Shu

Ban the User Above You

Banned for being beyond the Veil.

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What Are You Listening To?

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

There was single loud roar of pain as the last of the brigands fell, the larger half-orc that seemed to have lead the murderous bunch crumbled to the snow - blood pouring out from a gaping wound in his chest. The heavily armored swordsman had finally broken through the orc-blood’s armor and at his first opening delivered a deep wound that brought down the fiend. With a savage shout the man swung his blade down and with a keen slice cut the half-orc’s hideous head from it’s shoulders.

“Is that all of them?” asked one of the halflings, gripping tightly on his twin daggers as he looked around. Everyone was breathing heavily and a veil of paranoia hung low in the wake of the clash. After the loud - if short - cacophony of battle the sudden silence was rather jarring.

“I believe it is.” said the golden-haired Helmite as she sheathed her weapon.

“How can we be sure?” barked one of the swordsmen, eyeing the treeline like a hound watching for a fleeing hare.

“If there were others they would have joined their fellows,” the Helmite said loudly, “it seems these blackguards intended to overwhelm us quickly and precisely.”

“Which they failed to do.” chimed in the other halfling.

“We should not be so self-assure,” said one of the other hirelings, “we lost four of our number and the wagon driver. And we have several wounded.”

Everyone moved in close around the wagon, keeping their eyes peeled for any movement in the trees or along the river. The wounded were few, aside from Leon the large swordsman had a long, deep gash on his left arm which he gingerly tended on his own. Two of the other mercenaries were lightly wounded, one with a painful stab in his right forearm and the other with a deep bleeding gash on his forehead. Tending their wounds took just a few moments while the rest stayed vigil, once that was done however a heavy blanket of uncertainty seemed to fall on the whole group.

“What do we do now?” demanded one woman.

“We find this man of Hastlon’s.” grumbled the towering swordsman, still fussing with his freshly applied bandages.

“And if we cannot?” asked the wizard.

“Then we find the camp.” snapped the brute.

“It could be anywhere in these woods or hills.” protested the Helmite woman. “We cannot just blindly start wandering through the wilds!”

“You would rather we slink back to Chandlerscross like whipped dogs and turn away from the gold?” spat the armored man with a shake of his fist, followed by grumbles of agreement from those that stood near him.

“I do not fight for gold.” the woman retorted with a smirk and squinted brows.

“Fine then. I will take your share!” guffawed the large man.

“We must do something and soon, before darkness comes.” said one of the halflings.

“Silence.” hissed the wizard. “Do any of the rest of you hear something?”

Hands drifted to hilts and shafts as everyone began to look around, expecting another attack. There was the snapping of brush nearby and Iliskra turned her head to see a lone cloaked figure stumble out from the treeline just ahead of where the ambush had been staged. The figure looked around and spotted the wagon and the accompanying group just as one of the mercenaries raised a crossbow and took aim.

“Wait, no!” the figure shouted in a panicked voice, a man. The mercenary hesitated on pulling the trigger. By now everyone’s eyes rested on the new arrival and everyone was prepared to strike. Surely this one man was not so stupid as to try anything while so greatly outnumbered - unless this was a trick.

“Who are you?” demanded another of the sellswords.

“I would ask the same of you,” the man shouted back even as he raised his hands in a passive gesture, “I am in the employ of Chandlerscross, I was scouting these woods for bandits. And it seems…” The hooded man’s voice trailed off, Iliskra could see him looking over the scene of the fight from the short distance.

“It seems bandits there are.” the Helmite woman bluntly stated.

“Indeed. I heard the fighting from a short ways out. I arrived late to the fray I see.” the man nodded, “Now… who might you all be?”

“We too are in the employ of Chandlerscross,” the Helmite had taken it upon herself to be the lead it seemed, “a nobleman from the city asked that we deliver this wagon of supplies to an encampment just past Scarsdeep.”

“A nobleman from Chandlerscross… and an encampment.” the hooded man repeated.

The Helmite and several other stray members of the group nodded.

“I see.”

“Might you know of such an encampment?” the woman queried, “It will most likely be rather hidden, perhaps in the woods very close?”

“Well, actually, truthfully,” the man said carefully, lowering his hands slowly, “I am also supposed to be keeping my eyes out for a wagon and a group of hirelings meant to deliver it to an encampment that I happen to know of - aside from hunting for bandits. Of course my lord was very clear that I needed to be sure and not accidentally lead any strangers or undesirables to his… hunting camp.”

“Might your lord be Hastlon?”

Iliskra could see the man smile beneath his hood, “That he is.”

How high can we count before a mod gets involved?

337

How high can we count before a mod gets involved?

331

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What Are You Listening To?

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

Impressive. Maybe there is more to that chattering man then. Iliskra thought with a raised eyebrow.

“To the right!” the Helmite woman shouted from where she stood not far from Iliskra.

Iliskra turned her head spotting two crossbowmen standing off the right side of the road, risen up from behind a fallen, rotting tree that was just large enough for the pair to hide behind. There were two low thunks, Iliskra reacting fast enough to duck to her left side as a bolt whisked past, the other bolt bouncing off of the front of the Helmite’s raised shield.

“I’ll take the right!” the Helmite woman shouted, she and Iliskra surging forward, weapons raised. The two men cast aside their crossbows and drew their short-swords, leaping over the log to meet their opponents. The Helmite slammed her shield against her opponent’s chest, sending the brigand stumbling back as she moved it to strike. With a savage shout the other man swung at Iliskra, the half-elf brought her mace up to block his strike successfully. With a graceful spin Iliskra twirled behind the man and brought her left arm around and plunged her dagger into the his right shoulder blade. The bandit shouted in pain, managing to cling to his sword but buckling at the knees and impulsively grabbing behind himself as Iliskra pulled her blade free. Iliskra raised her mace up and then swung it down hard and with a sick crunch cracked open her foes’ skull, blood pouring as he weakly groaned and collapsed into a heap. Iliskra knelt down, slipping her dagger down against the fallen brigand’s neck and with a sharp jerk slit it open at the side.

Iliskra looked around, watching the Helmite woman slay the other crossbowman with four savage strikes to his chest - the man’s last sound a wheezing cry for mercy. With a quick glance between them the two women rushed back in closer to the wagon, Iliskra looking over the scene of the battle. Another of their number lay dead, the other male dwarf lay in a puddle of blood amidst the clash along the left side of the road - his kinsman madly swinging his twin axes nearby splintering through a brigands’ rickety round shield. Two of the bandits lay dead, Iliskra watching as the shadowy wolf-thing that the masked man had summoned tackled another of the brigands down into the snow, pouncing on the screaming man and tearing at his face. The large human in the horned helmet and heavy armor was locked in a vicious duel with one of the half-orcs, both grunting and growling fiercely as they swung their broadswords at each other in a flurry of both well-performed attacks and wild flails like a greenhorn woodsman at his first tree.

Two of the mercenaries rushed at the other half-orc, both armed with longswords and sturdy kite shields. The half-orc’s long, strong arms gave it the advantage as well as the reckless charge of the two humans - with a single two handed swing of it’s broadsword the half-orc cleaved one of the mercenaries’ heads clean from his shoulders, his head then flying free from it’s helmet as both sailed into a snow patch. The other man hesitated as his fellow was so easily felled, giving the half-orc an opening. With a snort the brute swung his sword - once, twice, and then a third time, each blow barely blocked by the humans’ shield. Using the pommel of his sword the half-orc batted aside the shield and with two more savage strikes flayed open his smaller opponents’ chest killing him.

Iliskra suddenly heard a chanting-like sound from nearby. She turned her head to see the wizard standing at the front of the wagon making a spiral-like motion with his hands that resembled a spinster working her wheel as he chanted some incantation. There was a bright flash and the wizard made an outward thrust with both hands in the direction of the melee, a dozen or so bluish “darts” of magical energy burst forth into the air and raced toward the cluster of fighters. Several people on seeing the incoming magical attack leapt into the snow for cover only for the bolts to pass them by and race straight for the half-orc that had just killed the two swordsmen. The brutes’ yellow eyes widened as he stood frozen in place his hands gripping his sword tightly - he had no idea of what to do. The blue bolts all slammed at the same time into the brigands’ chest with a crackling flash of more magical energy - the half-orc bellowing in pain as his feet was lifted from the ground and he flew back into the snow with a loud whump. The half-orc did not move, the wizards’ spell striking him down with ease.

A wave of dismay seemed to wash over the brigands as they realized their numbers had quickly shrunk and their advantage was lost as the mercenary defensive line rallied together and began to drive back their attackers. Two more of the brigands were quickly cut down by the invigorated defenders and the shadowy creature that the masked man had summon had finished off his first victim. Now all that remained were three of the human brigands and the other half-orc that was completely focused on bringing down his sizable adversary.

S A M A Y O K E N

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S A M A Y O K E N

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カッコーが鳴かないなら、殺してしまえ。」

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A C T O N E

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“Tatsuoki sama is nowhere to be found! Has he fallen?”

This cry carried through the air over the chaos below. The hot, late summer sun glared down from above like a single blazing eye of a discontent god as a great battle raged. Nobunaga, head of the Oda of Owari, had for the last fourteen days lain siege to Mount Inaba and the grand castle that sat perched atop it - the stronghold of the Saitō, rulers of Mino. Early this very morning the Oda had finally made a daring move, marching their armies up the mountainside in an attempt to take the castle in an onslaught. Saitō Tatsuoki, head of the clan, ordered his men to the walls and the defense of Inabayama. Tatsuoki’s advisors believed that a single vicious defensive effort would drive the Oda forces back where they could then be routed and pummeled down the face of the mountain and scattered to the forests. “Let them flee back to their lands where we then may finally defeat the Fool of Owari and crush his insolence and his people!”

At first things seemed well enough. The Oda army trudged uphill, at a great disadvantage as Inabayama’s defenders rained arrows and stones down upon them. It was then that a terrible explosion shook the whole castle and a fire broke out in the keep. Fearing a hidden attack Tatsuoki’s commanders ordered half of the defenders to fall back to the interior and moments later the front gates of the castle came swinging open to everyone’s dismay - Oda spies it was revealed had snuck over the walls earlier and cut a path to the gatehouse. The Oda war drums thundered and in mere breaths Nobunaga’s army stormed the keep, quickly overwhelming the shaken defenders. Swordsmen scurried along the walls, cutting down Inabayama’s now vulnerable bowmen as Oda and Saitō samurai clashed in a bloody fray in the courtyard. Tatsuoki himself was nowhere to be seen, an angst quickly spreading among the castle as Oda forces were not only overtaking the interior but many of their warriors had forced their way through the fighting and were entering the tenshu itself. It was well-known that in recent months Saitō retainers had defected to Nobunaga’s side amid his long war with Tatsuoki - and who knew how much about Inabayama’s makeup and defenses the betrayers had shared with their new master.

The fighting’s ferocity grew even as the battle began to enclose around the tenshu at the heart of the castle. Blood soaked the dirt turning it to reddish mud and bodies were piled with little space between them - most of them were fallen Saitō samurai and infantry. The most steadfast and unwavering of Tatsuoki’s sworn held their ground, willing to die as true samurai in defense of their lords’ domain even as the Oda encircled them slowly. They hacked and flayed Nobunaga’s men, teeth bared and eyes burning with fire from within their helmets even as they collapsed one after the next. Among them was Ikari Masato - head of the Ikari household and one of the Saitō’s most courageous vassals. He had served Tatsuoki’s father Dosan sama and now he would die for Dosan’s son it would seem. The castle and the mountain were surrounded and aflame, and the Oda army vastly outnumbered the Saitō. The last thing Masato would hear on the battlefield would be the call for Tatsuoki before three arrows flew into his chest, felling him among his fellow samurai. He felt himself being dragged, thinking it first to be a physician retrieving his body, then perhaps the terrible Oda planning to humiliate and mangle his dying form. No - it was his son and daughter, Ichiro and Natsumi, both their faces coming into view as Masato struggled to see. His breathing was painfully ragged and he tasted blood in his mouth, his head ached and throbbed and his ears were filled with a shrill whistling. The arrows had gone deep and Masato’s chest roiled with pain so great he could not scream or even groan. His mouth hung open, words catching in his throat as his eyes moved between his son and daughter - their agonized young visages running with tears. Masato turned his head and struggled to look around, he was inside somewhere but he could hear the battle close by still. He was laying on hay and he smelled horses - the stables near the tenshu.

“I told you… stay inside.”