...Yes, good evening Kent. It's a beautiful green tinged day here in the hive, and everyone's fired up for a good match today.
See that fine fellow over there? That's right, he's in charge of the hostage. It's a bold plan to perhaps slow down the attackers for that crucial first instant of the play, but we'll let you see for yourself in the instant replay
Looking around at the hive, I can see myself surrounded by the cream of our great nation. The sheer amount of manky, matted fur held up by battle-ready tension is enough to bring tears to my eyes - it's a proud day indeed.
.....
I hear from our perimeter detection that the outer defenses have been breached, but that the few brave individuals who have rabidly volunteered to sacrifice themselves to buy us time are doing just that, and quite well. Preparations here at the center are finalised.
......
We've entered the final moments before the last play. This is where it will all be decided, fans. Right here, near your humble correspondent. There's a tense moment here, as our brave lads restrain themselves from howling and charging, but the knowlege that the enemy are walking straight into the jaws of our trap, heh, is intoxicating and they manage.
The enemy have just breached the last defense before this room - I can vaguely see that two of them have dropped straight out of the hole leading to a guard, and taken him out. Gotta admire that kind of guts, or lack of consideration for consequences - it's almost worthy of one of our boys.
As they are now approaching this very room, listeners, our boy with the hostage makes his move.
"Hey, pitiful ones!" (He's attempting to get them riled, right off the bat, people - clever!) "See what we have!"
One of the enemy bursts into the cavern seconds ahead of the rest - by his markings, he's the brother of our hostage. There's a split second of the kind of horrified stand-off that would make Quentin Tarantino proud: 12 of us (plus a few fomor) and the enemy numbers boiling out of the entrance like water, and the world seemingly standing still.
*snap* Then things start happening. First, our hostage is ... ooh. I haven't seen a split like that since Yoko Ono and the Beatles. Instead of freezing, the brother immediately frenzies and drops his weapon (good job, by the look of the thing), and starts tearing forwards into the fray. Can't really blame him, myself, but the more intellectually inclined among us would notice that he's a theurge and most of us are at least twice as big.
His pack appears to notice this, and commits as much of their efforts as seems practical towards clearing a path towards the hostage-splitters, presumably to allow the brother easy frenzying. Ooh. He's actually doing quite well.
The other enemy are, as I said before, boiling out of the tunnels. They're using weapons, some purloined from our guards. There's fur flying everywhere, ladies and mages, as well as several other bits that really should be on the inside.
One of our brave boys has set himself on fire and is charging forwards to give
his star trademark 'tackle of fire' on one of the enemy. They're meeting the
challenge, and one is running forwards and grappling...brave move, if you
ask me. Our boy appears to be caught a little off guard by this, and doesn't
manage to react in time to prevent them both toppling into the central oil
well, which rather predictably is now gouting with a veritable inferno of heat.
No sign of either of those two - we'll keep an eye out.
Returning to the pack of the brother of the hostage, they're doing moderately well. By the cast of his body and facial expression, your skilled correspondent can tell that one of them is doing something mystic. Wonder what it could be? The others are taking careful aim and attempting to pick off our still-closing men, and...What? Oh! In a situation that has altered the rules of the game, someone's jammed technology! Guns don't work, gentlefolk, meaning that it's down to tooth and claw, just as it was in the old days.
Apparently it wasn't the one who was concentrating who jammed the guns - he's still concentrating, to no visible effect that I can see. Quick update on the brother - he's about halfway to his target, encountering about 3 of us, and actually doing okay. Can't see a scratch on him yet....ah, I see. One of the three is held by some sort of shadow tentacle. Yes, now that I'm looking for it, it's the one who's concentrating that's responsible. Tricky.
The enemy appear to have the upper hand, much to our disgust, people. However, one of the reigning home team champions has just stuck a claw through the hitherto undamaged theurge brother, and he's down. Razor claws, I think.
Annoyingly, the rest of his pack has been wading their way towards him, and the champ can't finish him off...
It's almost all over here, folks. At some point, one of us has invoked the Hive spirit, and it's now more difficult for everyone to do things - a general malaise or confusion, but too little too late, gentlemen.
All the fomor are down. Ordinarily no big loss, but the enemy is just too strong, and that's the last straw. I can see that some of us have reached the same conclusion, and although I wouldn't for one minute accuse any of our number of cowardice, the fact remains that I just now saw at least 2 of our number flee through the umbra, where the warm protecting goop fills the tunnels and the enemy can't follow.
Your correspondent shall stay till the bitter end, as befits one of our tribe.
That's not long now, folks, so I'll just say goodbye, and go and give 'em hell.