RECAP: The Second Battle of Drezen

Les Hostetler | October 30, 2023 | A TEAM | No Comments

Aponivicius quickly realized that challenging the Optimists Primes to single combat was a mistake. They’d destroyed her lair, using the bomb platform that she’d counted on to resolve the Drezen problem once and for all. Worse, they disrupted her projection, which forced her to physically be present to lead her armies, something she hadn’t wanted to do until Citadel Drezen was destroyed, the city poisoned, and her commandoes mopping up the dying remains of those pestilential humans and dwarves’ who’d taken it from her.

These two setbacks required her to come to Drezen in person, and pride’s noisome fumes forced her demonstrate her power in front of her troops: hence, the challenge. When they’d accepted, the first frisson of potential error nestled on her spine at the top of her tail. When they arrived in the desert, accompanied by the dwarf-king’s coterie and a stand of crusaders in mail, she suspected treachery. But no: the Primes came forward, the soldiers remained back, trading insults and glares with the demonic hordes behind her, awaiting her command.

They’d taken her image out quickly, and invalidated her teleport ability with a dimensional anchor – two things she hadn’t foreseen, and two things that bloomed that nascent feeling that she’d made a mistake into something edging dangerously close to fear. When the dragon and their pet – some sort of elvish monster that looked like a mishmash of body parts – converged on her, they hit her unconscionably hard. Now the fear was palpable, a gibbering thing that rose in her gullet and threatened to choke.

In 30 seconds it was over, and Aponivicius’ head lay on the ruddy sand, leaking purplish-black demon-blood. The dust drank it greedily, and the Optimist Primes stood in triumph.

And then the hordes of demons broke free of Aponivicius’ control and charged screaming at King Harlakar’s heavy infantry, who received the wordless challenge with a “huzzah!” and an “at them, boys!” The two armies – the demonic left flank a thousand strong, and half as many dwarves, round shields bright in the sun and axes gleaming in anticipation – flung themselves at each other with no calls for quarter and none to be given. On the right flank, General Gier led two hundred armored crusaders, veterans of a thousand battles, into the teeth of another thousands demons. Outnumbered five to one, they slammed into the demonic lines heedless of their own safety.

But this wasn’t the worst of it: lifting off from the center of the battlefield were a huge squadron of vrocks, half of them carrying nalfeshnee commandoes. They took to the air and, screeching abyssal imprecations, began moving east toward the city.

It was then that each of the Optimist Primes saw, for the first time, their role in the fight that was even now breaking out across a line a half a mile wide.

Above Fflashheart, the sound of Scawae called him upwards to join the cadre of ballistaeros that were even know bearing down upon the field. Smiling for the first time since he’d left the city, the affable paladin rose upward to join Scawae and bring to bear it power upon the vrock. “Welcome, my lord Herald,” said the man who helped Fflashheart into the immense whicker basket underslung on Scawae. In his hand, Radiance sang her song of vengeance.
Behind Farotto, a gate opened and emitted invisible clouds of pine-scent and hint of bog. Satyrs, their horns curled back and with curved bows in their hands, stepped through the gate smiling. Behind them, mottled panthers of black, grey and tawny brown loped forward, bearing their fangs. “Lady Farotto,” said one satyr, bearing a hand-twisted badge on a length of weed-rope around his neck, “We have come here bidden by our Fey masters to aid you in this hour. Will you have us?” Farotto stood for a second then nodded once. The Satyr laughed. “We are the Laughing Horde!” it said with obvious mirth. “And we have come to kill.”
Nearby, Lothar landed gently on the dust, glowing yet from the power of Erastil. His wings made no sound, but his eyes glowed golden and the Bow of Erastil dripped with energy. Beyond him, a gate opened, emitting light the color of dawn. From this emerged rank after rank of elvish bowmen, dressed in green and wearing copper helmets festooned with immense stag horns. “Beloved on Erastil, we have come at the bidding Cernnunos,” the first said. He did not smile. “The Lord of the Wood has sent us to aid you in this fight.” “You are welcome indeed,” replied Lothar. “Those yew bows you bear will be of great use in this damnable, treeless place.” “Lead us then,” the strange elf said. “For you are the Beloved of Erastil, and we have come to do our master’s bidding.”
Fletcher stood awkwardly in the sand, staring down at the head and torso of Aponivicius, recently removed from her snakelike tail. Demon blood against his skin hadn’t bothered him for a while now, and he looked westward toward the advancing demons with something akin to hunger. His eyes were soon drawn, however, to an immense demon that materialized nearby. Hideous, hunched, and bearing twins to the feral, unearthly arm that was grafted to his own torso, Fletcher recognized his pureblood kin: glabrezu. Another, then another, materialized near the first. “Fletachar,” it said, it’s warped mouth struggling with the syllables of his name. “Our Lady has sent us to you with orders to murder what creatures you command us to.” It looked toward the demonic horde. “What is that command,” it asked, it’s piggy eyes never wavering. “Kill what I kill, and you will have ample murder to sate you,” Fletcher said simply, as he joined them and began stalking toward the advancing lines.
“We are the h’Haarshanns, the builders of whirlwinds,” said a high whickery voice from inside the cascade of winds that had materialized in front of Illendar and Storm. “We are the word of the gale, the bringers of the tempest. And we are here to render unto you aid.” Illendar easily slung himself onto Storm’s back, and beckoned to the nearly invisible creatures, who were coalescing in gusts from and spinning themselves into weird ranks. “I know not who has sent you,” Illendar said. “But you are most welcome. To the skies!”
From Drezen, two score and ten men and women, each dressed differently and exhibiting no military bearing, traversed the miles with impressed speed. They reached the battlefield and set down, with grim faces and bearing staves, wands, and orbs, while one of their rank came forward toward Bardos. “Magister Bardos,” he said. “For too long have the mages of Drezen been comfortable to watch from behind the walls while others do our fighting. Today, we have come for two purposes: to assuage the debt that we have incurred, and to fight alongside you as our leader. Will you have us?” Bardos paused for a moment, his face as stoic and unmoved by emotion as he was always. “I will,” he said simply. “Prepare yourselves, for this day we shall test our powers against a horde from the Abyss.”

The battle began as the two demon armies squared off against the Drezeni units, while the center contained the vrock air cavalry lifting off ostensibly to get behind the smaller OP units. King Harlakar’s dwarves charged the demon’s left flank, while Gier’s crusaders quickly stepped into block the right flank. Fighting was immediate and vicious on the right, and the crusaders were quickly put onto their back feet due to the demons’ superior numbers. Illendar’s air elementals moved to block the center and prevent the vrocks from delivery the demon SEALs behind the line, with Scawae, the Lothar’s archers and the mage contingent supporting them. To the north, Farotto and the Horde began raining arrows down upon the demons in support of Harlakar, while Fletcher and the glabrezu moved quickly in support of the crusader left flank.

Harlakar moved in to stall the demonic advance, while the Archers of Cernnunos moved underneath the vrocks to deliver archery attacks. Generally, the Drezeni strategy was to allow the larger armies (Harlakar, Gier) to stymie the large sections of demon ground troops, while the flying units bottled up the vrock air cav to prevent them from dropping the nalfs beyond the initial lines. The Elementals further debuffed the vrocks with Aponovicius’ head, rubbing their leader’s death in the face of the attackers.

The demonic left flank, after taking some significant damage from teh laughing Horde, wheeled left to try and bring their forces to bear against the satyrs, but were swiftly out-maneuvered. Harlakar’s dwarves launched a series of ineffectual attacks…

… but they succeeded in bottling up the left flank and protecting the archers. After the vrocks, sensing they weren’t going to et past the Elementals easily, dropped their nalf SEALs, the demon commandoes threw themselves at the Archers of Cernnunos, inflicting heavy losses and driving them backwards. Gier’s crusaders stepped in to cover the archers’ retreat, and that proved to be the General’s undoing.

Fletcher and Noc’s Glabs tried to support Gier’s left flank, but were not delivering damage in sufficient volume to take out the southern demonic horde, leaving Gier the sole defender against the much strong demon commandoes. Despite triage and healing from the elvish contingent, the nalfs overran the crusader position and slew their commander.

Not long after Gier’s crusaders were overrun, the concentrated fire from the Elementals, Archers, Scawae and Mages decimated the remaining vrocks. Understanding the danger of the nalf SEALs, the Elementals overflew the demon horde to get a better trajectory on the nalfs and begin wearing away at their significant defensive capabilities. Moving to close the gap, Harlakar’s dwarves split into two corps and spread out along the north-south battle-line.

The Laughing Horde put the final arrows into the demonic left flank, clearing the way for Harlakar to swing south and trap the SEALs. Fletcher’s glabrezu had by this time begun to fight with renewed vigor, and the demons, now, had begun to waver. Their glee at their victory over the crusaders was, ultimately, short-lived. The Drezeni airborne and archery units continued to hammer the SEALs.

After the glabrezu finished off the last of the horde and, with their right flank exposed, the Drezeni surrounded the last of the demons. The nalfeshnee fought hard, realizing their situation and fighting with bitter viciousness, but in the end they were extinguished. Harlakar’s dwarves chased down the last of the nalfs, those who fled west into the sands. Like foxes before hounds, the demons ran to try and save themselves, but Harlakar’s dwarves were merciless. They’d seen Gier fall and their own men struck down next to them – none of the demons escaped..

The toll on both sides was severe: