(No screenshots, sadly, as I was expecting this adventurer to be nowhere near as awesome as he ended up being. It was stupid of me not to take pictures of the later stuff, but by then I felt like it wasn't worth it given I had no pictures of the early stuff. Dumb, I know. Next time I'm taking screenshots of any adventurer that's even half this awesome.)
I did indeed run, and hide. I left my two companions to die. However, the villagers were very impressed when I got back. After all, I had managed to kill six night terrors that had been plaguing them for so long. This boosted my reputation considerably. Having gotten away successfully and now having enough reputation to recruit civilians, I settled upon a plan of action. I recruited every woodcutter I could find. Then I headed north to a fortress and recruited everyone I could find. Most were macemen or hammermen, but that was fine. I only needed a few axes in order to lop their heads off once they were disabled.
By the end of my recruitment drive, I had 12 soldiers with me. We set out in triumph, spirits high. Unfortunately, our triumphant driving of the night creatures from their home was not to be, at least not yet. We were ambushed by goblins. There were twenty of them, and they had armor. While my men were brave, they were outnumbered, and several of them had never seen battle. We crippled and killed many of them. I killed eight of the enemy personally in the melee, grabbing onto them with my free hand, strangling them, and then stabbing them in the head when their struggles ceased. (Wrestling adventurers take note, this is an extremely effective fighting method.) Despite my companions becoming crippled all around me, for a moment it seemed like the battle might go our way, when an arrow struck me in the back. It missed the spine, but it caused me great pain. I was becoming slow and weak. I had no choice. My men beaten, I withdrew once again, sneaking off, badly wounded. I was the only survivor - my wounded companions were overwhelmed and wiped out to a man.
I returned to the fortress. I would have vengeance. I would not let them die in vain.
I did not find the goblin ambush that killed my compatriots, but after taking such heavy losses to my dagger they no doubt retreated to lick their wounds. So my new army, rebuilt out of hammermen, macemen, axemen, and bowmen, descended upon the creature lair.
That picture up there? That lair was filled with them. They didn't need to breathe, they didn't feel pain. It didn't help them. They were wiped out to a man as he cut and slashed our way through the tight confines. I personally beheaded several of their children with my knife and killed several others by getting behind them and cutting their throats or stabbing them in the brain. We took no casualties.
Look at that picture again. We killed all of them with no casualties. _No casualties._ Just imagine us crowding through that door, my demigod at the front, in a Solid Snake CQB pose, knife extended out in front of him, beheading night creature after night creature.
We returned triumphant. Having so many kills under our belt meant that the townsfolk hailed me and my band as a legendary hero. They refused to give me any further quests, saying that the only ones worthy of me and my merry band were found from the lord of the fortress I had been recruiting out of. Before I left, I recruited two miners and another woodcutter to my army, which upon arriving at the fortress swelled to well over 20 individuals.
The lord gave us a most daunting task. We had to kill a dragon. My thoughts were on how as we walked to the northeast, spirits high despite the dangerous task that had been bestowed upon us. We had no armor, and there were no towns around that I'd care to reach to outfit myself with some - and even if I did, it would not help us if we were flame-broiled. I could only hope that our great numbers would prove to overwhelm the dragon.
Sadly, it was not to be.
The goblins returned.
This time there were 30 of them.
Still, my spirits were high. The last battle had been lost, but by a narrow margin. Now I had many professionals, and even bowmen. As a legendary man who's tales had already spread to even the goblin race, they were intimidated. I knew this because the one who stopped us stuttered.
"Ha-ha-halt in the name of the Horror of Flukes!....."
He knew he was going to die the moment he recognized who I was. His force might win, every single man with me might be wiped out, but if nothing else, I would kill him. I would kill the impudent leader who dared to stop us, the closest man to my simple copper knife.
My hand was an inch from his throat when an arrow pierced my skull, and I was slain instantly. Thus ended my tale, my journey finished by a single lucky copper arrow out of a humble copper bow. My army fought bravely even with my death, but they too were eventually slain in a hail of arrows. We exacted a grave toll upon the enemy, cutting into their numbers and scattering their band much like the last one, but it was not enough.
Dether's Band of Heroes died bravely and fought to the end in all of it's many incarnations, and in it's own tiny way, it made the world just a little bit safer. The dying light of my character's civilization was flung forward to give another struggling human civilization a chance against the terrors of the night and the cruelty of the goblins. Every member of the band was immortalized as a legend by more or less every other human civilization in the entire region, even if they lacked any kills.
And all remembered Dether, the man who had nothing to lose.
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Topic: Well, crap. (Read 2284 times)