Petog's Surefire Failure
You've been waiting, but no longer. Petog is back and wearing
Part the Third, the Cleansing.
Upon last telling of our tale, the armies of the Master and Skulkan were clashing upon the icepacked walls of the Frostling town of Wintershallow, with Petog stuck in the middle with his hapless sidekick, Chucky. Both sides had exhausted almost all their magical resources and were left to duke it out with whatever forces they had left.
Petog's amulet Master had given him began glowing. Another transparent image appeared above the amulet just within Petog's view as he ducked and ran from one of the many Orc Warlords who had breached the stone and ice walls and now ran amuk in the town streets looking for smaller folk to kill.
"Master! Help Petog! Nasty Orcsesses trying to hurt me!" Petog frantically dug himself underneath a collapsed merchant tent in the town market.
"I cannot help you Petog, but have you forgotten? You bear this pendant and thus have a small part of my power with you."
Petog replied "But how Petog use Master's power? Petog not a wizard!"
"Ah, but you are gifted. That is why I chose you and placed you where you were needed most."
"But what about Chucky? He not gifted! Why you leave him with me?" worriedly asked Petog, almost not wanting to know the answer.
"Chucky was in the area when I found him. I just needed filler for your division." Replied the master. "Now hurry and use the last bit of power that I gave you. If I lose this town, because you didn't fight well, you'll wish you were left for the Orcs to pick apart bone by bone and stewed in a pot like a rabbit."
Petog shrieked at this and ran out from under the collapsed tent right between the legs of the Orc Warlord who was looking for him.
"Humh?" grunted the Warlord as Petog ran as fast as his stimpy little goblin legs could carry him. "OWARGH!" the warlord shouted as a mammoth rider headbutted him, knocking him to the ground where a hell hound that was chasing the mammoth rider up until this point suddenly saw knocked-down food, which was much easier to eat than large hairy running-away food like Mammoth tails. The hell hound tore into the throat of the nearly dead Warlord, howling in triumph as it tasted blood.
But Petog had no time to concern himself with such trivial matters as death. If the Master threatened such a harsh punishment, it meant he really REALLY meant to hurt Petog should he fail. Petog had to think very far back to when he was with the nasty Elveses and how they let him look at their magic-casting in-between scolding him and making him clean their unicorn stables. He started to remember a few things, but they were just beyond his grasp.
As he neared the South-western wall, he was surprised to find a towering Giant of a man with a sword and shield inside his city walls hacking orcs apart with mighty swings of his electrified sword. Startled at first, he seemed to remember that Master had mentioned giant Syron warriors filled with Electricity who could stun and strike a foe multiple times, as well as crush walls as easily as Petog crushed kittens.
The warrior smiled and tipped his shadow-iron hat as he saw Petog scramble by. "The master sends his greetings, wee one. We are your reinforcements."
While reinforcements were NEVER a cause for displeasure, Petog was very concerned that there wouldn't be enough to fight the remaining thousands of Orcs storming Wintershallow. Petog got to the wall and noticed his troops fighting valliantly. The hell hounds and Mammoths were singing and smashing anything that got over the walls or through the shattered gates, the Pirates were distracting the remaining shamen and some Warlords who couldn't get near enough to the walls, and the newly arrived lightning casters were firing their thunderous projectiles all over the map. All in all, Petog was only slightly relieved. He would get to stay alive only long enough to regret it.
A great cheer went up from the Dwarves. Peering cautiously over the wall, he saw the remains of General Oglash impaled with a half dozen ballista bolts. Apparently, they managed to spear him with two sets of repeater ballistae simultaneously from two different directions. Even his warsteed had perished. Well, that should put a damper on the spirits of the Orcs. Indeed, Petog noticed how the Warlords started backing down from the heavy rain of fire from Wintershallow. Not to say they fled (Orcs never flee - their leaders eat and kill them - IN THAT ORDER), but they definitely hesitated.
It was that hesitation that gave Petog the best idea he or any other Goblin had ever had in the history of their race. Petog held the amulet and attempted to communicate in mind-speak with Master.
~Master. Petog knows how to stop them. Petog need mind-spell like used against orcs at Master's tower.~
~You have enough power of mine to use only one spell. Are you sure this is it, Petog?
~Yes Master! This will make it work good! Then Petog live!~
The Master began the process of opening his mind to Petog and letting Petog browse his vast knowlege of magics, some used for enchanting weapons as was done with the Ballistae, some for opening portals to the fiery places where Hell Hounds roam, until finally he discovered the spell he needed. The spell of "Seeing things that aren't there and not seeing things that are" as Petog called it.
Petog invoked the last glimmer of power from the amulet Master gave him. He concentrated as hard as he could, drawing the power from the amulet as well as channeling the spell knowlege from Master. First, he drew the spell from the link between them through the amulet. Then he formed it into a white-hot ball of fire surrounding the amulet, which made the hairs on Petog's head stand up. Some of the Mammoth riders took notice, worried that another fire spell was going to singe their already tender trunks.
Petog finished gathering the energy Master had left him, and shakily began the incantation to finish the spell. There were no Orcs close enough to stop him, even if they knew what fate woudl befall them. All the siege equipment had long gone, the last of the shamens had fallen, and the Efreeti were all banished to their inferno domain.
Petog released the spell, which manifested as a ball of white hot fire that rose into the air, then expanded and faded from sight, causing a slight glimmering over the entire battlefield. Petog then took a more secure position behind the wall, figuring there he was the smallest and least likely to be noticed. What he didn't see would have amazed anyone. The army of Warlords began stumbling about, hacking at one another as if they were all enemies of each other.
The horrifying stench of Orc blood permeated the air, and unfortunately, Wintershallow was downwind of the invasion. Petog vomited over the wall and managed to create enough of a slick to down a Warlord attempting to sneak up on one of the Mammoth Riders, whose bulk filled the hole where the walls had been torn down and who was gleefully engaging a pair of Warlords with his enchanted tusks and stompy feet.
The results of Master's final spell were the same throughout the rest of the army. Orc after Orc began fighting one another, shrieking in their gutteral tongue about giant sea snails, pink dragons, and rampaging cheesewheels. They struck one another, a wildness in their eyes causing them to lash out where there was nothing. A few were unaffected, but were a mere fraction of the whole army. They rallied together and charged the crumbling walls, but were stopped short by a massive influx of lightning from the lightning casters.
The remaining battle consisted of the dwarven berserkers and hell hounds mopping up the en-maddened orcs. Blade and tooth, tusk and axe felled orc after orc until a bleeding ocean of stench soiled the otherwise pristine icelands the Frostlings called home.
Petog managed to get a final hit on the last wall-climbing orc warlord after both his arms were pinned by hell hounds desperate to devour anything, even Orc meat. Petog almost felt sorry for the armies. Almost. Petog still was gleeful that he not only survived, but that he didn't have to baby sit Chucky throughout it.
~Speaking of Chucky... where he go?~ thought Petog. Looking around, he saw chucky's pony crushed under the weight of a dead Orc. "Well that too bad. I not miss hom though. Stupid Halfling oaf."
"Petog! There you are! Oh, isn't it terrible, Shamrock died when that big Orc landed on me! Help me get out!" Turning around with a burning sensation in his face and yet terrible chill running down his spine, he grimaced as he saw Chucky, dirty and filthy as any Goblin, struggle to pull himself out from under the butt-plate of the dead Warlord. "I hid in thar until the battle was over. So, where did you-sa hide?"
Petog calmly went up to chucky, drew his sword, and stabbed him in the stomach. "Filthy Chucky made me happy you were dead. Now you die slow and painful while I go home." With a gurgle, chucky collapsed back under the dead orc, twitching feebily and trying to hold his blood in as it poured out of him. No one would miss him, least of all Petog. ~After all,~ thought Petog, ~if there's one thing Goblins think smells worse than rotting Orc flesh, its Halfling.~
The battle statistics for this siege were as follows, (Number remaining / Total brought to battle):
Attackers
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Orc Army: 0 / 4,852
Catapults: 0 / 25
Summoned Efreeti: 0 / 50
Skulkan's Casting Points: 0/40
General Oglosh (Defeated) - 0/10 casting points at time of death
Defenders
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Ballistae: 2 / 8
Pirates: 16 / 29
Dwarven Berserkers: 6 / 20
Lightning Casters: 10 / 100
Mammoth Riders: 10 / 14
Hell Hounds: 4 / 22
Giant Warriors: 5 / 5
Chucky (Defeated)
Petog's (Surviving) 0/20 Casting points
This battle actually happened to me during an Age of Wonders Shadow Magic mutiplayer game. They had NO IDEA how tactically crazy my fight was. Speaking of hard-fought battles, you should all go see 300 when it comes out (http://300themovie.warnerbros.com/). It is about a great over powered battle of ancient history (The battle of Thermopylae) fought over 2000 years ago. Persia vs Greecian city-states. Outnumbered by several orders of magnitude.
Part the Third, the Cleansing.
Upon last telling of our tale, the armies of the Master and Skulkan were clashing upon the icepacked walls of the Frostling town of Wintershallow, with Petog stuck in the middle with his hapless sidekick, Chucky. Both sides had exhausted almost all their magical resources and were left to duke it out with whatever forces they had left.
Petog's amulet Master had given him began glowing. Another transparent image appeared above the amulet just within Petog's view as he ducked and ran from one of the many Orc Warlords who had breached the stone and ice walls and now ran amuk in the town streets looking for smaller folk to kill.
"Master! Help Petog! Nasty Orcsesses trying to hurt me!" Petog frantically dug himself underneath a collapsed merchant tent in the town market.
"I cannot help you Petog, but have you forgotten? You bear this pendant and thus have a small part of my power with you."
Petog replied "But how Petog use Master's power? Petog not a wizard!"
"Ah, but you are gifted. That is why I chose you and placed you where you were needed most."
"But what about Chucky? He not gifted! Why you leave him with me?" worriedly asked Petog, almost not wanting to know the answer.
"Chucky was in the area when I found him. I just needed filler for your division." Replied the master. "Now hurry and use the last bit of power that I gave you. If I lose this town, because you didn't fight well, you'll wish you were left for the Orcs to pick apart bone by bone and stewed in a pot like a rabbit."
Petog shrieked at this and ran out from under the collapsed tent right between the legs of the Orc Warlord who was looking for him.
"Humh?" grunted the Warlord as Petog ran as fast as his stimpy little goblin legs could carry him. "OWARGH!" the warlord shouted as a mammoth rider headbutted him, knocking him to the ground where a hell hound that was chasing the mammoth rider up until this point suddenly saw knocked-down food, which was much easier to eat than large hairy running-away food like Mammoth tails. The hell hound tore into the throat of the nearly dead Warlord, howling in triumph as it tasted blood.
But Petog had no time to concern himself with such trivial matters as death. If the Master threatened such a harsh punishment, it meant he really REALLY meant to hurt Petog should he fail. Petog had to think very far back to when he was with the nasty Elveses and how they let him look at their magic-casting in-between scolding him and making him clean their unicorn stables. He started to remember a few things, but they were just beyond his grasp.
As he neared the South-western wall, he was surprised to find a towering Giant of a man with a sword and shield inside his city walls hacking orcs apart with mighty swings of his electrified sword. Startled at first, he seemed to remember that Master had mentioned giant Syron warriors filled with Electricity who could stun and strike a foe multiple times, as well as crush walls as easily as Petog crushed kittens.
The warrior smiled and tipped his shadow-iron hat as he saw Petog scramble by. "The master sends his greetings, wee one. We are your reinforcements."
While reinforcements were NEVER a cause for displeasure, Petog was very concerned that there wouldn't be enough to fight the remaining thousands of Orcs storming Wintershallow. Petog got to the wall and noticed his troops fighting valliantly. The hell hounds and Mammoths were singing and smashing anything that got over the walls or through the shattered gates, the Pirates were distracting the remaining shamen and some Warlords who couldn't get near enough to the walls, and the newly arrived lightning casters were firing their thunderous projectiles all over the map. All in all, Petog was only slightly relieved. He would get to stay alive only long enough to regret it.
A great cheer went up from the Dwarves. Peering cautiously over the wall, he saw the remains of General Oglash impaled with a half dozen ballista bolts. Apparently, they managed to spear him with two sets of repeater ballistae simultaneously from two different directions. Even his warsteed had perished. Well, that should put a damper on the spirits of the Orcs. Indeed, Petog noticed how the Warlords started backing down from the heavy rain of fire from Wintershallow. Not to say they fled (Orcs never flee - their leaders eat and kill them - IN THAT ORDER), but they definitely hesitated.
It was that hesitation that gave Petog the best idea he or any other Goblin had ever had in the history of their race. Petog held the amulet and attempted to communicate in mind-speak with Master.
~Master. Petog knows how to stop them. Petog need mind-spell like used against orcs at Master's tower.~
~You have enough power of mine to use only one spell. Are you sure this is it, Petog?
~Yes Master! This will make it work good! Then Petog live!~
The Master began the process of opening his mind to Petog and letting Petog browse his vast knowlege of magics, some used for enchanting weapons as was done with the Ballistae, some for opening portals to the fiery places where Hell Hounds roam, until finally he discovered the spell he needed. The spell of "Seeing things that aren't there and not seeing things that are" as Petog called it.
Petog invoked the last glimmer of power from the amulet Master gave him. He concentrated as hard as he could, drawing the power from the amulet as well as channeling the spell knowlege from Master. First, he drew the spell from the link between them through the amulet. Then he formed it into a white-hot ball of fire surrounding the amulet, which made the hairs on Petog's head stand up. Some of the Mammoth riders took notice, worried that another fire spell was going to singe their already tender trunks.
Petog finished gathering the energy Master had left him, and shakily began the incantation to finish the spell. There were no Orcs close enough to stop him, even if they knew what fate woudl befall them. All the siege equipment had long gone, the last of the shamens had fallen, and the Efreeti were all banished to their inferno domain.
Petog released the spell, which manifested as a ball of white hot fire that rose into the air, then expanded and faded from sight, causing a slight glimmering over the entire battlefield. Petog then took a more secure position behind the wall, figuring there he was the smallest and least likely to be noticed. What he didn't see would have amazed anyone. The army of Warlords began stumbling about, hacking at one another as if they were all enemies of each other.
The horrifying stench of Orc blood permeated the air, and unfortunately, Wintershallow was downwind of the invasion. Petog vomited over the wall and managed to create enough of a slick to down a Warlord attempting to sneak up on one of the Mammoth Riders, whose bulk filled the hole where the walls had been torn down and who was gleefully engaging a pair of Warlords with his enchanted tusks and stompy feet.
The results of Master's final spell were the same throughout the rest of the army. Orc after Orc began fighting one another, shrieking in their gutteral tongue about giant sea snails, pink dragons, and rampaging cheesewheels. They struck one another, a wildness in their eyes causing them to lash out where there was nothing. A few were unaffected, but were a mere fraction of the whole army. They rallied together and charged the crumbling walls, but were stopped short by a massive influx of lightning from the lightning casters.
The remaining battle consisted of the dwarven berserkers and hell hounds mopping up the en-maddened orcs. Blade and tooth, tusk and axe felled orc after orc until a bleeding ocean of stench soiled the otherwise pristine icelands the Frostlings called home.
Petog managed to get a final hit on the last wall-climbing orc warlord after both his arms were pinned by hell hounds desperate to devour anything, even Orc meat. Petog almost felt sorry for the armies. Almost. Petog still was gleeful that he not only survived, but that he didn't have to baby sit Chucky throughout it.
~Speaking of Chucky... where he go?~ thought Petog. Looking around, he saw chucky's pony crushed under the weight of a dead Orc. "Well that too bad. I not miss hom though. Stupid Halfling oaf."
"Petog! There you are! Oh, isn't it terrible, Shamrock died when that big Orc landed on me! Help me get out!" Turning around with a burning sensation in his face and yet terrible chill running down his spine, he grimaced as he saw Chucky, dirty and filthy as any Goblin, struggle to pull himself out from under the butt-plate of the dead Warlord. "I hid in thar until the battle was over. So, where did you-sa hide?"
Petog calmly went up to chucky, drew his sword, and stabbed him in the stomach. "Filthy Chucky made me happy you were dead. Now you die slow and painful while I go home." With a gurgle, chucky collapsed back under the dead orc, twitching feebily and trying to hold his blood in as it poured out of him. No one would miss him, least of all Petog. ~After all,~ thought Petog, ~if there's one thing Goblins think smells worse than rotting Orc flesh, its Halfling.~
The battle statistics for this siege were as follows, (Number remaining / Total brought to battle):
Attackers
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Orc Army: 0 / 4,852
Catapults: 0 / 25
Summoned Efreeti: 0 / 50
Skulkan's Casting Points: 0/40
General Oglosh (Defeated) - 0/10 casting points at time of death
Defenders
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Ballistae: 2 / 8
Pirates: 16 / 29
Dwarven Berserkers: 6 / 20
Lightning Casters: 10 / 100
Mammoth Riders: 10 / 14
Hell Hounds: 4 / 22
Giant Warriors: 5 / 5
Chucky (Defeated)
Petog's (Surviving) 0/20 Casting points
This battle actually happened to me during an Age of Wonders Shadow Magic mutiplayer game. They had NO IDEA how tactically crazy my fight was. Speaking of hard-fought battles, you should all go see 300 when it comes out (http://300themovie.warnerbros.com/). It is about a great over powered battle of ancient history (The battle of Thermopylae) fought over 2000 years ago. Persia vs Greecian city-states. Outnumbered by several orders of magnitude.