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 Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof

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Horatio
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PostSubject: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Mon 19 Jul 2010 - 21:53

Aurel plodded along noisily, creaking and clanking loudly despite his negligible late. "The stones are close now," he stated in his otherworldly voice, "I can feel their pull". Klaudiusz nodded. He felt it too, an insistent tugging in the direction they were headed. It was strange to feel anything at all after so many centuries without an earthly body. Something in this new form of his longed for the presence of concentrated magic. The very fiber of his soul ached to grasp those shimmering, green wyrdstones. They were close now. So very close.
He gestured to the clock tower that was tall enough to be visible above the rooftops. "It is my belief that we will find our quarry there. Let us proceed cautiously; surely we are not the only ones who seek the stones. It is best we complete our search swiftly".

With that said, Klaudiusz sent his skeletal pawn, a weak-souled rake they had discovered along the road, to secure the tower proper. His progress would be slow without the direct force of his command, but his bow might have found some use from such a high vantage point. The rest of Klaudiusz skeletal host arranged themselves in two loose columns, ready to fan out at the merest hint of trouble. The Manifested, slightly eery even by Klaudiusz's standards, positioned itself in between the skeletal archer and the main column, ready to sweep forward through stone and air alike.

At Klaudiusz's signal the column marched forth, moving hastily towards the central plaza where there sixth sense pulled them. The Manifested floated through a building, coming out of the other side within sight of a wyrdstone shard! The skeletal archer climbed a ladder to reach a rooftop position, but no targets presented themselves.

"Is that movement I spy?" asked Zigmund, hefting his skull-topped mace in the direction of a rooftop across the square. Klaudiusz looked just in time to catch a flash of deep blue ducking beneath the parapet. An arrow collided with his shield with a hearty thunk. "Yes, I believe it is" he replied, plucking the white feathered shaft out and snapping it in half.

------------

"Smartly now, men! Come on! Form up!" Doriano called, livid at his men for how poorly they had maneuvered thus far. He glared disdainfully at Ponzio, a bowmen who had been failing to climb a lattice covered wall for nearly two minutes now. Surely, they could do better. This was no way to run a successful foray into the deeper blocks of Mordheim! They had traveled all the way from their native Tilea for this moment, and Doriano di Rocuso would not let his own foolish men scupper his plans.

Chastised, the Cobalt Condotierri moved swiftly into the central square, forming up in ranks against the oncoming skeletons. Holding the center line were the two duelists Doriano had hired, the garrulous Bonifacio and his taciturn companion, Osvaldo. Supporting them were the two youngbloods. Doriano had told them to stick close to the expert fighters, hoping that they would learn from example. Holding the left were the twin spearmen, Elmo and Orsino, supported by Tenento Giovanni. Finally, they were done, and the men slowly fell quite. All was still...

...But only for a moment. "Do you hear that?" asked one of the younglings, Guerino. Growing louder and louder until their deathless foes were singing something: an ancient dirge in a long forgotten tongue. Their hymn became louder and louder, and was soon joined by the heavy sounds of their footsteps. Guerino shivered, glanced side to side, his eyes white with terror.

------------

Klaudiusz's Conquerors charged like a detachment of heavy cavalry, starting at a walk but steadily gaining speed. The line collided with a crash of steel and wood. Aurel found himself laughing between the words of the battle hymn after catching the glimpse of fear in the eye of the younger human before him. With a casual flick of his sword Aurel turned aside an incoming club, deflecting the blow and reversing the momentum of his blade. He followed through with a slice downwards downwards, which cut the poor lad mid shoulder. The human dropped to his knees, his eyes going dim as his lifeblood ran from a mortal blow. A spearman stepped into the felled lads place, only to be met with Aurel's venerable shield. He dropped to the ground unconscious.

To Aurel's left, the Grave Guard Sebastian had met a more able opponent, a cloaked human with an outrageous haircut. He charged forth, sword raised over his head. Downwards he swung, only to find that he had connected only with the agile warrior's cape. Sebastian's adversary was quick to capitalize on his mistake, smashing his spinal column and punctuating the blow with a punch that sent his upper body careening back, disconnected from his pelvis.

Klaudiusz found himself in a similar plight. Though not physically damaged, his momentum had been stopped by another caped combatant brandishing a sword and dagger. The two jabbed back and forth, but neither found an opening in which to strike. This was only a momentary step back for the Barrow Lord, for with a fury of blows the duelist was laid low. Three slashes crossed his chest at a rakish tilt.

As the battle continued, Klaudiusz could feel their initial momentum being drained away. Though the sides were roughly evenly matched thanks to the remarkable talents of the twin duelists, the Conquerors could not afford to lose too many members: they were few enough as it was! When even Aurel caught a nasty blow to the skull and Boris was smote by the enemy lieutenant, Klaudiusz sounded the retreat.

------------

A disheartening defeat to be sure, but on the whole the band had profited. The skeleton archer that Klaudiusz had all but forgotten had stumbled upon a wyrdstone shard and managed to hold on to it, despite having walked off a rooftop to retrieve it. Damage was minimal with the notable exception of the colossal Boris, who suffered a blow that strangely left him unable to move when the air grew moist. Aurel, the champion of the day, was injured only in pride; he brooded over his defeat at the hands of Bonifacio nigh constantly. The warband managed to collect 3 lucky charms, plus the remains of a warrior of old, who Klaudiusz resurrected to fill the gap left by Sebastian's death. The Conquerors had little to show for their efforts so far.

"To the victor go the spoils" said Dante sardonically, The Condotierri might have repelled the undead, but they had utterly failed to find the wyrdstones they needed. Nevertheless, the band was able to find a replacement for Guerino, a local lad named Thorben. Also, a chance encounter with a Tilean duelist by the name of Lorenzo led to the man joining the warband. Cirino, the bands other youngblood, had been savaged by his opponents and now found himself with two sever chest wounds. All in all, Doriano's venture had led to little wealth: only 2 gold crowns!


Last edited by Horatio on Mon 26 Jul 2010 - 15:32; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Fri 23 Jul 2010 - 18:54

This is a well written report as well. I hope there are more to come.

Edit: Did I miss the dwarfs?
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PostSubject: Re: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Sat 24 Jul 2010 - 3:03

Well written & interesting! Better than some of the published Black Library books ive picked up over the years..!!
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PostSubject: Re: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Sat 24 Jul 2010 - 5:13

A FINE Tale, hopefully the first of an EPIC series.
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PostSubject: Re: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Mon 26 Jul 2010 - 15:31

Ah, I hadn't noticed any responses to this, and thus hadn't been keeping such close track of events!
Dwarves are involved in this campaign, but not in that battle report.

I appreciate your praise! I'll probably have another one of these reports up by tomorrow morning! Maybe I could even take some photos this time, though my terrain is jerry-rigged at best.
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PostSubject: Re: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Thu 29 Jul 2010 - 7:18

I was just about to start this when I realized that I had a 25 page paper due yesterday. Ugh. Anyhow, comments and criticism welcomed as usual.

Quay Vadis?
It was a chilly Autumn evening, the breeze blowing briskly through the all but barren trees. Cool grays and light blues dominated the landscape. A body could have easily forgetten what color looks like in a long season like that. As if in spite of the mood, warm light and riotous laughter poured forth from the Merchant's Mug's every portal. As a high end alehouse conveniently located just South of the outskirts of Mordheim, the Mug welcomed only the finest clientele, fresh from their forays into the city proper. Treasure hunters are often worse than sailors when it comes to spending their wealth wisely, and the tavern's owners have no qualms about gouging them for every last crown of their ill gotten gains. Rumor has it that just looking at the establishments reinforced door could cost you an arm and a leg. Whether this was a figure of speech or just a reference to the Mug's extensive security is another question altogether.

It was in these merry environs that the dwarfs of the Golden Trove were enjoying the spoils of war. Having just won a glorious victory over a band of marauding Tilean, the lads happily cashed in a portion of their wyrdstone haul for some of the finer things in life. They made their assets “liquid” in the only way they knew how. Most of the troup was already soused, notably including Arvid and Lief, close friends and expert crossbow-dwarfs, who had taken to the tabletop arm in arm, dancing a hearty jig to the plaudits of the other patrons. Even Count Olof, the band's leader who was famous for his implacably dour mood, found himself pleasantly intoxicated as he quietly enjoyed the warmth of a nearby hearth.

Sensing that his mind was wandering, Olof turned to face the potential employer who sought his services. This balding human, vested in a green quilted doublet and worn white trousers, seemed ordinary enough at first glance. He sported a gray beard trimmed short even by mannish standards and skin the color of old leathers. Nothing too far from the ordinary. Nevertheless, Olof could not help but feel a wave of loathing sweep over him whenever their eyes met. Something about this newcomer was distinctly vile, though the dwarf could not pinpoint exactly what.

“What is it, again, that you would have us do?” Olof asked, subtly catching the eye of Ingvar, his second in command. The engineer laid down his tankard and shifted through the crowd.

“I have a certain... cargo, wooden boxes of significant weight, that I need loaded onto a riverboat. The craft is moored nearby, and the crates are hidden in a waterside shed. There are two boxes, each will probably require two men, dwarfs that is, to be maneuvered at any speed...”

“We are not a supplier of manual labor, sir.” interrupted Olof disparagingly.

“Yes, well, I could accomplish this myself, or with a hired man, but I fear that should I try to move these crates without a significant force at my back, I will be waylaid by rapacious fortune seekers. As if that weren't enough, I hear whispers of a band of skeletal warriors wandering this region of late.”
“Skeletal warriors? Bah! We've fought their like before,” the lord snorted. He paused to consider. “Alright then. My companion, Ingvar,” Olof gestured to the dwarf at his side “will negotiate a price on my behalf.” He directed his next words at the engineer. “Take Arvid and Jens, and escort this gentleman back to his vessel. We will be joining you just before sunrise.” With that said, Olof returned to contemplating the fire, utterly ignoring any complaints his new ward might have to offer.

~~~~~~~

Knut rubbed his temple gingerly as he peered out into the pouring rain. Funny, he thought, how the gray clouds and buildings reminded him of the granite and marble of his subterranean home. The clicking and clacking of cold droplets on the shingled roof played merrily in his ears as one of the group's trollslayers, Torvald. and he prepared to move the crates the band had been hired to carry. Behind them, Bjorn and Jari had been assigned a similar burden. Knut bore his half of the weight stoically, and, when the Count gave the signal, stepped promptly out onto the rain slicked boardwalk.

The party moved at full march towards their goal, a flat bottomed river boat that was now visible on the next pier. Knut readjusted his grip. The ache in his head from last night's soiree was getting worse, but the brash clansdwarf put the thought from his head. His brain might be swelling up like a watermelon for all he cared, Rediron dwarfs do not complain.

“My, it's a bit drafty” grumbled Torvald.
“Perhaps rain and bare skin do not mix so well after all, eh?”

Torvald's nostrils flared, his keen senses detecting a threat to the rear. The dwarf dropped the crate to the floor and deftly drew his ax. In a single movement, the slayer spun to face the threat, parried a blow and lashed out at what would be a man's mid section. The ax blade connected, but, unexpectedly, met little resistance. Moving from shadow to shadow, some sort of ghost had attempted a surprise attack, only to be betrayed by the grave-like chill that made it so deadly. The spectral apparition, apparently decked in chained mail and fighting kit, staggered back, caught off guard by the viscous assault. With a wail the horror stumbled sidelong into the wall it had emerged from and disappeared without a trace.

“Company!” cried Knut, dismayed to find a new, unpleasant wetness in the bowls of his rain garb.

~~~~~~~

“I am so dead! So dead, so dead, so dead!”

Lief was lost. Olof had ordered him to the rooftops to find an alternate way, not misplace it. What could he say? While Lief suffered from poor navigational skills to begin with, the swirling of the wind and rain around him had thoroughly confounded him. How was he supposed to find his way through a bleeding monsoon? Clattering from tiled roof to tiled roof like some sort of bumbling catburglar, Lief frantically scoured the area for his vanished company. Clearly, the quarreler thought, dwarfs are not meant to be this far away from the Earth!

~~~~~~~

“Careful, lads! Take your time!” Ingvar advised his detachment. Hearing the commotion from the main group, the three crossbow equipped dwarfs had deployed themselves along the dock, just a few strides away from the waiting boat. Each dwarf removed a quarrel from its sheathe and locked it into position. Within moments, all three had loaded.

“Too bad we don't have a cannon,” griped Arvid, gesturing at the small falconet reclining on the river boat's rail. It was a crude piece by dwarfish standards obviously, but every little bit would help.

“If you want to figure out how to dry out the powder, be my guest.” Ingvar commented, never looking away from the dock's edge.

The engineer's vigilance was soon rewarded. He was the first to notice the short column of skeletal warriors advancing onto the pier. Instantly a series of bolts were hurled at the newly exposed targets, only to clatter to the ground a little short of their marks.

“Tighten up those strings! We can't let this accursed damp keep us from shooting!” instructed Ingvar. To demonstrate he made some minor adjustments, reloaded, and fired a second shot which catching one of the closest skeletons in the shoulder . The creature toppled to the ground, but wa barely affected, the walking corpse righted itself and continued to advance. The engineer noted the the relative clumsiness of their gate. The other, armored, skeletons seemed to be using those ground pounders as cover. “Interesting” he muttered, then calling out once more: “aim for the second rank! Odds are you'll hit one of the dogs anyhow, but it might as well be an important one.”
Properly edified, the dwarfs reloaded and took new targets.

~~~~~~~

Warned by the ethereal manifestations failed assault, Olof was not the least bit surprised when he came face to mortified face as the main formation rounded a corner directly in front of him. Marching in perfect synchronization, the skeletons clanked and creaked into battle lines: four of the warriors formed a line facing the dwarfs, raising there worn wooden shields and creating a barrier, both visual and physical. Another group continued onwards, headed towards the boat and Ingvar's quarrelers.

Olof considered his options. Torvald and Knut were still in the process of lifting the crate that they were to carry. That left Bjorn, Jari and himself to charge immediately: not enough if they wanted to break through the entire enemy force. A formal advance no longer tenable, Olof analyzed his surroundings for an alternate route. More promising than the sheer walls of the building to his left was a moldering, old wooden raft tethered to the quay not three paces away.

“Bjorn! Jari! Get yourselves aboard that raft! Now!” he hollered.

The two dwarfs moved to the edge as quickly as their freight would allow. Bjorn was the first to climb aboard. His companion, waiting above, hastily dropped the precious cargo into his waiting arms, then hopped aboard himself. The sopping wet wooden planks creaked under their combined weight, but held firm, allowing Jari to set his sights on the problem of locomotion. Using a knife, he cut the rope tying the vessel to the dock, but the raft wasn't going to move itself, at least not in any direction they intended!

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed, unbuckling his rucksack and removing the shovel that was tied to its top. Using the digging instrument as a makeshift oar, Jari began to pull their impromptu vessel towards the river boat.
Meanwhile, Bjorn found himself equally busy. Noticing the dwarfs' escape attempt, two of the armored skeletons attempted to vault aboard the now free floating platform. One, an enormous specimen with an immense two handed sword, was met mid leap by the Bjorn's glimmering battle ax.

In a rage, Bjorn turned to swing his weapon at the second foe, an agile skeleton in tattered mail who had successfully leaped onto the raft: a valiant effort, but the ax's blade had become tangled in the rib cage of the felled warrior. Bjorn deftly slipped the ax free, but the grave guard wasted no time in rewarding Bjorn's momentary misfortune. With a powerful thrust, the skeleton ran the trollslayer through, immediately granting him the honorable death he so desperately sought.

With a final gasp Bjorn splashed into the water and sunk like a stone, leaving little but a handful of bubbles rising to the surface. Jari, turning about, prepared to avenge his fallen partner, only to find himself overcome with terror as Bjorn's murderer advanced upon him. Suddenly, with a resounding yell, Count Olof was there. The dwarf lord hurled himself forcefully onto the deathly menace, pulverizing it's skull with the pommel of his dwarf-crafted ax. Jari stood back, awestruck by the terrible apparition of his leader. Nonchalantly, Olof Grayoath, veteran of a hundred battles, skillfully secured his weapon to his back. He turned to the freshly promoted clansdwarf.

“What are you waiting for? Let's get this heap of slag moving!”

~~~~~~~

One time, Lief could have sworn he heard movement. As he searched the direction it had originated from, he spied something. Another top floor wanderer, perhaps? Lief squinted his eyes and, to his surprise, found himself staring at a human being, though an exceptionally scraggly one at that. Why, it almost looked as if he had no meat left on his bones at all!

Noticing the dwarf, the emaciated vagabond shrugged whimsically. Lief responded with a hearty wave. “No doubt that poor fellow is just as lost as I am,” he reasoned aloud, “and it looks like he hasn't been down to the ground in months!”

~~~~~~~

“Well, the easy way is out of the question” chuckled Knut as Count Olof and Jari rowed themselves towards the waiting riverboat. Knut and Torvald looked at one another, then to the remaining undead guards: only two remained - the others being dead or approaching Ingvar's squad. In unison, their eyes locked a second time, a sly grin creasing their faces. Without a word, they dropped the crate so precious to their employer, leaving it to rot in the rain. Together, the pair charged gleefully at their waiting enemies.

Knut easily bested his foe, his superior skill with his trusty hammer allowing him to easily bypass the abomination's meager defenses. His bludgeon struck hard, and with a hearty “bokko” the skeleton was converted into an assortment of scattered bones.
Torvalds was not so lucky. Rather than crumbling before the dwarf's terrifying assault like so many others had, this horned helmeted ghast simply sidestepped the stubby little charge. With great dexterity, it swung a blunt instrument of its own into the back of the slayer's head, knocking him cold on the spot and sending his limp body skittering to a halt, face first. Knut, still barely more than a beardling, was suddenly taken by the notion that he could not handle such a skilled combatant.

Dishonorably, he turned tail and ran, not looking back until he could no longer hear the sounds of battle through the falling rain. The only thing that pursued him was the fell knight's mocking laughter, disappearing into the distance.

~~~~~~~

“One last volley, then brace yourselves! We must hold this line!” called Ingvar. The lads seemed to be responding well to his regimented leadership. Well enough considering there utter failure to slow the advancing column. It was logical enough that a speeding crossbow bolt would do little damage to a target without any flesh Ingvar wasn't overly upset by that. The engineer's only had one gripe. The only way to test that theory would be to actually hit the buggers: something Arvid and Jens failed to do time and time again.

The so-called expert marksdwarfs released their final projectiles, finally meeting some success. One of the armored skeletons, this one wearing a head dress that reminded Ingvar of a crudely crafted squid, was struck by one of their shots. The warrior was knocked from the quay and into the water, his sword and shield careening wildly through the air.

Obviously unconcerned by the loss of their champion, the undead horde marched briskly forward, their bleached craniums bouncing along at an even pace. Finally, their leader, an ornately garbed barrow dweller, lifted his wickedly curved sword. At this signal the front rank of thoughtless cannon fodder skeletons poured forward. The quarrelers held their ground. Using the butts of their finely tuned crossbows, the dwarfs beat back their inept swipes and ceaseless clawing. Ingvar, hefting a weighty adjustable wrench, clobbered one so severely that it was unable to stand up. A second fell to the combined attacks of Arvid and Jens.

The tide of continued to press relentlessly against the detachment. A skeleton with a rusting mace bashed Jens to the ground. Just a few feet away Arvid found himself in desperate combat against its macabre commander. He struck desperately, but no matter how inventive his angle of attack, the antediluvian champion's shield was always there to intercept, until, as if it had merely been toying with the poor treasure hunter, it slashed Arvid's legs out from under him

Deliberately, the woeful lord of the barrows turned his head. Lightning struck as steam poured from beneath its century old visor. Ingvar looked back and saw that the river boat had cast off from it's moorings. No doubt that dastard thought his life a more precious hall than whatever those boxes contained. Undeterred, the engineer loosed a bolt from his freshly reloaded crossbow, but it glanced off the horror's left pauldron in a shower of sparks. With less composure this time,he bent over his weapon, hurriedly attempting to load another round, but it was too late. The dreadful skeleton had begun its menacing approach, stepping ponderously over the mewling form of Arvid, and raised its weapon to strike out at the seemingly defenseless dwarf.

Suddenly, with a tremendous crack, the thing dropped to its knees, then crashed to the ground, a bolt quivering in between its shoulder blades.

~~~~~~~

His panic made all the keener by the thought of his own belly dwindling like his fellow explorer, Lief picked up his pace. Hopping across half a dozen odd rooftops and taking a multitude of wrong turns, the wayward marksdwarf wound up on a sturdy wattle and daub building facing the river. A newcomer to the scene, he took in the layout of the battlefield. Clearly, the tall, thin fellows were enemies! Lief drew his shouldered crossbow, cranked a bolt into place, and chose a target. Thunk! The projectile flew straight and true. With little delay it buried itself in Lief's targets back.

“Pshh, what a horrible shot” sighed Lief.

~~~~~~~

Without the commanding force of their leader, the remaining skeletons broke ranks and fled. Within minutes, there was no trace that any skirmish had taken place at all, assuming the observer ignored the pool of blood that had formed around Arvid's wounded leg. Olof had seen that kind of injury before. It would heal up clean enough, but the quarreler would never be as quick on his feet again.

Though Torvald and Knut's cargo had vanished during the chaos of the battle's conclusion, the remaining crate that Olof and Jari had guarded so valiantly was opened and searched by Ingvar the engineer. Amongst various odds and ends of relative worthlessness, the dwarfs were delighted to discover a wyrdstone fragment that would find significant value on the market. This, along with the dwarfs intuitive mining skill, five shards in total: a hefty find. Amidst their searches, the lads discovered a sheathe of hunting arrows, finely balanced, but of little use to the crossbow armed quarrelers.

Bjorn Cairnhand was given a quick and heartfelt funeral in the classic dwarfish style. Though no remains resurfaced for burial, kind words were said over the spot where he had disappeared into the abyss. With great solemnity, a tankard of fine ale was passed from dwarf to dwarf, each taking a sip before handing it to the next. Finally, when the vessel had met the lips of each of the band's members, its remaining contents were decanted out into the water: Bjorn's share. Torvald, the sole surviving trollslayer of the troop and a recent recruit himself, spoke of the risks and hopes presented by the Slayer's oaths. No doubt Bjorn's soul would be accepted by the ancestors, having fought fearlessly to the very end, and that gave them all a little piece of mind on that rainy dock.
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PostSubject: Re: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Fri 30 Jul 2010 - 6:07

Oooh, a rain swept pier, a dark night and dead things walking! The character Lief the Lost is very fun.
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PostSubject: Re: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Fri 30 Jul 2010 - 6:58

Von Kurst wrote:
Oooh, a rain swept pier, a dark night and dead things walking!

Sounds like where I used to live, although it didn't rain all the time.

ANOTHER FINE TALE...WELL DONE!
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PostSubject: Re: Klaudiusz, Doriano and Olof   Fri 30 Jul 2010 - 19:14

Thanks, thanks.

Lief the Lost is entirely accurate too. I kept trying to find ways to maneuver him to a covering position, but every time he would end up unable to. Then since he had a move or fire crossbow, I couldn't shoot at the skeletal archer wandering about up there as well.

Quote :
Sounds like where I used to live, although it didn't rain all the time
Aye, my mental image of this setting is largely derived from my girlfriend's old house.
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