Screams and hollers from our disintegrating column, the former center of which barely gravitates to the poles of the vanguard and rear, give a brief but acute sense that all is lost, and after Ad and I make desperate eye contact, I move to hug her and say goodbye. But clumsily, and not without a few duds that smolder on the ground before being snuffed underfoot, the delegates on the former flanks light torches—our mass reforms into an oval—and one out of every few players on the perimeter brandishes a shield faced outward, so that the inside is securer than ever while our march slows.
“Rallying cry!” Cynythya yells in that bassy, supernatural tone, and subsequently, a handful of scattered players respond,
“Graaaaah!”
“Bring it!”
“For Jessie!”
“For Pen!!”
bathing most of us near the perimeter in vortices of orange and gold light. My muscles tighten, so subsequently my grip tightens around my hammer, and I feel, denser? And yet more sinuous, too.
~ FeeFiFoFum - lvl 1 ~
120/120 HP
Status - Rallied (20 min . . . )
Str - 10 +2
Dex - 10
Con - 10 +2
We’ve all been buffed. And players are wasting no time taking advantage.
Rainmaker howls, too fired up for words, as he charges from the vanguard toward the first mud golem to have spawned. It spews instinctively at him, and he barely dodges, taking some damage and losing a chunk of his armor and a patch of skin to the corrosion. Before the surrounding mudmen can reach him, others assail them with swords, axes, and spears, scattering their muddy bodies into the darkness, while he winds up his hammer—stouter than mine, and with a thick, blocky head—for an attack. It glows faintly, and then
15 dmg
10 dmg
10 dmg
three quick back-and-forth strikes blow holes in the golem. Mace wielders and other hammerers flare out from before and behind Ad and I to join in this demolition.
Xenophone quickdraws his shield to block the vomit of the other golem while some of the demo team run toward it. It seems like someone’s been fatally hit, stomped and absorbed, but not without crippling the golem.
In the rearguard, a bundle of archers, shielded by DimensionZ and his party, rain arrows at the approaching goblins, focusing their fire at the hulking Goblin Captain coming up from the center. They fell many of the hooligans and patrolmen easily, but the horde is too vast and swift for them to deal with; a wave of goblins slams into the rearguard shielders and starts clawing at them, pounding the shields with loud pings and bangs like a flurry of hail, and tossing cudgels and rocks over their heads, which meet vulnerable targets at our center for 2- 1- 2- 3- 1- 5- 1 dmg, and so on, inciting another screaming fit.
DimensionZ heaves a poleaxe with an iron blade from his back, maintaining his shield against the onslaught, desperately pushing goblins back. After a few such shoves, followed by ineffective, awkward prods with his weapon, he swings left to strike a goblin for 4 dmg,
and swings right to strike
14 -
14 -
14 -
14 -
14 dmg
five goblins for 14 dmg, cutting them down into the stampede, where they trip and tumble or perish outright.
Our progress has slowed considerably, but the city gates, whose watchtowers are freshly lit with sconces of amber flame while night falls, look to be feasibly within our reach. But that still leaves-
The centaurs ride up to the north and south of our perimeter, roughly parallel with one another and with two gnolls each on their backs. Their yellow eyes flash menacingly while the gnolls laugh, flinging arrows into our ranks that draw more screams and groans. Adelaide rushes to shield someone nearer the center—that young girl—from the fire. And one of the gnolls on either centaur’s back draws daggers and dives directly into us!
On our north side, this tackles a handful of people to the ground—one of whom was a shield-wielder, now sprawled and being stabbed by the gnoll farther and farther away from our march. The others stagger onto their feet, only to be swiped at by the centaur’s polearm for
20-
13-
12 dmg,
the side effect of which is a tumbling out of the march that leaves them vulnerable to the goblins—even the hooligans darting past on their valetrats and poking them with pitchforks. And, hence, a sizable leak in our north flank into which the centaur may plunge.
I turn to the see the south flank is faring no better,
and Adelaide is brandishing her shield as she runs up to the southern centaur!
“Adelaide! Stop!” My voice barely carries through the din. I
26 dmg
—am flung sideways and barely remain standing and recoil back to my centaur, who’s hit three players including myself, and grab the hand of the nearest player and pull him up before the riptide takes him.
“Thanks!” he says, running for the center. Some thanks.
I ready my hammer hilt to block a strike from the centaur, who’s eyes glower deep into my own.
twng-twng-twung
Fth-ffth-ffth!
5- 7- 17 dmg
A familiar volley of arrows lands around those eyes, and I glance across our center to see Crawdaddy squinting at the centaur and already training another arrow. Bthmp. Bthmp. Bthmp. Bthmp.
Now!
23 dmg
My hammer collides with the knee of one of the centaur’s front legs, producing a crack and staggering the beast; and before it can regain its senses, Crawdaddy’s next arrow fwwwings into its neck for 13 dmg—and ricochets off! It bounces into the mounted gnoll for 10 dmg—bounces toward a hooligan for 7 dmg—bounces toward another for 4 dmg—and, once more, is flung into a goblin at the rear for 1 dmg. Our rearguard is eroding. But we’re pushing quickly forward again.
An arrow hits me for 8 dmg. Another hits me for 5 dmg. And in fact, most of us seem to be stuck with arrows by now as the gnolls fire freely from their monstrous mounts. I notice Sage, who seems to have come up from the rear, struggling to aim from the center to return fire at the gnolls.
“Everyone!!!” Xenophone yells, wielding a dented shield and baring burns beneath tattered armor in the torchlight, “Push forward! Charge the gate! Use your potions!” His audience’s panic, including my own, is eased by this, and I see potions materialized and gulped down in moments.
The way ahead is clear, though we’ve lost some more troops, and a broad, oaken door flickers in the gate ahead as the watchtower flames’ light falls on it. Cynythya, similarly battle-damaged to Xenophone but with her shield more intact, has hung back to the south to fight beside Adelaide—thank goodness—whereas Rainmaker
“Hyaaagh!!!”
comes to my aid, heaving his glowing hammer horizontally to parry the deadly plunge of the centaur’s polearm, and flinging it out of the centaur’s hands in the process so that it clatters onto the ground behind. The centaur moves to recover it; we run forward with the rest of our group, once again diffusing due to the collapse of the rearguard.
“Keep it up!!!” Adelaide’s voice rings—
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
I turn to see Cynythya and Xenophone blocking and parrying polearm strikes with their shields while Adelaide veers toward the center—at 40 HP . . . 41 HP . . . 42 HP.
~ FeeFiFoFum - lvl 1 ~
104/120 HP (Healing . . .)
Status - Rallied (7 min . . . ), Boosted (5 min . . .)
Str - 10 +2
Dex - 10 +2
Con - 10 +2
“Ad!” I yell, catching her attention but eliciting a surprised look as she points with her sword at my centaur, who’s ridden right back up to us after recovering his weapon. I can’t go to her.
“Persistent piece o’ . . .” Rainmaker says, blocking one strike and taking another. I reach to help him, but another strike comes between us that I barely dodge, and yet another jab
Clang!
is blocked just in time by Ad, her frightened eyes shining with courage. I bolster her from the impact with Buffer, and while she defends with her shield, I bthmp bthmp bthmp bthmp bthmp
26 dmg
smash in the knee of the centaur, sending it into an awkward limp that allows us to gain ground and fall into the crowd's current. Goblins are chewing through our hindmost ranks, now, and have been for some minutes—in focusing on my immediate surroundings I failed to see, although I've certainly heard mournful scream after scream, some dozen of our forces cut down and dragged into the relentless, ravenous swarm. We are lucky to have been placed so close to the van, and as our former column is finally routed, all of its particles rush frantically toward the city gates, with the remainder of the warriors attending groups of wounded and weak and waving weapons wildly.
Thwack! 5 dmg
Something this chaos proves is that friendly fire is possible in Last Advent. Between fellow party members, attacks can hit with knockback, but don’t deal damage; but between players not sharing a party, in a hostile zone like this, an errant mace certainly does—and I’m not the only one to have taken damage this way. And probably will aga-Thwack! 4 dmg
Adelaide and I run instinctively with the current to the gates, where crossbowman in the silvery chainmail of the city guard loom on the battlements, while Xenophone, Rainmaker, and Cynythya join DimensionZ—whose nameplate shows 13/150 HP—in hanging behind to cut down goblins encroaching on the fleeing gaggles and to stave off the coming tide. The remaining handful of archers flow in beside us as we all, within what feels like a few frantic blinks and bounds, rush across a wide, rickety wooden bridge over a trench into the entrance to Losthearth—!
And into—against—the stubborn wooden door, which withstands us like an ancient tree whose stony roots cannot be extricated from their bedrock moorings and whose bark no axe can split. It does, not, budge. Our crowd presses against it, squeezing the foremost, who’ve started pounding, pounding, pounding on the door and calling for the guards to
“Let us in!” “Please!”
“Help us!” “There’s no time!”
“They’re coming! “I don’t want to die!”
“I’m bleeding!!”
“Help! Help!” “God, save us!” “Let us the fuck in!”
“Let us in, you fucking bastards!”
to no avail: the guards stair stolidly ahead through the shadowy visors of their helmets. Adelaide and I are sifted toward the outer circle of this helter-skelter mass, and as she turns her shield back to our pursuers and I form up beside her, we see our routed protectors hurtling forth ahead of a centaur driving its polearm through the air with something waving on it—
DimensionZ’s bled-out body, still clenching his own dangling polearm,
like a flag of triumph for the enemy host. Rainmaker is thrown across the bridge and skids into our cordon, at 20/120 HP—and finally, Cynythya and Xenophone and a member of DimensionZ’s party, Prim21, back into us with their shields raised. Xenophone is bleeding profusely, and I see damage values peter out from 5- 2- 1 dmg as he stops, panting, his shield bent to provide only narrow vertical coverage; Cynythya’s shield and leather armor are aglow with an icy, metallic effect that seems to have sustained them against countless blows, but her mace is missing, and the arm that held it hangs limp at her side; Prim, howling vengefully, virtuosically blocks goblin horns and claws and a polearm swipe and even a stray arrow with his greatsword.
“Cyn!” Adelaide yells, as I move to support Xenophone with Buffer. This one ability has saved me numerous times from getting swallowed into the current of battle, and I intend to use it not just for my own sake.
“The gates?” he says, with more spite than I expected he contained. His eyes look emptied of their light by his virtual fatigue and blood loss—he’s at 15/140 HP—but they light back up momentarily as they meet mine. “Ah, friend—I’m glad. We’ll fight together till the end.”
I choke on my response as I see Ad lining up her shield with Cynythya’s, sharing similarly resigned words. I hear Cynythya utter “good job—we’ll do the rest—” and no more.
“Ad, stay back!” I yell, but she won’t budge, and if she moved her shield at this point, she’d definitely be hit.
Adelaide - lvl 1
45/150 HP
Status - Vengeful
Our former buffs have by now worn off; but faint tendrils of crimson waver around her limbs and keep her shield firmly raised; and she pokes and slices into the fray with her sword as more of our remaining warriors form up beside her and Cynythya and Xenophone and I to enact our last stand. We have a loose line of shields and large weapons creating a boundary, and these remainders—there are probably a dozen of us in all—topple and stomp infiltrating goblins on their way to us. Crawdaddy runs forward to help up Rainmaker, pulling him back toward the door before the full berth of the goblins slams into our last line of defense.
And at this moment, we hear, above the nauseating din, a shout of “Fire!” from the battlements, and instantly, a wave of crossbow bolts is shot into the goblin horde for 15- 15- 15- 17- 15- 15 dmg. “Reload! Ready! Fire!” 17- 18- 15- 10- 15 dmg. A sequence repeated and repeated, mowing down rows of our pursuers as we stave off their attacks. But it’s not enough.
“The captain!” Cynythya shouts, drawing us all together to face the hulking, goatlike general of this monstrous contingent, who pushes through the crowd with a deafening Rooooaaaaaaarrrr!!! dragging a rusted, blood-encrusted, pendulous iron greatsword whose hilt is wrapped in that flowing yellow banner I noticed earlier. He swipes aside fleeing goblins and shoulders a centaur on his way directly toward us. Goblin hooligans that had circled tauntingly around the scene on their valetrats zip away.
If I could just get on one of those capybaras, I could use my warhorn . . . and then what? Martyr myself?
Adelaide maintains her stance against the approaching captain.
Maybe.
I stagger as a pressure is released from beside me—Xenophone has darted out, breathing with relief after swallowing a potion, to face the captain, and while everyone protests, he yells
“Hey!”
before the beast can swing its sword onto Adelaide and Cynythya. I push forth just in time to watch the deadly burden of the blade land on his left shoulder for 50 dmg, grounding him, and I stare into the eyes of the massive goblin, whose shoulders are punctured by a couple of crossbow bolts. A centaur is galloping toward us, while the other is staggered backward by the same round of crossbow fire and lobs its polearm, with DimensionZ's corpse, onto the ground.
The captain’s purple tongue, dripping foamy saliva, hangs out of its mouth over teeth like tombstones. The spit falls also from the corners of its wicked grin. Its eyes radiate from pitch-black oblong pupils to fiery orange and red irises crawling with swollen blood vessels. From its face, to its raised woolen hackle, to its jittery vascular muscles and clenched sword-wielding claws, it looks, by any assessment, to be greatly enjoying itself. And its eyes dart to meet mine.
“Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“Phil—!!!”
Goblin Captain - lvl 10
380/500 HP
Status - Frenzied
Think, think, think, think!
( Inventory ) <=
. . .
-Spiral Warhorn (3/10) <=
(Use) <= (Place) (Info)
Clmp-fwmp!
20 dmg
Bled
5- 3 dmg
I’m knocked over by the charging centaur and thrown to the ground, while the captain chortles and readies a sword-hurl at Xenophone.
“Gaaah!” Ad yells, swiping at the centaur with her shortsword and bashing it with her shield for 13- 20- 4 dmg. Cynythya weaves out and skids in front of Xenophone to CLLLLAAAANGGG block the swing of the captain. It crumples her shield, pummels her to the ground, and she takes 25 dmg, although successfully shielding Xenophone.
Prim runs, yelling, to drive his glistening sword into the captain’s shoulder for 35 dmg, but the captain punches and easily flings him back toward us and continues hoisting its sword for an execution. Rainmaker rejoins us to slam his hammer into the remaining centaur’s forelegs, and arrows and crossbow bolts fly from behind and above us, but we must maintain our defensive cordon to keep infiltrators from picking off the weakened vulnerable—and the captain will not relent.
“No!” Ad cries, attempting to push through only to be forced back with her shield by a broad polearm swipe.
An arrow flies from near the gate to hit the centaur in the neck—fatally. I hear Sage cry, “Xeno!!!” as more arrows fly, now at the goblin captain. But the undying centaur keeps us from advancing with wide, jerking sweeps, shielding the captain from projectiles with its animate corpse.
Rainmaker blocks a strike with his hammer and yells out; Prim rushes back to his feet and leaps over a low polearm sweep; Adelaide stands shakily up and attempts to follow, but I grab her arm, instinctually and forcefully, and drag her backward into the cordon so she can’t see what's about to happen, tearfully apologizing, while bolts continue to fly and hoarse shouts overwhelm our virtual ears, and the flames of the watchtowers and of our beleaguered torches, barely spared by the wind, dash the bridge and the field beyond with strokes of fiery light—and one such flash catches the gritty, charcoal-grey surface of the captain’s bloodstained sword, raised to its apogee—and for a split-second that feels like eternity, an eternity after the bloody ages elapsed during this battle, a unanimous expectant gasp silences the crowd, and a rush of wind bows the torchflames all throughout so that the bridge and beyond are surrendered, for a moment, to the shadows.
And I hear one last decollating drop of the captain’s massive sword cut through Cynythya and Xenophone simultaneously.
The crowd erupts into horrified shouts and the torchlight flares wildly in reaction, but all of this quickly deflates to that silence again—Ad and I and our comrades around us are speechless, helplessly watching Prim raise his greatsword shakily before the beast and its vanquished prey—and as the undying centaur falls in winding steps to the ground, fresh bolts fly at the captain, whose health is low, and who, with one last sneering growl at the guards, turns and bounds away bleeding to follow its retreating underlings. And only after it’s bounded deep into the darkness do the massive doors behind us begin to creak open.