Choice 3. Join the fight?
And it seemed to dawn on him then that there was really only one real path for him. Gregor had never been much good at running, and as for death, he had given up on living a long time ago.
Steeling himself for what was sure to be a glorious battle, he equipped himself with a spear taken from a dead goblin at his feet. It's yellow glazed eyes looking up at him in disbelief, before Gregor moved forward towards the ditch that ringed the hilltop. The raging storm all around him an electrical current that whipped hair into his eyes and fizzled in the air, when he spotted a company of legionaries surrounded by a swarm of goblins.
Less than five hundred warriors strong, they were like armored ants in heavy steel plowing their way onward, hoping to find shelter from the storm as they drove forward. Dwarves, humans, and minotaurs fighting side by side in a brutal melee of blood and death, while elven archers fired arrows into those flanking their position on the slope. The golden banners of the phoenix, rippling high over their heads as lightning forking in the sky. All that stood between him and them was a gulley thick with lines of sharpened wooden stakes, bands of roving goblins that moved through the tent city, and crazed berserkers that howled for blood.
(Use the tents as cover.)
Still, at least with the cover of the tents, he figured he could make it, and scrambled up towards the thick line of wooden stakes that had caught more than a few goblins and fleshless skeleton warriors that wildly swung their swords towards him. Now he just needed to slip through to the other side.
(Pause.)
Pausing in the act of catching a breath, he scanned ahead of him to make sure the way was clear, when a tall, wiry goblin leaped at him, its spear point aimed for his chest.
(Roll aside.)
And rolled to the side in the nick of time, only to growl in pain as he slammed hard into a sharp wooden stake that tore right through his thigh.
Bleeding badly from his left leg, he could feel warm blood trickling down into his boot, when the goblin came on in a flurry of stabs. Each time Gregor was forced to parry or slip aside, when his leg simply gave way.
Falling flat into the muddy soil, he could see the beautiful violet-eyed woman shaking her head in disappointment, when the spear tore into him.
Death.
(Block.)
Spear deftly moving, he knocked the thrust to create an opening for himself, and with a swift stab ended its life. Its golden eyes sparkling with rage as it fell. The surrounding patchwork tents, either torn apart or covered in blood.
(Counterattack.)
Not waiting for its attack to land, he thrust his arm forward to plant his own spear in its throat, and felt a touch of surprise as he looked down to see its spear in his side.
Grunting sourly at himself for not being more careful, he ripped off the creature’s loincloth to wrap around the wound, and scanned the surrounding patchwork tents that were either torn apart or covered in blood.
-3 HP.
(Duck forward past the ditch.)
Ducking his head through to the other side, he avoided a jab from a goblin that must have been waiting for him, and quickly pounced forward to snap its neck, his head swinging round to scan the surrounding patchwork tents that were either torn apart or covered in blood.
Luckily for him though, there were no more greenskins in sight, but Gregor knew that could easily change, and hurried away again, making sure to keep his head low. The ground ahead of him littered with knocked-over cook pots that had spilled stew onto the ground, dead orcs that had died trying to flee, and blackened soil. The bolts of lightning that still rained down from the pitch-black sky, ringing his eardrums as he made his way up, when an orca crawled out of her tent, her side ripped open.
Blood pooling out from between her lips she reached an arm out to him, her dark green eyes pleading with him to save her, but even at a glance he could tell she would not last long in this world.
(Comfort her.)
Mouthing a curse to whichever gods were supposed to be watching over this mess, he knelt down on one leg to take her in his arms, and saw her smile, before she slipped away, her eyes closing slowly.
An odd smile that made Gregor wonder what her last thoughts were, when a voice spoke up from behind him. "Orcs believe that when they die, they must not leave this world alone, or they will be alone for an eternity."
+1 Morale.
(Merciful death.)
Spear moving quickly before she could even realize what was happening, he ended her life with a swift thrust to her heart. Her green eyes briefly widening in surprise, when she slipped away, and a voice spoke to him from behind. "I'm guessing that's not the first time you've ended someone else's life."
+2 Morale.
(Pass her by.)
Besides that he had no time for her, and moved to walk past her, when a voice called out from behind. "You should have helped her."
Pivoting sideways with his spear held up at the ready, Gregor could make out the shape of a tall lean man standing in the shadow of a tent, his close-cropped steel grey hair, and deep blue eyes framing a face cut from granite. Only he was no soldier that Gregor could recognize from the Legion.
Wearing a studded leather jerkin dyed black, he had a sword belted strapped to his hip, and waved his arm up into the air bringing forth twenty or more warriors like him from the shadows, some of them hooded and cloaked, and others equipped with longbows.
Eyeing them all warily, he asked, "Who are you?"
Icey blue gaze shifting over his shoulder towards the sounds of fighting, the man shrugged his wide shoulders. "Is that so important to you? The element of surprise won't be with us for long. If you wish to join us? We must move now."
(Decline help.)
Handed a shortsword from one of them, Gregor twirled the blade in the air, too swift for the eye to follow, before he replied, "no need. They're all mine."
And charged out into the open with a broad smile, his legs pumping furiously up the slope to where the hundreds of goblins threw themselves bodily at a shield wall four ranks deep, spears bouncing off against steel as they beat against it with teeth and claws.
Mind half wandering to thoughts of Caroline, he wondered what she was doing now? Before he raced across the muddy terrain, feeling the thrilling joy of battle, and plunged into them from behind. Shortsword a glitter of steel that tore open legs, arms, and spines as he chipped away at them like a wood carver, killing dozens before they even knew he was there. The sweaty mass of bodies that closed in all around, filling his nostrils with the foul stench of their bodies as he killed, killed, and killed again. Each practiced stroke an artwork of blood he had developed over many years of fighting as he punched, kicked, and butchered a path through them.
Course his goodluck did not last long, and he was soon face to face with a scarred goblin that looked like it too had seen its fair share of battle, it’s weathered golden eyes and cheeks, hard and brooding.
+1 Morale.
(Fall back.)
Sensing he may have bitten off more than he could chew, he saw the creature’s spear snake towards him, and tried to fall back, when a pair of goblins bumped into him from behind. Their snarls of rage alerting more of the scum to his presence.
Blade moving to keep them at bay as well, he could see the legionaries still pushing towards him, knew they would be too late to save him, when he was struck by something hard.
Swaying on his feet as blood trickled down his temple, he slashed wildly, his skull ringing like a drum, when cold steel stabbed into him. The pain burning his insides as he felt more spears cut into him…
Death.
(Charge.)
And reckless as it may have seemed, he knew there was only one way to get out of this, and charged forward with a guttural roar. Saw the wiry pukedrinker try to slip out of his path, when he slammed solidly into its midriff taking it to the ground. His blade's edge sawing into the creature's stomach as Gregor snarled and hacked away in a fury, when he felt its teeth latch onto his neck. A weak, feeble attempt, he was able to wrestle himself free from before he rolled back up to his feet.
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-2 HP.
(Release the rage.)
Spear snaking towards him in a lightning-fast strike that bit his knee, Gregor held back a snarl, and let the fury take hold of him. His wild frenzied attacks, driving the goblin back, when it slipped behind him, and tripped him up. Gregor’s body slamming hard into the soil to leave him breathless as he quickly rolled to the side to avoid a spear thrust, when he felt the cold steel enter his shoulder and pin him down.
Eyes watering with pain, he could see the legionaries pushing towards him, but he knew they would be too late…
Death.
Covered in dust, sweat, and blood, he quickly rolled back up to his feet, but knew he was in trouble as more goblins turned on him.
Fighting with the kind desperation that had a man’s back up against a cliff face, he kept attacking, biting, growling, and clawing his way forward in the hopes they would break eventually, when he caught glimpses of the winged helms bobbing towards him. The green-skinned curs caught between his blade and a wall of steel as their wild yellow filled with savage fury came at him with desperation. Claws, spears, and teeth, cutting at his flesh.
Slipping on the innards of a wounded goblin that groaned in agony beneath him, he felt a spear enter his thigh, and half stumbled down to one knee. The pain like red hot pokers in his spine as he thought that this had to be the end for him, when flights of arrows blew past, killing dozens instantly.
Head cocked to look behind him, he saw that same company of human warriors surge out from the encampment, arrows released in volleys of death as they struck the goblins from behind.
Blood streaming out from his leg in spurts, he could feel himself getting weaker. Felt himself become dizzy and fall to the ground, when he heard her voice again. "There is only one way to save you, my sweet champion. Swear your soul to me."
(Accept her help.)
Lips half parted as he felt his life fleeing his body, he replied, "it is yours." And like a dark cloud lifted from his mind, he saw himself, a thousand different versions of himself, all hooded and cloaked by the starlight as he performed ancient weaves with his fingers.
(Full heal. 20 Mana.)
Hands moved of their own accord, he incanted the same spell, and felt himself able to move again.
+10 HP.
-20 Mana.
(Half heal. 10 Mana.)
Hands moved of their own accord, he incanted the same spell, and felt himself able to move again.
+5 HP.
-10 Mana.
(Heal. 5 Mana.)
Hands moved of their own accord, he incanted the same spell, and felt himself able to move again.
+3 HP.
-5 Mana.
(Refuse her help.)
And shook his head as he felt life flee his body. He would be no one's pet, better to be dead.
Death.
On his feet in an instant, Gregor quickly readied himself to continue fighting, when horns signaled to his right, and two winged companies of legionaries marched down to the rescue, meeting wave upon crashing wave of goblins, when finally they broke and ran, leaving behind hundreds dead and wounded. It was like the whole world had frozen in time and Gregor could finally breathe again, but he knew that would not last long.
His attention caught by the small company of humans that still advanced from behind with longbows and swords, Gregor managed to straighten up if only to show them he was still alive. When ripples of thunder rippled across the sky, and a hulking minotaur appeared beside him.
With blood leaking out from his missing left eye, he shook his head tiredly, and spoke, "You have the luck of the divine, my friend."
A thought that at any time would have made Gregor laugh, but as he stared around him at the battlefield, he could feel nothing but fear. He still needed to find Lytan and Sara. (Continue onto the next page.)
(Accept help.)
Handed a shortsword from one of them, Gregor twirled the blade in the air, too swift for the eye to follow, before he replied, "stay behind me." The man all but giving him a disapproving glower, before Gregor charged out into the open space, the wind and rain whipping through his hair as his legs pumped furiously up the grassy slope. Blanketed by goblins on all sides, he watched them throw themselves at a shieldwall four ranks deep, the legionaries winged helms glowing in the flashes of lightning as battle raged, and banners flew in the gusting breeze.
It was like the battle of Harthorn all over again, only this time he was determined to live through it, and plunged deep into the enemy lines from behind, his shortsword a glitter of steel. While off behind him, the strangely armored black-clad warriors surged after him, firing longbows that sent goblins flying backwards through the air in showers of blood. The sweaty mass of bodies filling Gregor's nostrils with their foul stench as he killed, killed, and killed again. Each practiced sword stroke a bloody artwork he had developed over the many years of fighting as he punched, kicked, and butchered a path through the screeching yellow-eyed devils, who turned on him like savage animals. Teeth and claws lashing out at him as he flowed from form to form, before he came face to face with a battle-hardened goblin with dozens of scars across its bare skinned chest, and broad shoulders.
Golden eyes watching him hungrily, Gregor had only ever seen one of its kind once before, in a long ago war where they had been bred for war by more crazy mages. Goblins such as those rarely lived beyond a few years, and yet judging by the wrinkles under this one's eyes, this one had survived for much longer.
+1 Morale.
(Fall back.)
Sensing he may have bitten off more than he could chew, he saw the creature’s spear snake towards him, and tried to fall back, when a pair of goblins bumped into him from behind. Their snarls of rage alerting more of the scum to his presence.
Blade moving to keep them at bay as well, he could see the legionaries still pushing towards him, knew they would be too late to save him, when he was struck by something hard.
Swaying on his feet as blood trickled down his temple, he slashed wildly, his skull ringing like a drum, when cold steel stabbed into him. The pain burning his insides as he felt more spears cut into him…
Death.
(Charge.)
And reckless as it may have seemed, he knew there was only one way to get out of this, and charged forward with a guttural roar. Saw the wiry pukedrinker try to slip out of his path, when he slammed solidly into its midriff taking it to the ground. His blade's edge sawing into the creature's stomach as Gregor snarled and hacked away in a fury, when he felt its teeth latch onto his neck. A weak, feeble attempt, he was able to wrestle himself free from before he rolled back up to his feet.
-2 HP.
(Release the rage.)
Spear snaking towards him in a lightning-fast strike that bit his knee, Gregor held back a snarl, and let the fury take hold of him. His wild frenzied attacks, driving the goblin back, when it slipped behind him, and tripped him up. Gregor’s body slamming hard into the soil to leave him breathless as he quickly rolled to the side to avoid a spear thrust, when he felt the cold steel enter his shoulder and pin him down.
Eyes watering with pain, he could see the legionaries pushing towards him, but he knew they would be too late…
Death.
Covered in dust, sweat, and blood, he quickly rolled back up to his feet, but knew he was in trouble as more goblins turned on him.
Fighting with the kind desperation that had a man’s back up against a cliff face, he kept attacking, biting, growling, and clawing his way forward in the hopes they would break eventually, when he caught glimpses of the winged helms bobbing towards him. The green-skinned curs caught between his blade and a wall of steel as their wild yellow filled with savage fury came at him with desperation. Claws, spears, and teeth, cutting at his flesh.
Slipping on the innards of a wounded goblin that groaned in agony beneath him, he felt a spear enter his thigh, and half stumbled down to one knee. The pain like red hot pokers in his spine as he thought that this had to be the end for him, when flights of arrows blew past, killing dozens instantly.
Head cocked to look behind him, he saw that same company of human warriors surge out from the encampment, arrows released in volleys of death as they struck the goblins from behind.
Blood streaming out from his leg in spurts, he could feel himself getting weaker. Felt himself become dizzy and fall to the ground, when he heard her voice again. "There is only one way to save you, my sweet champion. Swear your soul to me."
(Accept her help.)
Lips half parted as he felt his life fleeing his body, he replied, "it is yours." And like a dark cloud lifted from his mind, he saw himself, a thousand different versions of himself, all hooded and cloaked by the starlight as he performed ancient weaves with his fingers.
(Full heal. 20 Mana.)
Hands moved of their own accord, he incanted the same spell, and felt himself able to move again.
+10 HP.
-20 Mana.
(Half heal. 10 Mana.)
Hands moved of their own accord, he incanted the same spell, and felt himself able to move again.
+5 HP.
-10 Mana.
(Heal. 5 Mana.)
Hands moved of their own accord, he incanted the same spell, and felt himself able to move again.
+3 HP.
-5 Mana.
(Refuse her help.)
And shook his head as he felt life flee his body. He would be no one's pet, better to be dead.
Death.
On his feet in an instant, Gregor quickly readied himself to continue fighting, when horns signaled to his right, and two winged companies of legionaries marched down to the rescue, meeting wave upon crashing wave of goblins, when finally they broke and ran, leaving behind hundreds dead and wounded. It was like the whole world had frozen in time and Gregor could finally breathe again, but he knew that would not last long.
His attention caught by the small company of humans that still advanced from behind with longbows and swords, Gregor managed to straighten up if only to show them he was still alive. When ripples of thunder rippled across the sky, and a hulking minotaur appeared beside him.
With blood leaking out from his missing left eye, he shook his head tiredly, and spoke, "You have the luck of the divine, my friend."
A thought that at any time would have made Gregor laugh, but as he stared around him at the battlefield, he could feel nothing but fear. He still needed to find Lytan and Sara. (Continue on to the next page.)
(Circle encampment.)
However there was the much safer option of simply going around and trying to avoid the worst of the fighting, but as he ran crossways around the hill, he could see nothing but bands of roaming goblins, legionaries fighting desperately to retake the slope, while all around him thunder cracked the skies. If anything the fighting seemed to be getting worse.
(Keep searching.)
Hands quivering with frustration, he kept searching for a way through, when he was struck by something and toppled over. The darkness that came, marked by violet-colored eyes that looked down at him in disappointment. "A coward's death, perhaps you are not the one after all..."
Death.
(Go back.)
With no other choice but to go back, he let out a heavy sigh. (To continue, select, Use the tents as cover.)