SIX YOUNG WARRIORS –

Sent to do the work of thousands!

Generations ago, the orc-hordes swarmed east into the peaceful kingdom of Caithness. Now they’re coming
back. Last time, it took an army to stop them; This time, your lord is sending you . . .


Orcslayer was the first Man to Man GURPS campaign adventure. It consists of nine linked combat scenarios, separated by "interludes" of travel, rest, and interaction.

Each situation is different and will require different tactics. But the scenarios are not just excuses for head-bashing - they provide some interesting roleplaying opportunities as well. There are friends to be made, allies to enlist,enemies to avoid, traps to spot, and more . . .

Man to Man is basically a combat boardgame, but it has strong roleplaying elements that set it apart from other combat games. This supplement is designed to highlight and expand those roleplaying elements - without sacrificing the thrill of clever tactics skillfully executed.

I am seeking 6 protagonists. If I get more submissions those will be invited to play the roles of the adversaries. Knowledge of Gurps not required.
This message was last edited by the user at 22:51, Wed 22 Oct 2014.

Could it be that the Orcs of Wolfbone may just pull this off, after all?

Gulk and Ig have lugged the unconscious Lady Bronwyn outside into the light night rain and are even now hoisting her body up onto the parapet wall in preparation to take to the ladder to carry her down.  Fogugh and Mauzak have taken up rear guard, blocking the passage with their teeth bared and weapons quivering.

Of the remaining Orcs, all seems lost, though the brutes battle on with the legendary ferocity of their race.  Smogulg has suffered a greatsword completely through his body!  But, even still, with a gurgling roar, he seizes the end of the blade in both hands and holds on with all his strength, trying to deny Garewulf from freeing the sword.  But Garewulf is much, much bigger and stronger than the scrawny Orc and with a mighty pull, he yanks the sword out of Smogulg’s grip and draws it from the Orc’s body.  It pulls free with a wet, slurping sound, spurting a jet of hot crimson everywhere.  Smogulg feels his body growing cold.  He is spasming as he glances down through glazed eyes to behold that both his palms have been sliced through to the bone, flesh and muscle laying open in grisly flaps…  Somehow Smogulg keeps his feet but he senses darkness closing in on his vision…

His sword free of his foe’s dying body, Garewulf lurches about and tries to hasten to Bronwyn’s aid.  But not only does he encounter the thrashing Blaecman and Kurdan who are trading missed mace swings, but he must clamber over Mul’s body that is sprawled on the floor, spread-eagled and twitching…

Across the way, Argha whips his mace in a vicious uppercut that bangs Coelfred off the right elbow.  The blow is exquisitely painful!  The Squire screams in agony as his Morningstar flies out of his grip to clang to the floor.  He continues screaming, trying to gather his wits, but the pain does not abate.  Blindly he shoves out with his shield hoping to bash his opponent, but he is too preoccupied with pain to connect.   And then Lithuellen makes a quick step to flank Argha and, CRASH! He crashes his bastard sword square ontop of Argha’s head!  Skull bone cracks like an egg.  Blood gushes from a huge scalp wound.  The Orc wobbles left, wobbles right, knees sagging…. But somehow the tough little brute stays upright…


We're having great fun!  Mindless hack and slash with little doses of strategy and lots of light, fast-moving posting.

Scenario One is almost over, and I will soon be launching Scenario Two, a woodland battle between the forces of good and the forces of evil.  Come check us out!

Game is Mature for Gore.

This message was deleted by the user at 04:04, Wed 29 Oct 2014.

For four days the Orcs of Wolfbone fled from the man-village of Durham with their prize.  Though Gulk the Terrible lost three good warriors, and Mazauk a perfectly good arm – Gulk still considers the raid a great victory!  He knows Moggarth will be pleased by the womanly tribute Gulk lays at his feet and this swells his chest with pride.  High will Gulk rise in rank and prestige!  But there is a saying among the Orcs, a race not known for their wisdom:  ”Druuc'd shuuc or zelel rhaakluugaan daan'kaan tac.” which means in the tongue of Men: Don’t count your victims until they are slain. and Gulk knows many miles still lie between his war band and the Orclands.  He knows he must push hard for the desert or the vengeful Men will hunt them down.

So push he does.  Day and night he drove his Orcs.  Avoiding the roads, they skirted villages and cropfields.  There had been a point in their flight that Gulk considered abandoning his soldier Kurdan, injured in the raid, who was slowing everyone down.  But Kurdan at last managed to reset his knee with an audible pop! and before long he was loping along with the rest of the gang.  By the second day, his band reached their rally point with Brogwar the Grim and his savage Hobgoblins, allies to the cause of Moggarth.  Primitive, hulking brutes clad in mangy animal hides, they towered over the Orcs, hefting huge axes, hammers, and spears.  Now strengthened by their numbers, Gulk pressed on westward.

The band rested little and ate less.  And when sharp-eared Argha Two-Corks mounted a rise to gaze eastward and declared that horsemen were hot on their trail, Gulk had to bully and threaten to fight off the panic that was seizing his troops.  With a bark he ordered his band to enter the forest in hopes of shaking their pursuers.

“But the Tree People rule these lands!”  Lamented Ozvag Gorefist, one of the Hobgoblins, as he stared fearfully at the dark woods that lay ahead. “It is death to enter this forest!” The other Hobgoblins murmured to one another in anxious agreement.  But Gulk would not be deterred.  He knew there was no way he could outrun the horsemen, so had schemed up a plan.

“Shaddup an’ listen!”  He snarled.  “Yer goin in dat damned forest an’ gonna cut clean through ter de udder side, den make fer the desert.  Say no an’ I’ll gut yer here and now!  But me and three of us --  Mazauk, Woggah and Neghed’ll we’ll head north and draw doze Ponyboyz off yer trail, got dat?  Da bitches are only slowin’ youz all down, anyway, so yer chances are better ter go west through da forest without ‘em!”  Of course, Gulk’s true plan was just the opposite. He was not named Terrible for nothing! In fact, he was sending the other, larger group into the forest with the intent of sending the horsemen after them, seeing their trail would be easier to follow. That would take the heat off Gulk and the women. Argha and Kurdan exchanged skeptical glances to one another but the Hobgoblins seemed pacified by Gulk’s offer and they even praised him for his sense of altruism.

And so, North went Gulk with his bodyguard and the semi-comatose Man-Daughters.  And that leaves the second group who are the main protagonists of our current Tale, Dear Reader.

Into that deep, dark wood goes the sullen Fogugh leading Argha, Kurdan, Ig and the Hobgoblins

Now it is late of a stiflingly humid afternoon.  Fogugh and his soldiers find themselves in true forest where gigantic, ancient trees soar into the sky, their boughs blotting out the hated sun and casting all in a perpetual, verdant gloom.  All is silent in the wood.  No birds sing.  No insects buzz.  The air has a cloying, suffocating quality to it.

Fogugh raises a fist and halts the band.  Ahead, lies a small clearing in the trees where streaks of pollen speckled sunlight spill through the canopy above.  Light glints off the surface of a small pond.  Cattails stand tall around the banks.  Orcs and Hobgoblins lick their cracked lips, reminded of how thirsty they are and how empty their skins.  But there is something beyond which gives them pause and holds them back from charging the water to drink.

Spiderwebs!

Great sheets of silken webs stretch from tree to tree, dewdrops glittering upon the sticky strands like gems.  By the sheer size of the webs it is clear that the spinner was no ordinary spider – but instead some predatory arachnid of colossal size.  This sight spooks the Hobgoblins.  If they were afraid of the Tree People they are terrified of the giant spiders!

Hunkered down behind the twisted trunk of an oak tree, he glares ahead, deep in thought. He knows his troops need water and cannot pass up the opportunity of drinking from the pond, even if there is a spider about.  He is also paranoid of the legendary Tree People with their deadly bows from above.  Not for the first time he shoots a moody glance over at the Hobgoblins.  Only Brogwar was smart enough to bring a shield with him.  The rest of the Hobgoblins stupidly entered Elf country without them.  Fools! He grumbles silently to himself.

But they must drink and drink they shall.  Beckoning the group over into a semi-circle, he speaks in a low voice and gives out his orders.  And then the Orcs and Hobgoblins begin to move out…

MATURE GAME (for violence and occasional language). Seeking replacement characters to assume the roles of Orcs, Hobgoblins on the bad side and Elves and Men on the good side. Just about to launch scenario two. Drop me a RTJ and we can discuss!

Giving his head a shake to shoo away the darkness that is closing in on his vision, Argha draws back his bow and selects one of the riders as they crash onto the scene.  The rider he has selected is the only one who decided not to dismount near the trees where Argha is hiding. Instead this rider thunders down the trail further to the west.  But Argha has committed and, though the shot is difficult, some fifteen yards at a full gallop, through the dense foliage, he fires anyway, hoping his luck will change.  It doesn’t.  To the Orc’s chagrin, the arrow flits toward horse and rider, but glances off a low-hanging branch and flies off out of sight…

This rider is Garewulf, and he never knows the arrow was intended for him. Now he is jerking back at the reins and braking his dun gelding to a sod slinging halt.  In one fluid move, the big warrior slides out of the saddle, preparing for battle…

  *   *   *

Now Coelfred reins his shrieking black stallion to a halt, and he springs from the saddle close to the treeline.  A moment ago, he had glimpsed a big, ugly Hobgoblin hunkered in the brush but seems to have lost track of where the devil it went.  Drawing forth his heavy morningstar, he steps nearer for a closer look when…

”RRRRAAAAAHHHH!!

There is a snap and crackle of branches, and suddenly, there looming before Coelfred is Zlubbarg the Unreasonable, a huge, dark skinned brute with floppy ears, an ugly, thick big mouthed face with sharp fangs and a spiky greased Mohawk rising from a bald head.  Coelfred shouts and swivels on his hips, trying to bring his kite shield to bear, but the Hobgoblin is already ripping his greataxe.  With great force, the axe knocks the shield aside, then deflects downward to crash into Coelfred’s right side!  The blade bites a rent in the side of Coelfred’s segmented armor with enough force to crack bone and open a grisly wound!

But Coelfred is one of the toughest Men in Caithness and he manages to keep his feet and turn to face down his foe!

  *   *   *

Not far away, Blaecman, in his haste to dismount, misses a stirrup and ends up on his ass, down beside the stomping hooves of his steed.  Quickly he scrambles to his feet!

  *   *   *

Filvarel the Elf hears his brother Cailou’s screams.  Heart pounding, he breaks into a mad sprint even as he is fitting a fresh arrow to his bowstring.  He strains his eyes to see through the dense foliage and glimpses his little brother facing down not one, but two huge Hobgoblins.  The savages have backed Cailou nearly into a stretch of spider webs, denying Cailou any further room to retreat.  And then one of the Hobgoblins, Brogwar, makes a hard, single handed jab with his spear which Cailou tries desperately to parry. But the spear is coming in too hard and fast and the point punches through the links of mail hauberk and buries itself a foot into the Elf’s belly.  Cailou screams bloody murder as he folds over, then lurches back spasmodically, landing right in the clinging, sticky webs.  Now the second Hobgoblin, Ozvag, he hefting a huge Warhammer, swaggers over and unceremoniously bashes down on the incapacitated Elf’s head, caving in the steel spangenhelm and the skull beneath it!

”Bai! Bai!” Cries an anguished voice behind Filvarel and he turns to see his eldest brother Eglareo running from his hiding place to join the fray.  His brother has longbow in hand and has a look of murder in his eyes.  ”Byr tia shardia shyraes!  Filvarel, syndraeraes shi eilaeli Cailou!”
This message was last edited by a moderator, as it was against the forum rules, at 18:06, Thu 13 Nov 2014.

The Great Desert stretches as far as the eye can see – a bleak wasteland of rippling sands, crumbling buttes and sudden dusty gorges.  What little plant life that clings uncertainly to the nutrient-starved landscape is tough, spiny cacti with poison-laced pickers.  The sun is a huge fiery ball hovering overhead, causing the horizon to shimmer in its oppressive heat and sucking the life out of man and beast alike.

So continues the odyssey of Our Heroes, the Squires of Caithness.  Following their attack on the Orcs of Wolfbone in which all but two of the brutes were eradicated, Squires Blaecman and Coelfred and Lithuellen (who arrived at the battle too late) spent a time with the Clan of Lyondel the Elf to rest and recuperate.  They attended the cremations of fallen Elves Cailou and Darthoridan as well as their own brave, if not foolhardy comrade, Garewulf, who were slain in the combat.  The Elves employed their healing magic and restorative elixers to mend the wounded back to health.  And then they held council over what to do next, for the Squires’ quest was far from complete…

Somehow it seems the Orcs split up, and the group holding Bronwyn and Estrid shook the Squires off their trail.  But, all suspect that the Orcs are fleeing westward with their prisoners, to return to their homeland in the wilds across the desert.  And so the Squires set off once more, taking Filvaril and Eglorioth with them, the Elves eager to avenge the deaths of their brothers.

For two weeks they traveled hard, clearing the forest, and spending a time in the home of Blaecman’s Uncle, the Lord Wallace of Sterling.  Here they resupplied and stabled their horses, for they knew the beasts could never survive a journey across the brutal desert.  Instead they hired a sturdy mule named Daisy to carry their gear and extra water.  Bidding Lord Wallace goodbye, Squires and Elves set off westward into the wilds.  After leaving Sterling, the party traveled four days through fields and farmland. Then the road dwindled to a trail which entered a broad, grassy plain.  Signs of life were few and far between. Then, one morning they awoke to spy vultures circling in the sky to the south.  They decided to investigate and found an abandoned campsite, probably two or three days old. The vultures were picking at the body of an Orc.  From its harness - identical to that worn by the attackers at Durham - it appeared it was part of the raiding group. Filvarel knelt beside the body and confirmed the orc was slain by a single thrust to the eye.  Near the body, a slender silver dagger, broken at the tip, was discovered.  Coelfred announced that he remembered Bronwyn had once shown him her secret ‘hideaway’ weapon which was concealed in a hair clip.  Evidentally Peredur’s grand-daughter had found an opportunity to use it!  This encouraged the Squires for they knew their Lady still lived, at least up until a few days ago, and that they were on the right track.  And so they pushed on west into the desert…

They continued for days across the desert suffering great hardship.  The heat has been so oppressive, most of the party has removed their armor and packed it with the mule.  Only Blaecman and Lithuellen refused to travel without it, the latter becoming so heat exhausted that he was tripping over his own feet.

Now our Heroes find themselves traveling through a rocky section where the tawny earth is broken up by crumbling cliffs and dusty gulches.

Lithuellen reins Daisy to a halt.  So exhausted and weak is he that he has forced himself to ride the beast so as not to slow the party’s progress.

“Por o mi shar Ai marn, Shyraes?” Eglorioth asks his brother, he shading his eyes as he scans the horizon.

“Yes, Brother.  I see it too.” Filvaril replies, eyes narrowed as he follows his brother’s stare.  Then:  “LOOK!”

A bowshot away, figures can be seen emerging from the sun-bleached landscape.  They walk upright on two powerful legs, taller than most of the men and strongly built.  Long, muscular tails trail out behind them.  They move in jerky, almost bird-like strides.  They wear weird curaisses of some type of studded leather and wield weapons – mostly swords and shields.  Flat-skulled, broad muzzled, toothy heads swivel this way and that on long flexible necks.  They are some kind of alien being Squires and Elves have only heard of before in myth…

They are Lizardmen!…

Rated M for Mature

Folks, we're having great fun.  As we approach the next Combat Scenario I could use a handful of new adversaries to plump up the opposition.  Knowledge of the system not needed.  If interested, send RTJ.  I will talk you through character generation, so no need to create a character just yet.
This message was last edited by the user at 16:23, Fri 19 Dec 2014.

Chest impaled with an Elvish arrow and arm mangled beyond repair, Xlxhol bares his teeth in one, final effort to rend Man-Flesh.  But his combined wounds have finally taken their toll on him and suddenly the reptileman’s legs buckle beneath him and he begins to sag to the dirt.  But even as he is sinking to the ground, Blaecman steps in and bashes him hard between the shoulder blades, driving him bodily into the dust, where he shudders once, and then goes still….  And then….

Out the corner of his eye, Blaecman spies sunlight glinting off steel as Uoxhi leaps at Blaecman, sword hissing!  With a shout, the Squire skips backward, and narrowly dodges the attack.  Coelfred hastens to his comrade’s aid, working his way to flank the black-scaled Uoxhi, but he knows the brutes have an uncanny ability to see what is coming up from behind them…

Filvaril makes a daring shot, loosing an arrow at Uoxhi that flits high, missing the reptileman and two human adversaries, before disappearing into the rocky terrain.  And then…

CRUNCH!

Blaecman brings his heavy mace up, around and down with such ferocious speed, Uoxhi is unable to get his shield up in time.  The mace smites the reptileman through the top of his head, staving in his skull!  Instantly Uoxhi drops like a sack of potatoes!

”Jhyl Shyraes!”” Eglorioth cries, pointing with his bow at the cliffs to the north.  ”Tysi tysti! Shi ter thi ail cari!”

It does not take a translator for the Coelfred and Blaecman to realize what is wrong.  A bow’s shot north, the silhouettes of many more reptilemen can be seen on the horizon, working their way down the crumbling cliffs.  Dozens of them!

And so they flee with all haste!

Folks, we could use a few more Adversaries to Plump up the Competition. Or, if you prefer playing Heroes, I a couple of NPC's you can assume control of. We're moving on to Scenario Four which will be a dangerous river crossing and skirmish at a ruined temple.  Join us!

RATED M FOR MATURE
This message was last edited by the user at 18:05, Sun 04 Jan 2015.