RP:Into the Maw

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Beldur's heroic defense of a villa belonging to twin nobles continues. Reinforcements arrive from Frostmaw as the knight-errant leads a daring mission to bring down one of Kahran's forward camps.

The Southern Sage

Lionel | It’s been five days since Beldur’s heroic defense of the villa. Five days since one of his assigned Frostmawian guards fell bravely in combat and the other was sent to gather reinforcements. Five days since hellhounds would have rolled over the noble Frost Giants Amos and Avasarala if it hadn’t been for knightly intervention. The weather has grown cooler, even here in the Southern Sage, with a strong breeze gusting through the forest all night long. The sun is beginning to rise now, but the chill still remains. The guard has returned with four more soldiers of the cause; they’re all of them armed with sturdy mail emblazoned with the sigil of the dragon and steel halberds in the Queen’s fashion. “Ser,” the returning guard greets Beldur with a slight bow. “We now have strength enough to scout the surrounding area and seek out the origin of these attacks. With luck we can root them out and put an end to the terrors here. Whether we leave at dawn or dusk, whether we go in full company or leave behind a contingent to defend the villa… the men will follow your command.”

Beldur nods as he was feeding his drake some of his rations. "We need to defend here as well. So five of you, go scout. You have till dusk to return. If you don't, no supper." With that he would wait till there was only five there. "You five, go around and prepare some defences. Go in pairs. The last one does interior patrol."

Lionel | The soldiers do as bid. It’s not in Frostmawian military tradition to decry orders -- although ever since Lionel became Knight-Commander, a certain individual willfulness has seeped into customs. With that said, the five soldiers who have been sent on scouting detail argue in good cheer over who will be the finest bowman in the morning hunt and who will be stuck laying down trail to ensure their safe return. The red sky turns blue, and red again some hours later. Defenses are placed at strategic intervals throughout the villa’s perimeter, and supper is served by the nobles’ most skilled servants with extra helpings for these hard-working folk who have been charged with their very lives. It’s never a good idea to leave one’s saviors hungry, after all. The scouting party returns just in time to dine with their companions. Over roasted pheasant with buttery grilled sprouts and leeks, the lead scout -- so declared due to his expert bowmanship not of a rabbit but of a fierce wandering goblin at about noontime -- provides his report. He and the rest of the scout detail have seemed pensive since their arrival. Now Beldur will know why. “Ser,” he bows, and then, “my lord and lady,” with another bow for Amos and Avasarala. The twin nobles set down their forks in anticipation. “It’s a six-span trek from here, but we’ve spotted a cave we believe to be a main base of operations for… for a squadron of troops under that bastard Kahran. Ah,” the lead scout stumbles, “begging your pardon on the profanity there, Lady Avasarala.” Avasarala chuckles dryly. “If he is a bastard or a son of a bitch or even a motherfrakker, then let it be said for all to hear. From what I have heard of this Kahran, he’s all three and more, so please, do not think that saying so will offend this lady’s ears.” The scout smirks and carries on. “The cave was… we believe it was originally utilized by drow in this region’s war against the elves. A great deal of drow infrastructure remains, as well as a handful of elven prisoners whose captors must have left them there in a hurry. The enemy is comprised of at least 20 orcs and two powerful trolls, alongside hellhounds in kennels. If we could sneak our way into the compound via a hidden route to the northeast, we may be able to avoid the hellhounds being released.”

Beldur would think a moment in silence. His drake squaking as she stole a pheasant leg from the table. Nipping at whomever was foolish enough to try to take it from her. The knight would finally nod as he frowns. "Orcs are easy to handle most of the time. But even numbers can overwelm. This compound is the safest point as " Motions to the four that set the traps. "These four set traps around the compound. But a fight here would likely destroy the building. Is it possible to seperate the elves from the orcs safely and without being noticed? If we can get their aid, then we can easily overwelm the orcs." He would wait for the answer from the scout as he would pull the bone from his drakes meal. The hatchling didn't like this as she would lung and swing from the bone.

Lionel | The scout frowns. “Well, they look rather worse for wear, ser. They’ve been holed up in those pens like animals for what might have been months. They look like they’re on the verge, if you take my meaning.” Amos snaps his finger suddenly. “Even so,” he says, “I bet they’d be grateful for your help. They might be in rough shape on their way out, but if they were captured instead of killed then I bet they’ve got some magical prowess the drow were tapping into. If this bugger Kahran even kept them alive, they’re bound to be useful. Maybe if you hatched a rescue plan to get ‘em out and then let the final fight happen here instead…? After some healing and from a more defensive position, they could be of more use.” His offer seems a sound one. Beldur’s right about the fortification here and a trail can be left easily enough to ensure the orcs and trolls and hellhounds converge here. With elven support the tide can be turned.

Beldur nods in agreement. "Rough shape is easily rectified. And I'm sure they'll be equally eager for revenge. Plus if we get them out before they notice, we might be able to gather information on the bastards plans." He would let the drake win their tug of war as if it proved his point. "We're outnumbered, but you said that it was a handful, we won't have to fight as hard if we save them. And the house might be spared some potential damage. I'm worried about the trolls. Even for you, My lord, they would be a challenge." Pulling out a map of sage, it was old and ragged as if it was well used from when he started out. Notes were spawlled on it even one pointing towards the tower he helped destroy during the elven drow war. A finger resting on where the scouts said the cave was. "Think they'll have enough strength to make it here? I'm leaving the rescue to you five as you've been there and my armor would give you lot away. But that doesn't mean that I won't let you leave without a plan."

Lionel | Avasarala waves her big hand enthusiastically. “Think nothing of this villa becoming a battlefield. Should it transpire, then so let it be. We can rebuild. With the benefit of your aid, we’ll make sure the servants are in the safest corner of the property and watch over you in victory.” Amos snorts. “Or defeat,” he adds. “But don’t get me wrong. I’m thinking victory. You’ve already proven yourself in my book, Beldur, and if we survive this you can be sure I’ll say so. Same goes to the rest of you lot.” The lead scout flashes an embarrassed smile in gratitude before answering his commander in kind. “We’ll make sure they’ve got the strength, ser. We’ll carry them if needs be. On our lives if necessary.” His fellows all nod and murmur similar fare. “We can sneak in through that passage,” one of the other scouts chimes in. “The elves’ cages aren’t far from the drop point once we’re through.” “Aye, and we’ll be back before breakfast,” another enthuses.

Beldur nods as he leans back into his chair. "Don't let his encouragement go to your heads. Since we have permission to ignore the house, the plan will be to rescue the elves. They will be noticed they're gone. So we only have a small window. Less if you're forced to waste time fighting them back. Stealth is paramount. I can't stress that enough." He would then move back to the map. Pointing to where the traps are. "If you're followed, make sure you lead them to one of these center traps. It might help funnel them in and keep our flanks safe. They see dead orcs, and traps, they'll think it's safe there only. Twenty isn't a lot, but it's enough to hurt us a lot." Leaning up, he frowns as he puts his drake on his shoulder. "Rescue as many as you can. And return here with as little casualties to military strength as possible. Now, go. Night grows thin." Turns to the five that would remain. "They'll more than likely bringing Hell to us. In the open, the orcs have the advantage. Inside the building is to our advantage. Shield wall in the corridors after our scouts and the elves are inside. The trolls on the other hand. . . " He would look to Amos. "I truely hate to ask, but do you think you can take one or both on if you had back up?"

Lionel | Grabbing one last forkful of sweet home cooking on their way out, the scouts leave in single-file discipline with measured aplomb. “I’ve been itching for a good fight for years,” Amos replies. “Your ‘good fights’ always -did- leave the other side in worse shape than you,” Avasarala says with a chuckle. “But let us pray this all goes as planned. You have indeed done well, Beldur. Now if you’ll excuse me; I think it would be best if I gathered the servants into the safe room in preparation for this… endgame.” She nods and departs through the eastern doorway, her powerful voice already booming command to her hired help even before the door has shut completely. And so begins the calm before the storm. The wind howls in its heightened wintry gusts and crows squawk noisily beyond the perimeter. An hour passes, and then two, and then three. Finally, the scouts return. As their makeshift leader decreed, they are indeed carrying the elves on their backs. The elves are paper-thin and too pale by several shades, but their eyes do well to show a certain relief. There is one worrying thing: the leader himself is not among them. “The orcs bellowed and hit the war drums maybe… ten minutes after we left,” one of the other four scouts explains whilst a number of the more medically-inclined soldiers set to work patching up the elves and offering food and water. “They wouldn’t have caught up, but they unleashed the hellhounds, and… there was just no getting away from that while on foot lugging wounded, ser. Talbot, he… he ordered us to go on and made a bigger ruckus of things in an opposite direction. On his own. No backup.” The scout is visibly emotional. He bites his lip. “He is a hero to the elven people,” one of the rescued speaks through a groan. “We will do whatever we can to help. As you surmised, our magic is strong.”

Beldur |"And he'll be burried as one. For now, don't let his sacrifice be in vain." He nods as he sighs in relief. "Information is also needed. I hate to ask, but I must ask you to prepare whatever spells you have to counter attack your former captors." He stands as he pulls his shield to be ready. Looking to the Giant Lord. "I hope you don't mind me and my drake being your backup with the trolls." Looking back to the nine soldiers and the elves, he sighs as he lowers his helms visor. "Prepare for combat! For honor, and glory, lets send these fools to their doom on a cold wind! The trolls are ours." He would hit his shield with the pummel of his sword. His map forgotten on the table as he looks over the shield wall a moment moving them so that the elves could easily fall back to the room with the servants safely. Looking to the elves as he nods. "If you feel that you can't cast your spells, head to the room behind us. If it starts to look grim, the Lady and her servants will escort you to Frostmaw. Ask for Lionel and tell him whatever you know about the leader of these orcs. That's how you can repay your saviors." He would pat the shoulder of the closest elf in hopes to calm the rest before turning to the soldiers. "You see trolls, let us through if you can. If you can't, second row lift your shields and we'll climb over."

Lionel | “Your men saved us from horrors unimaginable.” The elf squints in appreciation. “First from torture, then from worse. Those orcs and trolls were routinely visited by a powerful warlock -- possibly a necromancer -- who siphoned our magical abilities for himself. The pain was unbelievable. For our rescue, you shall have our help. Yet for our suffering, they shall taste our vengeance. We will join together to erect a magical barrier around the room in which the servants are being kept safe and then we will rain fire down on the perimeter as the enemy approaches. You have my word, we'll give our all.” Beldur’s words are heeded all-around. The shield wall of hardened and battle-ready soldiers, the Frost Giant named Amos beside them, and the elves they’ve saved, all stands at the ready. Minutes pass. Near to an hour. Then the terrible barking begins. The hellhounds are back; the scouts’ scent was easily tracked after Talbot’s sacrifice. Behind them is a host of orcs, scattered with no real rank-and-file. They’re armored and wielding swords with razor-sharp blades. Some even carry crude shields. No sign of the trolls just yet, but thundering footsteps in the dark distance foretell their arrival. The horde is loud and slobbering, ready and raring to kill indiscriminately. But the traps catch two hellhounds and even two of the orcs. Spikes and pits slice and drop their victims, sending the orcs all into higher alert as they squeal with greater caution. A hellhound’s leg is taken by another hidden spike, but it presses on, carrying the spike through its flesh stubbornly. There are perhaps 30 seconds remaining before the horde -- or whatever is left of it after these traps do further damage -- reaches the villa. The crows continue squawking.

Beldur would nod approvingly as he listened to the cries outside. Letting out a shallow breath as he muttered a prayer to his patron deity, Arkhen. His face stern under his visor, while his drake purred softly at the thought of a meal outside. "Steady!" He would say that more to draw the orcs into the narrow corridor. A hand moving to pat the soldiers shoulder as if signalling them to raise their spears to be ready. "Steady!" He would nod to the elves as the roars grew louder. "If you can rain it outside, then send them to the abyss. Arkhen can judge them when they reach his hall." His eyes focused on the hall towards the room. Glancing every now and again to the soldiers and elves to ensure they were doing their job.

Lionel | Arkhen will judge them aplenty tonight. The elves blast streaks of fire through darkness, lighting up several orcs who barrel into the dirt where two more roll into traps and die. The battle line, already so scattershot, is broken all the further as the flames zip on by. But the orcs, battered but not beaten, are not so easily frightened. They come on faster, and they begin to toss stones with gruesome bladed hooks strapped upon their surface. The hooked stones fall upon the shield wall like hail and the elves are forced to retreat several steps further back so as to avoid being pelted. One of the soldiers yelps as two stones strike her in the forearm, ravaging her, but she holds firm. She will hold steady as ordered, even weakly. Amos raises his fists as the thunderous pounding in the distance grows heavier. As the orcs come upon the shield wall and take wild swings with their swords, the trolls appear along the treeline. They’re huge, they’re heavily armored, and their wooden clubs are curved into bladed scythes. They charge, too...

Beldur growls as he would shout his order. "Make a hole or a bridge. I don't care which." He would pull the injured soldier back. Letting an uninjured one take her place. "Get that out, and bound, then you can return to the fight." He would then move in as planned for the trolls. Either going through the hole or climbing the bridge, he would take the chance to either trip or cleave an orc or two that might get in the way as he would charge the trolls his shield low in hopes to bull rush the orcs that was before him in their loose formation. Moving to slide between the legs of one and use his sword to try and cut the leg of the one he slid under. Hoping to take the entire leg or stumble it if he made it through.

Lionel | Amos is right behind Beldur, stomping through his yard with fierce determination. He raises his great Frostmawian halberd and skewers a poor orc through the face as Beldur dispatches a couple of his own. The trolls spread out and flank Beldur and Amos, swinging their scythed clubs wickedly. The club clashes into Amos’ halberd and the warriors exchange blows rapidly despite their size, with the troll gaining an early upper hand by feinting a strike to the Frost Giant’s arm but slicing instead upon his great blue abdomen. Amos howls and turns the tide, reaching around his foe’s weapon and grabbing the troll’s hand menacingly. He drops his halberd to the ground in a bold move and with his now-freed opposite hand he bashes into the troll’s skull, then latches onto its wrists all the tighter and turns the scythe toward its face. The troll’s eyes widen in disbelief and it panics but it cannot stop Amos’ might, nor the weapon which is now slashing into its face over and over again. It roars and falls to the ground, shaking the earth. Beldur’s own troll fights all the harder in the wake of its ally’s demise.

Beldur would feel the harder fight on his shield. His shoulder sore from raising it to block potential attacks. His drake would finally make a successful breath weapon attack. It aimed at the trolls knee. Seeing her breath attack, he would try to take out the trolls leg by stabbing it's knee. Hopefully buying time for Amos to finish it off before they had to return to the others and keep from being overwelmed by the remaining orcs. "Come on! Arkhen waits to judge your deeds!"

Lionel | Of all the things the troll had thought to contend with, the ice drake wasn’t one of them. Bludgeoned down briefly by the blow, it blinks in frustration and can’t defend against Beldur’s stab. Nevertheless, it rises from its wounded perch rather quickly… but not quickly enough. Its head rolls across the ground; Amos seems to have made good use of the other troll’s scythed club, indeed. “Let’s go,” Amos calls out, and they’ll race back to the shield wall to find one soldier dead but eight more holding the line in their fallen companion’s stead. The woman who Beldur had ordered to seek aid is also returning now, taking up the bulwark. The orcs and hellhounds have been suppressed; their dead are falling in a pile. Beldur’s shield wall tactic has proven their undoing. Only a few now remain, and they’re scrabbling to flee, but they’ll flee straight into Beldur and Amos. It’s a bad day to be an orc.

Beldur would try to knock out the closest orc. His shield being slammed towards it as his sword would swing towards another. Not caring for the rest as he would try to help clean up the last of them. His drake protecting his, and in addition Amos's, backs as she would hiss and blow her ice towards whomever was unlucky enough to be behind him. The hiss allowing him to change direction of his attack or defense to swing at the enemy if they were behind him.

Lionel | In the aftermath, the villa stands unscathed and 20 orcs, several hellhounds and their two trolloc masters lay dead upon the field with only the one fallen Frostmawian in exchange. In total, three have perished under Beldur’s command since this all started, but that number is far thinner than it might have been under a less seasoned man. He’s proven himself up to the challenge and he’s saved the nobles, their servants, and perhaps the greater forest countryside against Kahran’s latest mysterious machinations. A celebratory feast is held the following night and a quick scouting expedition confirms Talbot’s death whilst fetching materials from the enemy camp and then lighting it ablaze. If that warlock ever returns, he’ll be in for a rude awakening. “Beldur, it is with great pride that we offer you the following for your service,” Avasarala tells him over drinks and good cheer. “In addition to gold, we want you to know you now have our sincerest backing up in Frostmaw. You’ll soon be drowning in requests from the nobility, so I hope you’re prepared to deal with our antics.” She smirks at him. “I do believe a right and proper knighthood is on your horizon,” Amos adds. “And, well, now that I’ve got the blood flowing again, I think I’ll be signing myself up in the war effort.” Avasarala scoffs, but Amos is unfazed. “They’ll need all the help they can get. Thankfully, they’ve got Beldur here, too.” Amos smacks Beldur on the shoulder playfully. (Ouch.)

Beldur |Dispite the victory, the deaths was still in his mind. Though the frustration of their deaths was ignored during the feast. Trying to enjoy himself before having to return to Lionel. The hatchling laid her claim on one of the hams. Eating it eagerly as if she had just claimed her kill. The slap on his shoulder causing his drink to spill onto his freshly polished armor, but he didn't mind. It wasn't the familiar color of blood, thankfully. "I'm glad to have your support. And I'm sure Frostmaw will be glad of it as well. It'll be a hard War for them, but" Motions to the soldiers that survived. "They're the one's who deserve the credit. They exicuted my orders to the letter and then some." Lifting his glass, he would bellow out for the feasters to hear. "To the honored dead!"