The Ghoul General - Theatre of Operations
18th
Day of the Month of Sunsebb 573 CY calendar
Jamaros and the wraith face each other. The undead barbarian's mind swirls with thoughts of violence and murder but he knows that even his most heavily enchanted weapons won't have much effect on the spirit so, begrudgingly, he decides to try diplomacy. He chokes down his anger and repeats, “I am Jamaros Many-Battles. The Ghoul King has named me general of his army and sent me to carve out his domain. I need to know the location and disposition of our enemies as well as the forces at our disposal.”
The hollow voice of the wraith echoes back at him, “And I am still Marquis Folggnaw, master of this city.” The incorporeal entity's vaporous form shifts, swirling black smoke backlit by the glowing joints of the armored figures behind him. Folggnaw continues, “Very well.” He gestures to some guard concealed behind the barrier, “Open the gate. The general and I have much to discuss.”
A moment later, Jamaros hears the “CLANG” of a massive bolt being thrown and then, slowly, the stone gate begins to move. Six ratmen heave on thick hawsers, opening the way for the massive Nordheimer and his troops. The Marquis turns, his armored escort falling into formation around him and heads down the path toward the city. The barbarian and his ghouls follow in the wraith's wake. Jamaros' eyes sweep the city's 'skyline'. To his left, a low, ramshackle warren of hovels sits in a shallow depression. Bustling activity and the odors of LIFE emanate from that quarter, leading him to conclude that area must be home to the ratmen. To the right there is a forest of huge mushrooms. Most of the cavern is lighted by green-glowing orbs that cast sickly shadows everywhere.
Before long, the procession reaches a building made from white limestone. The entire structure is built atop a mound of skulls. Folggnaw wafts up the stairs and into the grand structure. Inside, the building is a hollow shell. There are no furnishings to speak of, no displays of wealth or power – just the detritus of victims slain by the wraith. The wraith leads the way to a meeting room with a vaulted ceiling. A large table occupies the center of the room and Folggnaw gestures to a map spread out across it. As he moves, the armored escorts keep him encircled even though there is no indication of any immediate threat.
“This is our city, here,” the wraith begins as he motions toward a dot at the western end of the map. “Two miles esat, you will find a 'city' of stalagmites inhabited by loathsome cloakers.” Vaporous hands move across the map, indicating other settlements. “Here is Glimmerfell, a city of Sviferneblin; this is Angrimm – an outpost of drow refugees and their slaves driven from their parent city of Erelhei-Cinlu. It would have fallen to us already if not for the pair of dragons living among the dark elves. Here is a hot spring claimed by Troglodytes, this is a cavern haunted by a banshee and her pet death tyrant and on this sea lies the city of Folassisshuo – home to our greatest adversaries, the Kuo-Toa.”
“Where is our army?” the barbarian general asks, his voice rumbling deep within his chest.
“Somewhere in the tunnel between here and the Troglodytes' spring. General Murliss plans on scouting the enemy position before committing her troops to an attack.”
Jamaros frowns, “How many of the smelly lizards are there?”
“Only eighty or so.”
“How many troops does she have?”
“Two hundred and twenty at last count, plus two score zombies.”
“She outnumbers them by nearly 3 to 1 odds. Why hesitate?”
The wraith pauses, “The general wishes to minimize her potential losses. The remaining marquises may try to take advantage if she loses too many of her troops.”
“These marquises prey on each other then? They have preyed on you? That is why a shadow is running the city instead of a ghoul?”
The wraith shifts uncomfortably, “That would not be … an inaccurate statement.”
Jamaros nods, “Then these,” he waves his hand at the armored figures, “are not your guards, but your jailers.”
Folggnaw becomes very still as Jamaros turns to address the helmed horrors and a smile spreads slowly across his face, “I am Jamaros Many-Battles, general of the Ghoul King's Army. I am assuming command. Execute your prisoner.”
The armored figures spring into action immediately, drawing their swords and chopping into the wraith with a great ferocity. The work is done in a matter of moments.
“Lead me to the army. We have much work to do.”
Jamaros and the wraith face each other. The undead barbarian's mind swirls with thoughts of violence and murder but he knows that even his most heavily enchanted weapons won't have much effect on the spirit so, begrudgingly, he decides to try diplomacy. He chokes down his anger and repeats, “I am Jamaros Many-Battles. The Ghoul King has named me general of his army and sent me to carve out his domain. I need to know the location and disposition of our enemies as well as the forces at our disposal.”
The hollow voice of the wraith echoes back at him, “And I am still Marquis Folggnaw, master of this city.” The incorporeal entity's vaporous form shifts, swirling black smoke backlit by the glowing joints of the armored figures behind him. Folggnaw continues, “Very well.” He gestures to some guard concealed behind the barrier, “Open the gate. The general and I have much to discuss.”
A moment later, Jamaros hears the “CLANG” of a massive bolt being thrown and then, slowly, the stone gate begins to move. Six ratmen heave on thick hawsers, opening the way for the massive Nordheimer and his troops. The Marquis turns, his armored escort falling into formation around him and heads down the path toward the city. The barbarian and his ghouls follow in the wraith's wake. Jamaros' eyes sweep the city's 'skyline'. To his left, a low, ramshackle warren of hovels sits in a shallow depression. Bustling activity and the odors of LIFE emanate from that quarter, leading him to conclude that area must be home to the ratmen. To the right there is a forest of huge mushrooms. Most of the cavern is lighted by green-glowing orbs that cast sickly shadows everywhere.
Before long, the procession reaches a building made from white limestone. The entire structure is built atop a mound of skulls. Folggnaw wafts up the stairs and into the grand structure. Inside, the building is a hollow shell. There are no furnishings to speak of, no displays of wealth or power – just the detritus of victims slain by the wraith. The wraith leads the way to a meeting room with a vaulted ceiling. A large table occupies the center of the room and Folggnaw gestures to a map spread out across it. As he moves, the armored escorts keep him encircled even though there is no indication of any immediate threat.
“This is our city, here,” the wraith begins as he motions toward a dot at the western end of the map. “Two miles esat, you will find a 'city' of stalagmites inhabited by loathsome cloakers.” Vaporous hands move across the map, indicating other settlements. “Here is Glimmerfell, a city of Sviferneblin; this is Angrimm – an outpost of drow refugees and their slaves driven from their parent city of Erelhei-Cinlu. It would have fallen to us already if not for the pair of dragons living among the dark elves. Here is a hot spring claimed by Troglodytes, this is a cavern haunted by a banshee and her pet death tyrant and on this sea lies the city of Folassisshuo – home to our greatest adversaries, the Kuo-Toa.”
“Where is our army?” the barbarian general asks, his voice rumbling deep within his chest.
“Somewhere in the tunnel between here and the Troglodytes' spring. General Murliss plans on scouting the enemy position before committing her troops to an attack.”
Jamaros frowns, “How many of the smelly lizards are there?”
“Only eighty or so.”
“How many troops does she have?”
“Two hundred and twenty at last count, plus two score zombies.”
“She outnumbers them by nearly 3 to 1 odds. Why hesitate?”
The wraith pauses, “The general wishes to minimize her potential losses. The remaining marquises may try to take advantage if she loses too many of her troops.”
“These marquises prey on each other then? They have preyed on you? That is why a shadow is running the city instead of a ghoul?”
The wraith shifts uncomfortably, “That would not be … an inaccurate statement.”
Jamaros nods, “Then these,” he waves his hand at the armored figures, “are not your guards, but your jailers.”
Folggnaw becomes very still as Jamaros turns to address the helmed horrors and a smile spreads slowly across his face, “I am Jamaros Many-Battles, general of the Ghoul King's Army. I am assuming command. Execute your prisoner.”
The armored figures spring into action immediately, drawing their swords and chopping into the wraith with a great ferocity. The work is done in a matter of moments.
“Lead me to the army. We have much work to do.”
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