13th Sypheros
13th Syphofos on the road somewhere between Drenlin’s Ferry and New Cyre
I now see clearly that there is no hope of final victory against the innumerable forces arrayed against us. The survival of New Cyre is in the hands of the Sovereign Host now. Should New Cyre survive the coming storm of war it will be a miracle of such magnitude that even the most recalcitrant agnostic could not discredit the event. It is harsh but I must now count the survival of my wife and friends of greater importance than the survival of New Cyre. Should New Cyre fall, my companions and I could still escape to carry warning to Breland and the rest of the former Galifarian Empire. But if we fall along with New Cyre, all Khorvaire may be doomed.
My despair is not without reason. Such fears are rooted in what now seems a foolish optimism. After meeting with the elders in Drenlin’s Ferry and subsequent to a brief private conference among the fellowship of the Honor Guard, it was decided that our best course of action to achieve the twin ends of warding the hapless refugees and slowing the advancing juggernaut was to split our forces. Acting as a screening force to slow the advancing horde would play to the strengths of those of us with formidable long ranged attacks (Elarin, Pazenga, and myself). Conversely acting as a living shield for the retreating refugees would draw on Zed’s supremacy in close combat. Therefore we divided our company with Elarin, Pazenga, Bryanna, Failin, and I remaining behind to defend the river crossing at Drenlin’s Ferry while Zed accompanied the refugees on their long trek to the capital of New Cyre.
After the Cyran refugees had fled, Bryanna and I went to Drenlin’s small church of the Host and discovered that a fully stocked fabrication facility that had been abandoned by the vassal priests. Rather than have such costly materials fall into the hands of the enemy, we decided that Bryanna should attempt to craft as many healing wands as possible while I deciphered a few of the most powerful scrolls tucked away in our magic backpack.
While we were doing so, Pazenga briefly stopped in and we had a meeting of minds over a “scorched earth” policy toward Drenlin’s Ferry. In their haste, the refugees had left far too much in the way of victuals and other supplies for us to allow the village of Drenlin’s Ferry to fall into the hands of the enemy. I was to find out later that Pazenga shrewdly used lamp oil, cooking oil, and firewood to guarantee that the enemy would not benefit from an occupation of Drenlin’s Ferry. Our githzerai monk had also cut loose the tethered raft that gave Drenlin’s Ferry its name and razed it to the waterline. He and Elarin had also hulled every boat on both sides of the river to deny the goblin army passage.
When the call came from Pazenga and Elarin that the enemy had finally reached the far side of the river I ascended the stairs to the wall’s parapet with foolish confidence. I was convinced that, with four hundred feet of river between us and them, we were safe for the time being. I could not have been more wrong.
In my foolish arrogance I assumed my new fireball spell would allow me to strike at the goblinoids at a range that would render their bows and crossbows impotent. I released the restrained power of my fireball spell with a few whispered words of magic and sent the flames arcing high over the flowing river toward a distant group of hobgoblin crossbowmen. Instead of incinerating them, as I expected, the heat of the spell merely left them singed and enraged. In response those crossbowmen, and hundreds of their fellows up and down the distant riverbank, fired their weapons on a high trajectory, the myriad of bolts blotting out the late morning sun. The sheer volume of missiles dropping out of the sky rendered the skill of the archer superflous. Elarin and I received a great number of shallow wounds and were forced to retreat to dubious safety of an adjacent cottage. Pazenga boldly remained behind on the parapet firing his crossbow furiously though to no apparent effect. As Elarin, Bryanna, and I hid from the arrow storm, Pazenga drew upon his uncanny agility to avoid the incoming barrage of missiles. Although our gith martial artist succeeded for a time, there was no more hope of avoiding all of the missiles from that massive arrow storm than there is of dodging all of the raindrops in a down poor. After a being pierced a number of times even Pazenga was forced to withdraw from the town’s palisade in order to preserve his life.
It was at this point that the sorcerers of the goblin army destroyed the riverside section of the wooden palisade with a barrage of enchanted fireballs. The four of us decided that it was time to set fire to town before the goblin advance guard was close enough to prevent the holocaust and our grim scorched earth policy. After setting fire to the town, we retreated to Failin’s wagon to await further developments. We spent a sleepless night camping near the wagon while the towering flames of Drenlin’s Ferry turned night to day. I know that this was necessary but the guilt and shame are almost unbearable.
When the goblin vanguard finally crossed the river and once again came within reach of our distance attacks, we struck. Neither my feeble fireball spell nor my friends' missiles inflicted more than superficial wounds upon the elite hobgoblin foot. Failin immediately got the elemental wagon underway bearing Bryanna, Elarin, Shard, and I while Pazenga loped nearby acting as as guard and skirmisher. The hobgoblins were under the influence of a spell of some sort, perhaps haste, and quickly closed with us surrounding the elemental wagon on three sides. The hobgoblin captain and one of his soldiers must have recognized me as the group’s spellbinder because they laid into me with their swords. The soldier struck first and I used a minor illusion magic to throw off this aim. Before I could recover the captain dealt an agonizing slash across my stomach and I felt my intestines begin to exit the burning incision. Barely conscious, I was sure that I had cheated death once too often and I waited for the blow that would send me to Dolurrh. Bryanna, my darling wife, drew upon the incredible power of her new staff and completely healed the gaping wound.
Just as it seemed we would be overwhelmed, Failin swerved and crushed two of the elite swordsmen under the elemental wagon‘s huge stone wheels. Elarin accounted for a third with two quick blasts of his fire-bolt spell. Instead of pushing in for the kill, the hobgoblin swordsmen retreated back to their own lines at speed. I sent a fireball after them as revenge for my near disembowelment, but again it barely scorched them. Apparently the distant cluster of hobgoblins and their monstrous allies were supported by a powerful sorcerer, for an answering fireball blasted into the center of Failin’s wagon. Unlike my fireball, the hobgoblins’ did more than scorch our skin and set fire to our hair. In panic, Failin kicked the wagon into full speed in order to get out of spell range. I launched another fireball into the hobgoblin foot and felt grim satisfaction as two of the swordsmen fell writhing in flames. My satisfaction was short lived as another of the hobgoblin sorcerer’s fireball detonated upon us yet again. Failin collapsed, his skin blackened, and the elemental wagon came to a grinding halt. Bryanna once again saved the day by using her staff to snatch Failin from death’s door. Meanwhile Elarin had consumed a healing draught and counter attacked the deadly sorcerer with his only spell capable of reaching that great distance, his acid missile spell. The burning acid could not kill the sorcerer but it did give him something to think about besides us. When the third fireball struck the wagon my brave wife dropped smoldering and unconscious to the bottom of the wagon. I scooped up Bryanna’s staff and healed her with its powerful magic. Elarin blasted the enemy sorcerer with another of his amazing acid spells just as the wagon pulled out of range.
Our abysmal performance against the goblinoid advance guard has destroyed any optimism I had for victory in the coming war. If the five of us, experts in our respective fields, were barely able to escape, much less defeat, a goblin vanguard of less than a score, what hope does the inexperienced military of New Cyre have? Even if New Cyre could match the ten thousand strong army of the goblinoids and their allies, they would be outclassed by the horde’s combat experience. I suspect that many of the hobgoblin warriors are Darguun veterans of the Last War. We will never surrender but I cannot avoid the conclusion that this war is already lost.
I now see clearly that there is no hope of final victory against the innumerable forces arrayed against us. The survival of New Cyre is in the hands of the Sovereign Host now. Should New Cyre survive the coming storm of war it will be a miracle of such magnitude that even the most recalcitrant agnostic could not discredit the event. It is harsh but I must now count the survival of my wife and friends of greater importance than the survival of New Cyre. Should New Cyre fall, my companions and I could still escape to carry warning to Breland and the rest of the former Galifarian Empire. But if we fall along with New Cyre, all Khorvaire may be doomed.
My despair is not without reason. Such fears are rooted in what now seems a foolish optimism. After meeting with the elders in Drenlin’s Ferry and subsequent to a brief private conference among the fellowship of the Honor Guard, it was decided that our best course of action to achieve the twin ends of warding the hapless refugees and slowing the advancing juggernaut was to split our forces. Acting as a screening force to slow the advancing horde would play to the strengths of those of us with formidable long ranged attacks (Elarin, Pazenga, and myself). Conversely acting as a living shield for the retreating refugees would draw on Zed’s supremacy in close combat. Therefore we divided our company with Elarin, Pazenga, Bryanna, Failin, and I remaining behind to defend the river crossing at Drenlin’s Ferry while Zed accompanied the refugees on their long trek to the capital of New Cyre.
After the Cyran refugees had fled, Bryanna and I went to Drenlin’s small church of the Host and discovered that a fully stocked fabrication facility that had been abandoned by the vassal priests. Rather than have such costly materials fall into the hands of the enemy, we decided that Bryanna should attempt to craft as many healing wands as possible while I deciphered a few of the most powerful scrolls tucked away in our magic backpack.
While we were doing so, Pazenga briefly stopped in and we had a meeting of minds over a “scorched earth” policy toward Drenlin’s Ferry. In their haste, the refugees had left far too much in the way of victuals and other supplies for us to allow the village of Drenlin’s Ferry to fall into the hands of the enemy. I was to find out later that Pazenga shrewdly used lamp oil, cooking oil, and firewood to guarantee that the enemy would not benefit from an occupation of Drenlin’s Ferry. Our githzerai monk had also cut loose the tethered raft that gave Drenlin’s Ferry its name and razed it to the waterline. He and Elarin had also hulled every boat on both sides of the river to deny the goblin army passage.
When the call came from Pazenga and Elarin that the enemy had finally reached the far side of the river I ascended the stairs to the wall’s parapet with foolish confidence. I was convinced that, with four hundred feet of river between us and them, we were safe for the time being. I could not have been more wrong.
In my foolish arrogance I assumed my new fireball spell would allow me to strike at the goblinoids at a range that would render their bows and crossbows impotent. I released the restrained power of my fireball spell with a few whispered words of magic and sent the flames arcing high over the flowing river toward a distant group of hobgoblin crossbowmen. Instead of incinerating them, as I expected, the heat of the spell merely left them singed and enraged. In response those crossbowmen, and hundreds of their fellows up and down the distant riverbank, fired their weapons on a high trajectory, the myriad of bolts blotting out the late morning sun. The sheer volume of missiles dropping out of the sky rendered the skill of the archer superflous. Elarin and I received a great number of shallow wounds and were forced to retreat to dubious safety of an adjacent cottage. Pazenga boldly remained behind on the parapet firing his crossbow furiously though to no apparent effect. As Elarin, Bryanna, and I hid from the arrow storm, Pazenga drew upon his uncanny agility to avoid the incoming barrage of missiles. Although our gith martial artist succeeded for a time, there was no more hope of avoiding all of the missiles from that massive arrow storm than there is of dodging all of the raindrops in a down poor. After a being pierced a number of times even Pazenga was forced to withdraw from the town’s palisade in order to preserve his life.
It was at this point that the sorcerers of the goblin army destroyed the riverside section of the wooden palisade with a barrage of enchanted fireballs. The four of us decided that it was time to set fire to town before the goblin advance guard was close enough to prevent the holocaust and our grim scorched earth policy. After setting fire to the town, we retreated to Failin’s wagon to await further developments. We spent a sleepless night camping near the wagon while the towering flames of Drenlin’s Ferry turned night to day. I know that this was necessary but the guilt and shame are almost unbearable.
When the goblin vanguard finally crossed the river and once again came within reach of our distance attacks, we struck. Neither my feeble fireball spell nor my friends' missiles inflicted more than superficial wounds upon the elite hobgoblin foot. Failin immediately got the elemental wagon underway bearing Bryanna, Elarin, Shard, and I while Pazenga loped nearby acting as as guard and skirmisher. The hobgoblins were under the influence of a spell of some sort, perhaps haste, and quickly closed with us surrounding the elemental wagon on three sides. The hobgoblin captain and one of his soldiers must have recognized me as the group’s spellbinder because they laid into me with their swords. The soldier struck first and I used a minor illusion magic to throw off this aim. Before I could recover the captain dealt an agonizing slash across my stomach and I felt my intestines begin to exit the burning incision. Barely conscious, I was sure that I had cheated death once too often and I waited for the blow that would send me to Dolurrh. Bryanna, my darling wife, drew upon the incredible power of her new staff and completely healed the gaping wound.
Just as it seemed we would be overwhelmed, Failin swerved and crushed two of the elite swordsmen under the elemental wagon‘s huge stone wheels. Elarin accounted for a third with two quick blasts of his fire-bolt spell. Instead of pushing in for the kill, the hobgoblin swordsmen retreated back to their own lines at speed. I sent a fireball after them as revenge for my near disembowelment, but again it barely scorched them. Apparently the distant cluster of hobgoblins and their monstrous allies were supported by a powerful sorcerer, for an answering fireball blasted into the center of Failin’s wagon. Unlike my fireball, the hobgoblins’ did more than scorch our skin and set fire to our hair. In panic, Failin kicked the wagon into full speed in order to get out of spell range. I launched another fireball into the hobgoblin foot and felt grim satisfaction as two of the swordsmen fell writhing in flames. My satisfaction was short lived as another of the hobgoblin sorcerer’s fireball detonated upon us yet again. Failin collapsed, his skin blackened, and the elemental wagon came to a grinding halt. Bryanna once again saved the day by using her staff to snatch Failin from death’s door. Meanwhile Elarin had consumed a healing draught and counter attacked the deadly sorcerer with his only spell capable of reaching that great distance, his acid missile spell. The burning acid could not kill the sorcerer but it did give him something to think about besides us. When the third fireball struck the wagon my brave wife dropped smoldering and unconscious to the bottom of the wagon. I scooped up Bryanna’s staff and healed her with its powerful magic. Elarin blasted the enemy sorcerer with another of his amazing acid spells just as the wagon pulled out of range.
Our abysmal performance against the goblinoid advance guard has destroyed any optimism I had for victory in the coming war. If the five of us, experts in our respective fields, were barely able to escape, much less defeat, a goblin vanguard of less than a score, what hope does the inexperienced military of New Cyre have? Even if New Cyre could match the ten thousand strong army of the goblinoids and their allies, they would be outclassed by the horde’s combat experience. I suspect that many of the hobgoblin warriors are Darguun veterans of the Last War. We will never surrender but I cannot avoid the conclusion that this war is already lost.
Labels: Dinnivan, Dungeons and Dragons, Eberron, Red Hand of Doom
posted by DM1979 | 4/05/2007 08:20:00 PM
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