Tale of the Fight for Mirabar

Audrey’s Tale of the Fight for Mirabar

It was a dreary morning when I awoke to a grim reality in Mirabar. The day before, the city guard had taken massive losses and the entire south part of city below the river Mirar had been completely lost to the enemy. We arrived the previous day in the nick of time to rally the remaining defenders into a heroic yet hollow victory, forcing the enemy to regroup. The whisperings on the street were that all was lost and that this city would become the concrete tomb of us all.

I woke from my dreams feverishly and assessed the situation. I decided to do what any sane person would in the same situation as my own: Drink.

I began to head for the inn I had once visited in the south of the city- a loud and raucous place, full of adventurers from all of Faerun. The last time I was in town I had won an enchanted ring off a shady character in a game of dice, which turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. I hoped to take my grievances up with the guy responsible. As I left the temple of Tyr I was staying in (compliments of my paladin colleague), I had no sooner got out of the door before I realised that the south of the city, and therefore the bar, no longer existed. Alas another victim of the battle which raged previously. I was at a quandary. All these problems, and where was the ale? I had heard tell of another tavern to the north of the city and so that was where I headed, hopeful but dubious. It turned out the barkeep pitied a man in need and he sold me a barrel of ale. He robbed me blind for it though, but I suppose this is a supply and demand market after all. I began to search for a quiet place to partake in my spoils of war, as although I convinced the tavern master to part with his ale, the tavern was closed for business. At a time like this Mirabar needed it’s taverns more than ever in my opinion, but it was his bar to run.

Suddenly I was hailed by a city guard asking me what I was carrying around. Unable to think of a good excuse, I simply told him I had nothing and tried to brush him off. I didn’t want trouble from the guards and I wasn’t sure if it was legit for me to be carrying all this contraband, so I offered the man and his men to drink with me for a while. Company is company, I guess. I told them my story of my heroic attempt to save the life of the late Rand, and the arrow which flew true into the eye slit of the Uthgardt elite griffon rider’s helmet, instantly slaying him where he sat. Quite rightly they hailed me as a hero and they seemed happy I would be fighting at their side in the coming battle. They also mentioned a guy called Taglaronden, a mage, who often comes to the aid of the city in times of need and I was somewhat reassured we weren’t the only people in this damn city that knew a sword from a squirrel.

I took my leave and headed back to the temple. There were two dwarves there waiting for me with my other colleagues. Turns out they were sent on a mission from the temple of Moradin to obtain healing for some critically injured dwarves. I eyed the large pile of healing scrolls they were provided hungrily. I had never much cared for dwarves and I had the distinct feeling that these scrolls would be worth more than a few coins under the table in a tavern. I was introduced to the dwarves and one lent me a valuable looking shortsword to use in the coming fight. It felt perfectly balanced in my hand, almost as if it had been made for me. I was sure there was a story behind it, but now was not the time and place to share stories. Perhaps he would fall in the coming fight and I would make an unexpected windfall. We would see.

I was rudely brought back to my senses by the arrival of Arianna, the marchioness of Mirabar and her guards. The damn paladin couldn’t mind his manners again, and he nearly got himself cut into bird food by her guards. I was relieved I had managed to hide at least a dagger on my body on my way into the temple. In the event of it all kicking off I didn’t want to be caught unready. We were instructed to see a guy named Fenther, who was apparently in charge of this ragtag excuse of an army. This man, clearly unqualified for the task himself, tasked us with the defense of the city and assigned us to the squadron we assisted the previous day, led by one Captain Praven.

We moved to the northwest section of the walls as instructed and our paladin gave a motivation speech which sounded pretty good from where I was standing. Of course I wasn’t really listening as I was too busy scouting out quick routes of escape from the city when it fell into a flaming pile of rubble… Apparently Sigvard Grimsson was more optimistic than I. Since it was getting dark and I needed my beauty sleep (I hate being cranky while I’m cutting barbarians to ribbons) the decision was made to sleep until those posted as lookouts saw anything suspicious.

We were awoken to the sound of battle. As predicted the Uthgardt had attacked! First we took up archers positions on the battlements and fired volleys of arrows. I dropped a fair few with my new longbow, a worthy purchase. There were so many though, and all our arrows served to do was to thin the ranks. Giant wooden siege towers covered in wet hide to counteract fire arrows loomed in the distance, inching ever closer. We rained arrows at the tower but nothing seemed to be effective. Just as it came within range of the walls, I caught the druidin the corner of my eye cutting a fearsome visage across from me. He was chanting and fire was flying from all directions, forming into a large ball in front of him. I yelled encouragement while loosing another arrow directly into an Uthgardt warrior’s face and slaying him instantly. I felt the singeing heat of the fireball as it flew past my face, and I watched as it slammed into the siege tower, setting it well and truly aflame.

The celebrations were cut short however by the appearance of a huge battering ram on the horizon. The guard captain yelled for us to head to the main gates, as this was surely the target of the next attack. In double time we ran to the gates where a scene of destruction awaited us. The gates had been all but lost and enemy soldiers were spilling onto the walls, routing the last of the Mirabar defenders from their positions. As a terrified guard ran past, I heard Grimssonask one of the fleeing soldiers for the current situation. He reported that there were cauldrons of boiling oil but they had been unable to use them to stop the battering ram before the walls had been overrun. A quick glance in the direction he pointed showed scores of fighting soldiers blocking the way. It was clear that if we tried to fight our way through to use them, the gates would have long fallen and all hope would have been lost for Mirabar.

It was then that I remembered the vial of liquid nestling in my pocket. While my comrades charged into battle on a fool’s errand, bravely still trying to do the best they could, I wordlessly quaffed the contents of the tiny glass container and disappeared from sight. As I darted silently away from the main battle I heard one of my compatriots ask if I had fallen. Whoever it was should know me better than that, but I didn’t have time to turn around to correct him. I danced over four, five, six dead bodies, friend and foe alike and weaved between raging fights between huge barbarian warriors and armour clad defenders. I passed through a crowded tower and out the other side where I was met with sight of two gigantic pewter cauldrons of bubbling oil, being guarded by four Uthgardt meat-sacks.

I walked over to the nearest one and began to push it with all my might. Unfortunately a 500 pound cauldron is a tall order for a guy of my stature. I tried several times, but the damn thing refused to budge. I had been trying to time my pushes with the battering ram, still striking the gate below, to mask the noise and trembling of the large metal container. One of the barbarians guarding the cauldrons looked over suspiciously as my weapon tapped against the metal and I stood perfectly still. The guard seemed to put this down to the sound of the battle raging on all sides and I exhaled and gave the pot one last almighty push. It teetered on the brink, wobbling. It hung in the air, seemingly suspended by nothing for what seemed like an entire lifetime. Finally, it groaned and fell off the wall, creating an immediate cacophony of terrible screams and shouts below.

Before I had the chance to try to move the second cauldron, the guards had dragged it away from the ramparts and were looking around confusedly trying to spot what had caused the first to fall so abruptly. I drew the shortsword I had been given earlier and threw myself into battle, attempting to cut the throat of the nearest guard. I saw my body blink back into existence as the potion of invisibility wore off, and my weapon glanced off the barbarian’s armour. Seeing the numbers were not in my favour and the high chance I would have of being surrounded on all sides, I ran as fast my legs would carry me towards the tower.

I dodged an axe blow from one of the pursuing guards and tumbled through the doorway, ducking projectiles and stones. I saw the rest of my cohort fighting at the opposite doorway and ran past the bemused looking enemies and leapt through the second door, back out into the open, four soldiers following me. They didn’t follow much further as they found a very angry pair of brothers wielding big axes instead of the halfling they expected to fight.

To be continued…

Tale of the Fight for Mirabar

Azure Runes celticstrands