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Mercenary Mage Quest: Asur Dogs of War in Warhammer Fantasy

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Unless they're trying to draw out Nagarythian Druchii-hunters with their facades as obvious incompetents, in order to counter-ambush and kill them.
 
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Middle Mountains Campaign Part 18 New
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    • [] Plan: Shining Ithilmar
    -[] Have Valahuir create a magical flare to signal Aramil to come back and help us right now - in accordance with the pre-planned Asur doctrine.
    - [] Signal via Eyes of the Pack for the Sea Guard to remain and hold the left flank (leaving Eöl as their unit officer and Fanriel's eyes on the left) but for the Swordmasters to return to reinforce the collapsing Northern Sons.
    - [] Tell Valahuir that in our absence we're investing him with the authority to act of his own initiative in commanding the Fireclaws in case someone arrives at the centre asking for help from the reserves.
    -[] Send Tulo to tell the Sea Wolves to shift their formation to cover the gap left by the Ogres and to report to Valahuir about the current situation.
    -[] Join the fray personally and attempt to inspire the Northern Sons.

    You raise your hands in front of your face, knowing that through your eyes, the Swordmasters of Hoeth are watching.

    Your fingers move with practiced precision, flashing through the standard hand signals of the Asur military: Sword. Return. Spear. Stay.

    You do not linger to confirm whether your order is acknowledged. You do not need to. They will know what must be done.

    Instead, you turn your piercing gaze to Valahuir. The Mage-Smith stands rigid, his Ithilmar gauntlets flexing at his sides, waiting.

    "Send a flare for Prince Aramil. We need him back immediately," you command, your voice measured but firm. "Then remain here in reserve. Should the situation worsen, act as you best see fit."

    Valahuir nods curtly, already moving his hands through the somatic motions of a spell. Aqshy gathers around his fingertips, the air shimmering as heat coils unnaturally in the damp, blood-streaked forest. He will do as ordered.

    But your mind is already moving ahead.

    Your gaze falls upon Tulo.

    The Ropsmann woman shifts uneasily as she watches the battle unfold, her fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel. You can see it in her posture- the nerves, the uncertainty. The mass of Beastmen slamming into the Northern Sons is a sight few mortals could look upon without dread.

    You step toward her, casting a shadow over her smaller frame.

    "Go to the right flank," you instruct, your voice a steady anchor against the storm of battle. "Relay my orders to Commander Soch—he is to cover the gap left by the Ogres' advance. Then, assess the situation and bring a full report back to Valahuir. Once you have done that, remain here and wait for my return."

    She hesitates, eyes flickering from you to the roaring melee ahead. Her breath is quick, her fingers twitching slightly against her belt.

    "Where will you be going?" she asks.

    You do not hesitate.

    "To the front."

    [75+12(Northern Sons Prowess)-20(Out Of Formation)-20(Pushed Back)+20(Enemy Being Flanked)=67/100]

    [29+18(Gor Prowess)+10(Primal Fury)-2(Hysh Channel)=55/100]

    [37+10(Ogre Bull Prowess)+30(Monstrous Infantry)+20(Bullgorger)=97/100]

    [9+30(Fanriel Prowess)+5(Daughter of Yvresse)+5(Survivor of the Battle of the Holy Flame)+45(Magical Artefacts)+10(Rune of Purity)=104/100]

    Your hand falls to your side, Lightfang slipping free of its scabbard. The Ostlanders part before you as you stride forward, their eyes weary with exhaustion, sweat glistening on their brows as they struggle to hold back the Beastmen.

    The first Gor that lunges for you is momentarily blinded as white light erupts from your blade, and in that moment of weakness, you part its head from its shoulders.

    Every swing of your sword casts bursts of blinding radiance, disorienting the Gors nearest to you. They snarl and bellow in frustration, swiping wildly at the dazzling glow, unable to see clearly through the shimmering white aura that radiates from your blade.

    You kill every Beastman that comes within your reach, and you can feel the line anchor around you, but you are only one elf, your blade only so long.

    To your right, the Ogres continue their butchery, carving deep into the flank of the horde. Their lack of coordination and discipline is frustrating, but their sheer brutality is a force of nature.

    Each swing of their iron-bound clubs sends bodies flying, each bellow shakes the trees. Grisla's sorceries pulse through them, a rhythmic chant of gluttony and carnage driving them deeper into the Beastmen host. They do not lift a finger to aid the humans, but the pressure their rampage relieves is undeniable.

    The press of the horde slackens with every inch the Ogres push into their ranks, and though your presence might have inspired the Northern Sons to hold, it is that which physically allows them to once again halt the push of the Beastmen, fighting them to a standstill.

    The line is not straightened, but it bends no further.

    [100+12(Northern Sons Prowess)-20(Out Of Formation)-20(Pushed Back)+20(Enemy Being Flanked)=Natural 100]

    [12+18(Gor Prowess)+10(Primal Fury)-2(Hysh Channel)=38/100]

    [14+10(Ogre Bull Prowess)+30(Monstrous Infantry)+20(Bullgorger)=74/100]

    [62+30(Fanriel Prowess)+5(Daughter of Yvresse)+5(Survivor of the Battle of the Holy Flame)+45(Magical Artefacts)+10(Rune of Purity)=157/100]

    [31+38(Aramil Prowess)+5(Son of Chrace)+5(Student of the Spear)+35(Superior Equipment)+20(The Whitefire Glaive)+30(Stormclaw Prowess)+60(Monstrous Size)+10(Soulbonded Companions)+20(Rear-Charge)=254/100]

    [92+30(Swordmaster Prowess)+35(Superior Equipment)+5(Collection of Sword Arts)=162/100]

    A blood-curdling shriek echoes from high above an instant before the canopy explodes in a rain of shattered branches and torn leaves. Down through the trees crashes a massive shape, all talons and fury as it slams into the Gors from behind.

    Stormclaw barrels through the horde, talons tearing, beak snapping, wings battering Gors aside like brittle kindling. Bodies are flung into the air as the massive beast rips into the enemy formation, sowing chaos and terror in every direction.

    Atop Stormclaw, Aramil is a vision of radiant savagery, clad in resplendent Chracian warplate. His armor is crafted from gleaming Ithilmar, inset with polished amethysts and etched with crimson and gold trim. A golden lion's head pelt is draped across his shoulders, the snarling visage of the beast resting atop his pauldrons: a trophy of a past kill and a symbol of Chracian legend. His helm bears a bold red crest, pluming back like a banner of blood, and the mask beneath is carved with noble lines and a permanent, stoic scowl of war.

    One particularly massive Gor roars and lunges at him—Aramil hurls Anvaril in a single, practiced motion. The weapon whirls through the air like a comet, embedding itself in the beast's chest before erupting in a burst of cleansing flame. Without a word Aramil extends his hand, and the glaive rips itself free from the corpse and soars back to him, slotting neatly into his grip.

    At the same time, on either side of you, the nearest score or so Beastmen turn into explosions of gore, cut to pieces by sword-strokes so fast that even you couldn't see them if you weren't watching for them.

    The Swordmasters form around you, the Swords of Hoeth whirling through the air in great sweeping arcs, the blood from the first cut not having touched the ground by the time the second and the third have already been made.

    They slot into rhythm with you without needing a single word to be exchanged, perfectly synchronizing their movements to guard your openings and cover your flanks as you carve into the Beastmen.

    Then, from the corner of your eye, you see a burst of movement. Holsgart, bloodied and bruised, rises above the melee, scrambling atop a small boulder. His voice booms across the battlefield, raw with fury and fire, as he holds his broadsword high.

    "FOR SIGMAR! FOR OSTLAND! FOR THE HELDENHAMMER!"

    And as he brings his sword down, for just an instant, the merest flicker of a moment as the light from the hole in the canopy left by Stomclaw's descent catches the blade just so, it almost looks like twin trails of fire follow the sword.

    You physically jolt backward in shock, but the image is gone, like a mirage superimposed over your vision.

    But it was not just an illusion.

    You can feel the change in the air, and so can the humans.

    A chant echoes across the forest, at first low and inaudible, but rapidly rising until every man around is screaming at the top of their lungs.

    "SIGMAR! SIGMAR! SIGMAR!"

    And the Northern Sons rush forward.

    All traces of exhaustion, of fear, are gone from their faces, replaced by the fires of zealotry, an electric tingle in the air that drives them at the enemy with force beyond what mere men should be capable of.

    They bash into the Beastmen with snapped spear-stumps and splintered shields, screaming, shouting, raging. You see a man try to strangle a Gor with his bare hands, as absurd as the sight seems to you.

    In that moment, you are not anchoring the human line, you are being swept up by the tidal wave as it surges forth.

    [28+10(Primal Fury)-20(Terror)-20(Driven Back)-20(Rear-Charge)=-22/100]

    And somehow, in defiance of all that you thought possible, it works.

    You don't know for how much longer the Northern Sons could have kept that up- without the Ogres, without Aramil, their insane bravery would certainly have spelled their doom.

    But they do not need to, because you can feel the moment that the Beastmen lose the will to keep fighting. At first in small groups, then en masse, they break off and run, loping into the woods on their hooves legs, letting out bleating cries in the Dark Tongue.

    The momentum of the humans' charge falters the moment it has nothing to push against- zealotry drives them to attempt to chase down the enemy, but reality forces them to acknowledge that humans have no chance of catching Gors in a forest, on foot, the Beastmen horde melting into the shadows in a matter of moments.

    Still, a bloody toll is exacted for their cowardice, many a Beastman caught in the back before they can make the distance. And Beastmen are not known for their discipline- those who survived will not be back soon, if at all.

    The Ogres busy themselves with gorging upon the dead, stuffing entire Gors down their mouths at terrifying speed.

    There is one who could give chase to the enemy, but strangely, Aramil and Stormclaw hang back with hesitation unusual for what you know of the Chracian. Instead, the Prince lingers, his griffon shifting beneath him with uncharacteristic tension. Aramil's normally sharp, hawk-like gaze scans the treeline, but there is a hesitation in his posture.

    You narrow your eyes, stepping forward through the wreckage of the battlefield, crunching over shattered bone and twisted metal, broken Beastman corpses strewn like discarded carrion. As you near, you see it—Stormclaw's feathers are matted with blood, not all of it from the Beastmen. Aramil sits straighter than most could manage, but you notice it now- he's favoring his left shoulder, holding his reins with his off-hand, Anvaril angled slightly to compensate.

    You halt at the base of a small rise, looking up at the Chracian. He flicks his glaive to the side, dislodging the body of a Beastman that had been impaled upon its blazing white edge. The corpse thuds to the ground, smoking faintly.

    "What happened?" you ask.

    Aramil's expression is impassive, aloof as ever. He glances down at you from the saddle with the regal disdain.

    "The Beastmen have a Chimera," he says coolly, as if commenting on the weather.

    You feel a chill run down your spine. Chimera are among the most fearsome monsters produces by the mutating powers of Chaos. Similar to a Manticore but the size of a house, with leathery wings and three heads, most commonly a ram, a lion and a dragon.

    You meet Aramil's gaze, the question forming on your lips even before you voice it. "Did you kill it?"

    Aramil sniffs, lifting his chin in that familiar way of his, his tone tinged with wounded pride.

    "I wounded it," he says curtly, almost defensive. "It will remember me."

    That, at least, is no small thing. For one to face a Chimera and survive- wound it, drive it off -is a feat worthy of song and legend.

    Stormclaw gives a low growl, his talons digging into the blood-soaked soil. With a beat of his mighty wings, he leaps skyward, kicking up dust, gore, and scraps of broken armor in his wake. Aramil says no more. He simply rises with his beast, vanishing into the treetops with a rush of wind and falling leaves.

    "You'd think that after all that preening and boasting, he could handle one measly Chimera," a voice drawls lazily from behind you.

    You whirl, Lightfang still aglow with Hysh, ready to strike- until you see Scarloc, half-shadowed beneath the canopy of a massive, gnarled tree. His slender frame leans against the bark with infuriating ease, a crooked grin spreading across his face like a knife wound. His bow rests casually over one shoulder, the twin blades at his hips gleaming faintly in the filtered sunlight.

    "You're one to speak, Larildyraith," you snap, fixing him with a cold glare. "What good are you savages if you can't even spot an ambush?"

    Scarloc gives an exaggerated shrug, as if the question were beneath his notice. "Come then," he says, turning his back to you without a care. "See for yourself."

    You exchange a glance with Tinuthal, who offers the slightest shrug, his expression unreadable behind the serene mask of a Swordmaster. Without a word, you and the Swordmasters follow the Asrai mercenary deeper into the trees, stepping over the fallen and the broken.

    The forest grows thicker, quieter, the air rich with the stench of rot and unnatural corruption. You know what you're about to find before you see it. You can smell it- that foul, coppery tang of mutated blood and black ichor, the sour reek of chaos-taint.

    Then you see them.

    The ground beneath the trees is littered with massive, twisted corpses, their mutated forms frozen in grotesque contortions. Hulking beasts with too many limbs, gaping maws in places no mouth should be, and barbed tails coiled like broken whips. Their blackened blood has soaked into the earth in dark pools, glistening like oil.

    The trees themselves bear the marks of the struggle, deep claw gouges scored into bark, fanged maws having bitten at trunks as if they sought to rip the forest down in their fury. A few trees lean at precarious angles, half-toppled, as if the beasts had tried to tear their way skyward in blind rage.

    And around them lie dozens of elven arrows, buried deep into flesh, eyes, mouths, joints- every shot precise, lethal, and pitiless.

    Chaos Spawn. The ones from the corrupted grove.

    All dead.

    Scarloc glances back over his shoulder, still smirking. "We saw them slithering your way. Figured you might be a bit… preoccupied. So, we took care of them."

    He gestures lazily toward the shattered scene of death. "Shot the handlers first. Got their attention. Then we let them try to climb up after us. Not one made it past the first branches."

    His voice is casual, as though he's discussing a simple hunt.

    You grit your teeth. The sharp tang of pride and irritation wells up inside you.

    He's not lying.

    The evidence is right in front of you. Every one of the Spawn accounted for, riddled with arrows and cut down far from your lines. If they had struck the front while your forces were barely holding against the Beastmen… it would have been a massacre.

    Instead, one of the enemy's most terrifying assets has been removed from the field. Quietly. Efficiently. Without fanfare.

    You count the bodies, checking against your memory of the grove. Yes. Every last one of them.

    A muscle twitches in your jaw, unbidden.

    -Vote on how to respond to Scarloc's handling of the Chaos Spawn.

    [] [SCARLOC] Double down and insult him
    -Recover an Insanity Point from catharsis (You currently have 1/10).
    -Scarloc will now hate you on a personal level, rather than just for being Asur.

    [] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job
    -Roll unmodified Diplomacy to improve your relationship with Scarloc.
    -Gain an Insanity Point from resisting your nature (You currently have 1/10).

    [] [SCARLOC] Deflect and shrug it off
    -Nothing happens.

    -Vote on whether to make any last-minute changes to the plan or the formation before you proceed with the final push to the sacred grove and the Beast-Path entrance.

    [] [PLAN] Proceed as planned.

    [] [PLAN] Write-in.

    -6 hours Moratorium.
    -You don't have time to get a detailed situation report, but both flanks were attacked by Ungors, but while the right was able to hold them off, on the left side the commander was slain by an arrow, causing a collapse of morale and coordination. The rearguard has not been attacked. Most units have taken casualties, the Northern Sons and Irongulls in particular, but remain combat-capable.

    [] Plan Square Power v2
    -[] Marching order as default: The army will march through the hill-lands, with Ogres at the head of the column, the Halberdiers behind them, and the Spearmen in last. The elves will move around the column flexibly to fend off skirmishers and ambushes.
    -[] Advancing through the forest in a hollow square, we will have:
    --[] Forward scouts: Scarloc's archers. To locate threats / harass them / report back on what's coming. They will collaborate with Prince Aramil who will fly on his Griffon. If there is an opening they can engage targets of opportunity, but mainly we want them to tell us which enemy we will find on the road; on enemy contact, they can place themselves as skirmishers as they see fit.
    --[] Flanks: the halberds supported by swordsmen and handguns. Irongulls on the left, Sea Wolves on the right.
    --[] Front and center: the Northern Sons spearmen, supported by Ogres on their right. If the spearmen get too battered/with casualties after several engagements, they can go to the rearguard.
    --[] Rearguard: De Jonge Bokken. Their crossbows stay closer to the centre, so if there is line of sight they will be able to shoot at Minotaur-height in every direction, or take down incoming harpies. They can replace other units for the last engagement(s) if they are mostly untouched and the others are too wounded.
    --[] Centre: the Lightfangs, as a reserve force to go help where the fighting is difficult. And also Valahuir: a mage plus snipers, while his 50 human spearmen constitute their guards, and another reserve if need be. They are good shooters, so on anti-harpy and anti-monster duty. Valahuir's fire spells will be useful in dealing with Chaos Spawn / Forest Spirits.
    --[] The Butchers will receive the suggestion to be on the forward-left, to have symmetry with the Ogres on the forward-right, and be on the most immediate frontline where they can let rip. If they don't want, they can stay at the centre and then go where they wish on enemy contact. In any case, they should be made well aware that they are needed to deal with Chaos Spawns, and Forest Spirits.
    --[] Prince Aramil should be made aware he is our best champion, that will have the role of killing giant monsters, and secondarily of making the harpies scared of getting close. To communicate with him, will be using light blasts in the Asur way: when we see a troubled spot on the ground where it would be good if he swooped in, or when we are about to cast Roiling Skies to hamper enemy fliers.
    -[] Destruction as default: Once the Beast-Path entrance is reached, Vahanuir and the Butchers will destroy the corrupted grove with magic. Failing that, or should they be unavailable, the Ogres will attempt to destroy it with brute force. As a last resort, any available forces will attempt to start a fire with any means at their disposal and destroy the grove that way.
    Strength at the outset of the mission:

    The Lightfangs
    Loremaster Fanriel
    10 Swordmasters of Hoeth
    20 Lothern Sea Guard

    Scarloc's Archers
    Glade Lord Scarloc the Wanderer
    50 Asrai Waywatchers

    The Fireclaws of Vaul
    Mage-Smith Valahuir Aunrith
    2 Asur Sharpshooters
    20 Asur Marksmen
    50 Human Spearmen

    Prince Aramil Amakiir
    1 Ulthuani Griffon

    The Cult of the Great Maw
    Slaughtermaster Grisla
    Butcher Brulk
    Butcher Grubnar
    Butcher Morak
    20 Mawguard

    3rd Ostland Auxiliary Company
    1 'Captain' Krag
    150 Ostland Ogres

    The Seawolves
    250 Westerlander Halberdiers
    100 Westerlander Handgunners
    125 Westerlander Swordsmen

    The Irongulls
    300 Westerlander Halberdiers
    80 Westerlander Handgunners
    90 Westerlander Swordsmen

    De Jonge Bokken
    200 Westerlander Goedendag Spearmen
    100 Westerlander Crossbowmen

    12th Ostland Spearmen 'The Northern Sons'
    500 Ostland Sigmarite Spearmen
    60 Ostland Sigmarite Archers
    60 Ostland Sigmarite Archers
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Blackout said:
    You grit your teeth. The sharp tang of pride and irritation wells up inside you.
    Click to expand...
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    "Senzu Bean!" - some bald Cathayn warrior monkey with a bag of healing beans throwing one at Fanriel

    [] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job
    -Roll unmodified Diplomacy to improve relationship with Scarloc.
    -Gain an Insanity Point from resisting your nature.

    It never hurts for Fanriel to eat a humble pie even if it may taste bitter and not alienating them would eventually pay off in the long run.
     
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    Figures that we get the good rolls all at once.

    Well, at least we're in better shape to contest the grove- numbers slain, chimera wounded, Spawn dead.

    Warmachine375 said:
    "Senzu Bean!" - some bald Cathayn warrior monkey with a bag of healing beans throwing one at Fanriel

    [X] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job
    -Roll unmodified Diplomacy to improve relationship with Scarloc.
    -Gain an Insanity Point from resisting your nature.

    It never hurts for Fanriel to eat a humble pie even if it may taste bitter and not alienating them would eventually pay off in the long run.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    6 hours until the vote opens.
     
    Mopman43 said:
    Figures that we get the good rolls all at once.

    Well, at least we're in better shape to contest the grove- numbers slain, chimera wounded, Spawn dead.


    6 hours until the vote opens.
    Click to expand...
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    TTS Rogal Dorn: "The dice have spoken."

    Chimera would be back for vengeance and Aramil would welcome it with his trusty Griffon killing it this time.

    Also, my bad. I edited the X out now.
     
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    Praise to Hoeth, Kurnous and Loec - and, I suppose, to Sigmar! Some good rolls and the strongest of hammers to meet an anvil made steady with ithilmar and faith and we're through! Thank you, Blackout, as ever, for the post!

    Even if Scarloc's company did fail to spot the ambush, they did singlehandedly account for a deadly threat. Fanriel rightly criticised him for the former and has more than enough buffer of Insanity Points to rightly praise him for the latter.

    As for the march to the grove, I'd be tempted to move either the Lightfangs or possibly the Fireclaws to the front-left corner of the formation to allow the Northern Sons and Irongulls to consolidate, given their casualties, but otherwise I think we're fine. The Northern Sons have to be brimming with adrenaline after that supernatural morale surge; let's let them visit it upon the Beastmen.
     
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    [] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job

    I think credit where credit is due is correct here. I don't like taking Insanity, but it's maybe worth it on a cost/benefit analysis, and I think it's definitely correct behavior, which I'd like Fanriel to engage in even when it's unpleasant.

    I am glad Aramil returned, and that things basically went well this time. Probably continue with the current plan? Not actually sure there...
     
    [] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job
    -Roll unmodified Diplomacy to improve relationship with Scarloc.
    -Gain an Insanity Point from resisting your nature.

    We do have to at least attempt to be a better person.
     
    Possible write-in:
    [-] admit that he did a solid job with the spawn, but that still doesn't excuse the failure to detect the ambush nor the inability or unwillingness to report his situation
     
    [x] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job
    -Roll unmodified Diplomacy to improve relationship with Scarloc.
    -Gain an Insanity Point from resisting your nature.
     
    Nice chapter, we were luckier this time. I wonder what Fanriel will take from that vision of Sigmar's power. Aramil is pretty dumb, he should have asked us to heal him and his mount. I hope his recklessness and idiocy will not kill him. Thankfully Blackout didn't make a roll to see if he would come back.

    Scarloc is amazing, Wood Elves really are amazing at fighting in forests. Now he's going to be insufferable.

    Elves really are something else. Aramil, the Lightfangs and Scarloc really did a lot of the heavy lifting here, compared to their numbers.

    Blackout said:
    [] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job
    -Roll unmodified Diplomacy to improve your relationship with Scarloc.
    -Gain an Insanity Point from resisting your nature (You currently have 1/10).
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    That seems a bit harsh for just acknowledging that one person we don't like did a good job.

    [] [SCARLOC] Deflect and shrug it off
    -Nothing happens.
    FallenDawn said:
    [x] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job
    -Roll unmodified Diplomacy to improve relationship with Scarloc.
    -Gain an Insanity Point from resisting your nature.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    The vote isn't open yet.
     
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    More seriously, glad to see our forces rolling well for a change, and the elites being worth their salt.

    I am surprised at how quickly this phase of battle ended. I frankly expected at least one more nastiness from the Beastmen to take the field, whether it be the minotaurs or pestigors or a Chaos giant.

    Chimaera fits the bill, I guess, so we can thank Aramil for his intervention there.

    The Chaospawns I expected to be at the Grove itself, rather than here, them being aready slain should make the rest of the job esier.

    Ps. In hindsight, Irongulls really didn't cover themselves in glory.
     
    Blackout said:
    [] [SCARLOC] Swallow your pride and tell him he did a good job
    -Roll unmodified Diplomacy to improve your relationship with Scarloc.
    -Gain an Insanity Point from resisting your nature (You currently have 1/10).
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Imagine Scarloc's confusion, when Fanriel's face begins contortioning for several minutes after which she says "Good job, Scarloc"
     
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