The End of the World as We Know It (E6 dnd) IC

[Kaptin Keen]

It's a long march from the various kingdoms and provinces to the desert watch. By ancient systems, each nation and region provides a number of troops based on it's population. These are then divided along the length of the desert, so that all sections of the desert fortifications are equally manned.

All told, it is a very, very large army. Thousands upon thousands of men, from dozens of nations.

But then, it's also a very, very long line to watch.

As your column arrives. it's quite obvious that the desert watch has been neglected in recent decades. These fortifications were once the strongest ever conceived by men. Towers, walls, fortresses stretching to the very horizons north and south. The fortifications have three layers - an outer line of bunkers, traps, ditches and ambush sites, then the main fortifications with walls 50 feet tall, and finally a number of fall back positions.

However, the first line of defence is all but buried in sand from lack of maintainance, and the primary wall is so mired in dunes that half it's height is gone under the sand.

As various leaders coordinate and lead their units to positions along the fortifications, the sorry state of the defences is even more apparent. Once mighty siege engines are crumbling, stores of oil and ammunition empty, even the walls are weathered, cracked and ill-maintained.

Luckily The Enemy has been gone for more than a hundred years.

[root]

Trembling with patriotic fervor, or perhaps exhaustion, Anselm marched with the Blenwoldian troops towards their place at the fortifications. By the time they got to their position, sweat poured off the hapless scribe in streams. He tried to recall what he learned about The Enemy at the Divine Academie and shivered slightly.

"Good thing these buggers ain't around no more."

[bhangbhangduc]

Cohort gleaming, and full of vim and vigor, the young Maeric commandeered a batch of northern infantry in order to start the excavation of the primary wall. The sand could make for a secondary wall a few meters ahead, if enough of it could be shifted. He set about doing that.

Noticing a thin man muttering about the lack of attacks as he passed, he grasped the chance to show off his patriocism. "We need to be vigilant, the enemy could be watching right now!"

He mostly hoped his superiors were watching though. Otherwise all this digging would go to waste.

[Artman77]

A ragged, dark haired thirty-something shuffles at the back of the group, not saying much to anyone. His splint mail is patched together from several different sets and his clothes are thinning from heavy wear.

He sits down on a large block that has fallen fRom the crumbling wall, and watches as the young suckers waste their strength shoveling sand. He pulls a flask from his bag and drinks the last few drops.

[Kaptin Keen]

Along the fortifications, a pattern emerges. Young, eager officers set their reluctant troops to work improving the defences as best possible - while anyone who can avoid such duties busy themselves with anything else they can justify.

Anselm sets up his writing tools, ready to document the proceedings. He has quite specific instructions from back home: Write gloriously about the Blenwolde troops in their splendour for the propaganda effort back home, and take discreet note of the strength and numbers of any other troops present.

Maeric, recently commissioned, sets his troops and anyone else he can pull rank on to work shoring up their position. The sand is just one detail. There are two catapults and three balistae here, in need of some competent care if they are to fire. There are cauldrons of tar, cold and solid. And the artillary needs ammo too. Lots of work to do.

One of the men mutters Really, sir - shouldn't we be saving our strength for the fighting? The irony is think on his voice - but he sets to work with the rest anyways.

At the back, a scruffy-looking individual - who could be either a seasoned veteran or a street bum press ganged into service to fill the ranks - takes little note of the activity either way. Instead, he settles himself on a rock, and drinks deeply of something that may be moonshine. Or fine brandy. You really can't tell.

(And I feel the urge to ask if this last man is Edmund? Or maybe John? Your method, while intriguing, is slightly opague to me =)

[root]

Having regained his composure somewhat, Anselm looked for a spot away from all the noise and, most importantly, back straining labour. He found it soon enough, at the back of the line, where several blocks have fallen off the time-worn fortification. It was clear that he wasn't the only person who wanted to get as far away from physical work as possible - another fellow sat on one of the blocks, seemingly focused on emptying a flask.

Anselm sighed, wiping sweat off his forehead with his robe's dusty sleeve, and opened his satchel. The instructions were pretty clear - to write praise for his compatriots, and to document the proceedings. He briefly wondered if he could have simply stayed back at the garrison in Blenwolde for that... Unrolling a scroll, he began to scribble:

"Today, the glorious armies of Blenwolde have reached the great wall to stand vigil before the Great Enemy. Their heroic arrival has struck awe and jealousy in the hearts of the unbelievers from lesser nations, and yet they paid no heed to stares of envy and adoration as they prepared the fortifications. Truly, the great nation of Blenwolde is blessed..."

[iTookUrNick]

After reaching his assigned length of wall, Ben gets to work with some resignation. He plans to work as little as he can gat away with, but no less. There's someone even less keen on working than I am. he thinks, looking at some of the others. He assembles a little group and fetches wood to rebuild one of the watchtowers and, if they can manage it, fix up some of the siege equipment.

[Kaptin Keen]

Spoiler: OOC

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Out of nothing but curiosity: Two catapults and three ballistae. What do you start work on?

[iTookUrNick]

Spoiler: OOC

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I'd go with whatever is closer to the half point of the wall length. So assuming they are equally spaced, I'd say ballista #2. Being like a big bow, it might be easier.

[Kaptin Keen]

Spoiler: OOC

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It might.

They are direct fire vs area of effect.

While your characters may not live long, any choice you make will have an impact. Even if I may not always chose to make it obvious what impact it has - I'm going to try and let every choice affect outcomes, and/or later encounters.

[Kaptin Keen]

Spoiler: Random roll

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(1d20)[14]

Anselm works on the siege engines, while Maeric sets his men to work, and Ben gathers some men to help with a crumbling old tower. It's slow going, but improvements are made. Night falls. As morning breaks, you resume work.

It's well into the afternoon. It will never be remembered who first piped up:

Is that like, a sandstorm?

He wasn't the first to see at any rate. If you'd looked to the side, you'd see everyone staring east across the desert. At the thin, black band between the blue of the clear sky and the dusty yellow of the sand. It's like watching a glass fill a single drop at a time - watching how that thin black band gets wider, clearer.

And every man along the long, long miles of the wall has the same creeping, roiling feeling in his guts. Everyone watches. No one speaks. It's an bottomless depth of disbelief.

What breaks the spell is one guy who finally begins to cry. With a gasp, the sort that comes when you've held it in for longer than you thought you possibly could. Then suddenly, oh gods, and tears are running down your cheeks.

Spoiler: And ...

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Actions if you have them. Mind, they are at the horizon. Still - maybe - hours away.

[iTookUrNick]

There are many ways to cope with what they are seeing. Some cry, some panic, some stare in silence. Ben cusses his own damn bad luck like there's no one watching. He looks around, searching for his commanding officer. "What now, sir?" he asks to the young Maeric men.

[Artman77]

The middle-aged man looks around with boredom. Many of the younger men are breaking their backs to please their commanding officer(s), as if a few weeks of work is going to somehow undo one hundred and fifty years of neglect. Finally a young man says aloud what he has been thinking the whole time; "Really, sir - shouldn't we be saving our strength for the fighting?" Francis chuckles to himself. If only we could be so lucky. He makes a mental note of the boy, meaning to introduce himself later, and continues to survey the camp.

"Pardon," he asks a passer-by, "Is there a well around here? I could use some more water." He holds up his flask, tipping it over to show it's completely empty. The man just stands there. Staring over his shoulder. Gawking. "Hey boy. I'm talking to you. What are you, slow?" He looks around. Other men stand awe-struck as well, mouths hanging open. Finally curiosity gets the better of him and he stands up from his seat to see what could possibly be going on.

Dust on the horizon. A thin line so dark it could hardly be what he thinks it is. He puts his hand up to his brow to shield his eyes from the sun. After several minutes the height of the darkness had grown. Maybe. He thinks he sees movement. Then he is sure that he did. He looks for spaces or gaps in the dark line that could give him a clue to as the size of the creature, but sees none. Impossible. There was no way there could be that many. He looks at his comrades. Some are crying. Some tremble. Others look so pale he thought they might pass out at any moment. One man wet himself.

Okay--That guy was not his comrade.

How long did they have? Half a day? Hours? Less? He looks over his shoulder at the stone block and considers sitting back down. There's no use wasting his strength just standing there. Hopeless though it was, there is a small part of him that doesn't want to die. No. That's not it. There is a small part of him that wants glory. He looks to the commanders for orders, and rolls his eyes when he realizes they are just as awe-struck as the rest. If you want something done right...

"ALRIGHT MEN!" he draws his sword for dramatic effect, rotating back and forth it so that the blade catches the sun, "This is why we are here! No one thought the Enemy would come! No one thought they still existed! But yet here we are! This is the moment of TRUTH!!!

For years we have enjoyed peace. For years we have gotten rich, and fat, and lazy. For years we have forgotten what it meant to really LIVE. I have had my share of gold. I have had my share of fine wine. I have had my share of the most beautiful women in the world. I have eaten more p**** and f****** more women than I can count! I've--"--for a moment he shamelessly describes his sexual conquests in graphic detail, be fore continuing--"But it is all for naught! THIS is why we are here! THIS is what men train for, what men are alive for, what men are born for! To train and to fight and to die--to thrust their blades into the belly of evil for the betterment of man kind! To bleed and make the Enemy bleed in turn!

We may die today! But for every one of us they take, we will take ONE HUNDRED of them! Our names will go down in history! We fight for glory! AND FOR THE FREEDOM OF OUR FAMILIES AND FOR THE REALM!!!

He is so sure of himself and so confident, one might consider him handsome, if that confidence didn't border on arrogance. Francis knew they were all going to die. But if by some miracle a handful of them lived, he was going to be one of them. Even if that meant convincing some well-meaning, ideological sucker to sacrifice himself by running to the front lines.

[Kaptin Keen]

Of course since time out of memory it's well known that what really inspires the common soldier is some talk of the sex lives of nobles.

Regardless, after a moment of stunned silence, there is clapping. Actual clapping - and even a few cries along the line of 'yea ... HELLS yea!' Because at the very least, there is courage there, and the will to fight.

Along the wall, various men - some officers, but far from all - gather enough of their wits to get moving. Preparations for battle begin.

[iTookUrNick]

'What a bunch of bull...' thinks Ben, listening to the middle-aged man who keeps turning left and right to inspire his comrades. 'And why not? We all need a little encouragement'. It's not like fleeing will make any difference the end: if the line fails to hold, it won't be long before the whole world is overrun. "Hear, hear!" he shouts at the end, trying to put a little passion in it. Now, if only they could get one of those catapults working in time...

[bhangbhangduc]

Maeric stared, slack-jawed, at the sight of the approaching enemy. He shakes himself out of it. "Right. This is it then," he mutters.

"For the Realm!" He's among the first to applaud as one of their number comes up with a pretty good speech, considering it was made up on the spot.

What to do next though? The digging was probably not the most efficient way to spend his time. He'd been posing, but now he looked around for someone who were up to something productive, and found the closest thing in Ben Barret. "What do you need to get that thing working?" he points at the derelict catapult. Then he calls over some of the soldiers he had digging the last day. "You four, head down the storage and round up as many barrels of tar as you can. Keep them coming till you cant find anymore, and we'll also need a slow-burning wick or something - we got to have something on hand to light them up with." He wasn't powerful enough to rain holy power from the sky, but this would probably be nearly as good.

"The other four of us are under this guy's command." he nods at Ben.

[Kaptin Keen]

Spoiler: Catapults

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With a dedicated effort, you easily have time enough to get both catapults firing. You also have enough ammo - frankly, more than you're likely to have time to fire.

Point of (possible) interest: The catapults fire either barrels of tar, rubble - rocks the size of a mans fist, or boulders. They are various purposes, but you don't really know for sure.

I suppose it's a lot to ask for that anyone picked knowledge: military tactics - or some such?

[bhangbhangduc]

Spoiler: Catapults

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With a dedicated effort, you easily have time enough to get both catapults firing. You also have enough ammo - frankly, more than you're likely to have time to fire.

Point of (possible) interest: The catapults fire either barrels of tar, rubble - rocks the size of a mans fist, or boulders. They are various purposes, but you don't really know for sure.

I suppose it's a lot to ask for that anyone picked knowledge: military tactics - or some such?

Spoiler: OOC

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Maeric does have 4 ranks in proffession (soldier).

It might easily be too low-level knowledge to be applicable here though.

[Kaptin Keen]

Spoiler: Oh!

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You did what I was too lazy to do ... hm, making the GM look bad would normally be punishable by death (of course), but in this game I feel I need to come up with a new threat =D

Ok, well ...

Boulders are useful for larger enemies - so are the ballistae btw - called siege beetles.
Tar is an excellent area denial weapon. The bugs do not like fire.
Rubble tends to be enormously effective at short range, especially vs flyers, but loses velocity over distance, eventually just bouncing off the chitin of the bugs.

None of the ammo types are ever entirely ineffective.

[root]

It took some time for it to set in. Having left his scrolls and writing utensils behind, Anselm waded through the panicking soldiers until he had a clear view of the wave of blackness at the horizon.

"We are all dead, aren't we?" he uttered, quietly. Having noticed several people attempt to fix ballistae a short distance away, he wandered through, trying to help. Anselm was no great engineer or handywork man, but in his studies he came across a cantrip that could mend broken things. He hoped it would be enough.

Spoiler

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I'm just going to help fix the closest ballista to the best of my ability. When combat starts, I will likely try to seek cover and/or hide.

[Artman77]

There was some clapping and cheering. Okay. Perhaps all was not lost. But then again maybe it was.

It looked like they might be severely outnumbered and the man who was in charge of the excavation apparently wasn't the commander, since he was nodding pledging his obedience to another soldier who was repairing the siege equipment. That guy didn't seem to really be in charge either.
Well who the hell is in charge here!? Francis wondered, looking around for whoever it was supposed to be. He looks up the wall at the squad to the north, and down the wall at the squad to the south, to see what they might be doing. His own squad cheered and clapped at his speech, but he doesn't see much movement. Well, not much besides that of the few men repairing the siege equipment.

He peers over the outside edge of the wall to look for any holes or weak spots. There weren't any gaping holes or anything from the safe(eastern?) side of the wall, but you never knew. The outside could be worse. He takes note of where the dunes have drifted up against it, creating little hills where it might be possible for the enemy to climb up.
"Who's in charge here? ANYONE!?!?" he waits a few moments for someone to step forward.

Spoiler: If no one claims leadership

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He climbs up on top of a barrel and stands at his full height to get everyone's attention.
"Alright men! We're going to kill these buggers! Not a single one is going to make it over this wall! After the enemy in front of us is dead, we will help the other squads hold the line you hear me??!"
"Anyone who knows how to fire a ballista or catapult to the front of the group, now! You help him fix that one, you and you, help fix that one. You, inspect the bolts for the ballista and make sure none are damaged! We don't want a single shot wasted! You and you! stand by those piles of rocks, and when those guys tell you what to load, YOU LOAD IT!"
"Anyone not helping fix the weaponry or carrying tar, pick up a rock from down there and bring it up here! When we run out of arrows, we'll crush their heads or feet or legs with rocks! We don't want them scaling this wall!!!**"
"When the time comes, anyone with a bow spread out along the wall and be ready to fire as soon as the enemy is within range! Anyone without a bow; stand there, there, or there, where the sand dunes have built up. We don't want a single bugger up here, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

He turns back to those fixing the siege weapons.
"Test fire those catapults as soon as they are ready!! We need as much range as we can get!! We wanna hit those buggers before they can even see that we're up here!"

** Falling rocks=1d6/10 ft, anyone?

He notices a scribe or scholar performing some curious repairs on one of the weapons while nervously glancing back at the towers.
"Hey. If you plan on running up there and hiding," he says to him quietly, "at least carry some rocks up with you. You'd be surprised what they could do when hurled from a tower..."

[Kaptin Keen]

If you spend some time considering, the answer comes to you. Look north, look south, the fortifications are manned alright - but not heavily manned. In times past, there were no wars to thin the ranks, just before the war. In times past, reserves and quality troops weren't kept back home out of mistrust of neighboring nations. And then finally, this hasn't been done for real for a long, long time.

There are lots of petty officers, but the nearest ranking officer might be as much as a mile distant - and he might be a Blenwoldian trying to give orders to Kuzumians. Too much wall, too few officers, too much confusion, and more than anything too little expectation that there'd be a fight.

As far as this part of the wall is concerned, either you guys take the reins, or some crummy npc is going to try his best. I wouldn't put all my eggs in that basket if I were you guys.

One slightly more lucid liutenant brings out a spy glass. As he scans the horizon, he is unable to keep a look of rather deep worry off his face, but when he turns, he at least has something to offer:

I estimate they'll reach the walls late afternoon tomorrow. There are no more of them than we should be able to take, he lies, provided we are prepared and fight well. You lot, with me! He points at a number of guys, and heads for the rear.

[Kaptin Keen]

Time passes with furious activity. You actually get a lot done: The walls are taller, the two catapults are ready, you have ammunition, molten tar, piles of rocks and boulders. There is some semblance of a command structure, somehow with the nameless noble on top. The lieutenant that left with a group of soldiers ..... never returned.

You work through the night. All the time, The Enemy gets closer. And there seems to be simply no end to them. They seem to crowd the desert all the way back to the horizon where you first spotted them.

There are break downs - men who simply cannot take it, break down and cry, fall down and refuse to get back up. And there are deserters, who try and run for it, only to be shot from behind by archers posted for that reason.

Finally, they reach the outer defences. Some of these have been manned - by the crazy, the suicidal, maybe a glory hound or two. It is like watching a wave break on the beach. It is short, brutal and bloody. Some traps have been armed too. These make more of a difference, sprays of acid exploding among the massed insects, pitfalls collapsing under them. There used to be explosives, but those seem to not work any longer.

And so it begins. Archers fire when The Enemy is at 300 yards - and keep firing. Men ready their spears, say their prayers, and the fight begins for real.

Spoiler: And so ...!

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Roll initiative. This will determine your readiness as the attack comes - mind however, regardless of the roll you have readied actions. You strike first.

Also, I'd like to know what action you're planning. And where, precisely, you are.

[iTookUrNick]

Initiative - (1d20+3)[10] - Ben is planning to rain arrows on his enemies. One at the time, that is.

Ben is perched atop the watchtower he helped build, with enough arrows to last it for the battle. With him as many other archers as they could accommodate.
With his spare time and spare wood, he had fashioned a few heavy shields for the first line of melee troops below him, and instructed them to try and push back down the monsters. Those with a spear were tasked with skewering the bugs from behind the cover of their comrades. Pretty basic as tactics go, but hopefully not ineffective.

[root]

Having spent several hours trying to help mend the rather ancient ballistae ( and likely getting in the way of the actual smiled experts), Anselm retreated to the crumbling tower once he felt that the encroaching waves of enemies were uncomfortably close.

By pure coincidence, it was the same tower Ben was in. Without any cantrips but a single casting of cure minor wounds, and several Command spells prepared, Anselm drew his army issue light crossbow to fight off the enemy. He was too tired for the original adrenaline rush to drive him, and feeling hopelessly useless, praying to godking of Blenwolde under his breath, mixed up with frequent cursing.

Spoiler

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initiative (1d20+1)[2] ( might be +2, can't access my sheets at the moment)
I plan to try Command spell to see if it works, and use crossbow bolts/ thrown bricks to fend off the Enemy.
Edit: holy crap a nat 1. Anselm is living up to his legacy, now I really want him to survive =p. He's basically Rincewind...

[bhangbhangduc]

Despite having worked on the catapults, Maeric had redeployed now that the storm was imminent, manning the walls. They'd need courage the most there, he couldn't help but think. Besides, his divine magic was good at keeping morale up, so he'd have to be where their people where thickest.

Spoiler: Initiative

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(1d20+2)[8]

He rested his crossbow on the crenelations.

[Artman77]

Pits and traps and catapults do some serious damage. Francis sees a glimmer of in they eyes of some men. A glimmer that quickly disappears as the enemy keeps coming. And coming.

They seem to come without end. Some weep, others feint. It's not until some begin to flee that his heart begins pounding in his ears. They couldn't afford to let panic set in. Not this early. Armies often functioned like mobs. Chaos within chaos. Order would have to be maintained if even one man was going to make it out alive...
"Hold the line!!" he bellowed. More men began to run. "Archers! Shoot them down!" Arrows began to fly through the air even as he yelled it. "If anyone lives, it will only because he fought to stay alive! Not because he ran like a coward! Hold the line!!! If they want our lives they will have to PAY for them in BLOOD!!"

He double-checked to make sure that there were extra men on what he thought were weak points on the wall, and then headed back towards the nearest tower, barking orders and encouraging the men as much as possible as he went. He stopped just short of the (door? to the) stairs, turned and drew his sword. The quiet golden sand turned to a writhing, churning sea of black as the enemy flooded the far side of the wall. The archers loosed their arrows. Hundreds fell, and hundreds more rushed forward to fill their place. In too short a time, too few were dead. And then they were at the wall.

He steeled himself for what came next, filling his lungs with air for a war cry to let loose as soon as he saw his first foe.

Spoiler: init roll

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*Blows on dice*(1d20+1)[4]
and I don't know how many towers there are, but I was kinda assuming he would just-so-happen to wander towards the one with the other PC's. He talks a good game, but really, he wants to live die last.

[Kaptin Keen]

The first volley is devastating. Missiles rain down on the front rows of the bugs, and they are shattered. It looks wildly impressive, the entire advance stumbling as dead and wounded enemies fall, and others trip over them. There is a moment of mad cheering - quickly silenced, as the wave of enemies quickly flows over the fallen, and continue without pause.

How many insects die, crossing those 300 yards while missiles rain down on them? And yet, soon enough, the tide of chitinous claws and fangs wash against the foundations of the fortifications. The larger ones - called drones by your instructors - leap and scramble up the walls, frantic movement of sharp, barbed limbs propelling them upwards. At the same time, a great swarm of smaller insects - these you know to be called wasps - leap and fly over your first line of defence, guiding their great leaps like grasshoppers. At point blank range, however, the catapults fire, and cut huge holes in the swarm.

Bens defence works very well against the drones - pushing them back or impaling them, and leaving them to tumble onto others below. However, the wasps soon occupy the attention of the spearmen.

The noble, yet unnamed, rushes in from behind to help dispatch the wasps. Maeric, commanding the spearmen, also quickly divides the men between keeping the walls clear of the more dangerous drones, and a few to get rid of the wasps.

From on high, Ben and Anselm along with a squad of archers rain death - until a group of wasps land among them, too. I'll equipped for melee, they try their best to defend.

Spoiler: Stuff

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Low initiative isn't necessarily bad. For instance, the catapult has greater effect for being held until the last moment. Artmans noble gets a counter charge, which is good. On the other hand, the tower and Maeric would have done better by rolling a higher initiative.

You get a bunch of bonuses for being well prepared. You lose a few as well - like a command bonus for the lieutenant that decided this was someone elses fight, not his.

I've mulled the fight on the wall some. We shall do the following: You each roll twice - for any attack or similar standard action you want, and for any social skill or pure charisma or other stat you want to use to bolster morale, or direct the fight (any stat will do - if you want to do a heroic charge, strength is fine by me. Be inventive).

How you roll will influence how many bugs you and the men around you kill. And how many of your men fall.

As I said earlier, you have prepared actions, so you go first. Then we'll see =)

[root]

As the bugs ascended the tower, Anselm cringed. "I should have stayed back home!" he screamed in a futile fury, smashing his crossbow against the crenelated battlements.

Whipping himself in the direction of the nearest bug, with the determination of a cornered rat, Anselm performed arcane gestures. He wasn't sure if it would even work - but in this moment, he was far from rational. "Stand down before the might of Blenwolde!" he screamed, releasing the spell.

Spoiler

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Spell: Command (halt)
DC 13, assuming the bugs aren't mindless and thus immune.

If successful, it should cause one of the bugs to stand in place without performing any actions.
"The subject stands in place for 1 round. It may not take any actions but is not considered helpless. "

I'll do a charisma roll for motivation despite my -1 modifier, I just don't see how this action has anything to do with Wisdom or Intelligence =p
(1d20-1)[16]

[iTookUrNick]

Spoiler: OOC

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Axe - (1d20+3)[17]. In addition, Ben has a Favored Enemy bonus against vermin, not because of any special study on his part but because he (unknowingly) descends from a line of wall fighters and he has it in his blood. That should count for something. Hopefully.
Heal - (1d20+2)[12] well, you said "be creative' right?

Ben experience something quite strange as he sees the mound of enemies swarming against their defenses, being put down by the scores. If it weren't so unlikely, he would call it a thrill. He seems to have a real knack for taking them down too, but he is only one man and he doubts he will make much of a difference. Suddenly, a swarm of the little ones (wasps, apparently) gets to their position. He lets go of his bow and takes out his axe in one fluid motion, ready to dispatch them. "If you get hit, make sure to pinch your skin and squeeze outward as soon as you are in the clear: they got tiny barbs on those claws that get stuck and slowly poison your muscles unless you take them out!" he warns his comrades, remembering an odd bit of lore that from his grandmother (she used to tell him about the battles, just before going to bed).