The
Assault on the City of
Or,
How
Odo Kundahkan, First Dwarf of the Ravnarok, slew a mighty dragon with the
Hammer of Eldaron (and of how Lucan the Disoriented lost his way, then found
the path to redemption)
I hearken unto ye,
listen to my tale,
A thrilling
narrative of valor and might,
Woven in the
elaborate looms of fate,
In ancient times
long past, and yet you see,
Their ordained
events come upon us this day,
Decided eons ago
by the Greater Ones,
Destined now to
unfold soon before us,
Of how the Dwarven
People were reborn,
Led by a giant
named Odo Kundahkan,
First Dwarf of the
Dwarves of Ravnarok.
Rending the
shackles of slavery's bondage
The Dwarves of the
Ravnarok, a hoary line,
Sought to reclaim
their exalted heritage.
Weakened by years
of servitude to Chaos,
Fighting prowess
no longer what it once was,
Mining and
smithing skills lost in the past,
Odo Kundahkan came
forth from their clan
Seizing the holy
Hammer of Eldaron,
Vowing to restore
the Dwarven Grandeur,
He set his booted
feet upon this path.
This is also a
tale of my people,
Outcasts, known as
the Horseclans of Ageria,
And of how we sent
Lucan, a half-orc,
With an armoured
host, only to see him lost,
And then found
again his way to battle,
To redeem himself
in our collective eyes,
Establishing our
clan upon the plains,
To Follow the will
of the Greater Ones,
As a part of the
Eternal Struggle
For one short
moment in infinite time.
Come with me now,
before Lofton's gates,
Where, upon rocky
and broken terrain,
Encamps a dark and
chaotic host,
Orc's known as
Karin's Horde, a foul brood,
Wriggling Maggots,
lowly half-breed hobgoblins
And the fearsome
ogres of Militant Migits,
Lead, strangely,
by a huge ogre named Tiny Tim.
In the troubled
city, there was renewed hope,
For amongst their
people were some Dwarves,
Red Ruth's Crew,
by name, with swift Freedom's Flight.
Red Ruth himself
looked harshly upon the horde,
Sending forth
runners to Odo's abode
In Reiginhold, a
strong Dwarven fortress,
Who in turn sent
envoys to other clans,
Then, himself
marched for the beleaguered town,
At the head of the
two mighty Dwarven hosts;
Broadhammer and
the Reiginhold Reavers.
Joining them at
Lofton were Fwalin's Folk,
Another stout and
hardy Dwarven force,
Plus giants of the
army Bloodnguts.
Nearby were the
men of Teutonic Knights,
Professing
neutrality, and at first,
Awaited events,
watching the tale unfold.
Lo! Across the
plains this bard, Aethelu,
Received the call
for aid, and responded.
The half-orc twin,
Lucan, placed in command
Of an large
armoured host of cataphract,
Who soon rode with
all speed for Lofton.
Alas, poor Lucan,
while a strong fighter,
Was not quite the
swiftest with a compass.
In Lofton, things
took a very dark turn
Necromancers into
bloodied sigils stepped,
Raised bare arms
to receptive sky above,
And invoked
ancient magick words in chant
To call on arcane
roots of power, death,
And weave their
foul dark magic in the sky.
There came a
thunderclap, a rumbling swell,
That pulsated 'cross
the vale to city wall;
Chilling dark
choirs chanted in counter cadence,
A vast voice they
formed, to vaulted ceiling rise.
In reply the sky
belched black, roiling clouds,
Greenish lightning
snaked along misty ravines,
Yet hautily
deigned to drink their smoky waters.
Its hungry tongue
instead ran and slipped
Through smoking,
inverted valleys in the sky,
While bloody rain
fell from those mountaintops,
Touching the
ground and bringing withering death.
Darak Karin, Tim
and Fetid Flesheater,
Leaders of this
chaotic horde, danced with glee;
But the
necromancers were all still, waiting.
Then, deathly
silence, a pall, fell; all paused.
First a finger,
then a hand, then arm broke
The ground;
scrabbling across the hardened clay,
Seeking foothold upon
which to release
Its other undead,
skeletal remains.
Then, its skull
was free, eye sockets packed with dirt,
Then, both arms,
digging round its pelvic bone,
And then its legs
and feet were in the clear,
The first zombie
warrior was now born.
The Chaos minions
resumed their awful dirge,
Suffused with a
diabolic relish
And triumphant
elation at their success.
Other dead
warriors rose to join the first,
Across the field
like bone white grain they bloomed
By the hundreds
they rose from their foul graves,
Some all bone,
some bone and flesh, nothing more,
Even those
recently dead with burned, slashed
Punctured and
mangled limbs joined the force,
To take their
hideous, immoral revenge.
And then, from the
west, their true lord arrived
Sweeping in on
dragon-back, Draco his name,
Is the one who
this Chaotic force commands.
As if upon a oft
prearranged cue,
The Chaos force
surged forward in attack
To be met by the
Dwarves of Ravnarok.
Red Ruth and his
crew had a flying ship
Freedom's Flight, and
up into the sky they sailed,
Engaging Draco and
his fearsome steed.
A broadside of
cannon shot struck the dragon,
Ripping his
leathery wings, gashing his side.
Blood flowing
freely from its and Draco's wounds,
The beast fell
savagely 'pon Red Ruth's Crew.
Upon the broken
ground the armies clashed;
Karin's orcish
horde battled Broadhammer,
Then were impaled
on the Knights' sharp swords.
Militant Migits
split into three forces,
Reiginhold Reavers
took them on the left,
While Fwalin's Folk
met them in the center,
On the right
Bloodnguts lived up to their name,
All across the
line there was close cuffling,
A bloody battle
with heavy casualties,
While Lofton's
helpless folk looked on and prayed.
Draco and his
steed raked the magic ship,
Flame and claw met
steel shot and bolts in the sky.
Many of Red Ruth's
Crew died that fateful day,
On blood and gut
soaked oak and flaming sail;
Yet still they
fought on, wounding Lord Draco,
And the mighty
dragon upon which he flew.
Blood and flesh
rained on the ground below,
An augment to the
macabre battlefield.
But, in the end,
neither dragon or ship,
Leverage over the
other could gain.
Spells lanced out
across the ground, Firestorm,
A deadly flame
slicing through Dwarven ranks.
Then a Grelg was
spotted, Vishnuss, and escort,
Upon a great warg;
aiding or watching?
Before the Dwarven
heroes could reach them,
They vanished into
the fray not to be seen,
Their blood flowed
freely upon the hard ground,
As dwarf battled
ogre and human the orc,
A titanic struggle
as any seen
Upon the surface
of Lorasia.
Then, the wearied
armies slowly withdrew,
The forces of
Chaos regrouped, prepared.
But, before a new
attack could be launched,
The Dwarves and
their allies hit them again,
While in the dark
sky above the dragon
And the ship
turned and turned for position,
Each eyeing the
other, seeking weakness,
While, quickly out
upon the tranquil plains,
Lucan desperately
raced to join the fray.
The 'Folk', led by
the druid Ori Barkskin
Enraged by the
wanton felling of trees,
Fought the ogres
but were sorely overmatched,
And were
threatened with annihilation,
Until Fwalin
himself with Banner Guard,
Came upon the
combat and turned the tide
Against the ogres
and their zombie slaves.
The fierce giants
of Bloodnguts stormed in next,
Demolishing their
ogre and zombie foes.
Two of the three
groups of Migits were destroyed!
The Dwarven army,
Reiginhold Reavers
Rushed like a gale
into action next; bagpipes,
Drums and chants
demoralizing their foes,
Surging 'round the
chaos flank, breaking them,
Trampling the dead
to get at the living.
Mighty Odo was not
to be outdone,
With Broadhammer
he overran his foes,
While the
gladiator Artair Trollsbane
Cut a path through
the horde into their rear.
Woe to those
minions of Chaos that day!
Against the likes
of druid Ori Barkskin,
Gladiator Artair
Trollsbane with sword,
And mighty Odo
Kundahkan the Dwarf,
Wielding a magic
hammer from his god.
A terrific toll
was exacted that morn,
Slaughtering orc
and ogre and their chaotic kin
A river of green
and slimy fetid blood
Choked the ground,
making footing treacherous,
As Odo and his kin
fought for glory.
What of the sky,
where Draco, Red Ruth battled?
Freedom's Flight
swooped, first right, then left, then down.
Draco countered,
seeking an opening,
Suddenly,
Freedom's Flight dived straight away,
And Draco,
thinking victory, flew after,
As he manoeuvred
for the final strike,
Freedom's Flight
suddenly backed all her sail
Shuddering soon to
a gut wrenching halt,
Hanging suspended
in the chill morning air.
The surprised
dragon overshot the ship.
Desperately Draco
sought to bank his way out,
To escape
Freedom's Flight's deadly line of fire.
Too late! A
ballista plunged through dragon wing,
And, held fast by
the ship's heavy anchor,
Pulled the great
beast's wing toward the nearing ground.
And then the
mighty First Dwarf strode forth,
Unleashing the
Hammer of Eldaron
To streak through
the air and smash the dragon's skull,
Sending it to oblivion
and worse,
Now falling
uncontrolled to the hard ground,
Draco himself flew
away into the sky;
His steed smashed
the ground with a thunderous thud!
The sight was too
much for the Chaos horde;
Those who survived
fled to the hobgoblin camp,
Where Fetid
Flesheater soon rallied them.
The Maggots had
built a strong palisade,
Which now the
ogres and orcs and zombies manned,
Awaiting the next
stage of the deadly game.
While Odo and kin
harvested dragon scales,
(Oh! If the
Chaotics knew their purpose!)
The Teutonic
Knights mopped up the remnants
Of orc queen Darak
Karin's hapless Horde.
And now the torn,
pitted field is quiet,
When, upon the
scene, poor Lucan arrives,
Red-faced with
justified embarrassment,
Seeking redemption
for his foolish gaffe,
He goes to Odo and
offers his services,
To aid the
defenders in what is left to do,
Odo and the others
lay their final plans,
And soon the
allied forces are in place
For the final
assault to this saga,
To bring to an end
the threat to Lofton.
First Broadhammer
and the Reiginhold Reavers
Pounded the ogres
who were above the walls.
Next came acid
bombs, soil soaked in dragon blood,
Packed in barrels
and hurled by catapult.
Oh what a sight,
ogres melting into the ground!
Burning bales of
hay fell on the Chaos camp,
Under cover of
smoke, Trollsbane slipped in
And killed a
hobgoblin necromancer;
Turned and fought
his way from the camp, saying
"They only
gave me six ogres to play with."
Then came the
Dwarven archers, firing arrows
Without mercy into
the disordered camp,
Followed by
flaming, burning fireballs.
Then, great stones
were rolled down upon the camp.
Adding insult to
injury Lucan led
His brave horsemen
close to the Chaos camp,
Where they loosed
even more deadly arrows,
An accurate sharp
fire, for the Horseclans
Are known foremost
as horse archers of the plains.
Scouts noted the
necromancer's in the group.
Later the
defenders began the final phase.
Lucan lead off,
using his horse archers
To kill several
chaos necromancers,
And wound several
more in the hail of arrows.
Then Lucan took
his troops into concealment.
The Teutonic
Knights also hid their forces.
Odo and the
Dwarves opened the assault,
Firing their
catapults into the palisade
They opened a huge
hole in the southern wall,
Then broke off the
attack, and quickly regrouped.
And then the Chaos
horde saw a great hulking,
Armoured figure
stride forth from the Dwarven camp.
The armour was
darker than night itself,
Yet twinkled with
the light of a thousand stars.
What manner of
dwarf was this, they asked?
The figure marched
resolutely forward,
A shadow of fear
swept forward with it,
A shadow borne of
Chaos, and yet, somehow
It whispered with
a voice of Dwarven hope,
Striking terror
into the heart of the horde.
The figure
stopped, frozen for a moment,
Then unslung a
huge hammer from his back.
As the great
hammer was firmly swept aloft,
It blazed with a
brilliant divine borne light
To reveal first
the features of Odo,
And then the
details of his crafted armour.
Moulded exactly to
his figure, hardened,
Reinforced,
skillfully made flexible;
It was a Dragon's
Hide! The Dragon's hide!
And in their
With a thunderous
roar of "Blood and Iron",
Odo swept the
Hammer of Eldaron down,
Pointing it at the
Chaos palisade.
A greater roar
resounded behind him,
And hundreds of
Dwarven warriors charged
Upon the Chaotics
in a titanic surge,
Sweeping over the
defensive palisade,
Orcs and ogres and
all else Chaotic before them.
Nothing could
withstand that tremendous charge,
Of Dwarven
determination and resolve.
Bagpipes piping,
drums rolling, boots pounding
Like relentless
storm carried thunder they came,
Across the
forested Cambrian ground,
An immutable
Dwarven tidal wave,
Purging the
forested terrain of Chaos.
The best warriors
of the
Known as the
Dwarven born,
Dwarven forged, and Dwarven lead.
On they came
without pause, without remorse,
Sweeping all before
them, an inhuman tide.
Odo was at their
head, followed by Trollsbane,
Together they
crashed into the Chaos horde,
Cutting a swath,
cutting down the spellcasters,
Fighting their way
inch by bloody inch
Towards Tiny Tim
and Fetid and Karin.
To engage them in
combat, one-on-one,
Destroying all who
were before them,
None could stand
before these two great warriors,
Hope of the
Dwarven people, reborn, anew,
Answer to the
prayers of the people of Lofton.
And, then, as if
the Chaos horde had not
Enough misery and
fear to worry about,
A naked blue Dwarf
sprang into the battle.
His name was
Thunderbearer, a striking sight,
In a frenzied,
devastating berserk rage,
Cutting his
separate way towards Tiny Tim.
Necromancers gave their
lives, blocking him,
Tiny Tim evaded,
seeking to rally the ogres.
However,
Thunderbearer had broken them all.
The Chaos leaders
fled; the final rout began.
Through the broken
palisade they streamed,
'cross the western
field, an orcish-ogrish tide,
Flowing rapidly
across the rocky vale,
And then, seeking
redemption, came Lucan,
Leading the
Agerian Crusaders,
The armoured
cataphract of the Horseclans,
With war cries
glorifying the Greater Ones
They sliced deftly
through the fleeing ogres,
Destroying their
flank and exposing their core,
A clear path to
Tiny Tim opened to Lucan.
Without pause
Lucan flew into the breach.
Two necromancers
blocked his path, both fools!
Lucan impaled them
cleanly upon his lance,
Then tossed it
aside, tripping a third ogre,
Who was trampled
under fleet Nesme's hooves
(Nesme was the
name of Lucan's war-horse.)
Drawing sword he
faced Tiny Tim on foot.
(Oh what an
oxymoron that name be!)
Sword to halberd
they battled, the ogre
Had the greater
reach, but Lucan was faster.
The wicked halberd
swept in, low to the ground,
But Lucan leaped
it, springing forward his
Sword cut a line
across the ogre's belly.
The halberd
stopped its arc, then started back.
Lucan was not
there, leaping back, he pulled
A dirk and hurled
it straight for Tiny Tim.
The dirk struck
the huge ogre in the neck,
Digging deeper,
into the fleshy reservoir
In which flowed
the ogre's life giving blood.
A gout spewed
forth, spraying the combatants.
The barbed halberd
swung again however,
Catching Lucan off
guard, slicing his armour.
Then Tiny Tim
threw the halberd, like a spear.
Narrowly missing
Lucan who dodged about.
Drawing sword, the
bloody ogre closed rank,
Vowing to take
this human with him to death,
One that would gratefully
unfulfilled remain.
Sword to sword the
two exchanged violent blows
Steel clashed on
steel, boots kicked at the shin,
Lucan whirling,
turning, dodging had the edge.
Meanwhile Tuetonic
Knights rode swiftly forth,
And obliterated
the running hobgoblins.
Their armoured
cavalry crushed the hobs' flank.
The result, a
quick collapse of that horde,
And the capture of
Fetid Flesheater.
Lucan now finished
off his larger foe
With a thrust
through his guard to the his gut,
A gruesome gory
disemboweling slice,
Then a backslash
to the stunned ogre's throat
Tiny Tim fell, his
last breath a feeble curse.
Around him, the
Horseclans finished the fray,
Mopping up the
remaining ogres and
Their cowled
necromantic brethren.
Many ogre fighters
surrendered to them
But not one
necromancer was left alive!
Their zombie
slaves, once fearsome, melt away
Returned to their
ever eternal sleep.
All across the
rocky vale could be seen
The end of the
battle, the end of the horde.
And rejoicing on
the walls of Lofton.
Where Lucan stands
weighing the deadly cost,
Thinking of the
families of the souls who died,
A Dwarf advances,
a battlerager.
He examined the
dead ogre Tiny Tim,
Turned to Lucan,
and heartily exclaimed,
"Not bad for
a human, if I say so meself!"
(For he knows not
Lucan's half-orc heritage)
And a resounding
smack on the backside
He gives poor
Lucan, and, his armour cut,
The breastplate
plops off, and hits the ground.
And so the great
struggle at last ended,
A victory for the
denizens of Law,
Heralding the
return of Dwarven Lords,
And their prowess
on the field of battle.
Prisoners were
rounded up, spoils taken,
Divided among the
victors, and Lucan,
Having redeemed
himself, was greeted
Warmly in the
Dwarven camp.
Far away, I,
Aethelu, this humble bard, got the news,
And was glad my
people had proved themselves
And thus it is
upon a calm and clear night,
Sitting beneath
the brilliant vaulted stars,
In the cold crisp
air, warmed by a blazing fire,
I composed this
rousing poetic tale
About the Chaotic
assault on Lofton,
And of how Odo
Kundahkan, First Dwarf,
Slew a great
dragon, and of lost Lucan,
Half-orc,
cast-off, found his way to battle,
And of his
redemption and acceptance,
Thus closing this
tale of valor and might.
Aethelu Wintersong, Matron Mother, House Wintersong, Horseclans of Ageria