Four thousand Dwarves faced Morlecainen’s paltry force of five hundred mercenaries and Hobgoblins. Lexx held the Dark Elves in reserve. The commanders of the Dwarves and their allies made ready. The Mage Roscoe sprinkled some fine sand, waved his staff in the direction of the castle, and reported that there were no invisible defenders.
The sorcerer reported, “What you see is what we are against.”
Dwarf King Travan said, “There must be a start to it. Send forward the first ranks.”
The first ranks moved forward. Five hundred paces separated the foes.
Prince Ordrych Aivendar of Lyndyn said, “I will join them.”
King Travan said boldly, “The honor of leading falls to me.”
The Dwarves moved forward at a steady pace. The guarding force held their ground. The center of the defensive line parted, and a single tall figure started to move toward the army of Travan. He wore no armor and carried no shield. Flames flickered from the longsword he carried.
Roscoe looked through his Magick prism and dumbfoundedly said, “This is the sorcerer. He radiates Magick but he casts no spells. He is committing suicide!”
Dwarf Sergeant Saultzo queried, “What is suicide?”
“He seeks self-destruction,” Roscoe answered bluntly.
Grizzled warrior Dann Rocherr boisterously exclaimed from his position in the front rank “I’ll be glad to oblige him.”
Curate from the Fane of the Setting Sun Pirmis added, “He carries no staff. I detect no illusion.”
Four hundred paces separated the foes. Roscoe raised his small prism, pointed his staff at Morlecainen, threw a snail shell into the air, and uttered an incantation. A pink ray streamed from the end of the staff and bathed the lone advancing enemy. He continued forward.
The mage uttered dejectedly, “He radiates great Magick. There are no effects from the Slow Spell.”
Roscoe then threw a piece of coal into the air and spoke the arcane phrases of the Darkness Spell. A black cloud left the staff’s end. The cloud dissipated over the advancing tall figure.
Roscoe confided, “There is no effect from the Darkness Spell.”
Three hundred paces separated the foes. Roscoe then threw a precious piece of sulfurous rock into the air and uttered a harsh incantation. The smell of rotten eggs filled the air. The Fireball exploded around the advancing tall figure and incinerated twenty of the fighters behind him. The spell had no effect the advancing figure.
Roscoe surmised, “He has cast many Protective Spells upon himself. I doubt that I will be of much help in this fray. Why does he not use spell attacks?”
Two hundred paces separated the foes. Travan raised his shield hand and stopped the advance. The tall figure continued to move forward.
Travan spoke to the archer beside him, “Ophirr, he comes to within bow range. End this affair now.”
Ophirr said, “There’s no honor in this.”
The young archer then drew taut his bowstring and then the bowstring hummed. The arrow arched high and flew toward the steadily advancing target. Ophirr’s aim was impeccable. The arrow struck the figure in mid-chest. He did not fall. Instead he raised the flaming blade to the sky and repeated a phrase three times. The impaling arrow fell from his chest. He moved forward. A roar swelled from the men and Hobgoblins behind him, and they ran forward at a rapid pace, soon overtaking and passing him. One hundred paces separated the foes. The Dwarves held their ground.
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