Session Nineteen (Graveyard of Empires Summary)
Wanted to write out Axel’s perspective of our almost party-wipe. I have taken some small liberties with the events, but it’s mostly on point. Enjoy!
Axel sat sombre and quiet in the back of the wagon as the party made it’s way across town to Lord Thornton’s. It had been a long day, wandering all over Newtown in search of answers, and the dwarf felt they had perhaps gained more problems than answers. The night grew dark, and a light rain fell upon them, souring his mood yet further. A commotion up ahead caught the party’s attention and they looked up as Minitius, thier wagon driver, slowed his horse to a halt in the middle of a bridge.
Looking over, they could see a cartload of cabbages spilled across the road, a man and a woman arguing amongst the scattered vegetation. Tension spread throughout the group, and they all looked around warily out of pure instinct even as an arrow landed amongst them from across the canal. Someone shouted ambush, and Axel moved instantly, rolling off of the side of the wagon to the street, as the wizard Finklemur ducked for cover, Faldspar readied a spell, and Tarion drew his bow.
The elf’s keen eyes spotted the target, but his return shot missed it’s mark. Following his lead, Axel drew his longbow and nailed the archer with a powerful shot. Shouting begins, and the once-arguing cabbage farmers turn and advance on them, drawing weapons. Finklemur dove for cover behind the wagon, dragging Minitius behind him, but is dismayed to see yet more attackers closing in from behind.
Seeing Thorfus engage the two in front, Axel readies himself to join his dwarven brother only to feel a surge of power splash against him. Whatever the magic wanted to do to him, the young dwarf resisted it, and he spun around to see a cleric step up alongside the shocked looking mage. The woman spoke, a prayer, and once more magic hit him, this one stifling and oppressive. He sees Tarion release another arrow and freeze up, Finklemur doing the same even in the face of an advancing swordsmen. With a defiant roar, Axel pushes through it and draws Face Cleaver, tossing the longbow aside.
Realising that the two magic-users were perhaps the biggest threat to them, he charges, warcries issuing forth from his lips. Shouldering past the mage, he swings his axe at the cleric, reasoning that killing her would free his allies. The cleric is surprisingly nimble however, and Face Cleaver sparks off of a concealed vest of chainmail.
Rage fuels him, and Axel presses the assault, but the mage snarls a word and he is engulfed in a torrent of flame. Battlecries turn into a roar of pain, the fire heating up his mail, scorching his skin and hair and clothing. The dwarf rolled out of the fire, putting the cleric between him and the mage, renewing his assault. The woman meets his axe with a mace and they dance back and forth, neither able to hit the other.
Periphally, Axel is aware of the rest of the party. The distant clatter of weapons beyond the wagon where Thorfus fought, the heavy splash of Minitius diving into the canal and the sickening meaty impact of a sword impaling the frozen Finklemur. He realises that this is no mere assault by desperate bandits, and unlike the group devestated by Thorfus in the sewers, this group was made up of consummate fighters. As if to punctuate the thought, the cleric cried out, seizing an advantage to bring down her mace in heavy blow that shattered his shield. The dwarf cries out in pain, his arm numbed by the attack.
There is another splash, someone else had jumped into the river, and a groan signals Thorfus falling to their attackers.
“We’re going to die here,” Axel realises forlornly. Outnumbered and outmaneouvred, thier best warrior down and half the party unable to act.
As if to assauge his fears, a chanted prayer echoes out and he sees Ir’Alle directing the holy energy at Finklemur, healing the old mage of his wounds. The cleric leaps down from the wagon, racing to meet him, calling out encouragement. They fight together against the two ambushers. Passing over his shield, Ir’Alle heals Axel’s wounds and the dwarf surges forward with renewed vigour.
A third attacker charges through the rain, skillfully ducking under the Midnight Star to deliver a fatal blow to the cleric. Crying out in rage and grief, Axel plants himself of his fallen friend’s unconcious body and engages the three with desperation. For all his skill however, the young dwarf was tired and hurt, fighting three humans alone. Ir’Alle’s shield is wrenched from his arm and the world goes black as the woman laughs triumphantly, striking his brow with her mace.