiers, and approaches your group.  "We're as ready as we've time for," he says, nodding.

Bjorn bows again, slightly.  "Then with your permission, my Lord, I will study the situation."

Waiting for a dismissal, he makes his way to the walls of the keep, and looks out at the Dreadmarch.

Lord Kevin nods at you.

Up the stairs, through the thickly crowded archers you go.  At the top of the wall, pushing between some of the men who are warming their hands over their cauldrons of less-than-boiling, but still hot pitch, you manage to find an opening that looks out onto the Dreadmarch.  The archer immediately nearest you wears a hooded cloak, his (or her?) face in shadows, and the others on the wall keep a slight bit of distance away from him.

The Dreadmarch themselves appear to be lining their troops up in colums about ten soldiers wide, and probably a hundred long.  You can't really see far enough in the fading moonlight to tell what they are, but you guess they're human-sized, and therefore, orcs.

Peering out into the darkness, Bjorn tries to judge the distance beween the Dreadmarch and the outer fortifications, and the speed at which they're travelling.  

At the same time, trying to be unobtrusive, he does his best to study this solo archer beside him.

You'd guess the forces are about a half a kilomter away from the posts that Radagast left everywhere as defenses, whatever they'll do.

And, hey, you recognize that archer -- it's that elf, Dorian Shivershaft.

Bjorn nods.  "How long do you think we have, Master Silvershaft?" he says, quietly.

Dorian scans the position of the moon briefly, and says, "Twenty minutes, perhaps.  Perhaps slightly less."

"Then no time to waste," Bjorn observes.  "Is there anything you wish me to report to Lord Kevin?"

The elf looks at you appraisingly.  Finally he says, "If I can see the general, I will fell him.  But tell Lord Kevin that I don't think myself such a target that this disguise is required, if it pleases you."  He offers you what you think is a friendly smile then, and turns back to surveying the still-assembling Dreadmarch.

Bjorn doesn't bother nodding his respects, as the elf isn't watching him.  Instead, he makes his way back through the troops and down to the courtyard, intent on making his report to Lord Kevin.

Lord Kevin is still there, along with Lammermore and Radagast.  Lammermore looks like he's ready to try fighting the entire Dreadmarch alone, and then using their bones to pick his teeth.  Radagast just looks annoyed, and Lord Kevin appears (at least) relaxed.

When you approach, Lord Kevin turns to face you.  "Your thoughts?" he asks.

"They appear organized," Bjorn replies, calmly, "which worries me somewhat.  The Dreadmarch has unquestionably changed from what it used to be.  The question is how much.

"I would recommend using the Archon diversion for this night," he continues.  "Partly because once we've used illusion of any sort, the Dreadmarch will be on the watch for it, and this plan requires a certain gullibility on their part.  Partly as a means to determine just how deep the changes run -- do they have the discipline to stand and stick to their plan when faced with an Archon?"  He hesitates, slightly.  "But mostly because I think that what we need more than anything now is a quick, easy victory, to boost morale."

Kevin nods at this, and turns to Radagast.  "I'll retire to the tower, so I can direct it, then," he says.  "But before that happens, I want to give the traps I've set out front time to whittle their numbers down -- shouldn't take more than a few minutes.  When that's done, I'll work with Astryd to weave the guise of an Archon on Aldus -- ah, that is, on Sir Lammermore.  Ultimately, I'll wait on your signal to begin the spell, though."

Lammermore grunts.  "No time for titleage in war," he says dismissively.  "I stand ready, and so do the men we've chosen for the task."

Radagast nods, and turns to go to the keep.

"These traps," Bjorn says, before Radagast has a chance to depart, "what exactly will they do?"

He turns back, and blinks.  "Oh," he says after a moment.  "They cause explosions, which should disrupt the attacking forces.  There are wires on the field; when someone steps on or pulls the wires, then the explosions will activate."

Bjorn blinks at Radagast, shocked for a second.  Mines?  "Then perhaps you should prepare the Archon illusion now, before those traps go off.  For the best chance of success, the Dreadmarch should both see the Archon before they have a chance to engage, so that the general has a chance to come forward -- and if they see the Archon just before the front ranks start to blow up, then they're much more likely to believe him to be a serious threat, I would think."

Radagast pauses, and exchanges a glance with Lammermore.  Lammermore nods, and Radagast turns back to you.  "Done," he says.  "Now, I must ready the spell."

"Men!" Lammermore yells, apparently 'men' being the name of the group he's assigned as his entourage.  "In positions!"  A group of eighty men forms four ranks of twenty, arrayed before Lammermore, and Radagast flees towards the keep.

Lord Kevin rubs his chin.  "Let's hope those traps of Radagast's pack the punch I'm hoping for," he says, shaking his head.  "Ekim helped him build them...."

However strong those traps are, they're not going to make much of a difference in the long run.  Not with all those troops.  But... "Every bit helps, my Lord."  Bjorn pauses for a second.  "Did you have a particular role in mind for Sir Breke and myself, my Lord?"

He nods.  "I want you to be at the vanguard, behind Lammermore."  He frowns, looking at Lammermore, who's running one hand over the hilt of his longsword, though it doesn't seem like a nervous gesture; more just a mental check to see if everything's in order.  "You and sir Breke will make sure that the retreat is left open, should we need to fall back, and send out a greater charge.  Should Dorian sight the general, he won't hesitate to strike him ... my concern is that the Loremaster's seeming will confuse his sight."

Bjorn, who had been studying Lammermore, snaps his head around at Kevin's last statement, eyebrows raised in surprised inquisitiveness.

Kevin frowns, and murmurs, "I do not doubt for a second Dorian's accuracy.  But when what he sees is not what is truly there ... then I worry that his shots may pass on the sides of an Archon to hit an ogre.  And Lammermore, for all that, is significantly wider than an Archon.

"Still, he refused to accept that he should not trust his eyes.  The pride of his kind is nearly unmatched, save by the Archonae.  He knows of the plan, but ... he was told that the General would be a human.  Hopefully this will keep Lammermore out of the path of harm."  Breke snorts at this, and Lord Kevin manages a wry smile.  "Even more harm, then."

Bjorn grunts.  "Then there is little we can do, unless you wish to send up a trusted solider to knock Master Silveshaft out if he starts shooting too close to Sir Lammermore."  He grins, slightly sourly.  "And, frankly, given the number of arrows that will be in the air anyways, I don't know that it will make much of a difference."

He bows, slightly.  "With your leave, my Lord."

Lord Kevin nods at you.

With another bow, Bjorn takes up Breke's chains and leads him after Lammermore's party.  "Time to go do what you do best, Sir Breke," he mutters in a dry tone.

"What, you need me to be a boorish lout?" he asks under his breath, as you lead him to his spot behind Lammermore.

"Well, an annoyed orc probably doesn't fight very well.  Makes it easier for me to kill 'em, see," Bjorn replies, as he notes how Lammermore has drawn his men up.

Lammermore's men are standing in formations (spears at the ready) two men deep, ten men wide.  Currently, they're arrayed like a capital letter V, with the point directed towards the still-sealed gates. Lammermore stands in roughly the middle, and you're standing a few paces behind him.

"How do you annoy an orc?" Breke ponders briefly.  "I suppose cutting their friends in half might work."

Bjorn nods gravely.  "That's generally considered to be very boorish behaviour," he says.  "I approve."

Studying the men around him one more time, taking note of the placement of the trebuchets and the general distribution of archers, he mutters to himself, "Planning's all done.  Nothing but the work left."

Breke nods, but doesn't draw his sword.  Neither have you, or Lammermore, though, and the guards are already carrying spears.

Bjorn eyes the chain he's still holding.  "Do you want to lose the leash?" he asks, quietly.

"Not yet," he says back just as quietly.  "Just hang on until it gets in your way.  Then stick close to me."

"There isn't much in the way of shopping out there," Bjorn remarks.  "If I get seperated from any of you, then it won't be by choice."

Breke nods thoughtfully at that, but says nothing.

Lapsing into silence himself, Bjorn waits.

While you're waiting, you see Paul cross the courtyard and speak with Lammermore briefly.  Whatever he says, Lammermore seems to agree with it, because he nods.

Trying to keep his mind off... what's next, Bjorn watches Paul and Lammermore.

Paul delivers his speech to Lammermore and the assembled men, which finishes just as Radagast and Astryd's spell takes effect.  Lammermore does look just like an Archon, even close up.  The same Archon that you tackled to the ground not too long ago.

His sword is the same, and now looks somewhat small for an Archon.

Bjorn grunts, and looks around, quickly, to survey the reactions of the nearby army.

They look like they're ready to destroy some orcs; Paul's speech seems to have left them pretty pumped.  The moon is now invisible, behind the walls of the mountain.  Behind you, on the towers, great lights turn on, spilling the bright, flickering light of massive flames across the courtyard and, presumably, the battlefield you can't see.

"There we go," the Lammermore Archon says.  "Ready?"

"You should be asking that of them," Bjorn says, with grim humour.

The men murmur that they're ready, and the doors to the defensive wall begin to ponderously swing open.  The battlefield is lit red by the beacons that lord Kevin had lit, but at least you'll be able to see.

"Here comes the fun part," Breke mutters, shifting from foot to foot.

Bjorn says nothing, but switches his grip on the chains to his left hand, and draws his sword.

The doors are flung open completely, and Lammermore nods.  "Let's advance," he calls out.  "We stop just on the other side of the door, as discussed; keep clear of the moats."

With that, the formation begins to advance at a stilted jog.

Bjorn follows, keeping position.

Lammermore leads you into the bridge across the dry moat -- the frozen moat is not frozen at the moment, but actually liquid.  As you cross the threshold beneath the wall, however, fire bursts in the dry moat, flaring high and burning brightly, leaving a defensive wall, with Lammermore and his men in the one gap through this structure.

Out beyond the fiery wall, you can see the seemingly endless tide of the Dreadmarch roll in.  The traps Radagast set are violently effective -- they cut swaths into the advance ... but that doesn't really stop the Dreadmarch, either.  The explosions appear to be propelling shrapnel into the oncoming horde.

Bjorn frowns, suddenly.  "If we're supposed to keep the retreat open," he mutters to Breke, "and Lammermore is blocking the only narrow path through a moat full of fire... what does the Dreadmarch have that can get through or around that moat?  Or are they going to use nothing but numbers?"

"They don't usually bother with anything else, no," Breke replies, shrugging.  "At least, I'm told.  Not too much nasty stuff in the lower lands."  He pauses, and cocks his head to one side.  "Saw a hydra, once."

"Oh?" says Bjorn.  "Much of a problem?"

"Not really.  Just figured that was one lake we didn't need to fish in and moved on."  He frowns.  "Pretty much they can't get out of water, so ... no worries."

The dreadmarch continues advancing, now close enough you can hear them yelling before the traps stagger them a bit.  You're sure they've lost thousands of soldiers already, by now.

I hate waiting, floats across Bjorn's mind.  But I'm... too calm.  Don't think about it.  Don't think.  Just...

And he waits.

The Dreadmarch clears the last of Radagast's traps, and begins charging Lammermore and his men.  Lammermore barks a few quick commands, and everyone gets into a defensive position, ranks of spears four men deep, and twenty wide forming a blockade that it seems the slavering horde will gladly throw itself on.

Bjorn switches most of his attention to watch the skies above -- for rocks and for arrows coming down on his position.  It'll be pretty obvious once the Dreadmarch starts making their way through Lammermore's group, he bets.

The keep's own archers begin going to work at about this time.

The first salvo of arrows in the most impressive.  You look up in time to see about two thousand arrows fly across the wall, all of them converging on the head of the advancing charge.  Dozens go awry, but countless more find their mark.  The Dreadmarch splits around the pile of bodies the arrows pile up, and begin widening their charge, which in turn prompts the archers to diversify their targets.

You can hear yelling from behind you, up on the wall -- apparently archer squadron leaders are trying to specify targets.  There's probably about thirty seconds left before the Dreadmarch reaches your defensive formation.

"Here they come," Bjorn says, abstractly.

At about that point, what looks like a lightning bolt flies from up about where the archers are, then vanishes beneath your vision, striking the ground somewhere ahead of you.  It surfaces occasionally, like some thrashing beast, and the scent of scorched flesh fills the air.  There's a lot of dreadmarch soldiers fleeing, and more than one or two look like they're being electrocuted (not in any realistic way, but in a cartoony, painfully visible ribbons of electricity dancing across their bodies kind of way) before it ends.

When it DOES end, you think that you've found the general, though.

An ogre, as big as you expected from the description, every single inch of its body sealed inside a jet black suit of armor.  There's an axe that has to weigh as much as you strapped to its back, and it's carrying -- of all things -- a sling.  It's attention appears to be the wall overhead, however.

It begins whirling the sling.

Bjorn snarls.  "He's not falling for it!" he barks.  Tugging on Breke's chain as he breaks into sprint, he snaps, "Quick!  After him!"

He lets go of the chain as he weaves his way through Lammermore's men -- the main obstacle being bodies, he trusts Breke to follow in his footsteps.  The sudden charge and the sight of the Dreadmarch awakens, to his vague discomfort, yet another memory of his new body, and without conscious thought, he finds himself roaring out a challenge whose words he does not remember.

OOC: Using Battle Cry on the Dreadmarch General to get his attention.

<Faceless> roll 3d6 for Making The Big Ugly Mad At Me
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Faceless ... : 3d6 --> {11}
<Brian> Now, roll 5d6 for your presence attack.
<Faceless> roll 5d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Faceless ... : 5d6 --> {26}

Your battle cry resounds, seeming to physically fling the Dreamarch away from your viscinity.  A few of Lammermore's men break formation to follow you, and then all of them, Lammermore himself just behind you, Breke just ahead, trailing his chains like an unleashed and snarling beast, both swords drawn.

The only one who ignores your battle cry is the ogre, who launches a projectile -- sparking and red, with a trail like a tiny comet -- at the keep before dropping his sling, and unlimbering the massive axe from behind him.

Bjorn has time only to think, Goddamn, I hope he missed, as he charges into combat range.

<Brian> Here is the scenario.  The wall of fire is behind you, the archers on the wall, seeing the charge, begin peeling their shots away from the center, and focusing on the sides of the charge, trying to do as much damage as possible to the rest of the army.  Directly in front of you is Breke, bounding along with both swords drawn, and the cleared space where you frightened back everyone except for the general.
<Brian> Lammermore and his pikemen are directly behind you.  The general has an axe ready, and is standing its ground letting you come to it.  That axe is curved like a crescent moon, and looks like it's got enough steel in it to outmass you.
Bjorn veers to the side slightly, curving around to come in from the general's left flank as Breke goes straight in.
<Brian> We'll start on phase zero, then, you and Breke leading in.  Everyone is considered to have a held action, so we go in dex order.
<Brian> First is the general, who continues to holds its action.
<Brian> Second is Breke, who attacks straight on, just like you expected.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=11 ]{11}
<Brian> roll 3d6 for hit location
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 for hit location --> [ 3d6=8 ]{8}
<Brian> roll 2d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 2d6 --> [ 2d6=5 ]{5}
<Brian> His sword seems to be deflected off of the general's armor without effect.
<Brian> Bjorn: Your turn.
<Bjorn> 'First things first.  If we can't kill him quick, make sure we'll survive a while.'  With that thought in mind, Bjorn strikes out at the general's hands on his weapon.
<Bjorn> I am going to attempt a Martial Disarm.
<Brian> Go ahead and make your roll.
<Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=12 ]{12}
<Brian> For every five points of strength you have, roll 1#1d6, and since this is a martial maneuver, add 10 to your STR for calculating that.
<Brian> This should give you 5#1d6.
<Bjorn> roll 5#1d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 5#1d6 --> [ 1d6=1 ]{1}, [ 1d6=5 ]{5}, [ 1d6=3 ]{3}, [ 1d6=2 ]{2}, [ 1d6=6 ]{6}
<Brian> Okay.  And he attempts to resist.
<Brian> roll 6#1d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 6#1d6 --> [ 1d6=3 ]{3}, [ 1d6=6 ]{6}, [ 1d6=5 ]{5}, [ 1d6=6 ]{6}, [ 1d6=3 ]{3}, [ 1d6=3 ]{3}
<Brian> You failed to exceed his body, and disarm him, but you certainly got his attention.
<Brian> He's now using his held action to attack you with the axe.
<Bjorn> I will abort to block.
<Brian> Good move.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=15 ]{15}
<Brian> He will hit you, unless you make your block roll successfully.
<Bjorn> My OCV for this is 16.
<Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=13 ]{13}
<Brian> You actually manage to deflect his axe to one side, causing him some surprise as it thuds into the earth at your side harmlessly.
<Brian> So.  Now, phase 2, speed sixes (and those who managed to block speed sixes) can act.
<Brian> Since you blocked him, you act first, Bjorn.
Bjorn seizes on the opportunity, and tries once more to seperate the general from his axe.
<Bjorn> Same bonus allocation.
<Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=8 ]{8}
<Brian> A good disarm roll.
<Bjorn> roll 5#1d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 5#1d6 --> [ 1d6=6 ]{6}, [ 1d6=5 ]{5}, [ 1d6=1 ]{1}, [ 1d6=1 ]{1}, [ 1d6=5 ]{5}
<Brian> roll 6#1d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 6#1d6 --> [ 1d6=6 ]{6}, [ 1d6=1 ]{1}, [ 1d6=3 ]{3}, [ 1d6=4 ]{4}, [ 1d6=5 ]{5}, [ 1d6=1 ]{1}
<Brian> You almost manage to force the weapon from his hands, but he keeps a tenacious grip on it.
<Brian> Phase three, speed fours.
<Brian> Breke yells very loudly, and attacks with both blades.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=14 ]{14}
<Brian> Hmm.  No extra strength.
<Brian> roll 2#3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 2#3d6 --> [ 3d6=12 ]{12}, [ 3d6=10 ]{10}
<Brian> roll 2#2d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 2#2d6 --> [ 2d6=3 ]{3}, [ 2d6=6 ]{6}
<Brian> roll 3d6 for hit location
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 for hit location --> [ 3d6=3 ]{3}
<Brian> Breke knocks the general's helmet clean off, and leaves it looking annoyed, ugly, and otherwise unhurt.
<Brian> But, Breke now has attracted the General's attention.
<Brian> Phase four, speed sixes, speed threes.
<Brian> The general attempts to hit Breke.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=14 ]{14}
<Brian> Breke makes his perception check.
<Brian> Attempts to block.
<Brian> roll 3d6 to attack
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 to attack --> [ 3d6=8 ]{8}
<Brian> roll 3d6 to block
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 to block --> [ 3d6=13 ]{13}
<Brian> Which he does -- barely.
<Brian> Lammermore acts, and closes the remaining distance -- now you, Lammermore, and Breke are flanking the general.
<Brian> Lammermore makes a called shot to the head.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=12 ]{12}
<Brian> Misses.
<Brian> Segment six, speed fours, sixes, and twos.
<Brian> Bjorn, you recover from the block/parry.
<Brian> Breke goes first, since he blocked the general, but chooses to hold his action.
<Brian> The general attacks Breke.
<Brian> Breke will block.
<Brian> roll 3d6 for attack
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 for attack --> [ 3d6=10 ]{10}
<Brian> roll 3d6 for block
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 for block --> [ 3d6=8 ]{8}
<Brian> Lammermore attacks.  Another called shot to the head.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=6 ]{6}
<Brian> Lammermore hits the ogre's head three times.
<Brian> roll 3#2d6+1d3
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3#2d6+1d3 --> [ 2d6=10 1d3=2 ]{12}, [ 2d6=4 1d3=1 ]{5}, [ 2d6=9 1d3=1 ]{10}
<Brian> Improbably, this does not actually kill the ogre, though it is most certainly stunned.
<Brian> Breke uses his held action at this point.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=9 ]{9}
<Brian> roll 4d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 4d6 --> [ 4d6=16 ]{16}
<Brian> His sword does not strike the ogre's head, but seems to ignore its armor anyway, and sweeps through the ogre, leaving black smoke to boil out through the collar of his armor, as the ogre drops the the ground, bleeding from the massive head-wound.  It's still not dead, but is now Knocked Out.
<Brian> The pikemen act now, and rush past the general, keeping its reinforcements at bay from backing it up.
<Brian> Segment eight, speed sixes.  The ogre takes a recovery, but does not regain consciousness.
<Brian> Segment nine, speed fours.  Breke takes another whack at the ogre.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=12 ]{12}
<Brian> roll 3d6 for hit location.
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 for hit location. --> [ 3d6=6 ]{6}
<Brian> roll 2d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 2d6 --> [ 2d6=7 ]{7}
<Brian> This attack does knock the axe from the ogre's hands, though it's probably down for the count at this point.
<Brian> Segment 12, everyone acts, the general first.
<Brian> He takes a recovery, and is no longer stunned, but cannot act in this phase.
<Brian> In DEX order, Breke, who is holding his action.
<Brian> Then Lammermore, who's trying to hit the thing in the head again.
<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> [ 3d6=6 ]{6}
<Brian> roll 3#2d6+1d3
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3#2d6+1d3 --> [ 2d6=11 1d3=3 ]{14}, [ 2d6=5 1d3=1 ]{6}, [ 2d6=6 1d3=3 ]{9}
<Brian> Lammermore's sword actually leaves shining trails behind it, like shadows of the same sword at slightly different angles.  Each seems to have an actual effect, though, and this does sever the general's neck.
<Brian> Silence spreads across the battlefield.
<Brian> Breke cracks his neck.
<Brian> We'll declare combat over at this point, as the moon rises (strange, since it set less than ten minutes ago), and its light turns all the Dreadmarch on the field to dust.
<Brian> roll 8#1d6
<Chibi-Suu> them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 8#1d6 --> [ 1d6=2 ]{2}, [ 1d6=5 ]{5}, [ 1d6=5 ]{5}, [ 1d6=4 ]{4}, [ 1d6=4 ]{4}, [ 1d6=4 ]{4}, [ 1d6=5 ]{5}, [ 1d6=1 ]{1}
Bjorn looks down at his sword, and grimaces, unaware.
<Brian> Lammermore grunts, and staggers a bit; everyone feels dizzy.
Bjorn broadens his stance slightly, and shakes his head.
<Brian> "Well," Lammermore says in his Archon voice.  "That went better than I could have expected."
<Brian> Waving at the Dreadmarch encampment, he makes a rude gesture.  "Let's go back in," he says, surveying his spearmen.
<Bjorn> "It didn't go well enough," Bjorn says, flatly.
<Brian> Breke grunts, holding both swords in one hand and wiping at them with a cloth before he sheaths them.
<Bjorn> "One second, if you please," Bjorn says, and bends down to study the axe of the fallen general carefully.
<Brian> It's black, flawless steel.  When you look closely, it appears to have runes or something etched in the surface, though if they spell anything, you don't know what it is.  The general's body is melting into dust as you watch, leaving an empty, black suit of armor behind.
<Bjorn> Specifically, studying it for general quality, and to see if I recognize it as being of, say, Storm-rider manufacture.
<Brian> You've never actually seen a Storm-rider axeman, only swordsmen ... though, the runes DO look a little bit like the lineage markings that they use.
<Bjorn> Thoughtfully, Bjorn tries to see if he can lift the axe.
<Brian> You need to sheathe your sword, and it's murderously heavy.  You doubt you could wield the thing, but you can move it.
<Brian> It doesn't burn you or shock you, at any rate.
<Brian> Lammermore looks at it.  "Storm-rider make?" he asks.
<Bjorn> "I'd like to know that for certain," Bjorn replies.  "If someone is providing the Dreadmarch with reliable weapons..."
<Brian> "Not all of them," Lammermore replies, looking at the assortment of weapons that the orcs were wielding.  "But it is a grim possibility.  That armor looks beyond their normal quality."
<Brian> "Have your wizard look at it," Breke opines.
<Brian> "You've got one, right?"
Bjorn grunts. "It's bad enough if the generals are well-equipped. This one's armor was damn good. And both the armor and the axe *fit* him. Maybe storm-rider manufacture would be as good, but... I worry."
<Brian> Lammermore just grunts at him.  "Let's get back inside," he says.  "We'll look at it under proper light."
<Bjorn> "Nobody owns a wizard," Bjorn snorts.  "Who would want to, at that?  But yes, I know a few."
<Bjorn> "I think I have my hands full with the axe," Bjorn says, slightly apologetically.  "Can someone grab a piece or two of the armor?"
<Brian> The men gather up to haul the armor in -- it's pretty heavy stuff, a good half-inch thick.
<Bjorn> Bjorn nods his thanks, and then follows Lammermore back to the Keep.
<Brian> They're also pretty eager to be headed back into the keep, once you do so.
<Brian> Once you're through the doors, along with all of your men, the fires in the trenches dwindle and vanish, and the great doors are closed with a resounding 'thud'.
<Bjorn> 'We'll be back soon enough,' Bjorn thinks with dark humour.
<Brian> Lord Kevin looks, if not elated, quite pleased.  "Excelent work," he says, nodding at you, Breke (who followed you), and Lammermore, whose illusion fades just after the doors shut.  "If it's not too forward of me, Bjorn, methinks you need a better weapon, though."
<Bjorn> "A longer one, at least, would not go amiss, my Lord," Bjorn replies, with just a touch of irony.
<Brian> He nods.  "Ask Lord Ekim to make one for you.  If he wants compensation, I'll take care of it.  There will be a meeting in an hour of all the officers, and senior lorekeepers to discuss the battle today, and then we'll want to get some rest before tomorrow.  I'd like it if you could attend."
<Brian> Breke raises an eyebrow.
<Bjorn> Bjorn bows slightly.  "Certainly, my Lord.  I and Sir Breke will attend."
<Brian> "Good," he says, nodding.  "What are you carrying that axe for?"
<Bjorn> "It has merit as a trophy, for the morale of the men," Bjorn says, taking the opportunity to drop it and rest his arms.  "But it is also a very good weapon, and I want to know how the general of an army so supposedly ragtag came to be this well equipped."
<Brian> Kevin nods slowly.  "Something to consider.  Radagast may be able to glean something from it, as well.  Could you bring it to the meeting?"
<Bjorn> Bjorn looks down at it.  'Fuck.'  "Certainly, my Lord."  'Jesus.  Stupid shit.'
<Brian> "Thank you," he says, nodding.  "Lord Ekim is usually in the forge, behind the keep.  Until the meeting, I'll leave you to your own devices then."  He and Lammermore move to enter the keep.
<Bjorn> Bjorn bows after them.  "So," he says to Breke, "you want to come along while I visit the smith?"
<Brian> "He's that huge thing that feels like a rock?" Breke asks quietly, looking at you quizically.
<Bjorn> "I assume so," Bjorn replies.
<Brian> Breke ponders, and then nods.  "Yeah.  I'll carry that axe so you can handle the chains like you're supposed to.  I'd like to know what kind of weapon you're better at handling, anyway.  You treat that sword like a toy, when your reflexes say you know a better weapon."
<Bjorn> Bjorn grunts.  "My teacher'd kill me if he heard you say that," he mutters without thinking.  Passing the axe to Breke, he takes up the chains, and leads the way to Master Ekim.
<Brian> "Your teacher at the temple?" Breke says, grunting as he accepts the axe.  "Hammar, this thing is heavier than sin.  And I should know."
<Bjorn> "At least you didn't have to carry it in off the battlefield," Bjorn counters, and then grins.  "You have to carry it farther than that."
<Brian> You skirt around the keep, since you seem to remember the main hall being used as a site of revelry, and Breke would like to converse.  Most likely, you'd have to worry about people overhearing you if you went that route.
<Brian> "We've all got our rods to bear," Breke says solemnly.  "My own sin is the deceit I immerse myself in so freely.  My death will not be kind when it comes."
<Bjorn> "Then stop lying," Bjorn growls.  "Frankly, you were a fool for taking up the lie in the first place, and more fool for continuing it."
<Brian> "As is ever the way of pride," he replies indifferently.  "I've no doubt I'll deserve what happens."
<Bjorn> "I'm beginning to see why you had to cut a deal with a god to become a master swordsman," Bjorn half-snarls.
<Brian> You round the corner of the keep, and come across a large courtyard.  There's a good number of chickens digging through the dirt and straw lying around, and you can hear the occasional 'tink' of metal on metal from a building with smoke pouring out of its chimney.
<Brian> Breke grins.  "Maybe," he says.
<Bjorn> "And what would you do," Bjorn says, stopping dead, "if I told everyone about your secret?"
<Brian> Breke considers this, and frowns.  "Be angry," he said.  "It'd be difficult to deny.  I imagine people would think very little of me.  Maybe I'd leave."  He shrugs.
<Bjorn> "And if I told them that you were blind, not mad, but too proud to admit it?
<Bjorn> "
<Bjorn> *
<Brian> "I'd tell them the truth.  I'm no master swordsman at all.  I've just got swords that Aestock made for Hammar.  I can tell you've got skill ... and I envy that.  I used to be able to learn, before I gave my sight to Hammar."
<Brian> "Now?" he asks, shrugging again.  "I can't.  I took a shortcut, and am barred from true learning."
<Bjorn> "Barred?" Bjorn raises an eyebrow.  "Just because you're blind?"
<Brian> "I've been told my eyes still work," he clarifies.  "They react to light.  But some part of me that allows me to use them was taken away and replaced with the skill Hammar left in me ... or maybe it was the swords.  The part of me that could learn skill on my own went with it.  I can learn facts.  I can remember things.  But I cannot learn how to do new things.  I tried to learn weaving, once.
<Brian> "It seemed simple enough ... but each morning when I awoke, I'd forgotten how I'd done what I did the day before.  It was gone.  I remembered doing it, but the how ... was stolen from me.  And the blame?  My own pride."
<Bjorn> Bjorn grunts thoughtfully, studying Breke.
<Brian> "I've become a vessel of vengeance, of death.  I become trapped in my ways.  I feel that this is justice done to me for my sin."
<Brian> "Unfortunately," he says, smiling sardonically, "I'm good at what I do.  I don't foresee my own death any time soon."
<Bjorn> "Your sin?"  Bjorn asks.  "The 'sin' of asking Hammar to make you a master swordsman?"
<Brian> "The sin of pride, and sloth," he says.  "I had a teacher.  I could have learned myself.  But I was lazy, and felt I deserved better than to suffer.  I deserved merely to know.  So I bargained with Hammar.  A swordsman of insurmountable skill, even blind?  It seemed a good trade.  But my pride poisoned the bargain.  I wish I could have struggled, and suffered ... and looked at a sunrise every morning when I trained.
<Brian> "Instead, I woke one day, unable to see, and bested my teacher.  We declared my learning over at that point."
<Brian> He grins again, though his voice is a bit thicker.  "Ah, irony."
<Bjorn> Bjorn grimaces.  "Sloth and pride are sins, true.  But indulging them, tempting people into them...." He shakes his head, and sighs.  "I won't tell your secrets," he says, quietly, "but think carefully about them.  You've been taught the price of pride a hundred times over.  Don't pay it any more than you have to."
<Brian> Shaking his head, he says, "You're very wise, church man.  Thank you for indulging me in my confession.  Shall we meet this 'Ekim', now?"
<Bjorn> "I don't know," Bjorn says.  "Are you that eager to get the axe out of your hands?"
<Brian> "It is as heavy as sin," he repeats.
<Bjorn> "And you're eager to get rid of the one, but not the other?" Bjorn grins.  "Constancy is an important attribute, I'm told."  Taking up the chains, though, Bjorn leads the way to Ekim's forge without further ado.
<Brian> "I hope to retire when this is over," he muses quietly, just before you enter the doorway.
<Bjorn> "When it's over?" Bjorn says, choking down a hollow laugh.  "I could only hope."  Shaking his head, he steps to the door, and knocks upon the frame.
<Brian> Ekim is crouched next to the forge, as huge and hulking as before, though you've never been this close to him before.  He's got to be three meters tall, almost as wide, and looks like he's made out of stone with rusted steel wool for hair.  The forge fire is reflected uncannily in his eyes when he looks up from the weapon he's forging.  It looks like the blade for a halberd.
<Brian> "Hmmmm?" he grunts, his voice low and grating, like huge slabs of stone rubbing against one another.
<Bjorn> "My Lord Ekim?" Bjorn bows, respectfully.  "My name is Bjorn, and I am a vassal of Hammar.  Lord Kevin respectfully wonders if you could provide me with a weapon."
<Brian> "A man of Hammar," he says thoughtfully.  "And what's wrong with your sword?" he asks.
<Bjorn> "It is a bit short for my tastes," Bjorn says, "and the hilt is also a bit short.  I prefer a sword meant for the draw-cut, rather than for thrusting or chopping."
<Brian> "A long sword?" Ekim asks, his features drooping slightly.
<Bjorn> "A..." Bjorn hesitates, suddenly wondering how the word will come out.  "A katana, if you please."
<Brian> Ekim blinks, and Breke cocks his head to one side.  "What?" they ask together.
<Brian> "Eh, sorry," Breke says, shaking his head.
<Brian> "What kind of weapon is that?" Ekim asks.
Bjorn sighs inwardly. 'Worried about that.'
<Bjorn> Bjorn does his best to explain a katana -- the shape, its feel, and as much as what he knows of the smithing procedure as he can manage, with all due warning as to his level of knowledge in that regard.
<Brian> Ekim asks for a bit of clarification, specifically, for you to demonstrate with your hands what the length, curvature, and such would be.  Other than those few questions, he feels confident he can actually make the weapon you're describing.
<Brian> "I will have it ready for you before the moon sets again," he promises.
<Bjorn> "Thank you, my Lord."  Bjorn bows quickly, and then pauses.  "Actually, my Lord, if you could humor me for a moment by taking a look at this axe?"
<Brian> Ekim grunts, and takes the axe from Breke with one hand, handing it easily.  Then again, given that his hammer looks like a massive stone block on a stick, it probably weighs almost nothing to him....  "Hmm," he muses, in his low, rumbling voice.  "Sturdy make, at least.  Not made for human hands.  Hmmm....  This was not made over a forge fire.  It was crafted deep within the earth, over a vent of the earth's hot, boiling blood."
<Brian> He frowns very darkly, then.  "It bears a dwarven master crafter's seal on it," he adds.  "Where did you find it?"
<Bjorn> "I was afraid of that," Bjorn says.  "This axe was wielded by the general of this night's battle, my Lord."
<Brian> He grits his teeth, the fire in his eyes flaring brightly.  "Too small to be made for a dwarf, and we've never fought with such," he growls, barely even comprehensible, now.  "I am filled with shame and fury that my brethren could be seduced so.  I ask your leave to study this, and find who of my kind is responsible."
<Bjorn> "As you wish, my Lord.  Lord Kevin, also, wishes to know the answers to the same question.  If it will not bother you, might I wait here while you work?"
<Brian> He shakes his head, and the fire in his eyes dims, changing shade from an angry red to a calmer yellow, nearly orange.  "I do not mind," he says, setting the axe aside.  "I must speak with Lord Kevin and the others later.  Now, I will ready the metal to be crafted into your weapon.  We will finish after speaking to Lord Kevin."
<Bjorn> "Thank you, my Lord," Bjorn says, and moves out of Ekim's way.
<Brian> You see at this point that the anvil he's been using is actually a boxy, dwarf-sized, tower shield.  The base has thick spikes that look like it could be planted into earth or (if driven hard enough) stone.
Bjorn cocks an eyebrow at that, but says nothing.
<Brian> From a bucket to one side, he produces a few handfuls of steel, separating out what he perceives as the better material carefully, and then heating it.  Over the course of about a half-hour, he takes untempered steel, and turns it into raw stock, though he doesn't use his hammer for this; he puts it in the forge fire, then kneads it together like dough.

Once the tempered steel is set aside, Ekim nods sagely, and says, "Now, I must meet with Lord Kevin."  Rising, he frowns at the axe.  "May I carry that?" he asks, turning to look at you with a hopeful expression.

"Please feel free," Bjorn replies courteously.  Taking up Breke's chains, he waits for Ekim to be ready, and then leads the way to the council chambers.

Ekim trundles out of the forge, taking up his shield and hammer before doing so.  Once he's outside, and able to stand up straight, he rolls his shoulders, working kinks out of his stony muscles.  After a minute of this, he nods, and lumbers towards the keep.  The back door of the keep is not as great as the main doors in front, but they are still pretty big, so he doesn't need to hunker down.

Even though it would be faster to take the servants passages to the top of the Keep, they have a lower cieling, so he crosses the entire length of the keep, then ascends to the top, and THEN crosses again to reach Lord Kevin's door.  The guards (and there are about ten of them before Lord Kevin's office) look awed at him, and give him a wide berth, opening the doors as he approaches.

Bjorn now leaves this thread, and goes to Successful Mission (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=34807#34807).