File: Archmage Domain.jpg (194 KB, 800x496)

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You look round yourself at the open, grassy plains you find yourself in. The sweet, scent of fresh due wafts its way past you. The light breeze sways the surrounding foliage to dance. Only the oddly, out of place wooden door, standing as a lone sentry guarding nothing, provides any sign you are somehow still inside the Circle.

The atmosphere of this land is peaceful and quiet. It provides a stark contrast to the chaotic and bloody situation you were in moments ago. Something about it feels so . . . cathartic. This isn't the first time you've been outdoors among the undomesticated wilds of the world. But it is the first time the presence of nature has felt so freeing. It's glorious.

“Seen it before,” Kyra says, unimpressed.

Flid startles, a protest caught in his throat. “No you haven't!” he finally manages to fire back.

“We have a friend who made her own mirrorverse. Much more bland, granted. Your archmage here has an impressive aesthetic,” Rowe explains.

Flid chuckles and then raises a finger. “Ah, you misunderstand. This is no artificially constructed pocket dimension. A spell did not make this place. Magic and an artifact was necessary to bridge our worlds, but this place exists with or without our influence.”

“How big is it?” you ask, curious.

“Well it's a bit hard to tell, but we're pretty sure it's near to the size of our own planet. The only two major differences we've noticed are that there don't seem to be any sapient species and magic works everywhere.”

File: Flid Havrang.jpg (36 KB, 487x788)

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That revelation piques your interest.

“Why aren't we harvesting resources from –”

“Because we'd just be drawing another innocent world into a pointless, bloody conflict,” Rowe answers for you, arms crossed and eyes gazing towards the horizon. “This place is pure and untainted.” Rowe turns round to study a mountain range off in the distance. “A realm free of humanoid influence, exploitation or domination.” Rowe turns to Flid. “At least that's what the Archmage believes. She's keeping this a secret from Blackburn to preserve it, isn't she?”

Flid's slack jawed expression seems to confirm Rowe's astute postulate. He clears his throat. “That is the simplest way to put it, yes. The Archmage retreats to this place to meditate and focus on her spellcraft. It's off limits to all but her and the Circle Magisters. Even we are politely discouraged from entering or spending much time here. Especially since . . . well, here's the last fun fact about this place. Or at least about how this world and our world don't line up exactly. Time goes faster in here. An hour in our world is about six hours in this one. Which makes it bad to stay here for long periods of time. As temporal beings it would become obvious we're aging faster than we should be.”

“Unless you're immortal,” Kyra points out. “Archmage an elf? Elves immortal?”

“Yes. At least, that's what Essentia tells us. I doubt I'll live long enough to prove her wrong. But what's important is that it has been – what? – an hour, maybe forty minutes since everything went sideways. Essentia and Stephen have been in here for anywhere from four to six hours already. They could be anywhere on this planet and right now we don't have the resources to locate her. The Archmage can take care of herself. Right now we need to deal with whatever is happening in Seaside.”

>Alright, let's go
>Wait, I have some more questions (write-in)

>>45993678
>>Alright, let's go

>>45993678
>Alright, let's go

Writing!

Have been for some time.

File: Phase Spider.jpg (86 KB, 592x538)

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“Alright then. Let's go.”

Flid opens the door up for you and you file out of the Archmage's domain. He closes it firmly behind you and locks it with a key he produces from his robes.

The next few minutes are quite a proud and determined stride. Before you get a chance to warn Flid of the trapped staircase he's already fiddling with a brightly colored section of wall nearby that deactivates the electric floor with a FWOOP.

On the 5th floor, Flid claps his hands together and shouts to the hall of dead bearowls that the Circle is clear of hostiles and all the pussies who are still alive should get the fuck out here before they end up pissing him off.

The four cowering spellcasters you met earlier find the courage to leave their room at the beck and call of their superior, as well as six more casters you hadn't found. With Flid leading the charge you make your way to the debris filled staircase leading down to the fourth floor.

Again, with the finagling of brightly colored stones Flid manages to have the staircase emit some sort of sonic blast that doesn't fix the stairs, but definitely clears enough of the crashed stone and wooden beams to allow you all to struggle your way through to the fourth floor.

After briefly wiping sawdust and dirt from your clothes you delve to the first two floors, where Eve's group was on bug duty. You spot several burnt webs and the sometimes still flaming corpses of multiple giant spiders with eerily humanoid-like faces. Every once in a while you spot a cocoon that has been ripped open to display the blood-drained corpse of some unfortunate caster.

File: Circle Interior 2.jpg (144 KB, 926x520)

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You follow the telltale signs of Eve all the way to the library. From even some distance down the hall you can hear the sound of Quissonce sobbing. You share a quick look with your lover that spells out all the fears and insidious thoughts that have just sprung to your respective minds.

(Please let them be OK) you hear Rowe pray. You tap Flid on the shoulder and gesture for him to follow you as your gang of magic users rush into the library.

It's an absolute mess. Bookcases have been knocked over. Tomes lay haphazardly all around the room. And multitudes of worms crawl across the floor, walls and ceiling.

In the middle of it all Quissonce is on her knees, face in hands, sobbing loudly as Ed rubs her shoulder awkwardly.

It takes you a moment to notice how much damage the bookworms must have caused. They seem to have eaten most of the pages of most of the books. Bored right through them.

“Shit,” Flid mutters, hands on his hips as he surveys the devastation, finding enough anger in himself to kick at a pile of worms that scurry away at his impotent wrath.

Ed give Quissonce one last squeeze before approaching you all.

“Not the most terror-inducing act of sabotage, but effective,” he tells you. “I've been trying to find one book that is partially legible and I've had no luck. And we don't have the spell power to spare killing a bunch of fucking bookworms. Quissonce is taking it pretty hard.”

>Where are Eve and the rest?
>Find any survivors?
>What was dealing with the bigger insects like?
>Say something to Quissonce? (write-in)
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45994910
>>Where are Eve and the rest?
>Find any survivors?
>What was dealing with the bigger insects like?

>>45994910
>Where are Eve and the rest?
>Find any survivors?

Writing!

“What was dealing with the bigger, deadlier insects like?” you ask, still a bit concerned for the previously living people whose status you are currently unaware of.

“Well,” Ed begins. “First of all they have eight legs. So they're arach –”

“WHO FUCKING CARES, ED!” Quissonce shouts from her position, hands no longer covering her tear-streaked, reddened face. Ed recoils a bit at the sudden burst of anger. Quissonce finds the energy she needs to pull herself off the floor and storms out of the library. Ed takes a second to recover himself before continuing.

“They had the unique ability of being able to phase from a plane of existence that closely overlaps ours into our own plane of existence to grab and attack people. In the end though, they weren't too difficult to handle.”

“Find any survivors?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says upbeat, as if he was latching on to a patch of flowers surrounded by a burnt down forest. “A lot of the victims hadn't succumbed to the poison when we found them. We managed to pull out nine people, including the elf chick who works in the area where they hand out familiars. She can't cast magic, but, y'know . . .”

“Great Ed,” you cut him off before he ends up gushing about his preferences. “So where are they then?”

“Right behind you, Alan!” a shrill voice squeaks at you. You turn round to see Eve at the library's entrance, holding her revolver in one hand and a wand in the other. You don't know how she managed it, but in the maybe 30 to 45 minutes you've been apart, Eve's scales have extended even further. They have crept up the side of her face and surround her ears.

She has stuffed several scrolls into her robes, to the extent that they are falling out as she he enters the room, flanked on both sides by fifteen spellcasters all similarly decked out in wands and scrolls. “Assholes might have been smart enough to raid the library. But the scroll shop was oh so sorely forgotten. I figure it's time we break out the good shit.”

The ten casters who accompanied you and Flid are visually revitalized as they move forward in awe to be handed wands and scrolls like they were candy.

It takes only a few moments of passing sticks and papers for your previously scared, gutless, close to powerless casters to be wand-toting, scrolls-at-the-ready, magically empowered badasses.

Flid does a quick head count. “Thirty one.” he says simply. “Counting myself and omitting your quiet friend.”

Kyra flips him off rapidly and almost imperceptibly.

“A lot less than we had yesterday. But enough to make a difference.”

Eve turns to you. “Door's unlocked Alan. Where are we going?”

>Research Library
>Main Street
>Calloway's Chapel
>The Walls of Seaside

AND

>Go together
>Split up (how and where)

AND

>Wand of Lightning Bolt
>Wand of Fireball

>>45996189
>>Research Library
>Go together
>Wand of Lightning Bolt

>>45996189
Trick, remind me, where are Gabby and Dolah?

>>45996375
You have no idea at the moment. Gabby is usually at her house and Dolah is usually at the chapel, but you doubt they'd stay there in this situation.

>Oh Wrenloft, my Wrenloft

Writing!

File: Greenskin Orc.jpg (33 KB, 265x345)

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You and your cadre of death-in-a-stick wielding intellectuals bust out the doors of your inner sanctum and stride through the streets.

The signs of conflict within the walls has grown much more obvious since you entered the Circle.

You spy the corpses of several guards and several orcs that you can clearly tell are tribal, Island orcs. A few houses have been broken into, but most appear locked up with frightened occupants staring out at the carnage that has unfolded or is unfolding.

On your trek to the west side of town where Gilda lives you encounter a few roving 'squads' of orcs. All of them in the process of beating down a door or pillaging a cart or killing a poor livestock animal. You engage them where you encounter them, but thirty-one well armed casters versus three to four orcs is a joke of a fight.

By the time you make it to the large complex that constitutes the Research Library, you see that it has been surrounded by what seems to be an entire tribe of those half-goblin, half-orc hybrids. The Research Library has been locked down, with padlocked metal doors and barricaded windows. Whoever is inside is keeping their head down and it appears that the greenskins are intent on shooting all who approach.

Unfortunately thirty-one wizards and one thief are not as sneaky as you'd like. As an aggregate, obviously.

Good news is you have them outgunned.

>Roll me 1d100, best of 3

Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>45997155

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>45997155

>>45997201
oh dear...

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>45997155

Writing!

The opening salvo is the bloodiest.

You personally feel the crack of lightning travel up your arm and through the focus of the wand. It jolts outwards and scores a straight line through four greenskins who made the terrible decision of being perfectly aligned from your casting position. You deftly dodge three arrows' worth of return fire.

A litany of fireballs, lightning bolts, ice shards and acidic goo spray from your side of the battle and decimate the encamped forces of the greenskins, sending them scattering and screaming in disarray. You think you have killed eighty percent of their forces on the ground with your first volley.

However, these greenskins have always been sneaky gits. And while there aren't too many two-story buildings in the area, there were enough locations for them to hide a few bowmen you were not aware of on the rooves.

They stand up from where they were lying down as your spellcasters stride proudly and recklessly into their killzone. They were scholars not soldiers.

They take you unawares.

Your forces are flanked.

They have the high ground.

Pinpoint accurate arrows sail down from above and slam into your troops. Ten men dead in the very first attack, pointy hats making perfect targets for the Island bowmen. Even more are wounded from the shots that are 'off target'. Ed takes an arrow to his arm and another to his stomach. Flid gets shot in the thigh and falls to his knees.

Eve thankfully makes too low a target to get hit.

Quissonce though? One right through the throat, the arrowhead sticking out one side with the fletching protruding from the other. You watch as the blood starts to ooze from the puncture wound. She sways in place, about to fall.

. . .

Time seems to slow.

. . .

Rowe's gasp plays in slow motion.

. . .

You feel light headed.

. . .

It's happening again.

>Unleash the Red Rider
>Rush to save Quissonce
>Something else? (write-in)

>>45998105
>>Rush to save Quissonce

>>45998105
well shit.

>>45998105
>Unleash the Red Rider
call upon our dominion of hell

>>45998105
Can we save Quissonce first, then unleash the Red Rider?

>>45998105
>Rush to save Quissonce
Only one that can heal.

>>45998263
It's not something Alan can just do. It takes a very specific moment in a very specific set of circumstances.

Like a rather close to home reenactment of Skullcracker pass where he's watching men and friends who he is in charge of get slaughtered in front of his eyes.

And

Writing!

Roll me 1d100, best of 3.

>>45998105
>Rush to save Quissonce

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>45998390

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>45998390

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>45998390
I CALL UPON THE GREAT WILL

I realize now there may be a misunderstanding and while I definitely won't retcon at this point I want it to be clear because this option may present itself at a later moment.

Unleashing The Red Rider wouldn't have killed Quissonce. Actually, it would have made a lot of what's about to happen go smoother at the cost of Alan's current development at trying to fix his PTSD and distance himself from the soulless husk he was during the war.

Just a heads up. I realize this is entirely on me for not just having it be a simple
>Unleash
>Do Not Unleash

But I want you all to be aware of what you're voting for.

>>45998640
>Unleash

>>45998696
No wait, anon, you don't understand. That wasn't a vote.

>>45998716
anything can be a vote if enough people go for it :^)

>>45998732
There are a very small number of you. If you all want to agree to make Alan give up on Seaside and go back home to be a merchant, you could easily coordinate that.

>>45998749
personally I'm aiming to make Alan the overlord of hell, each to their own I suppose

The beating in your head grows louder and more painful as the ghost echoes of gunfire rattle off in your skull.

You struggle to breathe.

(Alan she's dying.)

An alien thought not of your own making pierces the flashbacks and the memories. A thought unmolested by the repetitive horrific moments that plague you whenever you put on this uniform. A guiding light in the darkness. A simple goal with altruistic motives.

You rush betwixt the buildings your forces are caught between and channel a burst of healing. Enough to keep some of the wounded casters in the fight long enough to sling one more spell.

You catch her as she falls, guiding Quissonce down to the ground. You feel a THUMP as your back is feathered with an arrow. You simply turn, point your wand up and blast the greenskin aiming at you in the face with a burst of lightning. Going back to the dying woman, you snap off the end of the arrow, tossing the fletching away. You rip the arrow out of her neck by its head, allowing a burst of blood to spray onto you and the ground. You wrap your hand around her neck and squeeze your cracked, shitty marble tight.

As you see her eyes flutter, a soul being embraced by death, you pour as much of The Great Will's essence as he will allow your flawed vessel to channel. The puncture wounds close and her voice comes back to her as death is staved off once more.

“UAHHHHHHHHHHH!” A scream of defeat. You look over and spot Flid holding his head in his hands as he surveys the field for your dead.

Seems the battle's over. The rooftop bowmen blown apart, shot or sliced. Kyra is the only living thing atop the rooftops now.

Fifteen dead. Half of your forces. Sullen faces, unsuited for this much bloody action, search the dead for wands and scrolls to supplement the ones they've lost. They had seemed so galvanized when you had left the Circle. They thought the horror was over. Instead they marched right back into Hell. Under your command.

Morale is fucking shot Captain.

Rowe comes over and wipes Quissonce's life blood off your face with a rag and goes to pull the arrow from your back. You grit your teeth in pain as it comes out. Superficial wound though. Not worth the last of your personal healing or the waste of a burst.

>Speech? (what do you even fucking say?)
>Leave them behind
>Bring them with you

AND

>Establish contact with the Research Library
>Move on and clear the rest of Seaside (Calloway's Chapel, Main Street, The Walls)

>>45999388
>Bring them with you
>Establish contact with the Research Library

>>45999388
>>Bring them with you
>Establish contact with the Research Library

Writing!

File: Paul.jpg (77 KB, 711x800)

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You're going to need them still. Even at the end of their rope they're still invaluable. It would have taken a force of a much larger size to win a battle that decisively with fewer casualties.

Just a bit of bad luck or bad planning.

You make your way over to the front door and knock on it as loud as you can.

“Friendlies!” you shout, hoping someone is nearby to hear you.

“Oh shit!” you hear from a familiar voice. “Alan, that you?”

“Yeah. Killed all the green uglies outside. Paul?”

Instead of a verbal answer, you hear the sliding of a bar and the moving of furniture. The door swings open to show you a ghoulish figure who you're glad to see. He gives you a quick hug and the pulls away. You hate to say it but you feel like you need a shower afterwards. It's rotting flesh afterall.

“So what's the report from inside the Research Library?” you ask. Paul sighs and beckons for you to follow after him.

“Some of their forward scouts snuck up on us. Got in and began killing off some of the specimens Gilda keeps here on site. She's pretty pissed about it. Worst part was they managed to free those orc prisoners we were keeping here. The ones you brought back a while ago that captured me.”

You think back to that excursion. Seems so long ago. “Yeah,” you acknowledge. “Grull'hop and . . . the other one, I don't think I learned his name.”

“I don't think I learned it either. So these scouts manage to break those two bastards out and they end up chasing after Gilda for, y'know, revenge of the orc variety. They even managed to kill that old orc fogey while chasing her all across the facility. The shaman.”

“Hagnoth?!” you ask, in shock. You liked him. For an orc he wasn't too bad. Paul shakes his head in affirmation. “Why?”

File: Giant Fire Beetle.png (215 KB, 342x294)

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“Probably thought he was a traitor or something. Fuck orcs, man. Thankfully, I was let out of the cage they're keeping me in here by that lizardfolk ambassador. Set. And together with the help of a trained fire beetle and rust monster we managed to kill those sons of bitches. It was pretty awesome, Alan. I got to paralyze the big one who captured me all that time ago with my claws and then eat his corpse. Get some revenge of my own, y'know?” He looks back at you with a wide smile that is a bit unsettling when you reflect on the fact that this giddiness comes from quasi-cannibalism.

Paul leads you into a back room, past a few burnt to a crisp greenskin carcasses. Sure enough, Gilda, Ssett, Rusty and . . . that one fire beetle you didn't kill when you first got here are all there. Gilda waves to you a bit nonchalantly as she speaks into one of those seashell devices you've seen the higher ranked guards using.

You wait patiently for her to finish before she lowers it to speak with you.

“Thanks for the save there. Blackburn says that Gabby and Betsy have cleared Main Street of all hostile contacts. Apparently Ankhegs burrowed under some of our walls and collapsed them, allowing for multiple orc raiding parties to enter the city. The main force, which is comprised of undead and hobgoblins, is apparently still being harried and repelled from the walls. Dolah has taken care of most of the devil infiltrators, but says she and The Sculptor are heading into the sewers to deal with one final issue,” Gilda puts her hands on her hips and scowls after giving that report.

>Head to the walls
>Head to the sewer
>Ask a question (write-in)

>>46000707
Grab Gabby and Betsy and move to the sewers.

>>46000707
>Head to the walls
we're one of two people who can burst heal, the other is heading to the sewer

>>46000707
ok, can we grab Gabby and Betsy and move to the walls instead?

Writing!

“Tell Betsy and Gabby to move to the walls. We'll be right behind them with the magical support.”

Gilda nods and relays your orders. “Betsy says to hurry up.”

And hurry up you do. You gather your forces and assure them this is the last push. After the walls are clear the siege is over and Seaside can begin to recover.

You keep the closest to a military march you can muster out of your troops as you make your way through Seaside. When you finally make it to the Main Street you discover the fighting in the streets must have been pretty hectic. There are a lot of bodies. It starts off as a trickle, but the concentration of orc corpses increases as you traverse the street. There must be fifty to sixty dead orcs by the time you reach . . . the pile.

The pile is something that you swear will be drawn and written about in history books if knowledge of Seaside ever reaches the public sphere. There has to be thirty to forty dead orcs in that pile alone. It stands like a monument in the middle of Main Street, next to the burnt out husk of what used to be The Sword and Shield Tavern, may she rest in peace. The pile itself is not its most amazing feature. You see, there have been many a pile of dead bodies throughout history. You've seen a few yourself in your time as a soldier.

No, the most eye-catching sight of the pile is the woman sitting atop it, proclaiming by sheer body language and swagger alone exactly who is responsible for this massacre. Her previously white robe completely red, torn in multiple locations. A few scrapes and scratches mar her face and a necklace of green ears stands out as the only piece of jewelry she wears, as grisly a trophy as it is. As you lock eyes with this avatar of murder, she smiles and waves. She stands up and slides gracefully down the pile of corpses to greet you.

“Hey Al,” she says. “Ready to fuck shit up?”

>Yes.
>I missed you Gabby.
>Shame about the bar.
>Wait, what's that?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>46001540
>>I missed you Gabby.
And your punching. Which is why I made up for it by punching a bunch of stuff myself.
>Shame about the bar.
>Wait, what's that?

And yes, we are ready to fuck shit up.

>>46001540
>Yes.

Writing!

Wait what's that was a typo from an earlier edit

File: Hobgoblins.jpg (192 KB, 984x910)

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“Yes.” You grab her hand and squeeze. “I missed you Gabby. Shame about the bar.”

Gabby turns around to look at the burnt remains of The Sword and Shield. “Yeah,” she sighs, almost sounding defeated. “Sorta went berserk when I saw that. These shitheads need to pay. They fucked with my bar. Whoever is behind this shit just crossed the fucking line.”

You chuckle darkly, letting go of her hand. “I missed you Gabby.”

“They always do,” she answers. “Alright, let's roll.” And Gabby strolls ahead.

Gabby's entrance seems to have inspired some confidence in your troops. You make your way to the walls with much more confident, battle-ready spellcasters.

It appears the final confrontation is taking place at a section of wall that was collapsed by a few of those ankhegs Gilda was talking about. You say this because the only thing plugging up the broken section of wall are three dead ankhegs, made that way by a large volume of crossbow bolts. Skeletons and zombies scramble over, only to be sent back to whence they came by more return fire.

You spot Gale up near the front, stabbing away at any of the hardier undead that make it more than fifty feet past the killzone your troops have set up.

You find Betsy easy enough. She gives you an adequate rundown of the situation.

“Undead throw themselves at us regularly to keep us preoccupied. Every once in a while hobgoblins move up in formation to make a push. They use shieldwall tactics and they cycle their forces out regularly. Haven't given ground yet, but we're going to start taking some bad casualties soon if we don't do something to give them reason to leave us the fuck alone.”


>Well, any plans? (write-in)

Regardless of plan, roll 3d100, best of 3

Rolled 44, 7, 46 = 97 (3d100)

>>46002005

Rolled 52, 63, 73 = 188 (3d100)

>>46002005
Use magic on the shield wall troops.

Rolled 4, 25, 2 = 31 (3d100)

>>46002005

>>46002005
Can we spot an enemy commander in all this muck?

Rolled 56, 20, 21 = 97 (3d100)

>>46002005
Its time to give some ground then. fake a withdraw, when the hobs move forward and stretch their formation we use our magicians to punch holes and then exploit them. We could take some grief during the initial fallback, and their undead won't politely quit harassing. We'll need a handful of badasses to cover until the hobs start coming while the others 'fall back'.

Writing!

>>46002078

You can spot enemy commanders. Captains and such. You assume the grand commander is probably not near the front.

“Let's fake a withdrawal then. They'll move forward thinking we're running out of steam and then that's when we hit them with the spellcasters. Shieldwall won't do shit against a fireball. We'll have to wait for them to realize we're retreating and work up the courage to risk an assault. In the meantime undead are going to be coming down on top of us. Which means we'll need a group of hardasses tough enough to protect the rear while our troops fall back.”

Betsy gives you a hard look. “Your plan fails and we lose the city.”

“I have doubts about it myself. But it's the only other choice besides losing slowly.”

“Shit. Fine. I'll tell Hildebrandt your idea. Loony bastard will leap at your plan most like.” Betsy picks up her device and begins speaking into it. She pauses. “You best find some volunteers for the suicidal stay behind and buy us time part of the plan.” She walks away, speaking into her device.

Oh yeah. Your idea relies on people facing down a horde of violent undead without much backup. That's a tall order for some. You turn to your allies, face a bit doubtful.

“I'm an undead's worst nightmare. So I'll be playing rear guard. Who else is with me?”

“Oh you know I'm fucking in,” Gabby scoffs.

“Like I'm scared of these losers.” Eve waves away any concern for her own safety. “Together we can't lose! Circle up!” She sticks her hand out to do the secret Circle handshake.

Kyra just shrugs.

Quissonce gives you a thumbs up. “You saved my life, might as well let you throw it away too.”

Ed coughs. “I guess I'll, uh, help out as well.”

(I'm not leaving you behind.)

Betsy walks back over to you. “Alright, Hildebrandt likes your plan. Whenever you're ready, move up towards the collapsed part of the wall.”

You and your compatriots ready yourselves and begin to make your way through the lines of soldiers. Flid remains behind to discuss troop placement with Betsy.

You make it to the front line where Gale is. As he cleaves his way through three skeletons he notices you and gives a wave.

“Long time no see Alan. What are you doing here?”

“Holding off an onslaught of undead until the hobgoblins feel bold enough to take the bait.”

“Oh shit, how many troops you leading?”

“Seven volunteers. One of them is a gnome.”

“ . . . Make it eight.”

“Thanks Gale.”

Gale just sighs in response.

Just started writing the next bit.

Quissonce cracks her knuckles. “Alright, always save your best for the end I suppose.”

A hail storm of ice forms itself over the corpses of the ankhegs, enveloping all the undead currently trying to make their way through the opening in your defenses. They are crushed and frozen to death.

In the immediate aftermath, Eve begins concentrating and a wall of fire springs to life, blocking the entryway for a few precious moments as the rest of your team begins killing off the undead still within the city walls.

Rowe, having received a resupply of arrows from some of the retreating soldiers helps to put down all the weaker ones. Yourself, Ed, Gabby and Gale work together to kill some of the sturdier ones up close and personal, putting down skeletal champions and ghouls.

Once you've finished off the undead inside the walls, the guards of the city begin their retreat, secure that none of the undead will sneak off and cause havoc among the citizenry. Eve concentrates on keeping the wall of fire up for as long as she can. Many of the undead, lacking a sense of self preservation, throw themselves at the wall anyway. Most die on impact and those that survive are easy to dispatch.

This is great, but if you want to draw in the hobgoblins you're going to bait them to come in.

“Eve, drop the wall!” you order. Eve relinquishes her concentration and the wall of flame dissipates.

A large horde of undead monstrosities has bunched up and congregated in preparation for this moment when your defense have finally wavered. There is a brief moment of calm before all hell breaks loose.

Now would be a really good time to pull something out of your ass.

>Focus on Defense
>Focus on Offense

AND

>Which ally are we taking from? (write-in)

>>46003064
>Focus on Offense
>Which ally are we taking from? (write-in)
Eve. AoE Fire Magic

>>46003064
>Focus on Offense
>Gabby

>>46003101
second.

>>46003064
In this case, make it a sort of competition to see who gets the most kills.

Writing!

Roll me 1d100, +48

Rolled 31 + 48 (1d100 + 48)

>>46003192

Rolled 36 + 48 (1d100 + 48)

>>46003192

Rolled 64 + 48 (1d100 + 48)

>>46003192

Rolled 89 + 48 (1d100 + 48)

>>46003192

I'm always late for these, but I just wanted to let you know you have an extra voter/viewer/fan.

>>46003393
yay!

File: Undead Horde 2.jpg (77 KB, 620x453)

77 KB JPG

The undead rush forward, scrambling up the ankheg carcasses to get to you.

You turn to your friend. “Hey Gabby.”

“Yeah, Al?” she replies.

“I bet I'll kill more of them than you." You give her a playful smirk.

Gabby laughs at the top of her lungs. She readies herself into her fighting posture. The rumbling of the earth from the sheer number of undead running up towards you feels like an earthquake. “Oh you just made a horrible fucking mistake, Al.”

You feel her muscles tensing into peak form. You feed off that fire like it was your favorite dish. “Did I?” you ask, seeking to poke and prod a bit more. Rowe looses three arrows down range to take out the three closest attackers.

“Oh yeah,” she tells you emphatically. Eve and Quissonce let fly a pair of fireballs from their wands, decimating the front lines.

“See, I hate it when people try to fuck with me.” Kyra draws her katana. Ed readies his mace.

“I hate it when people fuck with my bar.”Gale tries his hardest not to be distracted by your banter.

“But what I truly and utterly DESPISE.” You buff yourself with a bull's strength, to give you an even greater edge to your muscles. The first skeleton gets within striking distance.

“Is losing.”

The two of you swing.

>End of Thread
I will most likely run this next time on Thursday. https://twitter.com/TrickQM

Saint Patrick's Day Special Y'all! WOOT WOOT!

>>46003467
let heads roll.
thanks for running, Trick.
catch you later.

>>46003467
Sorry I wasn't here on time to vote. I'll be on the lookout for your Thursday thread though. Thanks for running, Trick.