Dogs of War - Ivesk

Somewhat encouraged by the success, the veteran steps forward swiftly, angling the glaive and thrusting yet again. Like before, he doesn't really bother looking around. No sense in holding back now. Another solid strike is all that's needed... and then they can focus on the flier and rider.


[dice]2884[/dice]


[dice]2885[/dice]
 
The vampire barely deflects your strike with one armoured fist and lashes out at you the other. The impact rocks you on your feet, knocks you back, but it seems your armour absorbed the bulk of it. Your unit is still assisting, and that's probably what saved you - a thorny nest of spears harrying its motions, the archers turning their attention to he flier and rider.


The giant is losing blood. One of you will die here.

Take 3 Condition damage. I suggest burning some Taint to boost Attributes as well as dice might not hurt. In the short term.
 
One thing was certain - the veteran wasn't about to go down without a fight. Well, he didn't plan on going down at all, but if it came to it, he'd make sure he could at the very least be said to have taken his enemy with him.

10 Taint for +1 Dexterity. Also raises Combat Pool, Offence, Defence and Dodge. Combat effectiveness improved quite a bit.


[dice]2902[/dice]


[dice]2903[/dice]
 
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The glaive sings in your hands and takes on a gold corona as you sever an arm from the monster, and your troops move in for the kill. In moment the flying one will be upon you.


And worse, you can see the rider now.


Off the coast, Forge fishermen sometimes catch huge fish with mouths full of teeth and cold, dead eyes. They say they will kill men, given the chance, and that they've seen them grow to twice the size of a man.


Scuttling across the plain towards you is such a shark of immense size, huge spidery legs grafted into its flanks, and in a saddle upon it is another vampire.
 
Despite all the years defending Holm's End, Ivesk still requires a short moment to take in the sight and wonder just how baffling and horrifying the Vampire's experiments can get. Only a short moment, however, as time to spare is not a luxury they have at the moment.


"Purifiers at the ready and brace yourselves!" He commands a number of his troops. As for the rest... "Eyes on the sky! The other one might land anywhere!"


As usual, he coordinates the soldiers as they shift around. It's not only useful, but a welcome distraction from the stabbing pains. And likely a lot of bleeding. He does a remarkable job of not checking. There will be time for it after the battle is over.


After everyone's ready, the veteran gets a bow ready - if need be, borrowing it from whoever looks less than able to fire it at the moment. If they lands at least one solid shot at the flying beast... well, it won't kill it for certain, but he might stand a chance of fighting it on the ground.


If it even lands.


[dice]2937[/dice]


[dice]2938[/dice]
 
Hm, if you can retreat up onto the hill, or into the forest, the cavalry might struggle to follow, giving you time to shoot.
 
Well, it certainly beats fighting an airborne opponent and a mounted one in open terrain. The forest would be the safer bet, but it'd make hitting the no doubt extremely mobile flier difficult - and it did slaughter the dedicated archers earlier.


"Move up the hill and form up there! Anyone with a bow, eyes on the winged one, try to keep it from landing on the top - but don't stop for too long."


This will be difficult... keeping one from landing, while moving with sufficient haste to make it high enough to make charging harder. In theory, at least - no telling just how spider-like the legs are. Hopefully it'll at least slow it down.


As for his own part, the veteran does as he commanded the few remaining archers to - mostly providing a distraction. But if he manages to get a good shot in, preferably in the wings, well. All the better.
 
The men begin to move. Cavalry that remain cover the flanks, and a few arrows take flight. Technically, those shooters should be disciplined for acting without orders, but really...


An open moment for you to fire comes, as the Vampire begins to descend.
 
Well, here it goes. Yet another situation where it's all about dealing as much damage as possible. But then, isn't it always with vampires?

Once again 10 Taint for +1 Dexterity, as the previous effect wore off.


[dice]3087[/dice]


[dice]3088[/dice]
 
Against all odds, it looks like you hit. A wing, at that. Maybe not too badly, but it's dropping faster and more sharply now. One advantage removed, perhaps.


Now it's just a matter of catching up with your men and preparing to meet the charging monster with your spears.
 
The veteran smirks as the arrow finds its target. Still got it.


Of course, there is no time to enjoy the knowledge that his skills aren't too rusty. It will have to wait just a few moments longer... well, assuming no more Vampires will appear after these two are done with. The wounds are getting really distracting, and the odd feeling of reinvigoration, while certainly pleasant, is also somewhat worrying. Just what exactly happened?, he wonders as he makes his way up the hill.


Quill will have a field day when he gets back, that much is certain.
 
Everyone is carefully ranked on the hilltop - spears pointing out and down, archers in the centre holding their fire until you catch up. Back in the thick of it, Magister-Sergant Gunnar tends you injuries while the rest wait for orders. The beast pauses - and you see the vampire mounted thereupon reach down to allow the flyer to ride behind it - before skittering forward again.

Thanks to Gunnar feeding you painkillers and applying some ointments, recover 5 Con and reduce any wound penalties by 1.
 
While certainly glad for a moment to catch a breath, the Major still has no time to waste. Even as Gunnar does his thing, Ivesk gives the rest their orders.


"Keep ready for the charge. You know the drill, the more wounded stand in the back row. Archers - keep firing until it gets too close. Stay back afterwards until further orders - the winged one might be faking and try to surprise us with sudden flight, so keep an eye on it too."


As soon as the medic is finished, the veteran takes his place at the front of the archer group, drawing his own bow - but ready to grab the glaive and join the fray when necessary.


One way or another, this should be over soon.
 
The volley of arrows sails out, rains down. The rider pauses, in a shower of loose, bloody earth.


And they run. They run! They retreat!


The men hold their cheers, hardly daring to believe it. Waiting.
 
Lowering the bow, then putting it aside and drawing the glaive instead, the Major waits with the others. This is... new. Baffling, really - and suspicious too. He may not have fought Vampires like this before, but he can't really imagine they'd be keen on retreating from open battle. I was usually the impregnable walls that discouraged them.


His new weapon seemed effective... but not nearly enough to justify this. It's still a mortal holding it, after all. And an aging one. They kill him and the glaive is no threat.


Maybe they're trying to bluff and circle around...


Or maybe there's something worse coming.


Better look around. The men can hold position for a moment longer.
 
No. They're gone. They fade into the evening sunset, and your troops break into ragged cheers.
 
And the commander joins in, after a moment of stunned silence. Words can hardly describe the relief and joy - and to list all the thoughts racing through the man's head would take a very dedicated scribe. The one repeating most often is the amazement at the fact they not merely won - the Vampires retreated. There was little doubt in the Major's mind that fighting together, the two monsters stood a chance of overwhelming the already thinned forces. At the very least, they would have taken down far too many with them for this to be counted as a victory, and he knew all too well how viciously the bastards could fight just out of spite and hatred.


But they didn't. They fled, and the aging officer wondered just how large of a contributor to it was the ornate glaive tied to his back.


Well. Frightening Vampires or not, it certainly saved his own life, and likely those of many soldiers. He would make a note to thank Vandal for it, but he had a suspicion the firstborn would be gone by the time the assault force returns to Holm's End.


But even that has to wait. Time to make a quick count of the losses, pay respects to the fallen, patch up those still alive... all the joys of the aftermath.


And of course still keep an eye out for a counter-attack. A big dose of caution, even if approaching paranoia at times, is always good.
 
The remaining cavalry make a point of spearing Kromsian corpses while surviving troops are hauled from the morass of blood and mud. A few are put out of their misery. A few put themselves out. The horses are given over to carrying the wounded.


For some reason, the most familiar faces make this feel more like a dream. Jarvis, unhurt but with an expression you can't name, stabbing bits of dead Vampire over, and over. Leanna cracking jokes and grimacing while her foot is sawn off at the ankle. Sergeant Veska is looking sick, clutching the ruin of her right arm.


"But we won, sir," she says through gritted teeth.


Lieutenant Carbus approaches you, salutes.


"Sir. All wounded accounted for. Dead tallied at... at eighty-four, sir. Orders?"
 
The Major sighs heavily. It's hard to tell which is worse - the loss of this many, or that it was expected. A counter-offensive against Kromsians without heavy casualties is unheard of. Something always goes wrong, so they say. This time was no different. Even so... can't help but wonder if it could've gone better. Best focus on what comes next, keep the thoughts away.


"Prepare a pyre."


This really isn't going to help the guilt.
 
A pyre is built. Songs are sung. Oaths of vengeance sworn and confirmed. What remains of your dead, your lost men and women, only ash upon the earth and smoke above.


Would Vandal know where those lives go, when snuffed out? The Quillers say life is like a fire, and simply uses itself up.


You and your soldiers turn for home. You have lost, but at least one Vampire lies dead for it. How many hundreds of years ended on the tip of your new weapon?


As you hove back into view of Holm's End, you see a plume of smoke rising from the forge-fires and cookfires.


Wait, no - that's a touch too much smoke. Maybe Ketcher set his lab on fire again. Thankfully, Holm's End is one of the more recent garrisons, built with fire control in mind.


Carbus, on your left, frowns anyway.


"I've got a bad feeling about this, sir."
 
Ivesk chuckles, though rather grimly. "Just the right thing to say, as always." He notes, picking up the pace. "It might be nothing big, but ready yourselves just in case. Remember: hope for the best, prepare for the worst."


It's amazing how helpful a saying like that is in H'Kaer.


With a bit of luck, the preparing won't be necessary this time.


At least it probably doesn't have anything to do with Vandal and the deal with him - the Firstborn would have left long ago, if he truly could.
 
No one on the walls, as you get closer. The smoke is denser. No hails, no flags. Silent. Dead.


As you circle round to an entrance, you can make out a smoking hole in the outer wall shaped vaguely like a man.


"Fuck's sake," Carbus mutters, just ahead in the trench. "No is opening the fucking door. We'll have to go in through that hole."


Bad sign - those entrances are made to be opened from inside only to prevent incursions, and if the usual all-day staff are not there to open it...
 
Holding back a curse, the officer nods and moves towards the hole. One day, the whole 'leading at the front' thing will get him killed. But probably not this time.


After all, he has a pretty decent suspicion as to what made the hole and what to expect. Clinging to hope he's not right won't really help matters. Damn it, if they tried to stop him and... damn it.
 
Through the steaming breach, the ground is scorched with black footprints leading from the doors to the garrison entrance. Bodies lie strewn near the opening. There is no blood, no obvious wounds on any of them from here. Weapons are still clutched in hand or dropped nearby. Ten bodies, in all.


Cries of anguish and muttered swearing bubbles up from the troops at your back.
 
Raising his hand to quiet the troops - just in case there is a foe lying in wait - the officer moves towards the doors. The terrible feeling gnaws stronger at his mind (and conscience) with every step he takes, and doubly so once he draws the symbol of the damned deal. If this is Vandal's doing... no, damn it, focus. It might be something else. No sense in cursing yourself out before making sure.
 
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