Name of Lord/Lady
Lord Demotoriaus
Physical Description:
Lord Demotoriaus is a man of an athletic build, muscular but not heavily by any account. He is faired skin with dark hair, that hair covers his head in a close fashion with the exception of his beard. Demotoriaus can commonly be seen ornate in full armor, polished at all times unless in the thick of battle.
Claimed Fief:
Duchy of Lordea
Basic History:
Demotoriaus was born to a lowly family on the reaches of Lordea and was actually taught the way of farming more than anything. That was until he was conscripted into the military at the age of sixteen, primarily seeing combat against the Orcs. The lad proved his worth, and with the help of loot retrieved from the battlefield, ascended his family along with increasing himself in rank. It was found that he possessed a highly tactical mind in regards to combat, leading to many small victories against the orcish menace. Eventually, he married his Lord’s daughter which helped to ascend his legitimacy of being a noble. However, disaster befell his Lord who sadly bore no heir, thusly Demotoriaus was ascended to the title of Lord of the lands not soon before the death of the King. For a year, he gathered his court with the help of his noble wife until the death of King Timault.
Background:
Champion (Bonus to Combat Rolls)
Lord Demotoriaus
Physical Description:
Lord Demotoriaus is a man of an athletic build, muscular but not heavily by any account. He is faired skin with dark hair, that hair covers his head in a close fashion with the exception of his beard. Demotoriaus can commonly be seen ornate in full armor, polished at all times unless in the thick of battle.
Claimed Fief:
Duchy of Lordea
Basic History:
Demotoriaus was born to a lowly family on the reaches of Lordea and was actually taught the way of farming more than anything. That was until he was conscripted into the military at the age of sixteen, primarily seeing combat against the Orcs. The lad proved his worth, and with the help of loot retrieved from the battlefield, ascended his family along with increasing himself in rank. It was found that he possessed a highly tactical mind in regards to combat, leading to many small victories against the orcish menace. Eventually, he married his Lord’s daughter which helped to ascend his legitimacy of being a noble. However, disaster befell his Lord who sadly bore no heir, thusly Demotoriaus was ascended to the title of Lord of the lands not soon before the death of the King. For a year, he gathered his court with the help of his noble wife until the death of King Timault.
They marched through the blazing sun, finding solace only in hope that they would be able to find a form of dank cave which may have water in it. That hope was the only thing that kept a majority of the army marching, albeit they slowed with little organization to back them. Each man wondered how the Orcs could survive such heat, how they could travel for days without exhaust or how they could still fight after days of marching. Those crusaders understood not how, but they understood the orcs needed to be killed in the name of the faith. Though, one was within the ranks of the military simply because his lord had conscripted him. That lad’s name was John Demotoriaus.
John found himself trudging through the desert with sand in less than desirable places and sweat drenching his body. He gripped his spear tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stumbled forwards with the others. The man looked outwards, he spotted a man who collapsed into the sand, succumbing to the heat the wretched sun produced. Demotoriaus dared not aid the man, not when he, himself, was on the verge of collapsing into the savage sands.
“Oasis!,” a man called out, probably a mirage produced by the maddening heat. However, other cries came in agreement which forced the young man to lift his head to see his fellows rushing past him and over a dune. John had never seen a man so happy to receive water in his life, a strange occurrence. Though, he found himself sprinting forward, climbing over the dune with desperation. He pushed his way past other men before he saw it, an oasis. It was a large pool of water with much green surrounding it along with some trees. The sight caused a stampede of men who pushed over each other, trampled each other, in order to be the first to get to salvation.
The stampede of the Black Army was one that Demotoriaus would not forget, it was a time of rejoice and recuperate. John reached the pool, pushing a man forward and almost throwing him in the pool entirely - which no doubt the man did not seem to mind - and dunked his head under the water. It was cool, hydrating, as water should be. He guzzled as much of the nectar of life as he could before he pulled his head out of the water, gasping for air. The water provided such sweet relief to the man that he laid on his side.
The murky liquid flowed and caressed his side as a smile came to his face, pleasantly allowing himself a chance to relax. He would rest assured knowing that the rarity had just saved him from death within the barren wasteland. John felt like the thanking the water for saving him, but he knew it would not respond, only move back and forth as nature had designed it to. He reached his hand out and touched the water, letting it soak into his leather of his armor.
However, his relaxation would come to an end when he heard the knights ordering people out of the way so that they to may get a chance to use the valued pool. John scrambled to get out of the way of the knights, not wanting to be trampled underneath their horses. He watched them with awe, impressed at the skill and dedication of the heavy cavalry. Their shining armor glinted in the light of the sun, seeming to be holy warriors under the templar. The horses seemed only the finest of breeds and baring their own heavy armor.
Suddenly, an arrow pierced into the armor of the saddled knight, the sound of metal ripping apart and the sound of a pained scream. The knight slumped off the side of the horse, only being dragged as the horse began running away, neighing in alarm. Panic only swept through the disorganized mass of men as a hail of arrows came down on the force. Demo and many others took cover behind trees or shields. It was an Orcish ambush, catching the army while it was a mess and tired from days of marching.
Men fell in swaths as the orcish arrows caught the men-at-arms, screams filled the air and the ruthless rain only continue for what seemed to be an eternity before stopping as quickly as it had began. Peeking his head out, he saw a massive line of Orcs, stretching all around them over the dunes. That hellish line tormented his mind, terror filling his very body and soul, he could tell from the silence that it affected the small amount of survivors as well. He knew they would slaughter them all like cattle.
However, he would refuse to die to such savages without putting up a right proper fight, with that in mind he ran out of his cover, holding his shield and lowering his spear. “Brothers in arms, do you wish to die like cowards are would you rather be seen as heroes as we die? These savages may take our lives, but I will not allow them to steal my courage! I will not allow myself to be submitted and slaughtered like! Here we shall stand at fight; there will be no withdrawal. We have no chance of being able to withdrawal. We shall stand here and fight; and if we cannot stay here alive, then we shall stay here dead!,” the speech of the conscripted peasant rippled through the group of survivors, even some of the orcish line shuffled in place a bit uncomfortably at the courage of the lone human.
“We shall stand and fight!,” another man-at-arms called out, soon another, and another. The men formed rank behind Demotoriaus, raising their shields and lowering their spears. They let out a savage battle cry, matching that of a zealous orc warrior any day. It seemed that this group of cornered prey would fight, something that the orcs wanted. Their bloodlust would be their downfall.
“Form a shield wall!,” Demotoriaus commanded, the line moving up and forming the rank with each man acting as a gear of the Osterian war machine. Each of them held a face with a fire in their eyes, now wanting to take a few of the savages with them before they died that day.
A roar went through the orc lines, soon the sand began to spur up behind the savages as they charged down the dunes. The men readied themselves, eager to fight and die for their nation with their passions raised as a product of Demotorias’ speech. Each man prayed silently. Only hoping to not to be damned after the battle. Each orc wished for a right proper battle to appeal to their savage gods, wanting to bring honor to their respective tribes.
“Hold!,” John called as the orcs made their way down the dunes, his head turning to his sides to see his brothers holding. Though, he could sense they were nervous, terrified even. But there was no retreat. Their backs to the water, barely enough room to get into a comfortable stance.
The greenskins slammed into the line of men, hitting the superior shields of the men-at-arms and attempting to push them into the water. Meanwhile, the men felt orcs hit the end of their spears, some being forced to charge directly into a spear, they held pushing back against the horde. Moments past, each side pushing one another with no clear advantage in the situation.
Suddenly another order was shouted to the line of man, “Push!” Each man slammed their shields back causing the green line to surge back for a moment, allowing the line of mean to thrust their spears forward, killing many orcs. Then the orcs came crashing down upon them again, this time having to climb over the dead bodies of their allies. This only allowed the men more time to kill more and more orcs.
“Forwards!,” the order rang through the line, Demotoriaus pushed against the horde, using the orcish lack of coordination against them. He thrust his spear into the eye of an orc who was raising his mighty axes to attack, he thrust into another orc, and another. The line of man moved forward, pushing the green wall back, slowly but most definitely.
Then the Orcs pulled back, Demotoriaus knew what was happening, they would regroup and charge into their lines again. He knew of something they would not expect, he looked back at his men before shouting out one final order, “Charge! Charge forth and catch them in the rear, think not about you lives! Only see your spear pierced the heart of the greenskins!.” A roar of battle went through the human line as they charged forth. John ran at the front, adrenaline coursing through his body. The peasant put his spear into the back of an orc, leaving it there as he drew his sword.
The line of men ran down the orcs as they attempted to reform their ranks, bringing them down before they could turn around.
Demotoriaus cut down orc after orc, he tore the throat of one and eviscerated the eyes of another. The survivors would say he fought like a demon that day, a demon seeking vengeance for his fallen allies. Blood soaked into the sand, blood of both human and orc.
A hammer flew into the back of the peasant, knocking him into the ground. John scrambled onto his back to see a massive orc standing over him, the war leader of this small orc band. Fighting continued around them, tempting the peasant to look elsewhere, but he needed to remain focused. Instinctively, the man gripped a handful of sand and threw it into the eyes of the savage, momentarily blinding it. That allowed him time to scramble to his feet and steady his sword, planning to take this orc head on.
After a moment, the orc turned its eyes on the human who dared blind it, snarling whilst it brandished its war hammer. The human held steady, keeping focus. His eyes went along the body of the orc warrior, attempting to find a weakness. The orc made the first move, swinging his hammer downwards in predictable manner, the human dodging backwards. However, the orc drove his hammer towards the human, knocking the unexpected foe onto his back, his sword coming free of his hand. Once more the orc raised his hammer, Demotoriaus lunged forwards this time tackling the orc. The beast roared as the two went down, both rolling down the sandy dune.
Upon reaching the bottom, John sit on top of the beast driving his fists into the beast’s skull. It attempted to fight back, but to no avail under the constant barrage of fists from the human warrior. However, the orc used the same tactic John had used only minutes ago, sand stung the eyes of the human and allowed the orc to kick the man off. Desperately, John tried to wipe the sand from his eyes only to see a blurred vision of the orc charging him and this time tackling the human.
With what John could see he shielded his face from the powerful blows of the orc, waiting for vision to come back to him. Suddenly, the peasant launched his hands forwards, one grasping the tusk of the orc while the other one pushed its face back. With the sound of bone shattering, the tusk came free in the hands of the human before immediately being injected back into the orc through its ear. The beast slumped to the side, allowing Demotoriaus a chance to get to his feet. Gazing around he saw the orcs and humans, no longer fighting instead gazing at the human who defeated the war leader.
The orcs roared before beginning their retreat into the desert, the forces of man attempting to run after the orcs. “Leave them!” Demotoriaus called out, catching his breath. “Let them run to their people and let them tell of who we are! Let this make us known that the Osterian kingdom is not to be trifled with! We shall succeed on this crusade! For the Vinos and King!”
John found himself trudging through the desert with sand in less than desirable places and sweat drenching his body. He gripped his spear tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stumbled forwards with the others. The man looked outwards, he spotted a man who collapsed into the sand, succumbing to the heat the wretched sun produced. Demotoriaus dared not aid the man, not when he, himself, was on the verge of collapsing into the savage sands.
“Oasis!,” a man called out, probably a mirage produced by the maddening heat. However, other cries came in agreement which forced the young man to lift his head to see his fellows rushing past him and over a dune. John had never seen a man so happy to receive water in his life, a strange occurrence. Though, he found himself sprinting forward, climbing over the dune with desperation. He pushed his way past other men before he saw it, an oasis. It was a large pool of water with much green surrounding it along with some trees. The sight caused a stampede of men who pushed over each other, trampled each other, in order to be the first to get to salvation.
The stampede of the Black Army was one that Demotoriaus would not forget, it was a time of rejoice and recuperate. John reached the pool, pushing a man forward and almost throwing him in the pool entirely - which no doubt the man did not seem to mind - and dunked his head under the water. It was cool, hydrating, as water should be. He guzzled as much of the nectar of life as he could before he pulled his head out of the water, gasping for air. The water provided such sweet relief to the man that he laid on his side.
The murky liquid flowed and caressed his side as a smile came to his face, pleasantly allowing himself a chance to relax. He would rest assured knowing that the rarity had just saved him from death within the barren wasteland. John felt like the thanking the water for saving him, but he knew it would not respond, only move back and forth as nature had designed it to. He reached his hand out and touched the water, letting it soak into his leather of his armor.
However, his relaxation would come to an end when he heard the knights ordering people out of the way so that they to may get a chance to use the valued pool. John scrambled to get out of the way of the knights, not wanting to be trampled underneath their horses. He watched them with awe, impressed at the skill and dedication of the heavy cavalry. Their shining armor glinted in the light of the sun, seeming to be holy warriors under the templar. The horses seemed only the finest of breeds and baring their own heavy armor.
Suddenly, an arrow pierced into the armor of the saddled knight, the sound of metal ripping apart and the sound of a pained scream. The knight slumped off the side of the horse, only being dragged as the horse began running away, neighing in alarm. Panic only swept through the disorganized mass of men as a hail of arrows came down on the force. Demo and many others took cover behind trees or shields. It was an Orcish ambush, catching the army while it was a mess and tired from days of marching.
Men fell in swaths as the orcish arrows caught the men-at-arms, screams filled the air and the ruthless rain only continue for what seemed to be an eternity before stopping as quickly as it had began. Peeking his head out, he saw a massive line of Orcs, stretching all around them over the dunes. That hellish line tormented his mind, terror filling his very body and soul, he could tell from the silence that it affected the small amount of survivors as well. He knew they would slaughter them all like cattle.
However, he would refuse to die to such savages without putting up a right proper fight, with that in mind he ran out of his cover, holding his shield and lowering his spear. “Brothers in arms, do you wish to die like cowards are would you rather be seen as heroes as we die? These savages may take our lives, but I will not allow them to steal my courage! I will not allow myself to be submitted and slaughtered like! Here we shall stand at fight; there will be no withdrawal. We have no chance of being able to withdrawal. We shall stand here and fight; and if we cannot stay here alive, then we shall stay here dead!,” the speech of the conscripted peasant rippled through the group of survivors, even some of the orcish line shuffled in place a bit uncomfortably at the courage of the lone human.
“We shall stand and fight!,” another man-at-arms called out, soon another, and another. The men formed rank behind Demotoriaus, raising their shields and lowering their spears. They let out a savage battle cry, matching that of a zealous orc warrior any day. It seemed that this group of cornered prey would fight, something that the orcs wanted. Their bloodlust would be their downfall.
“Form a shield wall!,” Demotoriaus commanded, the line moving up and forming the rank with each man acting as a gear of the Osterian war machine. Each of them held a face with a fire in their eyes, now wanting to take a few of the savages with them before they died that day.
A roar went through the orc lines, soon the sand began to spur up behind the savages as they charged down the dunes. The men readied themselves, eager to fight and die for their nation with their passions raised as a product of Demotorias’ speech. Each man prayed silently. Only hoping to not to be damned after the battle. Each orc wished for a right proper battle to appeal to their savage gods, wanting to bring honor to their respective tribes.
“Hold!,” John called as the orcs made their way down the dunes, his head turning to his sides to see his brothers holding. Though, he could sense they were nervous, terrified even. But there was no retreat. Their backs to the water, barely enough room to get into a comfortable stance.
The greenskins slammed into the line of men, hitting the superior shields of the men-at-arms and attempting to push them into the water. Meanwhile, the men felt orcs hit the end of their spears, some being forced to charge directly into a spear, they held pushing back against the horde. Moments past, each side pushing one another with no clear advantage in the situation.
Suddenly another order was shouted to the line of man, “Push!” Each man slammed their shields back causing the green line to surge back for a moment, allowing the line of mean to thrust their spears forward, killing many orcs. Then the orcs came crashing down upon them again, this time having to climb over the dead bodies of their allies. This only allowed the men more time to kill more and more orcs.
“Forwards!,” the order rang through the line, Demotoriaus pushed against the horde, using the orcish lack of coordination against them. He thrust his spear into the eye of an orc who was raising his mighty axes to attack, he thrust into another orc, and another. The line of man moved forward, pushing the green wall back, slowly but most definitely.
Then the Orcs pulled back, Demotoriaus knew what was happening, they would regroup and charge into their lines again. He knew of something they would not expect, he looked back at his men before shouting out one final order, “Charge! Charge forth and catch them in the rear, think not about you lives! Only see your spear pierced the heart of the greenskins!.” A roar of battle went through the human line as they charged forth. John ran at the front, adrenaline coursing through his body. The peasant put his spear into the back of an orc, leaving it there as he drew his sword.
The line of men ran down the orcs as they attempted to reform their ranks, bringing them down before they could turn around.
Demotoriaus cut down orc after orc, he tore the throat of one and eviscerated the eyes of another. The survivors would say he fought like a demon that day, a demon seeking vengeance for his fallen allies. Blood soaked into the sand, blood of both human and orc.
A hammer flew into the back of the peasant, knocking him into the ground. John scrambled onto his back to see a massive orc standing over him, the war leader of this small orc band. Fighting continued around them, tempting the peasant to look elsewhere, but he needed to remain focused. Instinctively, the man gripped a handful of sand and threw it into the eyes of the savage, momentarily blinding it. That allowed him time to scramble to his feet and steady his sword, planning to take this orc head on.
After a moment, the orc turned its eyes on the human who dared blind it, snarling whilst it brandished its war hammer. The human held steady, keeping focus. His eyes went along the body of the orc warrior, attempting to find a weakness. The orc made the first move, swinging his hammer downwards in predictable manner, the human dodging backwards. However, the orc drove his hammer towards the human, knocking the unexpected foe onto his back, his sword coming free of his hand. Once more the orc raised his hammer, Demotoriaus lunged forwards this time tackling the orc. The beast roared as the two went down, both rolling down the sandy dune.
Upon reaching the bottom, John sit on top of the beast driving his fists into the beast’s skull. It attempted to fight back, but to no avail under the constant barrage of fists from the human warrior. However, the orc used the same tactic John had used only minutes ago, sand stung the eyes of the human and allowed the orc to kick the man off. Desperately, John tried to wipe the sand from his eyes only to see a blurred vision of the orc charging him and this time tackling the human.
With what John could see he shielded his face from the powerful blows of the orc, waiting for vision to come back to him. Suddenly, the peasant launched his hands forwards, one grasping the tusk of the orc while the other one pushed its face back. With the sound of bone shattering, the tusk came free in the hands of the human before immediately being injected back into the orc through its ear. The beast slumped to the side, allowing Demotoriaus a chance to get to his feet. Gazing around he saw the orcs and humans, no longer fighting instead gazing at the human who defeated the war leader.
The orcs roared before beginning their retreat into the desert, the forces of man attempting to run after the orcs. “Leave them!” Demotoriaus called out, catching his breath. “Let them run to their people and let them tell of who we are! Let this make us known that the Osterian kingdom is not to be trifled with! We shall succeed on this crusade! For the Vinos and King!”
Background:
Champion (Bonus to Combat Rolls)
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