August 27th - War Begins
The War Drums began beating in the distance, and the Bells in the town's towers began ringing to answer them. The chorus made for a dark concert as the town's defenders began to assemble to face the Legion of Dargok. The ducal soldiers stood ready, awaiting marching orders. As the Legion emerged from the tree line, it was apparent that one way or another, this was going to be the end of it all. No more hit and run tactics, no more scouting and raiding parties in the middle of the night. No. Chieftain Dargok himself was at the head of all of the mixed forces he could possibly assemble on one battlefield. The Legion referred to him as Dargok the Unkillable, for at every battle where Dargok was present, they always won. Would today be any different?
The Legion marched confidently towards New Acarthia, where the ducal forces were gathered most prominently. Instead of their usual ways, their boldness was leading them directly at the heart of the duchy. Many of the soldiers were fearful. Their commanding officers did all they could to steady them. Several adventuring teams also stood ready, having been confirmed as officially chartered teams in the duchy. The fists of the scholars and templars began to glow, and many a soldier took this as a sign of readiness and it bolstered their spirits a bit as their comrades did this.
The drumming stopped and the Legion began sprinting into a full charge. The ducal forces met them, and in a great clash of arms, the final battle for Acarthia had begun. Nobles, commoners, and adventurers alike were battling against difficult odds. This way an Ogre Mage, that way a Gnoll necromancer. The war raged on for hours, and Dargok killed all who opposed him.
Trumpets sounded from within the center of the town. Emerging in shining armor and riding his favorite warhorse, His Grace, Duke Jonathan Tiberion, joined the battle with his closest knights. He slew everything in his path, the whole time cutting through the herds to get to Dargok. As Dargok saw him coming, he put a shoulder into the body of the horse and sent it reeling. The Duke fell backwards, and his knights rushed in to protect him while he regained his feet. Dargok took out a few knights, but they had delayed him long enough for Duke Jonathan to draw steel and face the chieftain.
They squared off for a time, exchanging this blow and this glance, blocking and parrying, thrusting, and dodging. Duke Jonathan lunged as Dargok pulled back for a vicious blow, and the Duke's blade pierced Dargok's torso. Coughing up blood, he gurgled his final threat, "A thousand curses upon you and your lands."
At the sight of Dargok the Unkillable being killed on the field, by the duke, for all to see, the assorted members of the Legion broke into pandemonium. They began retreating, and running in all directions, and in the dust, not much combat took place. It was easy to get turned around, and in the lack of visibility, perhaps even attack an ally. Most people stood back to back to be safe. When the dust settled, victory belonged to Acarthia. Dargok's body was not there, but everyone knows he died his permanent death that day. The survivors held up the duke in their arms, plate armor and all, but the duke clutched at his side and called for his healer.
The healer came rushing forward to tend to the wounds of the duke. He cast a healing spell to mend his side, but the spell failed. Other healers rushed forward and tried to cast what little healing they had left in memory, but nothing worked. The duke's wounds would not heal. Everyone speculated about the curse Dargok uttered... however, Former Guildmaster Blackhand Tomarg stepped forward, and surmised that it was the Cursed, Necromantic Artifact that Dargok wielded. The duke felt ill and was taken within.
Despite the upsetting news for the duke, many cheered that day for all of the soldiers and of the fallen, and the taverns were loud this night with revelry. The Legion of Dargok is splintered without their leader. The war is over!
The War Drums began beating in the distance, and the Bells in the town's towers began ringing to answer them. The chorus made for a dark concert as the town's defenders began to assemble to face the Legion of Dargok. The ducal soldiers stood ready, awaiting marching orders. As the Legion emerged from the tree line, it was apparent that one way or another, this was going to be the end of it all. No more hit and run tactics, no more scouting and raiding parties in the middle of the night. No. Chieftain Dargok himself was at the head of all of the mixed forces he could possibly assemble on one battlefield. The Legion referred to him as Dargok the Unkillable, for at every battle where Dargok was present, they always won. Would today be any different?
The Legion marched confidently towards New Acarthia, where the ducal forces were gathered most prominently. Instead of their usual ways, their boldness was leading them directly at the heart of the duchy. Many of the soldiers were fearful. Their commanding officers did all they could to steady them. Several adventuring teams also stood ready, having been confirmed as officially chartered teams in the duchy. The fists of the scholars and templars began to glow, and many a soldier took this as a sign of readiness and it bolstered their spirits a bit as their comrades did this.
The drumming stopped and the Legion began sprinting into a full charge. The ducal forces met them, and in a great clash of arms, the final battle for Acarthia had begun. Nobles, commoners, and adventurers alike were battling against difficult odds. This way an Ogre Mage, that way a Gnoll necromancer. The war raged on for hours, and Dargok killed all who opposed him.
Trumpets sounded from within the center of the town. Emerging in shining armor and riding his favorite warhorse, His Grace, Duke Jonathan Tiberion, joined the battle with his closest knights. He slew everything in his path, the whole time cutting through the herds to get to Dargok. As Dargok saw him coming, he put a shoulder into the body of the horse and sent it reeling. The Duke fell backwards, and his knights rushed in to protect him while he regained his feet. Dargok took out a few knights, but they had delayed him long enough for Duke Jonathan to draw steel and face the chieftain.
They squared off for a time, exchanging this blow and this glance, blocking and parrying, thrusting, and dodging. Duke Jonathan lunged as Dargok pulled back for a vicious blow, and the Duke's blade pierced Dargok's torso. Coughing up blood, he gurgled his final threat, "A thousand curses upon you and your lands."
At the sight of Dargok the Unkillable being killed on the field, by the duke, for all to see, the assorted members of the Legion broke into pandemonium. They began retreating, and running in all directions, and in the dust, not much combat took place. It was easy to get turned around, and in the lack of visibility, perhaps even attack an ally. Most people stood back to back to be safe. When the dust settled, victory belonged to Acarthia. Dargok's body was not there, but everyone knows he died his permanent death that day. The survivors held up the duke in their arms, plate armor and all, but the duke clutched at his side and called for his healer.
The healer came rushing forward to tend to the wounds of the duke. He cast a healing spell to mend his side, but the spell failed. Other healers rushed forward and tried to cast what little healing they had left in memory, but nothing worked. The duke's wounds would not heal. Everyone speculated about the curse Dargok uttered... however, Former Guildmaster Blackhand Tomarg stepped forward, and surmised that it was the Cursed, Necromantic Artifact that Dargok wielded. The duke felt ill and was taken within.
Despite the upsetting news for the duke, many cheered that day for all of the soldiers and of the fallen, and the taverns were loud this night with revelry. The Legion of Dargok is splintered without their leader. The war is over!