Hammer and Anvil

Journal of Bryce Weyland 606AR part 2

Vendarl 5th Cinten 606AR
Victory is ours! Although not without some losses. The initial infiltration went according to plan and the stealthier members of the expedition (The rangers, Morty and I) we able to enter undetected and swiftly despatch the off-duty soldiers before they could raise the alarm while Stump and Tobias waited down below until they heard the signal. Some might say that slitting a man’s throat while he sleeps is dishonorable, but they are idiots and have never been outnumbered five to one with no hope of back up. I prefer to think of it as retroactively even the odds. Morty proved to be particularly capable in this endeavour, his ability to eldritchly silence not only his shots but also the effects said shots caused upon our foes. It is an eerie thing to see a man take a bullet, crash to the ground and bleed out in complete quietude, only the look in his eyes able to convey the agony that has overcome him.
The alarm was finally raised by the commander of the Khadoran forces who had taken the liberty of squatting in my parents’ old room. After being alerted by our attempts to unlock the door to the room, the coward hid in the privy while we disposed of the chambers other occupant and manage to fire a warning shot out of the window before we could finish him off.
After that things got a little harder…
Roused into action the remaining Khadorans (a depressingly large number still) soon pinpointed our location and we were soon met by a squad of the hulking bastards who I can only assume has been manning the artillery in the closest tower. The time for subtlety has passed and our first engagement soon descended into a brutal melee, the kind they don’t mention on the Cygnaran recruitment posters. Our foes were soon prostrate, staining the floor of my childhood home with copious quantities of their lifeblood, but that was just the beginning. Tobias and Morty took to higher ground to the engage the riflemen who had pinned us down. Although I was unable to witness this battle firsthand (being otherwise occupied by not dying) it seemed like that several Khadorans won a game of ‘Death by bullet’ despite the distance and cover protecting them. Taking advantage of the momentary respite from the hail of bullets the stump and I pressed forward, sprinting along the battlements like madmen before taking cover in a stairwell under the cover of a smoke bomb that I had concocted. We we soon joined by some of the rangers. Stump proceeded to storm the entrance to the next tower, trusting in the baby Warjack chassis that he calls armor and his faith in Morrow to weather the inevitable storm of munitions that awaited him. Meanwhile I, suddenly mindful that I had been rather lax in attending church recently decided that discretion was the better part of valor and broke off from the main attack group. Taking advantage a lifetime of memories growing up in this place and my trusty grappling hook I was able to swiftly make it to the base of the tower. Bursting in at the ground floor moments after Stump breached the floor above we were able to clear the room before the Khadorans could even swing the Field gun around. We regrouped with Morty and Tobias on the first floor taking a moment to catch our breath. It was then that the Widowmakers made their presence know. Say what you will about Khadoran literacy or hygiene, those fuckers know how to shoot and certainly live up to their name. Pinned down and with the remaining towers starting to shell our position we had no choice but to dig deep, say a prayer and attempt to kill every last fucker out there. Looking a little worse-for-wear Morty and Tobias took to the roof, where they quickly repositioned the mortar up and began to return fire, Morty seemingly able to enchant the shells with same arcane magics usually reserved for his pistols to devastating effect. Stump, amazingly still unharmed repeated his previous tactic on being a one man seige engine, charging the next tower, the sheer force of his faith knocking it’s garrison away from the ramparts giving him time to hack his way through the door with Matilda. Charging through the breach after him, we were greeted with a hellish swirling melee across multiple levels. Fighting my to the roof through a combination of skill, luck and judicious usage of alchemical acids I was able to engage the Widowmaker in a hand to hand combat, sadly (for him) his bladework was lacking compared to his marksmanship and soon there was another body rapidly cooling on the roof in the cool night air. However there was no time to savour the moment, with the loud krump of dueling mortars filling the air I descended back into the tower. Bodies were strewn everywhere, the Stump (impossibly still unbloodied) stood panting with exhaustion, the mystical runes of protection surrounding him flickering in and out of perception. Rotho the last of the rangers that I could see fell under the axe of a Winter Guard, but not before making an opening in his killers defence that I was able to take advantage of.
The next wave of Khadorans soon arrived, but the fight was beginning to leave them, one even surrendered rather than face our wrath. The rest of the night is a blur as fatigue began to win over the icy stab of adrenaline, but we persevered, digging deep into reserves of determination that we didn’t know we had, and as the first rays of morning light began to creep over the walls of Weyland Manor the final Khadoran surrendered. The final butchers bill remains to be tallied, but we paid a heavy price, the Ranger died to a man, Tobias, Gunnar and Morty all seemed more dead than alive, only Stump and I seemed to escape relatively unscathed. The others have retired for the morning (after a hurried triage) and I sit here on the roof of the main tower, keeping watch for any remaining Kossite woodsmen, enjoying the warmth of the early morning sun on my face.
I am finally home.

Comments

Very nice commentary!

ihilate LionO_Yeah

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