The Warlord

[Ithildur]

((A straightforward exercise in combat narrative writing off of a log, but I hope the players involved will remember it and enjoy, though it's blatantly from Corwyn's perspective for the most part. It was memorable and scary for a party of lvls 1 to 3 and relative newcomers to ALFA, with Corwyn being the highest at ftr4/wiz1. Fun looking back now.))


"Fall back!" came the shout of Alaelsar suddenly to the party, a second after Corwyn saw the creature. The others turned their heads quickly to the west, just to the crest of the hill barely out of bowshot from Nashkell, that the hobgoblins had come charging over. Mere seconds ago they had quickly dispatched several of them and even a shaman of their kind, but the brute that now came charging down the hill at them was no ordinary hobgoblin.

It was clad in heavy armor and carried a gigantic shield, and wielded a longsword that looked every bit as sharp and effective as the one in Corwyn's hand. More alarming than the armor and weapon however to Corwyn's sharp elven eyes, was the rippling musculature and size of the goblinoid. Clearly this was the leader of the war party, a fell foe who's strength and skill could not be taken lightly. A warlord, as some would call it.

"Corellon, help us," whispered Corwyn as he ran towards the brute, now only a few paces away and bearing down hard on Gilim his dwarven comrade. Several things ran through his mind: the inexperience of the members in his party, the fragility of Jen Wa the sorceress, the unknown factor of the stranger who'd fallen in with their company in Cormyr, and a desperate concern for the well being of his three friends from Shadowdale. "I cannot let them fall... this trip... if I do not come through, they may all die here in the Sword Coast..."

He would bear the brunt of the brute's attack, fending off it's thrusts and slashes and keeping it busy while Gilim flanked the monster and the others pelted him with spells and missiles. It was their best recourse for now, he felt, as the most experienced member of the group in spite of only wearing chain mail. He thought briefly of the magnificent plate mail that he'd recently aquired from Nicha, taken by the slaver Samiir along with most of his possessions, and gritted his teeth as he drew his shield.

"I MAKE YOU BLEED!!!" roared the Warlord in broken Common, but none found the sentiment amusing, as it managed to land a solid bladestroke at an unprotected part of the dwarf's plate mail even as it dodged his axe. Corwyn saw the flash of red dwarven blood, and a wave of both rage and fear surged in him. He forced himself to face the brute as an arrow from the stranger Derek bounced harmlessly off of it's armor.

"Good gods... this thing doesn't even need the armor," thought Corwyn as he swung his blade and felt the density of the hide underneath metal he struck. He managed to smile grimly to himself as both Alaelsar and Jen began casting their magics at the Warlord, multiple rays of cold that would have killed lesser creatures within seconds. Perhaps the group had more moxie than he'd suspected in spite of their lack of experience.

"SMASH YOU DOWN! DOWN!!" bellowed the Warlord, enraged by the cold rays, and swung hard again, not at Corwyn as he'd hoped, but Gilim again. The strike found it's mark again on the well armored dwarf somehow, and blood flowed again along with a grunt from Gilim. Corwyn knew he was hurt, and badly.

"Damn you.." muttered Corwyn as he swung hard, and landed a blow that he was sure would draw blood. Instead his hand only went numb from the impact. Whether he'd hit hide or steel it did not seem to matter; the creature was not harmed in the slightest by this blow. He took small comfort as the attack managed to take it's attention off of Gilim and onto him for the moment, giving the dwarf a moment to quaff a restorative potion. Gilim immediately charged back into the fray, still bleeding.

Corwyn had fought a fair number of fights, both as a member of the elven branch of the Deepingdale militia and as an 'adventurer' in his travels, but slowly increasing alarm began to set in as he realized this was the most difficult foe he'd met in hand to hand combat. The two casters hurled ray after ray, until all their magicks were nearly spent; the stranger's arrows glanced harmlessly off the hobgoblin or fell harmlessly to the ground, clearly betraying him as a neophyte adventurer; and Gilim and Corwyn's blows repeatedly glanced harmlessly off of the creature's armor, shield, or hide again and yet again.

In desperation he tried an old trick, one that had served him well many times and had taught himself. He dropped his guard completely, and baited the hobgoblin to strike recklessly.

"Come on, take your best shot!" he taunted. He did not feel particularly cocky or confident at the moment, as his arms and legs were trembling with oncoming exhaustion and a feeling he did not wish to think about, but he was desperate. It worked. The Warlord turned on him furiously, swinging wildly and using his shield sloppily, leaving himself open to a well timed attack by Gilim from behind. Instinctively Corwyn switched the grip on his blade to fight defensively, skillfully avoiding the slashing sword as he awaited Gilim's axe to strike true.

But it did not happen. Gilim swung his axe in his own fury, but could not connect with a harming blow. Seconds that seemed like minutes or even hours went by, sweat pouring profusely down the foreheads of each member of the group, and still the Warlord stood, raining down bladestrokes upon Corwyn.

"I MAKE YOU BLEED, SKINNY ELF!!" roared the Warlord at Corwyn. Another ray struck from one of the casters, making him flinch a bit.

"You're going down!" spat Corwyn back in reply, answering with his own blade. But a moment later he realized with dismay that the casters had begun firing arrows and bolts at the goblinoid... they had run out of spells. Still the Warlord stood, attacking relentlessly. Finally he connected, and blood spurted from Corwyn's left arm. The gash was not large, but it jolted him.

"POUR IT ON!!" Corwyn shouted at the top of his voice, as much to encourage himself and his fatigued limbs as much as to direct the others. "FLANK!! FLANK HIM GLIM!!" he bellowed, thoroughly disliking shouting orders to his friends; it reminded him of the Deepingdale militia officers.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl; for a moment corwyn fought numbly, instinctively, his body begining to ache all over... would this fight never end?! His thoughts drifted for a split second, and the image of a dark face with lilac eyes came to him: Lak'shmi.

"ARGH!! SMASH YOU!! SMASH YOU DOWN!!" the Warlords repetitive cry snapped him out of his momentary distraction, just in time to see it's blade cut Gilim once again, then once more still. This would not do, Corwyn decided. He would have to go on the offensive.

Quickly he pulled out a prepared scroll while the hobgoblin was turned to Gilim, and read the mystic writings releasing it's power; a shielding spell surrounded him with the extra protection he would need while he changed his grip back to a more offensive mode. Narrowing his eyes he swung his blade. Arrows and bolts from the other three sang in the air, still ineffectual against the heavily protected foe.

At last! Corwyn felt the satisfaction of his blade finding soft flesh somewhere and drawing blood. It was not a large wound, but still, the monster's blood had finally been drawn.

But the battle did not end then, nor indeed did it seem as if it would ever end. Alaelsar in desperation cast a summon which brought forth an agressive creature to at least absorb some of the Warlord's attacks. Glim was taking a punishment slowly, the Hobgoblin seeming to save the worst blows for him.

Suddenly Corwyn heard Alaelsar cry out, "Stay at range!!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw the stranger, Derek, his name he recalled, put away his bow and draw blade and charge the Warlord. "He has courage, but... the fool!" thought Corwyn to himself, seeing the lightly armored man charge towards them. He seemed to find a vulnerable spot in the Warlord somehow, and struck with precision drawing blood. Before Corwyn could sound a warning, the Warlord spun and struck Derek with a slash that made a sickening sound, causing blood to gush like a small river from his side. He fell to the ground at once, unconscious. The Warlord sneered as he calmly drank a potent looking potion, which seemed to seal up most of his wounds and restore him almost completely. Corwyn quietly muttered a curse as he deflected another slashing attack, looking desperately for someone to come to Derek's aid.

Alaelsar sprinted towards the fallen man, and applied something that seemed to staunch the flow, then resumed firing from distance. "He's stable," he said calmly, not pausing for a moment as he reloaded his bow. "Die, bastard!" he shouted as he fired.

On and on the battle went, seemingly endless... the longest single fight Corwyn had ever been in, or heard of. Jen Wa and Alaelsar's bows began to find their marks, and slowly the Warlord was beginning to resemble a walking pincusion. But he simply produced yet another powerful potion and shrugged off the effects of the wounds, to the dismay of the party. A spell of brilliant colors was cast by Jen Wa which stunned the Warlord for some precious seconds. The bows continued to sing, Gilim's axe swung, and the two blades clashed again and again as the Warlord continued to repeat his mantra: "I make you bleed!!" Corwyn's protective shield spell had worn off a while ago. Still the fight raged on. Corwyn resumed a defensive mode as the summoned animal was gone and Gilim had to retreat to hurl thrwoing axes, being badly beaten and out of potions. Still the fight raged on, Corwyn now the sole focus of the Warlord's furious slashing attacks. He continued to spar alone with the Warlord, the lean muscles in his arms throbbing with agonizing fatigue.

Suddenly, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The Warlord had apparently consumed it's last potion, and decided that it had enough, and wished to live another day. He turned and ran back over the hill without a word. Corwyn started pursuing it in fury with a shout, but stopped himself near the top of the hill. An ambush, or a trap? Perhaps there are others not far away, he thought. He looked back at the others, Derek still unconscious on the ground and Gilim badly bleeding, realized they were low on curatives, and needed to regroup.


"He will be back though," Jen Wa muttered, panting with exhaustion.

"Aye," Corwyn agreed, and glanced at the others with a mixture of relief and concern.

"Heal... now," suggested Alaelsar succinctly.
"I'm... out," muttered Gilim, holding up empty potion bottles stained rusty red with his own blood.
"No more potions," replied Jen Wa, faintly trembling.

Corwyn looked around, expectant that the Warlord would return at any moment with reinforcements in tow. He looked back once more to the hilltop where the hobgoblins had come from, but did not have the heart to ask Alaelsar to scout for more of them at the moment.

"We need to heal up Derek," he stated, producing a bottle whose contents he poured down the unconscious man's throat. Derek opened his eyes, and slowly sat up.

"Back to town. GO! Follow me!"

The Warlord would have to wait... Corwyn gritted his teeth as he jogged back towards Nashkell.

[valn99]

Aaaah, the memories!!

Seeing the Warlord charching from over the hill, I was stunned at my keyboard for a few seconds. It was obvious it wasn't your regular Hob.

That was the toughest fight of Jen's short life. It made me smile reading about it now, but back then, it was scary as hell. And frustrating, seeing that Warlord quaffing potions after potions!!

Stranded in Nashkell with almost not money left, we really thought our trip to WD had crashed to an end.

Great writing, Ithildur!
Thanks!


valn

[wvincenti]

Thank goodness they're heavily armored and not terribly gifted with a sword. Those warlords would really be a nightmare then.

Thanks for posting this I remember Glor's first epic battle with one too.
They leave an impression that's for sure.

-Bill