by Dean Henegar
“Shift left, bring the formation directly behind the gladiators and keep those shields up. Archers, take out that sorcerer and the crossbow wielding kobolds. Infiltrators, find a gap and kill that caster,” I ordered. The archers opened fire as our formation shifted, popping up to their full height to shoot and then ducking back behind the cover of our shields. The men kept a tight formation and only a few stray crossbow bolts found their way past our shields. Many of the crossbow bolts that made it past the shield wall were deflected by our much-improved armor, but several men still took wounds. Once we were directly behind the gladiators, I moved the formation forward.
“Advance and prepare to loose javelins,” I ordered, and the men slowly closed the distance to our foes. The gladiators had finally noticed our approach and began to panic at the sight of a large force coming to pin them against the kobolds. They redoubled their efforts against the kobolds, finally breaking the line and allowing them to advance into the lightly armed ranged troops.
“Throw!” I ordered and our forty-four javelins landed amongst the gladiators, taking most from behind and dealing terrible wounds. Just as our barrage landed, the kobold sorcerer finished a powerful spell. The arrows of one of his groups of crossbow kobolds glowed red with energy and shot unerringly toward their target: our front line.
The bolts raced toward our line, the men raising shields to block the attack. Seven of the bolts hit, one fizzled as the magic resistance I conferred to my men overcame it. The other six exploded when they landed, shattering the shields of the men trying to block the attack and dealing serious damage. Three soldiers died outright as pieces of their shattered shields pierced their bodies and the others affected all dropped from the fight, wounded and out of action until they could be bandaged up.
After the magical attack, our second rank moved up to the front as the depleted squad moved to the back of the formation. While we continued our assault, Buford and the other two infiltrators arrived at their target; the kobold sorcerer hissed, three sets of blades stabbing into its unarmored body as our infiltrators dropped stealth and attacked. The infiltrators struck a second time before the shaman could react, dropping him as a spell fizzled on his fingers. With their leader gone, the kobolds lost all hope. The remaining archers tried to flee as the slingers were overrun by the gladiators.
The kobolds all began to raise their hands in surrender and blue globes appeared around those few that had survived. The other gladiators turned away from hacking at the nearly defenseless kobolds and faced our approaching formation. As they approached, our archers landed arrow after arrow into their ragged and undisciplined line. The gladiators were experienced fighters and knew they had to close to melee range or be shot to pieces by my archers. With only twenty remaining gladiators, they launched a wild charge toward our line.
Most of the gladiators sported wounds to varying degrees and they hit our line in a blob of individuals, no coordination in their attacks. Our soldiers held their charge and began to fight back, staying on the defensive and waiting for openings to strike. The line of spearmen stood in our second rank and could add their attacks whenever there was an opening.
One gladiator wielding a huge hammer barely flinched as three arrows struck his chest, and he still had the strength to smash down the soldier in front of him. The blow popped open my soldier’s head like a melon, despite the helm he wore. The two soldiers next to their fallen comrade took advantage of the moment and landed vicious thrusts into the gladiators unarmored stomach. The gladiator fell to the ground holding up his hand in surrender. The remaining living gladiators followed suit and we found ourselves the victors of our starting arena. The AI gave a congratulatory message and a new countdown started.
You have cleared the starting arena. Gather yourselves and prepare for your next challenge. You have 3 minutes to enter the next chamber.
The men frantically went about bandaging the wounded and gathering up any arrows or javelins that were useable. In the end we were left with eighteen javelins and only seven arrows per archer; the kobolds had unfortunately been using crossbows and the bolts they fired were not compatible with the sagittarii short bows. The kobold crossbows also proved to be too small to fit the hands of our archers. The bandage supply had also taken a beating, but we had just enough to allow the more seriously wounded to use up two each. In the end we were left with a total of eleven bandages to last us until we beat the next challenge and resupplied. Once prepared we entered into the long corridor that had opened at the back of the battlefield.
The corridor was twice the width of the first one we had entered and stretched for over two hundred yards before ending at a huge reinforced gate that I assumed led to the main arena. The corridor was clear, and I was nervous as to what the challenge here would be.
“Sergeant Wrend, any thoughts at how to proceed?” I asked as we paused just inside the corridor.
“I don’t see any forces against us so we should perhaps be prepared for traps. I recommend sending the infiltrators forward to check,” Wrend offered.
“That makes sense,” I said, nodding to the infiltrators who stealthed and began to move down the corridor slowly. “Send one squad out ahead as an advance guard,” I ordered, wanting something other than just three infiltrators between us and an ambush of some sort. Our caution proved justified as the advance guard moved fifty yards ahead of the main force. When they reached the midpoint of the corridor, a part of the floor in front of the advance guard dropped away with a loud slam, revealing a ramp leading up from a cavern below the corridor. The sound of bellowing and the pounding of hooves echoed from the cavern as something charged up the ramp. I watched in shock as several huge, bull-headed humanoids charged into view. The infiltrators dropped out of stealth, attacking the beasts as they passed, and information filled my view as I watched events unfold.
Minotaur Berserkers, Level 10 (10). These huge combinations of man and bull stand just over nine feet tall. They are powerful combatants and their sharpened horns are as deadly as the oversized weapons they carry. Once entering a blood craze, the berserker minotaur will not stop until it or its foes are destroyed.
The first two infiltrators landed slashes and rolled out of the path of the charging minotaurs, causing little damage and barely avoiding the crushing hooves. Buford leapt onto the back of the lead minotaur, driving his blade deep into the vulnerable neck of his foe. Blood shot from the critical wound, but he minotaur just shook his head violently, impaling Buford on one of his horns. I saw the shock in Buford’s eyes as they met mine, then he was gone. The minotaur shook his horn free of the man and charged the advance guard with the others. The beasts glowed with the red light of their berserk ability, muscles swelling and speed increasing as their charge reached the thin line of the advance guard.
The advance guard formed a line and tried to hold against the onslaught of half-ton behemoths, but it was hopeless. The minotaurs took only a few moments to scatter the men and began to hack them apart with huge, double-headed axes. The shields and armor of my soldiers were no match for the raw strength and fury of our foes. Seeing my forces destroyed shook me out of my stunned stupor and I began to issue orders.
“Spears to the front, brace for charge. Archers, prepare the flame strike javelins and throw when in range. Second rank, deploy your caltrops and reinforce the front line if there’s an opening.”
The men carrying spears advanced to the front and presented our opponents with a wall of sharp points. The second rank of swordsmen flung their pouches of caltrops in front of our line, the metal spikes landing ten feet in front of the line of spearmen. The three best shots prepared the strange, red, flame strike javelins while the other two began to fire arrows at the minotaurs as they finished off the last of the advance guard. The arrow strikes caused little damage and drew the focus of the minotaurs onto our main force, helping the remaining two infiltrators to fade back into stealth.
With a bellow, the beasts charged us, oblivious to any danger as thei
r enraged state left them focused solely on killing their opponents. When the beasts were thirty feet away, the flame strike javelins were launched. I didn’t know what to expect, but the results were spectacular. Each javelin landed on a minotaur and a pillar of fire shot down from the sky, burning everything in a five-foot radius of the blast. The minotaurs hit were killed as they burned to a crisp, and the ones nearest the targets were badly scorched as their hides continued to burn from the magical fire.
The wounded minotaurs didn’t stop their charge and continued toward our lines. At twenty feet, I ordered the men to throw our remaining regular javelins at the approaching bull men. Most of the eighteen javelins landed damaging hits, but their evidently huge health pools kept them on their feet. They had less luck keeping on their feet as they hit the scattered caltrops. The charging creatures’ hooves slammed down onto the three-inch metal spikes, driving them through the tough surface of the hoof and deep into the tender flesh beneath. All the remaining nine minotaurs stumbled to their knees or fell on their faces, the furious momentum they had generated sliding them along the stone floor straight into our waiting spears.
The spears drove deep into the helpless minotaurs, and each beast was hit by at least one or two of the weapons. The sheer weight and momentum of our attackers carried them through the spearmen, knocking my men down as the minotaurs slid into our formation. Several spearmen were injured by the horns as the beasts slid past, goring any within reach. The second rank was ready and held the minotaurs back with their shields while they went to work with their swords, dealing as much damage as they could before their prone targets could regain their feet.
Bellowing in pain and anger, the minotaurs tried to get back into the fight. Many fell a second time as the caltrop spikes pushed deeper into them as they tried to stand. I activated my Incite ability to improve our attacks and weaken the enemy slightly. The minotaurs began to die quickly as the line of spearmen turned, readying sword and shield to attack our enemies from behind; the added flanking bonus increased the damage to all our attacks.
For the first time in the fight, I found myself in the front line as the beasts crashed through the row of spears. The creature on the ground in front of me was burnt over its whole left side. The stench of burning hair was overpowering as I thrust toward the prone creature’s neck. I hit the left side and my blade only did minimal damage as the corded neck muscles resisted a deeper wound. Luckily, the other side of the creature’s neck had a spear imbedded deep within, and the creature ripped out the spear as it tried to stand and engage me. The spear came free and a spurt of blood followed, the strong bleed effect causing the minotaur’s health to plummet. While struggling to regain its feet, the minotaur shook his head about and one horn slammed into my hip.
You have been gored by a minotaur horn. 58 damage received. You are bleeding, 5 damage per second will be received for the next 10 seconds.
The blow felt as if my hip had exploded, the pain causing me to fall back, fumbling to find my bandage and stop as much health loss as I could. Another soldier took my place in line, continuing the attack. I found my bandage and touched it to my bleeding hip; the blood flow stopped, and the bandage wound itself tightly around the wound. A soothing feeling numbed the pain as the bandage began to heal.
Looking back toward the fight, I watched the last of our opponents die to a flurry of sword thrusts. We had won this challenge, but the cost had been much greater this time. The entire squad acting as our advance guard was dead, but their sacrifice bought us the time to prepare our defense. Had we been all bunched together, or without the impressive flame strike javelins, we would have lost the fight or been reduced to only a few men. As it stood, we were down to forty-two soldiers, five archers, Wrend, and one infiltrator; Buford was gone and another of the nameless infiltrators had been cut down as he tried to stealth.
Anger at Septimus threatened to consume me for trying to hide our flame strike javelins! The weapons were a game changer for us in this kind of fight. We reformed and continued down the corridor. As we neared the main door, another section of the floor slid down. Instead of minotaurs charging up the ramp it was Galba, an arena advisor, and a half dozen of the caravan guards bearing bundles of our supplies.
“That looks like it was hard fight, Raytak,” Galba said looking at the wreckage of bodies littering the corridor.
“Please take your resupply and enter the arena, you have thirty seconds from when we leave to enter the main fight,” the advisor stated. We were allowed one javelin per man and the archers were given permission to fill their quivers to twenty arrows. We were also given two more of the flame strike javelins, which had proven so useful in the corridor battle.
“You ready for this, Raytak?” Galba called out as he walked back down the ramp.
“If everything goes as planned, this will be the easiest fight of the day for us,” I told an unconvinced Galba. I wished I felt the confidence that my statement contained. The battle with the minotaurs left a bad feeling in my gut. What other surprises awaited us inside the main arena? As soon as the advisor had mentioned the archers in the towers, I thought of a way to use them to our advantage, but would it be enough? We formed up in front of the final arena door which quickly opened, revealing a scene of bloody chaos.
We marched quickly into the arena, stopping just inside while I observed the battlefield. In the center of the arena, separated from each other by one hundred yards, stood Domax and the vampire Negracht. Each of the two top teams stood atop their own small areas, their starting zones slightly elevated from the arena floor. A black haze surrounded the vampire that I assumed was a form of magical protection against the sunlight.
Four of the other doors leading into the arena had been opened, which meant only one more team was due to enter. The vampire and its thralls were locked in battle against a force of orcs and goblins. The orcs were hacking through the thralls, which I now saw were merely humans, rather than undead. The vampire looked on in amusement as his minions were slaughtered. Across from Negracht, Domax stood patiently, resting his arm on the tree-sized club he wielded. A group of smashed forms were strewn about the unhurt giant, the remains of one of the other teams I assumed.
To our right was a small force of horsemen, ten in number. They resembled knights and wore gleaming armor and weapons. Half the knights wielded lances and the others had longswords at the ready. Looking closer, I could see the knights bore the scars of battle. Several of the horses were wounded and their armor was battered in several places. They must have had just as rough a time as our forces did before entering the fight. The space to our left where a team would emerge was still empty, the competitors there still inside, facing whatever challenge awaited them in the corridor. Information populated my interface regarding the mounted team next to us.
Fallen Honor: There are times when even the stoutest heart gives in to fear and the most noble fail in their convictions. When this happens, a knight is cast from his order to wander alone. Many take the life of a mercenary or turn toward an evil path. The Fallen Honor ludus has made a living of finding these fallen heroes and forging them into a profitable fighting force in the arena. Here the knights can believe for a brief time that they are once again scions of virtue, fighting evil foes and protecting the weak.
At the far end of the arena, I could make our four individuals in robes. Each of the four was wreathed in either a layer of flame or swirling shards of ice. The casters were too far away to make out any details, and I believed the distance left us out of range of any of their spells for the time being. The casters and the knights were content to watch for now, a valid strategy that I copied.
Frostfire: The Frostfire Ludus specializes in elemental mages of the flame and ice variety. Their powerful casters are known for their impeccable coordination and teamwork. Few in number, they often devastate larger forces in the various Grand Melee events they enter.
The orcs and goblins finished off the last of the Vampire’s thralls and cha
rged the lone undead. Negracht stood clothed in finery and wore no armor, nor had any visible weapons. With a disdainful flick of his clawed fingers the vampire tore the head off the first orc to reach him. The next two fell to similar blows before the vampire found himself surrounded by the smaller goblins that fought alongside the larger orcs. The goblins and orcs all wore matching tunics and were armed with a poor-quality assortment of spears, swords, or clubs as weapons. They were going for a quantity over quality approach and it appeared they just might be able to swarm the vampire under with their sheer numbers. At that thought, the AI populated the team’s information.
The Slavering Throng: Sometimes a ludus finds the best warriors and hones their skill to a razor’s edge. Some schools grant powerful magical items to their teams. Other schools may specialize in the training of powerful spell casters or the taming of exotic beasts. One school just gathers the largest mob of beat-down humanoids they can, arms them with cast-off weapons, and hurls them at their opponents, burying them in sheer numbers. Strangely enough, this simple tactic often works for The Slavering Throng.
“If there’s that many goblins and orcs left after the early fights, I wonder how many they started out with?” Wrend inquired after counting over fifty goblins and twenty orcs remaining in the fight. Watching the vampire’s health bar, I could see it take the tiniest of dips as the goblins landed a few blows from sheer luck rather than skill. The remaining orcs couldn’t reach the fight, blocked by the swarm of their lesser kin. The vampire became enraged that the lowly goblins had any effect on him; his body seemed to be naturally resistant to damage as the few blows that landed caused only negligible wounds.
