Scrambling up the hill are three figures: a varreven swordsman, a human archer, and a tlaloc mage. They pause briefly, instinctively holding their breath as a gang of ghouls shuffle by only twelve feet away, but completely oblivious to the scouts' presence. Even though the veteran mage's concealment spell is impervious to all but a physical encounter with the creatures, their stealth remains governed by instinct.
As the main army approaches Noun, small teams of forward scouts attempt to locate the heart of the horde. Raevyllke's expedition is large enough to trap anything short of another army, but this also means it is too large to hope to catch the enemy unaware. Thus, the mage corps was broken up into search parties that could infiltrate deep into the valley without alerting the foe and prompting a mass withdrawal. The campaign was not simply to drive out the ghouls, but to annihilate them completely.
As the patrol moves on, the three men continue the ascent. As they crest the hill a large camp comes into view and the once again instinctively dive for cover. The archer drops his bow and withdraws a collapsible telescope that he uses to survey the area. "This don't look good," he mutters, "Probably at least a thousand in the camp... Pretty well-organized for ghouls."
"Think it's the Banahogg?" quizzes the swordsman.
"Prob'ly. Dunno of any other leader packs. Hold on..." He turns his attention to a group of tan tents, a little ways off from the main camp and which the ghouls seem to leave a wide berth. "There's someone else with 'em. Group of tents, earthy-colour." His compatriots follow his gaze, affirm, then return to scanning their surroundings. He watches as a black-robed figure emerges from one. "Orcs of some sort. Not your usual southerners, though, they don't seem that well-armed. More like..."
"Assassins," the mage finishes. "I heard there was an attempt on the Crown Prince last night." The soldiers spin about. "He's
alright," he adds quickly, "Took the bugger out himself. They found a mark on him... can't remember the name of the group... Death's Head? Dead Hand?"
"Death's Hand," says the varrev. "Scary bunch, so I've heard. Report directly to the Lich King of Baase."
"You think they're behind the ghouls?" quizzes the observer.
"Couldn't tell you," mutters the mage, "But I bet His Lordship would
love to find out..."
------------------------------
The physical wound has healed, but the aftereffects of the poison still give him discomfort. He insisted that he was well enough to fight, but his generals refused to march forth unless he promised to keep behind the front line. Out of the army's concern for their leader's health, the march to Noun progressed slower than anticipated, and by the time it arrived outside the town, the recon was complete and deployment was already being organized.
The Banahogg camp, while well-suited to secrecy, has also inadvertently trapped itself. Flanked to the northeast by the Regnabugu river, the southwest by rough foothills, an army holding the high ground would command the battlefield. The ghouls assume, not unreasonably, that the vilkers will travel via the hamlet, and that any flanking manoeuvres will be seen well in advance, giving them time to evacuate. But varreven soldiers are unlike "regular" armies; though they have no cavalry, they are themselves well-suited to long-distance running over difficult terrain, and their unique armour means that even in full kit they remain highly mobile. Knowing the location of the camp, small squads with mage accompaniment sneak along south to ambush retreaters and prevent escape through the mountain pass, the obstinate trolls having refused to intervene.
"Priority to capture the orcs, but do not hesitate to slay them if they flee," Rasmus explains to the officers. "Also be advised that if these are Death's Hand agents, they may attempt suicide rather than surrender. Any that you capture are to be kept under close supervision. Any questions?"
"Know we their magicians?" asks one man.
"Not definitively. The Banahogg may employ rudimentary incantations, but our mages should have no trouble in repelling them. We do not know the composition of specialists amongst the orcs, but the expectation is that any magic-users among them are similarly low-level. If you make contact, advise mages to scan for power signals and adjust your strategy accordingly."
"What of the river?" queries another, "Do we have a contingency plan for a flight north?"
"Kyell has posted a detachment north of the river," he nods to the black fox, "And Sang Folie has generously provided its own warriors to assist."
With no further questions, the officers return to their units.
"There it is," mutters a soldier as a lookout surveys the hamlet. Most of the huts have caved in on themselves or otherwise advertise their disrepair; bleached bones litter the perimeter, victims of the plague or recent meals no-one can tell. Standing stock-still atop a makeshift tower is a goblin so emaciated it is literally skin and bones.
"A ghoul?" asks one.
"No," frowns his comrade, "A ghoul has some concept of existence, however base. That's just a corpse strung up on magical puppet strings. You watch;" he nods to an archer notching his bow, "We shoot it down, it falls like a rag."
Which is precisely what happens. But on its way down, it pulls a string, and an instant later there is a sharp
POW as a fireball shoots fifty feet into the air.
"Well so much for
that!" shouts the lieutenant. "Company," he calls in a bored tone, "Draw weapons and prepare for combat."
They make contact in short order, a wave of ghouls rushing to meet them as they cross through to the other side of the town. As the pack descends on the advance group, the rest of the troop moves in from concealment, creating a solid wall from left to right. Three more waves crash against the vilkers before the monsters realize they are grossly outmatched and fall back; the troop begins a slow but steady march northward.
Meanwhile, far to the west, the furthest arm of the expedition has started to curve up, with the aim of corralling the woodland packs toward the main camp. They have stretched themselves thin in order to cover the nearly sixty miles, and tougher-than-expected clusters nearly break through. But the shepherding works, and within the hour the army is pressing in on the camp.
The ghouls stand no chance. Outnumbered four-to-one and outflanked on all but one side, they are cut down by arrows before many can even reach striking distance. The orcs presumed to make a stand in the camp, but quickly realize they have been out-manoeuvred and pack up to flee. The army gives chase, but in the ensuing chaos only a small force of some twenty men headed by Kyell manages to keep pace as orcs and ghouls flee into the woods. He knows that they will head northwest before circling south to avoid the army's furthest wing before heading for the mountains. Knowing Ola will coil the line around but doubting he will do it in time, Kyell breaks off pursuit to cut across west, hoping to intercept them.
Navigating solely by scent clues and his foggy memories of the map in Sang Folie, he leads his band along a hill ridge, slaying small packs of fleeing ghouls. After about half an hour, they spot the orcs coming their way, and hastily ready an ambush. Kyell and twelve infantrymen lead the fight as the archers try to secure a perimeter. At first the fight seems against their favour as they realize the orcs are more numerous and better-equipped than they had thought; one of them is a bona-fide mage, and while Kyell's wizards are quick to suppress him, the ensuing struggle knocks five of the vilkers out of the fight. Half the orcs then split off in a bid to escape as their brethren provide a distraction; Kyell and his remaining swordsmen struggle to overpower their enemies, but once the mage is neutralized they quickly gain the upper hand.
A few minutes later, the troop catches up, dragging the escapees into a second round. At first the assassins oblige, but then part of the group again peels off. The nimble archers give pursuit, and the runaways are soon shot down. By the time they return to the general, the other orcs are either dead or disarmed. As Kyell and the mages see to the wounded, the soldiers collect their captives, seven in all. After ensuring the corpses won't be of use to any remnant ghouls, the troop secures its hostages and makes its trek back to the front line.
The group weaves its way through the field of corpses, soldiers plodding through the devastation, slashing and stabbing the ghouls to make sure they stay dead. The general gives a sharp salute as he approaches Rasmus, who breaks away from his conversation with a tlaloc mage. "Your Lordship will be pleased to learn foreign agents did not escape." He waves his arm toward the prisoners.
Rasmus peers at the captive orcs with surprise, evidently expecting fewer. "Excellent work," he states. "I will arrange for an escort back to the capital while we finish the sweep." Kyell signals to the escort, which promptly herds the orcs off for processing. He turns back to the Crown Prince and the mage. The tlaloc is gingerly holding some sort of artifact that he does not recognize. "It was recovered from the ghoulish chief Bani," he explains. "Coaxoch informs me it may be of arcane qualities."
"I do not recognize the inscription," says the mage, "But it bears vague resemblance to writing dating back to before the Divine War." He passes it to the general; it looks like an obsidian disc, its surface scratched and scuffed, its edges well-worn. There is a small hole at the top, recently-cut, through which runs a small length of twine. The writing remains legible, but the seemingly-runic symbols are beyond his knowledge. Kyell gingerly holds it between thumb and forefinger; he blinks, feeling a strange tingle run up his arm.
"Is it imbued?" he asks, quickly passing it back.
"You felt it too?"
The mage's intonation catches Kyell's attention. Sharing a quick glance with the Crown Prince, he replies: "But you do not?"
The tlaloc shakes his head. "Fascinating..." He stares at the disc for a moment. "I cannot say how Bani came about this, or what purpose it might have served the ghouls, if any... The magic we encountered was certainly not noteworthy."
"Well," Rasmus starts, "When this campaign has concluded and we return to the capital, we shall give this proper study. Until then, see that it remains safe." Coaxoch gives a short bow, placing the amulet into his satchel. "Now," he turns to Kyell, "Let us see to cleaning up the rest of this mess."
Continue to hunt for ghouls in the provinces marked light red (and see whether the locals would like to join glorious Raevyllke, what for all we helped 'em);
Survey the regions in yellow for settlements, and possible future settlement. (*wonk*
)