Also the most interesting encounter I've had, despite participating, meagerly at that, only in its final phase.
I decided to do some mild modding, and out of curiosity made humans like dwarven-type mountain halls. Since this was done parallel to porting of my martial arts mod to the new version, dark elves (that I've blatantly, but not completely, copied from Keilden's drow) also occupied such halls.
The net result was staggering. Entire populations (entire goddamn entity populations) moved out of their homes in the towns and clogged up the entrances to the mountain halls. One in particular was Helmelder, a site occupied by the dark elves that moved into it sometime in 791, if the site's leader legends entry is any indication. At least two full human town populaces tried to cram themselves into this one poor site. There were at least a dozen shopkeepers and priests, several mayors, and more guards than I could remember. The dark elves aren't a very tough bunch without magic, so by the time my adventurer found the site entrance and descended, most of the resistance was cut down. It was pretty much a massacre, but among all the turmoil, the combat messages of one particular dark elf caught my eye - the darkelven spearmaster, site leader. Along my way down to meet him, I saw a lot of carnage, but not much actual fighting. Actually, no fighting at all, only lots and lots of dead bodies. And bolts. Eventually I stumbled upon two drunks, and a willing peasant, so to our final fight we went in a very standard adventuring "pack".
Then, at the last dead-end of the last wide corridor, we found him. Ware Blotchguard the Just Tragedies of Glittering, dark elf spearmaster. And then he introduced himself. You know, even considering that there were a lot of children (probably), a kill list of 52 achieved in, at most, an hour of ingame time... The worst thing is that he was armed with, of all weapons, a pitchfork... One of his first attacks went like this:
quote:
The dark elf Spearmaster lashes The Peasant in the head with his *®рTower-cap pitchforkрЇ*!
It is broken!
The Peasant has been stunned!
The Peasant's right eye has been torn out!
The Peasant's left eye has been torn out!
The Peasant's nose has been torn!
The Peasant's throat has been torn out!
The Peasant's neck has been badly sprained!
The Peasant's brain has been badly torn!
The *®рTower-cap pitchforkрЇ* has lodged firmly in the wound!
Thankfully, we've had some backup in form of two guards, one of them a pikeman, another a crossbowman. The pikeman tried to absorb the most of the damage, and the drunks helped, while I abandoned the futile attempts to penetrate the dark elf's shield, and concentrated on trying to grab on to his head. After a successful charge by the accompanying Peasant, that sent them both tumbling forward, and made the spearmaster lose his spe.., er, pitchfork, things started getting better. Only after a few scored hits, and when the spearmaster was already very tired, we managed to completely overwhelm him. I grabbed him and snapped his neck, while the two guards scored their own hits, one bolt in the lower body, plus one pike through the chest.
That was the most epic encounter of all time, a full-scale assault of the human militia on an unsuspecting darkelven outpost. I think armies are much closer than you'd think.
I can post the whole log of that event, if you feel like reading 240Kbytes of text.