Editing Britbongsteros (section)

===The Stone of Scone===
[[Image:Britbongsteros_map_3_resized.jpg|thumb|150px]]The party mull our options over. Somehow we need to get south of the Antonine wall.

:>Take the tugboat?
Slow, dunno if it won't get eaten by giant lobsters.
:>Try to find a Royal Navy Squadron? 
How?
:>Aberdeen? 
Unlikely to actually want to help.
:>Southwards by land means either the long trip up through the highlands and down the west coast to Glasgow, or the direct route through Stirling and the giants. 

Giants?

Giants.

So, with that settled, we pool our knowledge about the area. Essentially, giants. That's about all we know really. None of us have visited the area in peace time, and have no idea really what it'd be like now, all we really knew was that it was *bad*.

:>What were the giants like?
:Actually pretty smart, as smart as a gifted, well educated human. They were old. Very old. They had slept until the world re-awakened, slumbering under the hills, waiting for the earth to warm again with volcanic fire (Scotland was once actually extremely geologically active). When they did wake up in 1497 as did everything else, they quickly adjusted.

We also knew they were extremely fond of the Stone of Scone, it being near Perth in Scone Palace (we are not far from Perth).

We sort of look at each other at for a minute. As we know the bard's player isn't very chatty sometimes, so he'd just play music and give us all skill related buffs during these moments. I distinctly remember this song. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbjyuDYtAtk Ram Jam - Black Betty (Official Video)]

Somehow, somewhere in this discussion someone (Angus) suggested we steal the Stone of Scone.

But why?
:>The coronation stone of all the kings of Scotland? You bet that's gonna be magical, you bet that's gonna be useful to those bony necromantic bastards, and most of all, why not?
Otherwise known as... THE STONE OF DESTINY.
:>DM: "Muh adventure.... muh backstory... muh... oh fuck it this sounds like fun."

We still have the jalopy right?

Yup.

It's 40 miles to Perth. We have a (nearly) full tank of (sort of not really) gas, we have a kilo of dwarven pipe tobacco, a pile of weapons, and some of us are wearing kilts.

:>Fucking hit it. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oysMt8iL9UE Peter Gunn Theme]

We avoid the coast road, heading up through Forfar, down through Coupar Angus and bomb it straight through to Scone Palace. We don't know what we expect to find there, but with Angus driving, we also don't entirely expect to live.

Now as anon may have noticed, you can usually tell how far into an evening we had gotten by the quality of ideas generated. This one was very close to what would be the end of a session, but it seemed like such a good idea we continued onwards anyway.

Arriving at Scone, we can see flames in the distance. We can hear the sounds of battle. The sun is just starting to rise as we arrive. The battle must've been going on at least all night, and likely throughout the previous day as the last of the living giants defend their last redoubt (Scone Palace) against the undead hordes come to take the Stone of Scone.

The mood in Scone is sombre, death songs are sung, the living know this is the last sunrise they will see, before the day is out, they will join the marching hordes of undeath. The shieldwall has not broken, it will not break until until the last spear, until the last breath. Tears mix with the rain as a people prepare to die.

:Lo, there do I see my father. 'Lo, there do I see...
:dumdumdumdumadum
:My mother, and my sisters, and my brothers.
:dananananananananan
:Lo, there do I see...
:dumdumdumdumadum
:The line of my people...
:danananananananan
:Back to the beginning.
:dumdumdumdumadum
:Lo, they do call to me.
:danananananananan
:They bid me take my place among them.
:dumdumdumdumadum
:Where the brave... SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TB_QmSWVY7o AC DC - For Those About To Rock (Official)]

The jalopy ramps the gates and comes to a rest by battering its suspension into the flagstones outside of Scone Palace
:"We're here!"
So, we (mostly due to the DM finding the idea funny) have made it into the last battle of the giants. Their ragnarok as it were as they sacrifice in blood for the only thing they have left. Honour.
:>How did you get through the opposing army of undead?
Undead giants are slow and were not expecting five lunatics in a truck.

The giants themselves do not react well to our sudden appearance as a detachment surround us. We have just appeared like a wet fart in their heroic epic. Even once they establish we are alive they seem less than pleased.

We are brought before their leader, Great McDonald (Big Mac), who as one might expect is enormous. Big Mac is less than enamoured with us, he's suffering from a couple dozen wounds and has arrows sticking out of one side of him. Big Mac is past his prime, but he has aged like weathered oak. You get the feeling from him he wins headbutting contests with cannonballs, and also that deep down, he is happy to die like this, one final battle than to slowly fade.

His great axe lies limply across his knees. He bids his retainers leave him except one very very old giant indeed.
:"So little ones, have you come to die with us?"
:"Not exactly..."
:"We sort of plan on living."
:"There's not much chance of that now is there..."
:"We have an offer for you."
:"What can you offer me when I know the sun will set on my risen corpse?"
:"We have a bard?"
:"Is that what that thing is? It would be a fine thing to have our tale sung."
:"We also, can offer to take the stone to safety."
The tiredness in the Big Macs eyes burns out. The loose muscles of his shoulders knot like glaciers carving valleys.
:"Will you now..."
:"We got in here. We can get it out, and we can make your deaths mean something. We can't save you, but we can save the stone."
:"And how, little ones, will you do that?"
:"We got in here, we can get out..."
:"If you take the stone, my warriors will know it is gone, they know they will not die to protect it, but to protect the space where it once sat. More to the point, why should I trust you?"
:"Well we are alive, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Additionally we have this..."
We present to him our letters of authority.
:"And finally, are you not Britons? If you are so willing to sacrifice all, why not be willing to sacrifice to aid the nation? This fight is already lost, but the war will continue, and the war can still be won."
Big Mac approves of this.

With Big Macs approval we are allowed into the inner sanctum. The stone of destiny lies before us. It really is a fairly innocuous lump of rock (really) but the giants attach an almost religious significance to it. Big Mac bows low before it. We do the same. There is definitely something in the air and it isn't Angus (we are so used to that as to be immune), the wizard can sense a tension in the air. There is definitely magic here.

Big Mac lifts the stone easily. To him it's about the size of a house brick. It takes the Navvie and I to carry it. We don't really have a plan at this stage beyond drive really really fast, but that has gotten us this far. As soon as we get into the open air, the undead surge against the defenses, they (or their masters) know something is up.

We point the truck at the gates with the stone roped to the flatbed. The wizard is given the task of driving as he doesn't need both hands to do offensive things. Angus rides shotgun.

Big Mac goes in front of us. We can hear the undead battering at the gates over the engine. Two of the giants fling the gates open as Big Mac charges out. In his armour with his axe singing through the air, he is a sight such as this isle will not see again. The proudest of his race. As he rams into the enemy we skirt round him at speed. With the wizard driving we manage to dodge the majority of attacks and respond to other threats with enough violence that we don't have to slow down. Looking back over the tailgate, we can see Big Mac still swinging his axe as the skeletons of his brother giants swarm him. Concerningly, our cargo and departure have definitely been noticed.

So with that sombre and altogether bizarre diversion we commenced the session the following week, moving fast in a general southwesterly direction and straight into undead territory. It is here we get our first glance at exactly what the necromantic apocalypse can do.

There's not a lot that can catch us as we barrel through, but there's also quite a lot of reasons for us to stop. If anon ever played that one scenario in gorkamorka, some of this may seem familiar. (The one where the board moved)

[https://youtu.be/1Kl46UHpSwE Purple Haze Jimi Hendrix]

Scone Palace wasn't actually too bad, there was still greenery, there was still life, things get progressively weirder as we go. The sun fades, the clouds draw in (ok this is still normal for Scotland), the light of the sun shifts to a redder bloody hue (much like a blood-moon). We swerve round the bloated flyblown corpses of animals, not all of them stationary, there is a rather messy incident with a cow.

Onwards we travel. There is a mist rising. While we can see skeletons in the distance the road itself seems quiet beyond the odd wandering corpse. The necromancers must have something planned for us, but as we zip along past Perth and down to Bridge of Earn, we remain unmolested. As we approach the river Earn the mist is thicker, much thicker. We have to slow down now as visibility drops.

Sensing a DM sized ambush incoming, we generally prepare ourselves. We start at shapes looming in the mist. An overturned cart is riddled with bullets and a circular saw. An entirely innocent postbox is set alight. The withered remains of a tree branch cause a full on Navvie-rage/spaz of hammer swinging. In the distance, or maybe nearby, we can hear a howl.

The engine idles as we come to the bridge. It's narrow, uncomfortably so.

In the mist every thing seems insulated, unearthly, ethereal. There's another howl in the distance. There are very definitely shapes out there and they're moving. The headlamps only serve to lighten the mist a little, casting illumination a scant few feet ahead and then it becomes opaque. There's another howl, much, much closer.
:Bard: "Seriously... it's just wolves guys... probably undead, zombie, flame shooting flying wolves... That's not so bad... at least they don't have like tentacles or scorpion stingers or..."
:"SHUT UP BARD. DON'T GIVE HIM IDEAS."
As we crawl to the other end of the bridge. We see our path is blocked. The remains of what looks like several carts have crashed into one another along with at least one motor-vehicle. It seems like a fair pile up. There's a couple of zombies in the wreckage waving pitifully but otherwise harmless.

We are going to have to shift this or turn around. With the Bard and Angus standing watch, the Navvie and I get the job of starting to shift things. It's heavy work, slow work, and in the mist, shapes move.

Angus is watching the edge of the bridge intently as a tentacle, then another, dabbles over the parapet, exploring then sinking back into the waters.

Above us we can hear the beating of wings.

Everything around us has the stench of the undeath, but there's so much of it we can't even begin to identify what is a threat and what is just fucking weird.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfAWReBmxEs Deep Purple-Child in Time]

Little will-o-the wisps spark like fireflies in the mist, blue, green, orange, purple, red. They shoot up from the waters of the river below us, some rising high, others snatched out of the air by something we can't see.

As the Navvie and I wrestle to shove the van out of the way (and indeed put down the crushed remains of the passengers), the tentacles lash over the parapet again as another howl comes, much closer, right behind us. The zombified remains of wolves run across the span of the bridge. Clicking claws on the cobblestones, flanks rent and torn asunder, bellies distended from flesh and decomposition.

Angus turns to respond, the thing under the bridge responds faster, tentacles swinging out over the span of the bridge, snatching at desperate howling wolves. The survivors run past the Navvie and I, clearly fleeing from something. The skeletal remains of what must've been a member of the corvid family flicker down beside us.

The raven coughs.
:>But Aldous, it's a skeleton it doesn't have lungs...
The response to that is the same thing the DM said. It's an animated skeleton that in total contravention of the rules of aerodynamics just flew, and you want to know how it can cough? Nevermore daft players have I encountered.

It coughs again. The Navvie and I keep shifting stuff, the wizard helps from his position behind the wheel. Angus decides to investigate this thing. He gets close to it and pokes it with a gloved finger. It falls apart into its composite bones. Then several things happen at once.
:>What happens?
A tentacle wraps around Angus's ankle. There is a very loud thump from behind us, as of something hauling itself out of the river and landing on the cobblestones. From above, something very large flaps its leathery wings...

As Angus is lifted vertically into the air, screaming for help, a shape resolves out of the mist behind us. A very familiar silhouette. One without a head and some very big sloping shoulders.
:>How the fuck did he get here?
:>Fucking Coliunn. 
Then something big lands in front of us and I mean big. Big enough that the force of it coming in to land sends a plume of dust washing over us and staggers the Navvie and I.

The wizard does his best to sever the tentacle, he can't quite get a bead on it in the mist, Angus hangs onto the parapet for dear life. Behind us, Coliunn settles into a loping run towards us. In front of us, something spreads its wings and a long, long tail covered in scraps of scales lashes in the mist.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DohRa9lsx0Q Stuck In The Middle With You - Stealers Wheel]

We have Coliunn behind us, some scary tentacley thing under the bridge. Angus is up in the air still be waved about, and we have no fucking idea what that thing in front of us is.

The Navvie and I fall back to the truck. The Wizard finally manages to a decent saw-blade through a tentacle, which reflexively flings Angus towards Coliunn. Angus manages a very lucky roll and lands just behind Coliunn. Coliunn is very surprised when Angus manages to crawl up his back. The bard does what he does best and digs into Angus's sack of tricks as best he can.

From the mist comes....

Generally the party are assumed to have the knowledge of the Bestiary of Aberdeen.
:>Wut is...
[https://www.abdn.ac.uk/bestiary/translat/66r.hti (Have fun - I love me some old books)]

:Dragons in Britbongsteros:
:We know there are some smart, human-sized to double-decker bus sized dragons on the continent, this isn't one of those. Or wasn't anyway, there are also feral dragons, much as there is homo-sapiens and there are apes.
:This one is of course the Dragon of Linton, or again, was, the bones having been raised by one of the necromancers roaming the country.

Now this situation is not the best of places to be in for what were a week ago, a labourer, a merchant, a scholar, a greengrocer, and a traveling musician. It's a case of kill or cure and, in this crucible of fire, we do our best to stand the flames. 

The Wyrm of Linton is your traditional old school dragon, mouth with lots of fangs, and... oh hang on...
:Aberdeen Bestiary:
:The dragon has a crest, a small mouth, and narrow blow-holes through which it breathes and puts forth its tongue. Its strength lies not in its teeth but in its tail, and it kills with a blow rather than a bite. It is free from poison. They say that it does not need poison to kill things, because it kills anything around which it wraps its tail.
:From the dragon not even the elephant, with its huge size, is safe. For lurking on paths along which elephants are accustomed to pass, the dragon knots its tail around their legs and kills them by suffocation
So what we're looking at is a big skeletal snake with wings.

The dragon lumbers towards the party (minus Angus) while tentacles lash randomly over the bridge. The Wizard has found his stride and does his best to slice and dice them as they appear. The Navvie and I have our work cut out for us. The Navvie decides that although he has never killed anything that big, there is always a good time to start. Reasoning that nothing likes solid slugs, I take aim and try to go for the head.

Meanwhile. Angus has got onto Coliunns back (Have you noticed Anon that Angus is exceptionally good at derailing things?) and is driving the poor bastard wild by digging his knife into the rapidly regenerating flesh between his shoulder blades time and time again. Coliunn is wild with fury and can't reach back to Angus. The thing under the bridge is trying its hardest to climb up out of the water. We still haven't seen what it is, and are not likely to want to.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-sUXMzkh-jI IT'S A LONG WAY TO THE TOP (IF YOU WANNA ROCK 'N' ROLL) - AC DC]

The dragon sweeps toward the Navvie, coiling about him, but being composed mostly of bones this is mostly just uncomfortable. The Navvie does his best to smash vertebrae to dust, shortening the creature by the yard as I put slugs into its face.

Coliunn lumbers past the rather surprised bard and Wizard, narrowly missing the truck but swinging out perilously over the parapet. Angus gets a good look at what's down there. The eloquence of Angus is more than enough for our purposes.
:"FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WHAT IS THAT FUCKING FUCKFUCK!"
Tentacles slither up and around Coliunn. They also snake about Angus, binding him to his steed as Coliunn struggles and roars. The wizard manages to free Angus (and very nearly decapitate him).

Angus makes a run for truck. Getting his hands wrapped about the towbar as the creature ensnares his waist again. The Wizard decides enough is enough and guns the engine. Meanwhile the Bard does his best to saw through the tentacles while Angus hangs on for dear life. The creature is strong enough that the truck is starting to scrape backward even as the Wizard floors it.

The bard gets a good blow in on the tentacle and it separates, some still entwined around Angus. The truck leaps forward, rapidly accelerating towards the Navvie and I. It clips me as the Wizard does his best to slow down, knocking me aside. Angus is still being dragged along behind it. As the truck slows down, he loses his grip. The Bard is able to collect both of us when the Wizard swerves to a halt.

Meanwhile the Navvie and the Wyrm wrestle. The wizard is able to help him out a little, but what helps him most is when the rest of the party are aboard, the wizard rams the thing.

Meanwhile behind us, the... thing has gotten out of the water and slopped down onto the bridge which is trembling and creaking under the weight. Coliunn is still proving to be a most difficult meal for it, but boy does it have a lot of teeth.

Ramming the dragon works out better than expected. Less well for the Navvie however who as the bones shatter around him is pretty badly knocked about. The few vertebrae and head that are left still squirm and snap at us as, with the full party aboard, we decide the best thing to do, is leg it.

Speeding off into the mist and southwards, we can only expect things to get worse. We know the dragon has to have come from somewhere. The other two we can (reasonably) safely assume were unfortunate accidents. Even so, it's more than a bit of a concern. Clearly the stone is more important than we thought...

We drive on.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np0solnL1XY Lynyrd Skynyrd-Free bird]

We divert, we avoid blocked roads, and we wind our way what we think is southwards. We have been traveling for quite some time, and as we pass the same reanimated corpse nailed to a church door for the third time running, we realize we might be a tiny bit lost. We are also getting low on fuel.

A little research in the hamlet we have found ourselves in reveals it to be a small market town, and the market cross reads "Bannockburn".

:Bannockburn:
:It was a famous Scottish victory in the wars of Scottish independence, in 1314, so pre-magic in Britbongsteros.
:Robert the Bruce had Stirling Castle under siege, and Edward II (the son of Edward "Hammer of the Scots" I) commanded a force to break the siege.
:At Bannockburn his army fought Bruce's numerically inferior one (it was around half the size) and lost, over the course of two days (unusual for medieval pitched battles).
:With casualty estimates from 5100 - 15700 it's prime necromancer fodder

At this stage we do know the above as lore and we also know that the Stone of Scone is a deeply magical artifact. We are also extremely aware we do not have a great deal of fuel. The town itself seems deserted, though in the deep rolling thickness of the mist it's hard to tell. What we need is some fuel. There might be a motor vehicle here we can scavenge.
:>Doesn't the flamethrower also work on the same stuff?
It does. We would rather have a working flamethrower to help us when looking for more fuel than run out of fuel further on and not be able to set shit on fire.

Looking at the town, the place feels flat out dead, and like it has been that way for a long time. It's nothing like Arbroath. It's silent, the buildings lean on each other at angles, supporting each other like drunks on a train platform. Looking out over the main street, there is a definite air of pripyat.

There have been issues with necromancery in this area for some time. It all started with cows. Then some hamlets, then by the time the army paid any attention there was already a critical mass of unpleasantness which was reanimating Edinburgh. Bannockburn was one of the first places to go silent. We didn't pass the battlefield on the way in, but in theory we should be safer here than we have been previously.

We decant from the truck and begin exploring. The Wizard has the presence of mind to throw some metal filings over the stone as apparently he will sense if they are disturbed as long as he isn't too far away.

We search by splitting into twos. Banging loudly on the door of each building before entering (because zombies) The town is, as predicted, fairly deserted. We can see plenty of signs that people packed quickly and left quickly. We also can see that, when leaving, if anyone in the town had access to a motor vehicle they would have taken it.

Now although I keep calling it Bannockburn, that isn't the name of the village, the village is actually Whins of Milton but it is near where the battle took place (there is also some issue as to exactly where the battle happened, but anyway). We don't feel that lingering here is a good idea. Especially so near to Stirling castle and whatever weirdness is likely to be in there.

While searching a giant sized house, the Navvie is rather impressed to find a hammer he can't lift (it being a giant sized hammer), he does also find some beer which, as far as he is concerned, resolves our logistical issues. Fuel wise we come up empty handed.

It's about this time we notice a couple of things at once. From the direction of Stirling Castle there is a definite and distinct glow to the sky. Up ahead, as the mist shifts, we are fairly sure we can see the broken down remains of what might just be a truck. Last but not least, at the other end of the road, there is a figure in plate armour watching us.

The figure points at us. It doesn't advance it doesn't do anything. Just points. We notice other armoured figures in the mist. At windows, in doorways, all silent, all faceless, all pointing. In the mist and darkness of the hamlet this feels creepy as fuck, but they do not advance, they don't do anything to threaten us. Everyone feels as though they are being pointed at individually. Moving doesn't make a difference. The figures are all pointing accusingly directly at you.

In the almost oppressive silence the engine of our truck is shockingly loud. We pile in and make for the other end of the road and hopefully fuel. There are more figures as we pass, somehow moving while your eyes are closed or back is turned. We don't know if there are just that many of them that these are new ones or that they are just that fast. Either way it's not good. What they do not do is come closer than about forty feet. Yet.

Stopping at the other vehicle, a quick rap on the fuel tank confirms that not all of the fuel has evaporated. Angus seems to almost relish the task of siphoning as the rest of us stare nervously. What we have not seen any of these figures do is move, but we watch them closely. They're so firmly placed it seems like they might have grown there. As one, they all take a very clear and unified step forward.
:>Fuck.

As Angus methodically siphons fuel into a jerry-can, they complete the step and then stand perfectly stock still again. We look into empty helmets or blank visors and see nothing. Something is very clearly staring back however, or at least that's is how it feels.

They take another perfectly unified step. It starts to rain. Not just a shower either, but a heavy sudden down pour. Big fat drops of rain which hit the cobblestones like they were thrown with the vehemence of a deity at that enact spot.

On the flatbed of the truck. The stone is floating a tiny little bit. A centimeter or so off the surface. Interestingly it's also completely dry. Angus has great difficulty keeping water out of the fuel but manages, meanwhile.

Step.

They are clearly all around us.

Step.

The faceless things are closing in. We decide it's probably time to consider doing something about them. The wizard reports they don't register for him. As far as he is concerned the rusted steel of their armour is non existent. Experimentally he tries flinging a quick saw blade at one. It doesn't pass through it, but it also doesn't impact. It's as though the blade went through the space occupied by the faceless at an earlier point in time when it wasn't there. I decide to try unloading on one. It's similarly pointless. There is however one slight difference as they take another step.

A low whistling moan, just on the edge of audibility.

The Navvie decides enough is enough and prepares to fling the last of our explosives at them. The satchel charge we note is completely ignored as it lands in front of one of the things. Angus (who so far has been ignoring all this) is pulled down by the bard as the detonation rings in the silence. Small pieces of masonry drop around us as our ears ring. Looking back up over the siding of the truck we establish that did fuck all.

We settle for helping Angus as best we can. Finally the noise of fuel slopping from can to tank sounds like the most beautiful of things.

Step.

Gluggluglug

Step.

Angus tosses the empty jerrycan away and as the engine of our truck roars into life, the wizard floors it. The stone has other ideas. It's still floating and decides to liberate itself from the back of the truck. We however keep going. Bracing for impact on one of the figures in the center of the road, we pass straight through it. The stone hovers about chest height. We slow to a halt as the figured advance on it.

Rather than pointing fingers, the outstretched hands are now grasping for the stone. There's an actinic blue flash like a lightning strike as they make contact.

[https://youtu.be/HRjUcnuJEaE Saxon - Guardians of The Tomb]

Not too long ago, we were pretty normal people. We sure have seen some shit recently, and this is just about topping it all. Shafts of light ripple from the stone, flickering and trickling over the grasping figures. The stone explodes, blinding us.
:>What the actual fuck did we just do?
The armoured figures are very much still standing.

The earth, rust, grime and filth is gone from their armour. Where once there were faceless empty husks. Now there are grinning skulls.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NbOCF9zYgHc Motorhead - Born to Raise Hell]

:"Who amongst you summoned us? Which of you would seek to lead the Host of Bruce? Which of you is the spider that plucks the web? Who calls us forth in this hour of Scotland's need?"
:"Well Aldous, technically you're in charge mate. This one's all you."
:"Err... I did?"
:"WHO ARE YOU TO SUMMON US?"
:"We are... fight for... um... We fight for the crown!"
:"WHICH? WE HAVE WATCHED, WE HAVE WAITED. WE HUNGER FOR VICTORY. MANY STRANGE THINGS HAVE COME TO OUR LANDS, AND NOW BY GOD AND ALL OF HIS SAINTS, WE WILL PURIFY THEM, BY SWORD AND FIRE. ALL WHO HAVE SEEN OR SUFFERED THE TAINT WILL BE CLEANSED.
:"...all?"
:"THAT IS WHY WE ARE SUMMONED. THERE CAN BE NO OTHER REASON. WE WILL WIPE THE LAND CLEAN FROM THE ANTONINE WALL TO KIRKWALL. WE WILL NOT REST. WE WILL NOT TIRE. WE WILL NOT FALTER."
:"Oh arse. We've accidentally tripped some sort of buried superweapon..."
:"YOU HAVE SUMMONED US WITH THE STONE. WE ARE HERE. WHAT TASK HAVE YOU FOR US? WE WILL KILL UNTIL HELL ITSELF BOILS OVER FOR THE CROSS OF ST. ANDREW."
:"So you'll kill everybody?"
:"YES."
:"Everybody everybody? Us?"
:"YES. YOU LAST. THEN YOU MAY JOIN US IN SLUMBER UNTIL WE ARE NEXT NEEDED TO FEED THE HEATHER WITH BLOOD."
:"Could we... err... put you back in your box?"
:"WHY?"
DM is grinning. The grin of "Mate are you really sure you wish to pursue this line of questioning?"

There is hushed party conference.
:"What the fuck do we do about this?"
Our meditations are interrupted by the unmistakeable "fwunk" noise of a cork being removed from a whisky bottle. (It really does make a particular noise). On the back of the truck sits Donny, pouring himself a nice big drink.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r06ubE_y7yQ ACDC - Whiskey On The Rocks]

:"Well boys. This lot sure look useful."
Donny grins. A very, very big grin. Mirrored by the DM.
:"We really are going to have to do something about him..."
:"I could take them off your hands for you. They'll be pretty handy to me and I'll let you borrow them for help with Baz."
The host aren't paying the damndest bit of attention to Donny, it seems they can't see him.
:"Let me borrow them for a bit, and I'll give them back at a time that's thematically important, then take them off your hands. It's that or you let them loose to wipe out the country of course. I'm pretty sure that's not in your remit now is it lads?"
Ok... this seems like an astonishingly bad idea but what else are we gonna do?
:"Just say the word Aldous, tell them to go with me and follow me. I'll bring them back only slightly used..."
:"We... err..."
(Party huddle)
:"Ok Donny, you can take them for now..."

:>What Donny did with the host of Bruce
:Someone, somewhere, may have wondered what happened to Portugal. We later found out, that something very bad happened to Portugal.

We order the host to follow Donny until he brings them back to us. To follow him wherever he goes. They unsheathe shining silver blades, salute, and follow him. Donny winks.
:"Don't even think about double-crossing me here boys, but when you need them, break this bottle." (He tosses Angus a whisky bottle which Angus drains then sticks in his sack).
Donny and the host march off. Donny twirling his walking stick like a band-leader.
:"I really hate that guy."
:"We all do."
:Wizard: "I have a plan."
The more immediate issue remains: Baz. Then Donny. We head southwards, driving through the night mostly without event, hitting Hadrians wall by sun-up and into the North of England. We find ourselves near Newcastle with the rising sun. We head for Fenham Barracks. 

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gp5JCrSXkJY Buffalo Springfield - For What It's Worth 1967]

I've talked about Newcastle before. The place is already good and fucked. Very much on a war footing, men, boys, anyone that can hold a rifle has taken the Queene's shilling. The normally cheerful Geordies are very aware they're likely to be meeting death soon. As we pull into Fenham there are rank after rank of conscripts. It seems like the army were already planning to march North.

It might just be the nature of the conflict, but the rifles seem oh so poor compared to what they're going to be facing. Brown-Bess muskets against the necromancers? Sweet Jesus.

We present our letters of authority to the sentries, and are swiftly ushered into the presence of the commander of this bunch. [http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/blackadder/images/b/b7/Third_duel_396x222.jpg Pic related (on the left)] the chap on the right is hovering off to one side.

As we enter HQ, Blackadder sighs loudly.
:"Who or what are you lot?"
:"Oh come on Bladder, they look like fun!"
We explain ourselves.
:George: "Well that's bloody fortunate, we were just going up there! A bit of bish bash bosh and we'll see those bony buggers back to bed!"
We do not have good feels. Well, it'll have to do...
:"Yes we'll be back home before Christmas and don't you worry my boys will show them that proper British spirit!"
We're about to get a whole lot more folk killed aren't we?

The army marches in 24 hours. They march to almost certain death. The party, agreeing that we will tag along with mad prince George and the decidedly shifty Blackadder, are left to our own devices for the first time in a while. With the plot-train refueling, we retire to the pub.

Now this is one of those times in Britbongsteros we decided to do a little method acting (we got plastered in character). Each of us did actually have a backstory of sorts and at this point we swapped stories, went into who we were and what was best in life. Cruella played barmaid (not very well I might add but she did get the job of facilitating discussion). So what follows are a series of IC discussions about who we are, a lot of which anon already knows, but it might be useful to have for background and fun.

The Navvie:
:"I was brought up rough not far from here. There's not much more to life than what my own two hands can get me. Life is nasty, brutish, and short. I killed a man with these hands. I know we've killed plenty since, but when a labourer kills a lord for deciding he wants to stick more than his cock in a woman, well, they don't take kindly to that round these parts. My family think I'm dead, or I hope they do."

The bard:
:"Uuh, I'm a Bard."
:"FOR FUCKS SAKE ROLEPLAY"
:"I like music?"
:"OH COME ON"
:"I come from this little island off the coast of China and..."
:"SHUT UP"
:"I had a haggis?"
:"..."
:"I play music because it was my only outlet after my alcoholic father beat me and lost me in a game of cards to a group of pirates. I was the cabin boy aboard a ship of thieves in the Solway Firth, when one night it foundered because I fell asleep on watch. I swum ashore and promised myself I would never commit another violent act, that music would be my only outlet, just like my dear old dead mother wanted. I'd... I would play for her, I'd bring joy to repay my sins. I'd pipe the sorrow from the world."
:"Holy fuck."

Wizard:
:You all know this already (elaborated on later in the story), but he's out and about to earn his fortune, to bring the dowry back to Aberdeen for his wife to be. He's in love and that's... well that's about it.

Angus:
:Nice and simple.
:"I have a shop. It's all I've ever wanted. A nice little place to call my own, I didn't have much growing up and I grew that business from selling rat pies to drunks to a fine establishment. I don't really know how I got here, and to be honest, if I stop and think I'll break down, but I'm here, and until I get back to my little shop, I'm having the time of my life."

Aldous:
:"I was a merchant, I did well from my family estates, I married, I had a daughter, the very light of my life. She was taken from me by the then King, we never knew what happened to her, I turned to drink, my wife left, my business was ruined and I was in Dundee because it's where I washed up. The estates in Dorf-shire being run by my factor and younger brother."

The next morning, suitably hungover, we toddle back to Fenham. Our spirits are a bit low, we know a whole lot of these troops are going to die soon and it's going to be our fault. We also know that whatever Baz now is, that's kinda... again our bad. The Donny situation is just... My god we are crap at being heroes aren't we?

We don't pay a great deal of attention to the newspaper Blackadder is reading to George while he eats a boiled egg. On the front page is something about "PORTUGAL ATTACKED" but we have enough of our own problems to deal with.
:Donny for reasons unknown, really did not like Portugal and over the course of the next few days, the population of the country were methodically, utterly, and totally slaughtered by the host of Bruce.
:We are bad people. We are very bad people.

There's also a short, angry man chain smoking cigars. The hat and demeanour identify this grumpy dwarf as Isambard Fuck-You-I'll-build-it-where-I-want Brunel. He is here on orders of the current Privy Council, he also seems very interested in our letters of authority and gets the story of what happened up north from us. Isambard is not best pleased to hear Dan Defoe is dead, but he does reveal there is a detachment of the Special Bastard Squadron which will be accompanying us up north. We (as this is all our fault - something he reminds us of again) will be accompanying them and the regiments forming up outside.

The party after a short break, leave with the army. The band plays [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=buEuaN-wKW0 the Blackadder goes forth theme] as we head off. Really the whole thing should feel pretty glorious, rank after rank of red jacketed tommies, but those tommies are not well trained, the definitely do not seem to be volunteers. The artillery train is a mish-mash of different guns and calibers, they've cleaned out the armouries and sent forth every last thing that can be found. The SBS however, are a good deal more impressive, notably by their absence. It takes a little while, but we actually realize that bush over there is them.

Later on the march, we are joined by a detachment of Dwarven heavy infantry, these are definitely more like it. Full-plate and each with a plentiful amount of explosives and fire-arms. Maybe we are not as fucked as we thought.

The march of the army northwards should take about a week, we tag along, learning a bit more about the situation up North as we go and the plan. The plan is actually a fairly simple one: March north up the admittedly poor roads towards Berwick upon tweed and then meet a squadron of naval vessels, travel north on those, decamp at Dundee, and on to Baz.

The issues start almost immediately.

The supply wagons are too wide for the roads, the artillery carriages can't handle the pace or the state of the road and a lot of it becomes irrevocably stuck. The party do our best to help out, be it the brute force of the Navvie, the bard doing his best to inspire, Angus and the Wizard fixing broken axles from seemingly nothing, but even so, it's ten days before we are even near Berwick. The naval squadron that should be waiting, isn't.

The party investigate. We drive up to Berwick and discover the remnants of the Squadron in combat with a quantity of sea monsters (those lovely things the alchemists have been making and a few of the natural ones that have been kicking about). The navy eventually win, but there's no way we'll all fit aboard. The plan is to send for more ships and send an advance company of us, the SBS, the dwarves and some of the troops. Including George and Blackadder. We don't know what Baz is up to, but we do know that the sooner we get to him the better.

The DM keeps mentioning Portugal, with the newspapers reporting that the country is a wasteland now.

The voyage North doesn't take us close to shore (avoiding what is definitely Necromancer territory of the Firth of Forth) and we land in Dundee at night.

It's not long after we land that we get news of what FrankenBaz has been up to. The rest of the Necromancers are concentrating in Edinburgh, they don't seem to be advancing as they were, the blight is tightening, consolidating maybe? (They're building towers)

Baz however has been spotted attacking refugee columns and seems to have taken to unlife rather well. His latest tricks seem to require killing people in the goriest way possible then reanimating them. Corpses which have suffered from (look this up at your peril):
*Blood eagle
*Necklacing
*Water torture (not the Chinese kind)
*The comfy chair
*Plumbs (not what you think)
*The old favourite with the rat
*And what I thought was a rather creative one where you put the person on a breaking-wheel, then reanimate the gangrenous dead flesh of the broken limbs and make it choke them to death.

The logic of all this (as we understand it) has something to do with those Soul-cube things, for Baz, the more agonizing the death, the better.

One further method he has apparently been experimenting with (and also how the living have got news of all this) has been what he has called "The Wild Hunt," which is simply good old fashioned fox hunting, except you have a human being as the fox, and the dogs are replaced with whatever Baz devises. A lucky couple of civilians have escaped to give us the news.

The party have their own little council of war. Thoughts drift firstly to mutiny.
:Angus: "Y'know, we could actually just leg it... We're back where we started. I miss my shop." 
:Wizard: "We could but this is our fault, and I for one, clean up my messes."
:Navvie: "Fuck 'em."
:"Is that a yay or nay Navvie?"
:Navvie: "Fuck 'em."
:Bard: "We have a duty, we also have to remember if someone does not try to stop this here, now, who will?"
:(My god Bard... that was almost helpful).
:Me: "I agree with... unusually... the Bard."
Baz is still operating out of the old Roman camp and, as far as we know, the army plan on attacking this. We are fortunate enough to be privy to Prince George's planning session.

There is a crudely drawn map of the camp and its surroundings on the table. George's plan is as follows:
:"We march up to them, kick the doors in, and give them the old one-two."
Blackadder and the SBS commander (some guy called Chris Lee) are horrified (as are we).
:"Yes, so we'll go in about lunchtime, give them plenty of time to be up and about, that sounds about right doesn't it? I don't know, this is my first time doing this."
We eventually convince George that this is not a good idea. Remember he is:
:1. Royal
:2. A Faerie
:3. Technically out ranks everyone for several hundred miles
:4. Can and will have anyone executed for fun.
We insist stealth is the right option, the SBS should lead the advance toward the camp, scouting and making the way for the attack. Then the Dwarves and infantry can do their thing and arrive comfortably from our proposed camp at about 10:00am. George thinks this is a great idea and insists on a night march, as opposed to the saner option of marching, making camp, then marching in daylight. He wants to set off in the evening, and march through the night. We try very hard to persuade him this is a terrible idea.
:"My lord, you and the troops will be tired."
:"No I won't, I'll sleep on the way."
:"My lord, even you can't win the fight all on your own."
:"I suppose not..."
:"The troops will be too tired to fight at their best."
:"I thought peasants slept standing up. That's right isn't it? If not, well I'm sure they'll be plenty keen to set to the enemy and get stuck in! And that is the end of it, I won't hear any more. Who wants a drink?
:"My lord..."
:"I said who wants a drink?"
He bares his wickedly sharp faerie teeth. Ending the discussion.

What all this means essentially is the DM is setting us up to expect a cluster-fuck. The troops don't know what they're facing, we don't know how many enemies we might be facing, and then we do have the Donny-based WMD, but we want to save that and hopefully use the wizards plan (which I'll tell you about later as not to spoil it) to end that issue.

George insists we march the following day about dinner time. We use the night firstly to get some sleep and then we have a further think. The conclusion of this think is, what if George changed his mind... or was made to change it...

We brainstorm over breakfast. The SBS would be more than willing to help. Their leader seems like a good chap, bit old, but seems to know his shit and this is what remains of his elite fighting force, so he'll want to see it well used. George insisted that his favourite "battle carriage" be taken with us on the boat, and if something happened to that, we figure it might just help persuade him to delay (By which I mean we're gonna happen to it). We also know we are dancing with death doing this, so we'll need plausible deniability and a nice big distraction.

N.b. when I say "Battle-Carriage" I don't mean that in a hardcore warhammer way, I really do mean lots of gold leaf, fancy, and generally ideally suited for rolling about London in. It is not the most suitable of vehicles.

Between them the Wizard and the Navvie, if left to their own devices for a few minutes, would be able to wreck it enough to delay departure to a more sensible time. We cannot however just walk up to the thing and smash the wheels off.

We know it's not the most metal of solutions, we also know however we can't just kill him, and convincing him otherwise seems out. It's a simple matter for Angus and I to distract the guard on the carriage. Essentially the DM roleplays the guard, and I tell him the story of the Black and White Spacemarine (knight in this case) which the DM had, until this point, never heard, while the Navvie and Wizard sneak round the other side and shear through the axle. The DM, the better part of half an hour later (the story of the black and white space-marine takes about an hour to tell - longer if you do all the actions) gives up and declares us successful.
:>The black and white...
:It is on google.
:It's essentially the longest shaggy dog story I know.

The end result of all this is that, as the army lines up in marching order, George ascends his carriage and the thing falls to bits. This leads to a fantastic squawk of rage, and everyone else back to relaxing. The wizard and Navvie volunteer to fix the thing and we (much to our pleasure) set off at the time we originally proposed. George is too happy to have his favourite carriage back to care. It's a small victory, but a significant one for us.

The army march and arrive at Glamis Castle in good time. They make camp. The SBS start patrolling the surrounding area. Spirits seem reasonably high. Any anons who have checked the wikipedia page for Glamis may see that there could be a couple issues here...

Despite the depredations of Baz, the small unit of local troops guarding the castle have been left entirely unmolested. Even so they look like they haven't slept in months. Questioning by the party (the SBS having already fucked off into the woods) leads nowhere. They refuse to be drawn. We chalk this up to creepy weirdness and decide to see about a spot of dinner. We pass the open doors of the great hall where George and co are having dinner. There's a very familiar looking bloke playing cards with the Laird, aside from the fact he's wearing a Portugeese Toureiro. 

Now we can't just barge in and say "HES THE FUCKING PROBABLY MAYBE DEVIL AND STUFF" also one way or another he's here for some sort of reason. We decide on simply finding food and going from there. Getting down to the kitchens we scare up enough food and beer to be quite happy with the situation.

We get this peculiar "being watched" feeling. That being watched feeling is as noted an extremely familiar one. Naturally it puts everyone on edge. We check the doors and windows (of which in an old castle kitchen there are not many) and deciding there is nothing doing, we continue our meal.

It's not long before (as the Navvie and I break into our fourteenth and fourth beers respectively) we hear gunfire. Gunfire is definitely a sign we should be doing things. We head out into the gardens of Glamis. The encampment is in uproar as disorganized units try to form up. Others fire into the darkness in all directions. Someone has unlimbered the guns and a salvo of grapeshot shreds a row of entirely innocent rhododendrons.

We try to see where the enemy are or what is going on. The troops have no idea and their commanders are nowhere to be seen. We try shouting for a ceasefire or for them to form up on us. Our words are lost in the chaos. We do have a bard however. He hops up on some ammunition crates and plays a ceasefire (which should be on the bugle, but in Britbongsteros it's a few bars of this) [https://youtu.be/WLYT0NR8ZLc Saxon - Thin Red Line]

As the troops begin to get in some kind of order forming up around us, we are able to piece together what's going on. A returning patrol of the SBS had not been told that the password for the night would change at midnight (which is by the way a rather stupid idea - thanks George-bama) and the ordinary troops didn't actually know the time anyway. The argument that followed involved someone shouting
:"Well we aren't the fucking undead!"
Which was heard elsewhere as
:"Undead!"
Mix stupidity with scared and poorly trained soldiery and this happens.

Morale is now at an all time low (except for Donny who finds the situation hilarious) and we still have the feeling of being watched. Worst of all, we can be under no illusions that Baz does not know we are here.

In the darkness we can see a couple of ice blue points of light that are not stars. We know Coliunn is out there. We do not fancy looking for him We decide to retreat inside and get drunk. Leaving the mess for everyone else to tidy up.

:>Coliunn
Now we do know he was in Donny's house. Thing is, Donny had been away for a bit. Was he waiting for Donny to return? He has been nothing but hostile to Donny when they have interacted. We don't want to let on to Donny that what might be our potential ally is out there.

We also consider further what to do about Donny and his offer, as as soon as we break that empty bottle he is going to use the host of Bruce to do all sorts of nefarious stuff. We do have a plan relating to that but we haven't told the DM properly what it is, nor have I told you all. We have also worked out by this stage what happened to Portugal and why (apparently the wine isn't very nice).

Now with the fun of the evening over, the party take the sensible decision to retire to bed. The morning brings with it the freshness of a new day. George has a hangover and attempts to rouse him before 10:30 prove fruitless. The party become involved about then as Blackadder requests our assistance.

George is still cozily in bed, for all of his murderous and admittedly flat out stupid tendencies, we are rather struck that he has a small teddy bear with a detachable head and large fangs. Blackadder looks moodily out of the window as George moans about his illness. He ushers us into a side room.
:"You want this attack to go well don't you?"
:"Yes..."
:"It'd be better all round then if George didn't lead it, don't you agree?"
:"Yes..."
:"I'm going for a walk. If something unpleasant happened to George while I was away, an accident wherein he removed his own head with a button while getting dressed, I don't think anyone would raise too much fuss..."

With that, Blackadder promptly buggers off. Likely to feed Baldrick. I haven't really talked about Baldrick in detail, but as a reminder, he is a large, angry gorilla. That's about it really. He has a little hat (turnip shaped) and very big knuckle dusters. Blackadder uses him to solve problems (or people) he doesn't like very much.

We are left with a dilemma.
:"Kill 'im?"
:"Kill 'im."
I didn't say it was much of a dilemma.

However we do think we don't want to make it too obvious, and we certainly think it would be waaaaaaaaay too convenient for Blackadder to have us blamed then killed. We settle for a little diplomacy first. We sweep back into Geroge's room.
:"My Lord, wonderous news! Your excellent plan worked! We have won the battle!"
:"I have? I mean I have! Of course I have!"
:"Yes, so no need to worry about doing anything."
:"Wait, wasn't the big fight today?"
:"No, no, yesterday, my Lord."
:"Oh, spiffing. Well done me. Take a few medals on your way out and send me up some lunch would you?"

Blackadder seems a little dissatisfied that George isn't dead, but is pleased enough with his defacto promotion. Only two hours behind schedule, we set off and can expect to confront Baz about mid afternoon. Excellent. Except 80% of the troops are terrible, Baz knows we are coming and Baz is... Well he's Baz.

All things considered, the army is in almost good spirits. Helped along no doubt by the fact George ordered (still thinking he has won the battle) all the troops be given a pint of rum. It may not help their accuracy, but it does mean they are at least going to die happy.

The march to the camp is actually fairly simple and straightforward. We are a bit concerned by the plume of smoke that can be seen from Glamis not long after we leave. It's also interesting to note that Donny has been nowhere to be seen all day.

It's very quiet in the afternoon sun. We have approached the camp from the southeast and the sun is just over the camp. On the brown and ill looking turf serried ranks of redcoated soldiers form a semblance of lines. The artillery train such as it is unlimber.

It's very quiet in the fort. We do note however that someone seems to have fixed the wall (that we wrecked).

Horses shift uneasily in the heat. Fat iridescent blue bottles crawl over flickering eye lids and try to explore nostrils. You could cut the hot, rising tension with a knife and parcel it up into small tasty treats to be sold at a bake sale.

[https://youtu.be/JNG_Kn-m73M "Heavy Metal" Theme: Takin' A Ride / Don Felder]

We look along pasty faces of acne ridden teenagers, old men with more years and less teeth than they should, holding battered rifles and rusty bayonets with powder that no one knows will work. Outnumbered in what to them is a strange land. They don't know what lies behind those walls, and yet those men do not falter. They face the very physical reality of death, and they stand. Oblivious to the cosmic terrors of this world. This is bravery. Or all that rum.

The fort remains silent. Brooding. Watching. Blackadder sweeps down his sword and the tension boils over into a smashing crescendo of smoke and flame. This is it.

As the smoke from the cannons fogs the field, we can hear roundshoot smash through wood and into the camp beyond. The party share a moment.
:"Ok lads. Do or die."
We know we could run. We know we owe no one here a damn thing. This is our mess though, and this is our choice.

We pass around a bottle. Smiling at each other. The glassy eyed half mad smile of men who know death is close.
:"We stay, we fight. Maybe after all this we can make a difference. Maybe we could even live or in this sodden blood soaked isle. Have a death that means something."

The cannons ceasefire long enough for the smoke to clear momentarily. There's more smoke than we think there should be. A lot more. We can see the wall is down in several places. We can see movement within.

The sensible thing to do is let the cannons continue firing rather than advance, and without George in command that's what we do. There's definitely something going on in the fort, but the cannons are badly positioned and gunsmoke blows across the lines, thick and obscuring. The volley of javelins takes the men by complete surprise. Unarmoured regulars falling before they even realize they're dead as skeletons loom.

The skeletons continue toward us, getting closer as the survivors try to respond to commands for volley fire. We can see what's about to happen as the regulars get off an ineffectual volley. They need time. Time to regroup, time to form up and time to reload.

The party knows what must be done, as do the armoured dwarves. The bard squeezes his pipes. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bXjtvGAGvYA 
Manowar - Die for metal (lyrics)]

The dwarves know what must be done, and when the party charge, they follow our example. Gun and axe ready to buy time in blood. It works. The Skeletons advance slows as they close ranks to meet the charge. Roman tactics not quite taking account of flamethrower, shotgun and dwarvish grenade and shot.

After the close range volley, their ranks are in some disarray. Bits of bone, shield and loricae segmenate zip through the air.

The infantry behind us get off another volley, then another, the cannons whip grapeshot into the flanks of the skeletons. Our counter-charge just might carry this.

Our focus shifts from what we can see of the overall battlefield to the enemy before us, the Navvie breaking shields, the wizard dashing iron bars into skeletons behind them. There sure are a lot of skeletons. They pull down dwarves every moment, gladii lashing from behind the shieldwall.

From elsewhere in the closing ranks of skeletons, a larger, horned figure can be seen. Clad now head to foot in armour. Only his antlers and the bone sticking from his chest indicating who he is, he leads a charge past us and the engaged dwarves on toward the rifleman.

Baz.

It takes us some time to fight our way out of our current predicament, leaving the dwarves still engaged. We can see Baz sweeping great clawed hands into the lines of the regulars, stoving in ribcages, ripping off heads, every rise and fall of his arms bringing death after death. The lines of the regulars are already faltering as Blackadder leads his small cavalry unit into a charge against them.

It's time to put and end to this. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLxKpe2c6fU Iron Maiden The trooper lyrics]

We advance fighting our way to Baz. We can see he's already a lot more powerful than the last time we faced him. Baz realizes there's a push towards him. The still screaming body of an infantryman raised up before his face. Slowly peeling him like a grape he turns.

He sights us. The great shoulders lower. A hand drops to the earth as he readies a charge, looking for all the world like the most terrifying center forward you could imagine.

He starts as he recognizes us. A memory of before makes him pause. We don't wait for the emotional struggle of wills within him to take place. We know he's a lot more and a lot less than he was. We all hear the same voice in our heads, it offers different things, but it's definitely Baz. Money, women, women with lots of money, power, pies. The party (with one rather successful role) simultaneously declaim what I think became in some fashion our battle cry.
:"Oi. Fuck you."

He starts to charge and we run to meet him. The tactics are the ones you're all no doubt familiar with by now, the Navvie races for him. The bard generally fucks about being useless, the wizard remains behind the Navvie flinging sharp objects, Angus and I on the flanks, shot and flame washing over the armoured hide of Baz.

We knew we were outmatched. We didn't know how badly.

The Navvie dodges a sweep of the claws, smashing his hammer down onto Baz's shoulder with enough force that his right arm now hangs loose. The left smashes him aside. The wizard is shoulder barged as Baz makes for me. I'm seized and tossed (nobody tosses a dwarf) near where the Navvie landed. Angus however is having none of this. He advances on Baz, a bottle in both hands, one empty the other on its way to being so. Baz aims a savage headbutt at him. It connects, you can hear ribs crack. Angus is knocked to the ground. The Navvie and I are managing to help each other to our feet as Angus smashes the empty bottle on Baz's chest.

The host of Bruce appear, armour shining and swords singing. Donny joins us.
:"Hello lads."
The Host engage Baz, and now it's his turn to be outmatched. Meanwhile the rest of the army are beginning to form up again.

The battle is flux, balanced on the horns of fate. The Host of Bruce however make very short work of Baz, then turn on the skeletons. The cheering of the regulars turns to horror as they turn on them. Donny has asked nicely for, and received some of Angus' half empty bottle of whiskey.
:"Well boys, it's time to relax now, you've done more than enough for me. Freed me, twice, and now summoned a lovely little unit of deathless soldiers for me to conquer every hell I can think of with. Once of course they scour the land clean. I have to give them that. Might as well sit back and watch the apocalypse lads."

The wizard sticks his hands in his pockets.
:"Donny, do you remember exactly what we said to the Host? What you asked us to say to them?"
:"Now now lads, don't try this game with me, you'll not win."
:"You asked us to ask them to follow you didn't we? Follow you until you brought them back? What we did not say, was for them to follow your commands. Just. You."
In the background the regulars break and run as the host gut a dozen men every second. The wizard takes his hand from his pocket. The fragment of the Stone of Destiny sparks in the air. The Host pause. Some in mid strike. Somewhere a regular slides off the blade of one.
:"Come on now... this isn't very funny..."
:"I'm sure they can follow you Donny. The question is, how far, and how fast can you run?"
The wizard can craft metal, the wizard has power over steel. Steel can be bound and forged to the will of its maker. The wizard's plan is not complicated, the shard of the stone, bound by layers of battered steel. Enough to channel the magic of the world, enough that as he punches the shard into Donny's chest, and the barbs on the stone dig in, enough that Donny realizes that finally, we have screwed someone over.

The Host turn as one.
:"Chase. Him. Down."

We look out over the battlefield.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UE7ONvyXxm4 Defender]

Baz is dead. As are hundreds of troopers. Donny may, one day, in a thousand years or tomorrow, get free, but that's a problem for another day, another time, and maybe even another world.

We collapse onto the body strewn field. We did it. Somehow. We're alive. The country is still teetering on the brink of totally fucked, but we are alive.

We discover later that while we were fucking about in Dundee, the undead launched an invasion into the North of England. Necromancers and more alchemsists than ever seen on these shores. Our new destination, Blackadder later decides as we manage some small respite aboard the HMS Dreadnowt (yes that one) is the North. The Alchemists have repeating rifles, and we for one, will need those for the country, England expects, Scotland knows we have already begun to discharge our duty.