Odyssea partem de Mandragoris pt.3

Twelve survivors march home at the end of a brutal and lengthy war, but are waylaid by strange and powerful forces. Believing themselves to be off course, the soldiers make their way towards higher ground to regain their bearings, but dwindle as natural and unnatural foes stalk their weary band.

Episode Three - The Hilltop

Vadim peered over the ridge, scanning the woodland canopy for breaks that might indicate a landmark, or a homestead, or any form of civilization. He thought of his comrades, who waited lower down the cliffs. Though he could not see anything to mark a town or farm, he did not relish returning to them empty handed. They'd been away from home for so long, and each further mishap wore on them. If all had gone to plan, they would have entered the Raised City before sunset, feasted with their countrymen, and recounted the tales of heroism for those who could not be reunited. As it was, the moon was bright, and the wind brisk, and what remained of their lucky few shivered in their thin-soled boots. The somber note distracted Vadim for a moment, but he was brought back to his own when the tree line shifted. There were people in the trees, actual people! Perhaps, he thought, word of their victory had gotten ahead and a party had been sent to welcome them home! The idea passed through him, as he realized the folk who made their way out of the woods wore no clothes, and held shields and staves aloft. No, this wasn't the party he had hoped for at all.

In this scenario, the soldiers must protect their fellow as he surveys to regain their bearings, while fending off the wildfolk whose intentions are clear by their weapons and howls. If the Mandragoras Filli can hold them off for six turns while Vadim finds a landmark, they wont have to navigate entirely blind, while if they must break before losing half their members, their bushwhacking might take them on a less than efficient route.

There are eight soldiers on the Russian team with profiles consistent with previous sessions. The Almas are an ancient race of wildfolk, and will be spawning on each of the three board edges. At the beginning of each turn, a check will be made to see if the Almas' patron, the Leshy joins the fray.

Turn One

The Almas, or the wild folk crept in from each edge of the treeline, one of them cresting the hilltop that Pyter and his men were defending. In moments, the soldiers were upon her, and gouged her horribly with their bayonets. On the other side of the ridge, a handful of men sent a hail of bullets at the incoming wildling, but failed to deter it from its terrible course.

Turn Two

Trees moved aside as the Leshy strode out into the clearing. It's one hand clutched a mean cudgel, held aloft higher than the head of the wildling who accompanied it. Three of the wild folk were now in combat with the Russians, bloodying two of them, and spooking one of them from the scuffle.

Turn Three

Boyra the Bannerman cleared the distance between his skirmish and Vadim, blocking off any of the wildmen from a clear charge at the scout. The broken grenadier, Dima regained his head, and began shooting at the next wave of wildfolk, but his shots did little against their toughened hides. Behind him, Pyter and two others held the line while bearing the bludgeons of gnarled clubs and rusty shields. One of the Almas went down, but it was little comfort with the sounds they could hear coming from the trees.

Turn Four

Less than a meter from Vadim's lookout, another Almas climbed over the peak, only to be met by Boyra and the unbroken grenadier, who sink their swords into the meat of the wild thing's shoulder. A howl peals out into the night as further down the hillside, one of the Russians meets their maker and the Leshy revels in the carnage. After all, bloodmeal is an excellent source of nitrogen.

Turn Five

The bloody bludgeoning continued as all the Russians and Almas engaged in primal combat. Boyra was driven back, as was Pyter. As Vadim continued to scan the horizon, the wind caught some of the sounds that spilled from the Leshy's maw. He'd studied languages in school before the war, and his stomach turned as his mind unwillingly listened for roots. It wasn't Ukrainian, or Old Eastern Slavic, but in the consonants bubbled ideas that could someday be in those older tongues. He shuddered and readied his rifle.

Turn Six

Mercifully, the soldier had no time to register his head being beaten deep into his ribcage by the Leshy's club. Now disengaged, one of the Almas made for Vadim, and raked his face with it's sharp rusty shield. Dima's assailant thought to join that fray, but the moment of distraction gave the Russian an opportunity to run his blade through the sinew of the wildling's neck. A few more blows were exchanged between the soldiers and the wildmen, but Vadim had been bought enough time, and the signal was given to fall back.

Once the soldiers had gotten clear of the Almas and their looming lord, the questions arose. "What did you see? What did you spot?" Vadim nodded and explained that further into the mountains he had found the entrance to a mineshaft. As they marched in the direction marked by their scout, white knuckled fingers crossed, and the names of the Mandrake mingled with the crunching of snow underfoot. After a few hours, they reached the head of the mine, and were met by two fellows. They spoke little, but received them with hospitality, dressing their wounds and bringing them food. Slowly, after their guests had settled, the story had unraveled for the miners; the witch, the beast, and the wild folk. The hosts nodded with concern and understanding; they lived in a strange world to be sure, and to expect anything less was to invite calamity. 

Once dinner had ended, the soldiers bedded down on the floor of the cabin the two miners shared. Pyter took the first watch along with one of their hosts, a bear of a man named Kievan. They shared a pipe and watched the trees for hours, and talked sparingly. The miners knew little of their home, and even less of what news came from there. It was southward, Kievan said, and they would show the soldiers the road in the morning. This made Pyter breath easier, as the fear unclenched in his chest. To his shame, he had entertained the idea if just for a moment, that his home had been replaced with the witch's cabin, or disappeared from the face of the earth altogether. He confessed this to Kievan, who stayed quiet until the watch changed.

With only six soldiers left, and the campaign going into its fourth part, the Sons of the Mandrake could be in better shape. Finally they have a direction, and some allies who know at least part of the way home, so despite enduring great losses, spirits are perhaps higher than they have been in some time.