'The Witchwood'! From a Yasoi's perspective, this name was a bit of an offense in itself. No tree, at any point in his life, had done anything that would have justified this kind of a designation with so much negative connotation. It were the people of this world who did malicious things, not nature itself, so the name's origin probably was some kind of evil event of very artificial cause -- or just mere superstition as so often with those humans.
What would these woods be called decades or even centuries from now, assuming Parrench victory and his own humble part in it ? 'Thunderwoods' maybe ? Or, to keep things a little more fancy, 'The sparkling forest ?'. Spark in the sense of something large and hot enough to hurt somebody and put fire to his or her property and not in the sense of a harmless piece of fireworks, of course. A nice question to ponder about halfway drunk in a tavern once things had happened here, but what if those barbarians would win this battle instead ? Then maybe the Witchwoods would just cease to exist and be consumed by the need to rebuild an entire kingdom their way. A very sobering possibility.
The sound of heavy boots trampling down the foliage below forced Otios out of his thoughts. The Yasoi would not have positioned himself here had he not expected that at least a diversionary attack would make its way through here, but what his ears picked up now was significantly more discomforting than that. Either these people couldn't march or this was a horde! The place would be crawling...
Officially, Otios would have called it 'foresight', but deep inside he knew that it was more the small bit of chill running up and down his guts that made him retreat deeper into the extensive treetop high above everyone's head. He had deemed this to be a much safer place than being on the ground, even with a horse, but that would no longer hold true once being surrounded and behind the frontline so quickly. At least Lady Talit left out those branches he was standing on when bending so many others to signal something! A bit inefficient, was it ?
Otios tightened his grip around a wire than ran down the whole length of the trunk and ended in a solid pole rammed into the ground next to it. This effectively was his fastest means to get off this hideout aside from a suicidal jump, but it also served the double purpose of connecting him to the earth those Eskandr were marching on. What kind of connection ? Those fools would not understand! If not for the lack of intelligence, then for the lack of time to think! Otios still highly preferred for it to go unnoticed in the first place, so he was not hesitant to get going once he spotted the first small band of Eskandr warriors happening to walk by relatively close to his tree.
Clank!
Clank! Clank! Clank!
Argh!
Really! Magnetism could spread like a disease within and among items of iron or mild steel -- and he was in control of the germ. While in the process of the metal parts of their armors and weapons being tethered together by an invisible force, one of the men's battle axes had been set upon a collision course with a helmet and had only found deceleration once inside the wearer's face. Another individual who had not been part initially was startled by the unexpected moves of his comrades and tried to help, but only got sucked into and attached to the crowd as well.
The crowd, that was the involuntary aggregation of Eskandr warriors who could neither escape individually nor move together anymore. It would have been enough of a challenge in calm conditions to try and coordinate a dozen feet or more, all facing into different directions, to move synchronously and in a manner suited for going into one distinct direction instead of jittering around randomly. This however wasa bunch of people rapidly descending into a state of panic and stuck in an increasingly loud environment, last but not least due to their own shouting.
Could humans not solve their conflicts this way ? Just set up one group of men glued together as tightly as possible for each side and then let them do a race along a fixed route. First group to reach the destination would win and maybe some intoxication would make this even more fun for the public ? Like... was it even realistically possible for a bunch of drunkards to topple over and fall to the ground collectively, or would there always be enough resistance from some to keep going ?
Unfortunately, it was far too late for that already, even assuming that anybody would have been willing to listen to his suggestions in the first place. So Otios had to make a decisive move himself now and hated it no matter how much he had seen it coming. Just agreeing to participate in this mess for the sake of the future of one's own kind was one thing with a big comfort zone of abstraction around it, but actually being in it now felt so much like another. Far below him, the core of the small crowd started collapsing as the ribs of the man standing in the middle caved in under the pressure enacted by his comrades.
Even more unfortunately, this actually lowered the pressure and stopped the process from just continuing on its own. So, yes, he'd have to do the rest. The Yasoi launched his attack and dropped the other wire into the crowd below. He just knew that guiding a current through metal instead of just brute forcing it through bare air was far less straining and also did not create a brilliant flash of light that would betray his position quicker than any dangling wire could.
Or was it still dangling ? Not really. The end not in Otios' hand had found its way into the Eskandr and they, in their panic, did not really seem to even notice it pressing against their clothes, their armors, their bare skin even. He pressed the two ends in his hands together and let the carnage begin. No need to incinerate anybody as that would, again, have been a waste of energy urgently needed later on. Wreaking havoc upon the control of muscles, last but not least the one pumping the blood, was enough. The Eskandr started to release their poop into their pants as their nervous systems experienced catastrophic failure one after another. What would others say when stumbling upon this part of their diversionary force some minutes later ?
Otios realized only afterwards how eerily convenient this way of killing had been. He had not been burdened with seeing anybody in the eyes as they had died for he had been in a tree far above their heads. He had also not caused a bloodshed like any regular solider was condemned to do, just some burn marks nobody would care about. There were no blood stains on himself, no sweat, no nothing that would need to be maintained and thereby be able to remind him later on about his doings. His weapon had been a pair of long wires taken away from an originally very different purpose, and the only thing wrong with them now was being a bit hot for a few minutes. And a crowd had, somehow, just made things more anonymous.
Now he should probably get off this damn tree however and relocate, right ?
Interacting: Caelum @RezonanceV. Event: Defense of Relouse |Location: Cap Redame, Parrence.
Collab: Caelum @RezonanceV““Are you called Asier?”” Caelum paused. ““My name is Caelum of Oraphe, this is Mathieos and Dieudonne of Vitroux, we wish to support the expeditionary force.”
Asier smiles brightly as he greets the Paladin and his companion, “Welcome to this patch of green paradise, where the sea is blue, and the sand is yellow. Glad you both could join, Asier Arslan as per service.”. He offers to take the pair by the hand to give a firm shake.
Caelum stretched out his hand, “May Oraphe keep you.” He matched the strength of the Tourrare’s handshake and met his eyes as a sign of trust, “ It is our pleasure to join, it sounded as if you had a plan back at camp, is this true?” Caelum released his grip and stepped back to maintain a respectful distance.
“Plan is to harass the Eskandr as they come to the bend ahead”, Asier points to the direction, following the edge. “We Tourrare are skirmishers, instead of waiting for the enemy to come to us, we come to them. They come to our defences battered and bruised, the logic of the Steppes.” He does move his hand side-to-side, “We are not at the Steppes, so this would be clumsy, but a similar principle being applied in my mind. We may need to improvise a lot.”
Caelum thought about the pre-emptive mentality of his new ally. He had never encountered the Steppes people of Parrence. A missed opportunity that Caelum was now happy to discover in front of him, “Then we should conceal our men behind the fields at the point of the Cape and take our positions at the south ridge to spot the enemy and give the signal when a few ships pass between the two lands, we should position some casters in the tower of the church as well to give us a greater distance on the first volley.” Caelum looked toward Cap Redame and back at the bold Tourrare, “After you.” Caelum politely passed his hand toward the Cap as he mounted his horse to follow Asier to the tip of where all the action would begin.
Asier agreed with the outlay of the plan, “Conventional ambush should work well. If we can slow down their force, we can give the defenders much needed time for preparations.” He tugs his second horse along with him, riding towards the tip, “Now for us to have a good look at what is waiting for us from the great Hrothgar the Chartreuse.” He gives the signal to the men to move into their positions, halting those accompanying as he scouts ahead with Caelum.
The sound of hooves and strong boots pounded the earth of Cap Redame as each soul settled into their role as apart of the first defense for Relouse. Caelum and Asier both trekked to the cliff’s edge south of the monastery where the fierce waves of Parrence smashed against dark stones. Eskandrs were great sailors, but even in these conditions would wrestle their skills. The two kept watch as the ocean breeze wafted by, “Is that fog?” Caelum looked into the distance but could not tell what was separating the horizon and the water, “Asier, the horizon, it looks strange, can you see anything?”
Asier looks out towards the waves as the white mist travels towards them, the lead ships moving as if they were sailing on clouds. “It looks as if they were sailing on the clouds themselves.”, he smiles brightly as he indicates the line, “ We should have a better view up here as they approach. It appears they are trying to obscure their numbers, but they forget we have the high ground.” He indicates with his hand that the Eskandr have been spotted and for preparations to be made. “Have you found yourself in battle with the Eskandr before, Paladin of Oraphe? A first raid faced myself, more tasked with dealing with the northern raiders. More savage and less disciplined up north. With the Eskandr, rumours are that they work together in herds centred around the captain of each ship being the bull.”. He defers to Caelum for his experience of facing the Eskanders.
Caelum listened to Asier as he pointed out the Eskandr vessels that began to emerge from no fog, but a mist. Asier directed the two to higher ground to get a better read on how many Eskandr were actually going to be engaging the shores, while traversing to this higher ground, Asier asked Caelum about his experience with Eskandr which triggered his most recent memory. A whisper escaped his lips as he saw, “Oleric.” Caelum raised his eyes, “Yes, I have met the Eskandr before…they certainly work together in herds centered around their most adept fighters but something has changed in their tactics…I was at Vitroux, and they did more than just act like a herd, they were organized like a great army.” Caelum paused, “I feared we would make the same mistake here, underestimating how much Eskandr are learning about us, but I have been surprised by how many see the vision Arcel and his beloved put forward, I pray we will be enough.” Caelum paused a second time to re-direct his attention to Eskandr tactics, “At Vitroux, they outnumbered us, kept us focused on one half of the battle while hitting us in the rear, they nipped at our ankles and poisoned our confidence like a viper hiding in tall grass, do not expect sheep following wolves, expect all of them to be wolves, and expect that these wolves are hungry, fierce, and worst of all, cunning without any honor to hold them back.” Parrence had already underestimated them at Vitroux, the same could not happen at Relouse or wherever the next fight took place, something was different about these Eskandr from the raiders Parrence had come to know…
Asier rubs upon his chin as he considers Caelum’s words. “Asked why the Eskandr would bother landing here if they knew our forces would meet them, and not simply sail past to an alternative spot whilst they had speed on their side.” He shrugs his shoulders as if to question ‘who knows’. “It would make sense for them to land at multiple points, an enemy weakened at its rear.” ponders upon the map, trying to recall if there were any other beach-heads available to land, though only recalling cliff faces all the way around. ”There is an Avician expression I heard once, it translates something like ‘if we can't find a way, we will make one’. If one was being inventive, only option would be trying to repurpose the river Bridal Veil Falls to the North for their sea-chariots.”
Caelum answered Asier, “Who is to say what we meet today is the entire Eskandr force? And, who is to know whether what we face today does not have a plan that will drop these cliffs into molehills to better land and maneuver their men?” Caelum did not have an actual answer to Asier, only more questions, because after his last experience, he would prefer to never be surprised again by the Eskandrs. Caelum would think of everything that could be possible and assume that the Eskandr are too. Caelum turned to Asier and dropped his hand on his shoulder to look him in the eyes as their horses touched side by side, “Asier, I do not think we fight savages like we once did, be prepared to fight something very different, more disciplined than the mindless herds you snatched the life from in the Steppes.” The two kept moving upward to higher ground, and as words of “prepare” left Caelum’s mouth, nothing could have prepared them for what they were about to see smothering the very water before them.
Asier lets out a long whistle as the boats come upon the horizon before them, as far as the eye can see. “That is a lot of sea-Chariots… no wonder you southerners had so much trouble.” He doesn’t even attempt to count the ships on his fingers as he looks towards Caelum. ”We should try to find a way to close the choke point, it should reduce the flow of the ships to the shore.” He points towards the gap between Ile Contrefort and Cap Redame. “The wreckage should work well to fulfil our needs, if not, will need something sturdier.”
It was definitely an idea, Caelum thought, but would it be enough. Probably not, the force steering their way was the largest Caelum had ever set eyes on. The estimated force was lower than what was out at sea right now, the same thing happened in Vitroux. Caelum warned Asier, “The wreckage will not be enough and neither will our ambush, we need to get everyone into defensive positions before we start taking volleys from the sea, and focus our assault on the lead boats, if we can get those lead boats to slow down or veer off course, maybe we can slow the rest down, but there are too many, we will not be able to hold here for long.”
Asier nods in understanding, “Then let's not make the same mistake, we hit them hard, slow them down, buy the time we need.” He moves to rides back towards the soldiers as he gives out the instructions before riding back next to Caelum, “Instructions are shared amongst the men.” The boats are approaching quicker, an endless swarm of armoured locusts ready to ravage the fields of Parrence. The pair move to take up their respective positions. “Willing to offer a prayer? We might be in dire need of good fortune.”
Caelum nodded to Asier’s request, bowing his head forward raising his voice for others to hear the comfort of Pentad’s words, “May the flashing of our swords be wet with the corrupted blood of those who seek to harm the children of Pentad, may our shields deflect the claws of monsters who wish to cut the throat of Pentad’s mothers, may our armor flex as the gnashing of demons bite down on us, their slayers, may our boots find roots where our enemies find shifting earth and no where to stand steadfast against our strength, may Pentad protect us and his sword be bathed in the blood of foul beasts and used to draw a line between our land and their deaths…Amen.” Caelum raised his head and then his hand to order the first volley as the ships reached good striking distance from the cliffs of the monastery, “If Echeran is who they seek, let us show them the way!” The opening valley was in true celebratory style. Rocks, arrows, and various power infused attacks are rained down upon the Eskandr. Ship after ship explodes, erupts, the splinters shower the surrounding ships. There was something visceral in watching how a burning bounder crashes into the top of a longship, the way it crunches bone, chargrills flesh, causes men to scatter like ants. The boat starts to bend in two, sinking underneath the boulder in the middle as the ends tip up and sink under the surface.
There is no pleasure taken in the ending of one's life, and there is little appetite in the glorification of it. “Only the dead have seen the end of war.”. The shot from his own bow hammered into the side of a longship, with the force-enhanced thud causing a grave wound to the bilge as the Eskandr rushed to try to stop the rising waters before removing their armour to swim in the waters. Only Dami can judge these souls now.
Despite the might of the Parrench expeditionary force, the attack fell short. The Eskandr were more than prepared as the gaps in their offensive were filled almost seamlessly. Whilst the Parrence attack might have been stronger than they predicted, it seems they had their own plans, the counter attack was beyond expectations. The ferocity of the bombardment was intense, It appeared that this was the Eskandr intention all along, to reduce the Cape to rubble, perhaps even turn it into a second beach-head. Wave after wave comes against them, the church exploding as the chunks of stone, laid down for centuries, scatter like pebbles caught within the wind. As the catapults engulf in flame, he rides alongside Caelum. “King Arcel needs to know what has happened. Do what you can, lead these men the best you can.”. With a giddy-up of his two horses, he rode to the King’s camp, as the fastest rider, only he could pass on the message before it was too late.
King Hrothgar is coming with the Greatest Heathen Army Sipenta has ever seen. Fate has cast its dice, and King Arcel will have to defend the world, and the Gods of the Pentad themselves as we know it.
Asier and Caelum scout out the enemy forces. Planned to try to slow the advancing fleet by targetting the head. Eskandr forces conducted an overwhelming assault on Cape Redcamp. Asier used his speed to travel back to King Arcel's camp with what has transpired to allow any important decisions to be made with the latest information.
Interacting with: Self @Salsa Verde Opportunity: Eskand-aligned Players - Potential travellers that have shared the same boat for the siege. And those of Parrench looking to battle NPC’s Event: Siege of Relouse Location: Cape of Redame
It was true that the previous nights feast and talk with Hrothgar put her anxious spirits to rest, she had no semblance of a reason to be so adamant about the battle seeing as she was neither seerer nor gifted by the vision of the raven. Kol’s presence may have been what reassured her soul the most however. Sharing the hall had made it feel like ages had passed since she had last seen him and for that matter Hildr and Vali as well. A slight tinge of quaint memories flooded her head, mostly at the notion of how they all had met, specifically that lout of a ranger Vali. Between his towering stature and confident personality she knew that had she stuck with him from the boats to the start of the battle she would have nothing to fear, save for the loss of Parrench bodies to Vali and Kol in their numbers game.
When the waves broke and the initial ships were not obscured or cloaked by the army of shamans and magic men of the like, Eskandr’s would gaze upon the Cape. The slight modicum of fear beat roughly against her chest in unison with the cacophonous beat of the war drams heavy on her heels. There was a trill of excitement, bloodlust, and anxiety stuck in her throat that made her want to cough and herald out a frog that seemingly sat in the back of her mouth. The landscape and sheer force on either side was what launched her from warrior to champion as her raids were small and dismal in comparison from the lands in which she hailed. Her breath heavy, puffing out clouds of hot air, finally broke into a laugh she could no longer hold back. It was reassuring to feel as though Hrothgar was smiling under his heavy helmet as well.
All sound was sucked from the surrounding space as if a vacuum has appeared. Only broken by the crashing of stones and boulders launched from catapults, laced with the sting of arrows fastened onto ballista. The waters thrashed from the shockwaves, capsizing some boats and rocking other vigorously. Hrothgar’s boat and those ships that sailed beside him moved only slightly but had enough of a push to throw Ulfhild from her position before relocating herself with some stability. The roar of the sea, projectiles, and men wailing as boats became to crumble all began to muddle together. Despite their best efforts, between magic and the grave waiting below the waves, the army of Eskand was unwavering, unflinching, an daunting in number that a ship was easily replaced by another.
Through the detritus of it all, they began their counter attack. Arrows, flames, all the elements began wizzing and singing past her ears. It was pure carnage both on sea and even more so on land. Her knuckles began to grow white as she had one hand gripped hard on her bow and the other twitching with an inch to snatch an arrow of her quiver and plant it in the defenders of the shore. She had wondered how her brothers were fairing.
Just then the two brothers howled in elation when the mast halted and the inertia of the shore stopped their ships. Behind the aid of a Thunder Warlock the few preliminary ships tasked with being the first waves made ground fall. Axes jumped into both hands appearing as if the brothers were one and had embodied four arms with four axes in hand. While the others were no warriors and more akin to farmers and the geriatric these two were spry with life and the glory of being the first force wouldn’t slip past them, for they wanted to set a tempo that could leave the following waves into an ease of capture. Arvid knelt down, Haldor approaching from behind before using his brother as a stump to catapult himself into a wave of Parrench soldiers. Arvid was quick to follow plunging his axes deep into the armor of Parrench making it crunch under the weight of his strikes.
The two carved a path through the defenders who met them, constantly tossing and catching their axes by different positions to deal a flurry of strikes. Both Ulven’s made it back to one another where they pushed their back together ensuring neither had a blind spot exposed. Some men were hesitant to attack, others waited for braver soldiers to initiate an attack, and others led the charge. Yet it didn’t matter for each of these men all died the same and without their god smiling kindly upon them. Their axes need not be retrieved immediately fore they disarmed the men in front of them and plunged their own iron and steel into their bodies. While the two brothers did have shields painted in the color of their banner they need not for its use, there would be no shield wall only the fury of their metal. Just as the bear Ulfhild had slain these two snarled in battle and tore flesh from the soldiers faces through prying teeth alone. The blood smeared along with their paint giving the natives their validation that these men were indeed heathens.
These men were simply fodder, reject knights that failed to climb up the nobility in terms of status or skill. While there was pride for killing them there was no glory in killing lowly foot soldiers as there was in stripping a prominent knight of his life. They looked high and low through the clamor and clanging of swords in search of someone(s) worthy of their hunt. Hopefully someone would take notice of them and face them in their own territory.
Back to Ulfhild she waited for Hrothgar’s orders while the mist held fast around them, the element of surprise was surely in their favor, the only thing that could have made this siege any better was the roar from father’s hammer in the sky with rain falling aggressively behind it. Kol had already landed and began his own mark and raze of Parrench forces leaving her to wait in the boat in his leave. Wait, you must wait, she told herself knowing that she would be saved for the third and final group hidden in wait of their own task. All she could do was look on in horror to those who were not granted a swift nor easy death. A mix of the two factions had men riddled on the shore with ample injuries. Some struggled to release themselves from the clasp of shock when they realized they no longer had limbs. Others had been gutted and pointlessly begun stuffing their innards back inside of them hoping to survive.
There was wailing, gurgles, final breaths and the clang of might and magic. The stench of blood and burnt hair and flesh was almost overpowering to a sensitive nose like hers. Necks were slit others fully decapitate. Heads and bodies were crushed under rocks, some unfortunate enough to have simply a part trapped underneath eager to free themselves. Some were floating on the wood of a ballista snaring them into the sky while others were riddled with normal arrows with an uncanny resemblance to a pin cushion or archery target. This continued in what felt like a folk tale length of all the ways a man could die in battle. Ulfhild had resided to not having the opportunity to perish in battle at least not this one. She hoped Systir, Bróðir, and Faðir may watch over the safety of her brothers.
Lyen's work made little visible difference to the beach. Especially in comparison to the variable forest the small swamp witch had created. A close inspection might reveal the tops the jagged stone barely making themselves visible as the waves rolled back from the shore: But high tide would hide them better when the enemies landed. Let them wade through the high waters; at the mercy of thunder-mages before reaching the barely covered sand traps placed along the path inland. Her hands were covered in sand and clothes crusted with salt spray by the time she was done. It was growing late but she'd have time to at least change before the battle began. She was stopped on her way back to the camps by another Yasoi, a man a least a decade her junior tried re-directing her towards the Witch Wood.
"We're to meet Talit at the tree line." He finished his rehearsed message and turned before she could respond, he was so certain she would follow.
"I was assigned to a human Captain this morning and received no such orders." Lyen had no desire to hide in the woods while the first battle of Perrence waged barely a mile away. The main force of Eskand would be arriving on the beach and she would be there to witness it.
"As you say I suppose" Was all he said with barely a shrug, but this time Lyen took hold of him before he moved away.
"Just one thing" Oblivious, or simply uncaring about surrounding watchers, Lyen hiked her skirts past her calf, removing the blade strapped there. Unsheathed, it was bight polished silver, barely more than a flash light as she dragged it, without hesitation, across the back of her own forearm. The font of blood made its way down to her finger tips, where did not drip to the ground but instead flowed back upwards, twisting between each finger until a coin-sized pool rested in her palm. The Yasoi man, apparently familiar enough with the process, rolled his sleeve to expose his shoulder, where Lyen finally allowed the blood to fall. Most disappeared into the skin, until only a small raised freckle remained. In her own body, Lyen reached out and felt the man's heartbeat, just barely out of rhythm with her own, and loud at this proximity, but it was a distraction she was accustomed to tuning out.
"Ilbin ist Oirase triec" With a tight smile, he nodded in thanks for her blessing and they finally parted ways.
It wasn't clear just how controlled and organized the chaos in the camps had been until true disorder and panic erupted. Lyen had only just finished changing when the shouting and crowd of people drew her out of the tent. There was a stretcher, still mounted knights, and far too many pushing hands to see much else. Above it all a splitting howl of agony.
"A binder! Someone fetch a binder!" Lyen's heart sank. The role of medic had been the one she'd most carefully avoided up to this point. She'd already spent the better part of two decades tending to the wounds of humans, and had learned as much as she cared to about the subject. But when she saw hands pulling off pieces of armor still fused to skin of the awake and screaming man she stepped forward.
"Stop! You're making it worse, step away and let me bind him." She dropped two small vials from the pouch of her hip and stepped on them. Using the small wisp of essence they produced she placed a hand on each side of the screaming man's head. Almost instantly his eyes closed and he stilled to silence. It was finally quiet enough for the others surrounding them to hear what she was saying.
"He needs water and space. You two, take him into my tent. Someone tell me what happened." The inside space of her quarters was tight with Lyen, her patient, and his squire kneeling beside her, keeping the basin water clean and full while retelling the events of Cap Redame to the best of his ability.
Lyen listened as she diligently dissolved the plate attached to burnt skin, which she did her best to repair. It was tedious work, gruesome and slow but resulting in much of the man's own flesh being saved. One of the few less fortunate areas was his left torso: The heat there had been enough to melt through the fat and muscle to expose the beginning of his rib cage. She had only just finished grafting the area from some of her preserved remains when a feeling intense dread hit her so suddenly Lyen froze in the midst of her labours.
"Something's wrong-" Dread quickly melted to panic as the realization for the feeling finally dawned. It was the second heartbeat - the connection to the Yasoi in the woods. He was dying. The impossibility of it stunned Lyen for longer still. It should have been impossible, there weren't nearly enough forces north to face a contingent of Yasoi in the trees.
She stood, abruptly ending her work. When the squire began asking questions and demanded she remain she brushed his concerns aside. "He'll live." She said. Badly scared with and with extensive damage to the nerves, but he would survive well enough without any more intervention from her. The second heartbeat she could hear continued to skip and fade.
"Zulc!" Her Captain from the morning had suddenly appeared and was blocking her path. He'd allowed himself in her tent, leaving barely enough room for the three conscious occupants to stand. At least someone had reminded him of her name this time. "You're needed on the beach-head." He took no notice of the squire, patient, or blood staining everything including Lyen herself.
"I'm needed in the Witch Wood." She countered, pushing him out of the crowded space with her. If the Yasoi were overwhelmed, had they failed to even get warning out? She could imagine their bodies littering the forest floor, only to be trampled by a Eskandr vanguard. They'd already been wrong once about Cap Redame. The stories of mistakes made at the city of Vitroux rang in her ears louder than the captain's commands.
"Orders are for the second battalion to make for the beach. Its too late for reassignments now. Beach-head Yosai. Now." Lyen glared after him until he turned out of view, when she poked her head back into her tent.
"You rode back here on a horse?" The squire nodded. "I'll need to borrow it."
Within five minutes she was riding north of the camp, towards the Witch Wood, and getting her first real view of war.
- Traps set up on beach include rocks to hinder boats trying to come ashore and sand traps for those that make it to the beach to fall into. - Lyen helps save one of the Knights almost killed in Cap Redame - Worried the Yasoi are overwhelmed at the Witch Wood Lyen disobeys orders to go to the beachhead and instead rides for the forest.
Mentions/Interaction: Vali, Twice Born @Wolfieh, Hrothgar the Black, and the warriors under his command @Force and Fury
The sounds of metal clasping and clattering together, yet it sounded more solid, as the metal hitting each other seemed to be solid yet not letting off a resonating sound. Kol stands tall as on each of his sides people stand holding a piece of black armor that is to be fit to him. Some seem to struggle with each piece as it seemed to weigh much more than expected, yet to Kol it has became a simple weight now. He had trained to fight, run, jump, climb in this armor, and now to him it is nothing more than his armor now. As the armor began to form on Kol, these scales that once covered a great Dragon now covers the man who slayed it. As they attached piece after piece, his thoughts led back to the war council, the heated talks about how they are to go at the beach of Relouse. Yelling could be heard of each side: If they were to go straight on, they'd surely be routed, the beach could not allow them to the beach all the ships they have brought to allow their forces to flood the area, they'd be killed in a choke that the cliffs formed. Others spoke about turning the cliffs into rubles as they sent wave after wave until they could send all of their people through. Yet a third option was tossed into the pool, one that was silently spoken between those closest to Hrothgar.
The cliffs were but a small mountain, any able Eskandr has once in their life climbed a wall, a mountain, or a cliff, and today was going to be nothing different. Like a hidden viper, they will send forces in a pincer, allowing for a feint to occur, then the true force comes and drops the axe. Kol had volunteered to be the one to take the cliffs, few had the similar powers or prowess Kol has. He was to be the one to spearhead, and he hand-picked those lords who are to follow. Those who understood the meaning behind Death's Hand must understand fully what is to happen, no one the Hand of Death points to will be able to run from it.
As the fog began to lighten, Kol knew they were to reach their destination soon, and so it was time for him to make his appearance. As Kol had finally stepped from his chambers, he stood in front of hundreds of men preparing themselves. Many seem to be giving last prayers, others take out herbs, mushrooms, or tinctures as they begin to consume them. As it seemed men change to beasts as they almost become crazed, barely leashed by the shamans that are accompanying these berserkers. Kol began to make his way to the helm of the ship as he looked back to his people, they looked to him as if waiting. Kol took in a breath as he took in the energy from the sea, the energy around him began to feel palpable to even those who are unable to use the Gift, as he let out a roar to the skies. Almost like a war horn was sounded, as the roar of the Eskandr were against the waves almost sounded like the clamoring of beasts trying to be released from their cage.
As the ships closed in on the cliff, Kol stood upon the helm of the ship he looked to his side and saw those who will follow his lead. His Brother of the closest order is to follow behind, Kol then looked to his other side and some of his most trusted Jarls. Of them many had sworn loyalty to him after him taking the crown of Strumreef from his father. They were the ones to know the fate of their land without his hand, and what it bears, and now they followed it. As they looked towards Kol he gave them a head nod as each of them flew off in a soaring leap, as Kol watched his people launch themselves to the sky his mind began to fill of wyverns, as he himself soared.
Like a boulder hitting the earth, Kol landed with such force that it crushed the ground under him like fresh snow. He pulled in the energy when he would land to make the landing deal no pain to Kol. As he stood at the cliff, the last sliver of Sun finally set upon his back, as soon, Kol felt his body lighten, as he knew it was time. He looked towards Val and said, "Brother, go an take this group and scout ahead. Any hidden mages or groups will need to be dealt with". As he raised his hand, he gestures to a group of hunter-like warriors, strong and slender men and women, armed with bows, slings, and javelins. Many of them seem keen and ready and from a quick glance quite a few seem to have some skill in the gift. They were going to be hunting stragglers and hidden mages they might plan to use from this wilderness, disrupting possibly larger groups before Kol and his group would plow them down.
Kol turned to his men as his hand landed upon one man, then another, then another and multiple as he began barking orders to them. These men who Kol pointed to will be the ones directing groups and splitting them up, as they were going to be splitting into 2 trains, each will be sent to hit different parts of the northwestern wall. The first and the larger of the forces will be heading directly towards the gates, while the other one will be taking a wide berth to clear out and rout the possible hidden rear guard then meet back up with the other half of their force. Kol was going to be heading the 2nd force to clear the possible hidden rear guard, because if they were to be at the wall and then a secondary rear guard pulls up and pincers them against the wall, even the weakest Shamans and Mages the Greenlanders can muster would be ten folds effective.
Kol then looked to the men who are ready to follow and yelled to them, "FORWARD!!!" As the men roared they ran forward to the forest, as Kol looked towards it, he thought about his Blood Brother whom he sent in first. Kol knew he would do fine, he was a hunter of great renown, and all this force was to do was to clear out any stragglers or big groups Vali left behind. Yet as Kol looked towards the woods he and his people were to head towards, he felt as if there was something within that looked like a hidden predator. Like a spider as they enter its web.
-Kol recalls the many different plans, and his involvement in the feint. -Lands near The Witch Woods and sends Vali and multiple skilled hunters, warriors, and people skilled in the gift. -Splits his group into 2, one group to head to the gate immediately while Kol takes a few more people to rout the rest of the possible rear guard within the Woods.
The fleet from Eskand materialized out of mist like breath or thought so that they did not arrive but simply appeared, god-driven. The maws of many-toothed ship heads loomed like mythical beasts reared back as to unleash torrents of flame, and the ropes holding closed the great furl of their sails snapped in a salt-tainted breeze.
Osanna’s mouth tasted of salt as well, dry with trepidation as four knights led by a man of Oraphe and one of the horsemen of the steppe rode back to join the main force at Cap Redame. Far ahead of her, in this shifting sea of creaking leather and rustling mail, they spoke to the soldiers, and their message was relayed back in a series of grunts and shouted orders. Take up defensive positions. Prepare to harry the Eskandr.
At the Rezaindian Convent in Chiroux, Osanna had been taught the ways of fighting. She knew how to draw a bow, how to heft a spear, how to wield a mace, and of course, always, from the time when she had begun as a child in stolen secret moments at night, there was the sword.
None of this had prepared her for open battle. She was a creature of the night, of silence, shadows, and slit throats.
This— This was madness.
With an avalanche of hooves, the force at the Cap Redame thundered forward, magic hissing to life around her as practitioners drew on their schools. The longships were just an arrow’s throw away, separated from the Parrench defenders by a thin line of rock cliffs and a stretch of wind-torn water. Despite their higher ground, the ships seemed to loom over them, large and unearthly.
Osanna drew back the string of the bow, timing her shot with the steps of her mare and the beating of her heart. It flew with dozens of other missiles, both magical and mundane, a barrage of steel and energy that must fell any opposing force. Osanna almost thought it would as the great ship positioned before them reeled in the water, slowing as fire bloomed over its deck, lighting along the mast like a torch for the Pentad. Osanna drew again, the arrow going wild as Shade tossed her mane, then drew again and struck true, just one among a clawed, roaring mass. Another ship careened away, and then a third.
If this was madness, then let her be mad. A wild, new exaltation filled her even as the first few drops of rain darkened Shade's gray hide. ”Echeran empower me in this fight against the heathen Eskandr. Let them fall to bloody deaths amid salt and fire and their souls become an offering to the Bringer of War. Should I fall... In death, glory.” Osanna shot another arrow, and then the reprisal came.
The first blast struck to Osanna’s right—lightning hot enough to singe her skin yards away. A shower of dirt and stone followed it, pelting her through her leathers and the thin opening in her helm. In the aftermath, her helmet rang with it, and no other sound managed to penetrate, the world falling to sudden, buzzing silence.
Shade reared, and Osanna fell from the saddle into churned earth, boots and hooves coming down in a frenzied panic around her. The ground shook. Shade side-stepped and snapped Osanna’s borrowed bow in two. The heavens split again, heat like no fire she had ever known leaving great, spidering scorch marks across the land even as it toppled man and beast alike.
All around her, the defense of Cap Redame was breaking, space opening up as knights and soldiers wheeled their horses around to flee. Osanna hauled herself to her feet, bruised but whole, and reached for her horse only to find the gray galloping back towards camp, Osanna’s saddle fallen haphazardly to the side as the girth tore partially open.
There was nothing else for it. Osanna ran.
Earth sprayed up behind her, the air miasmic with smoke and rain. The muscles of her belly stretched, her thighs reaching up in a full sprint. A passing warrior on a big, bay warhorse held out a hand and half-hefted Osanna up, her armor splattered with dirt and gore, and Osanna scrambled for a hold around her waist.
For several moments, there was nothing but the rhythm of horse hooves, Osanna bouncing against the rump without the benefit of a saddle. A dark braid fluttered beneath the rim of the knight’s helm, sending strands whipping across her face, and the crashes of rock and splintering wood continued behind them.
“You up for more?” The woman’s voice was half torn from her lips by the wind, and Osanna just laughed in response. More of what? The bombardment?
They joined a party of fleeing defenders from the Cap as they came upon a stretch of beach to the north where a number of enemy boats were just nosing up to the sand. It was beginning to rain, a cleansing patter that soaked through Osanna’s leathers and obscured the thin stretch of land she could see through the slit in her helm. She tore it off her head and left it in the mud behind them; she would be able to see better without it.
The small group of defenders slowed to regroup. There were so many less than there had been, a ragtag assortment of lesser knights and soldiers. They weren’t the only such party that Osanna could see, but they were the closest to the beach—if beach was even the word for it any longer given the strange pools, trees, and protrusions now dotting the sand. Osanna braced herself against the lady knight’s shoulder and swung off the horse.
It was calm, just for a moment. Osanna had a breath to find herself, and she leaned back, letting the rain splatter across her face before drawing her sword.
“Are you ready?”
Osanna grinned up at the knight and made the sign of Echeran with her sword hand, drawing her dagger with her left. “Find me after?”
The knight just laughed, and then they were charging again, spilling out onto the sand like an inkblot over fresh paper. They hit the first Eskandr to jump off their boats in a tide of bodies, Osanna flicking between them, her sword leaping into the nooks offered by armor.
A big, fur-cloak warrior ran in with a longsword, attempting to cut her in two, bringing his blade down in a heavy-handed sweep. Osanna just side-stepped slightly, letting his weapon slide down the length of her raised sword even as she thrust her dagger through his throat. The next was more cautious, standing back with his blade raised in a guard. Osanna sheathed her dagger and gripped the edge of her sword in her left hand, shoving aside her opponent’s weapon and sliding the honed tip through his throat in one smooth motion. She took up a shield dropped by a fallen Parrench soldier and took the brunt of a heavy bash from another Eskandr, reaching around to hamstring his unguarded left leg. When he fell, she put her sword tip through his eye.
All around her was a chaos of blood-mad bodies, but this sort of battle made sense. It was a sword in her hand, a touch of Force in her veins. Dancing in the rain.
Interacting with:@Dao Ma Maerec @Pirouette Camille - Any Parrence Aligned at the Beach! - Any Eskandish wanting to take on the Big Guy. Opportunity: Arnaud is leading the defence of the Beach and using a squad of Force Mages to blast away the Mist and obliterate ships with waves of force. Anybody is welcome to attack or help! Event: Defense of Relouse Location: La Plage
The Silence before the storm– A storm he was keen on ushering in himself. Many were already praying before the horizon was littered with the enemy, high and low-borns alike. Aheri never wasted his energy on such things, not from a standpoint of superiority, but rather he would never consider the possibility of falling to battle. And should he meet his match, the euphoria would be immense and the clash grand enough to shake the five moons themselves. The featureless, armoured executioner who bore the title many more noble than him spent a lifetime to earn stood tall at the top of a stoney hill bordering the sandy beach and the green lands surrounding Relouse. With him were a recently arrived troupe of men and women, all clad in an armour similar to his barring the lion symbol and the extra decorative touches. They were the few of his people that followed him, and all bore the gift of Force with them.
One that stood out was none other than one of those that did earn his title. Maerec de Solenne, a man Aheri would have remarked on how ‘pretty’ he looked, just like Asier, had it not been for his scars. They had never formally met beyond crossing eyes on various occasions in the King’s court. The stoic Arnaud stood at the peak of the small hill, just barely turning his head to acknowledge the younger man, ”Oui. On m’a informé de ton arrivée*. I’m all ears.” he mixed his Parrench and Avincian in a cocktail of accents that were honestly quite difficult to makeout for those uninitiated, and many rarely dared to make him repeat, if only due to his size and a lack of facial features to gauge his metallic tone, slightly muffled by his helm.
Maerec proposed a plan that coincided nicely with Arnaud’s own standards. To sabotage the enemy through drainage of Force energy, and feed it to Arnaud and his squad of mages to retaliate full-force. An interesting position to have as a Knight, being a full-on support, as most had the tendency to simply want to prove their worth. Many of which would attempt and fail in the coming Cap battle. Perhaps Maerec’s wisdom would be what keeps him alive through the coming ordeal. The Blood mages and the Yasoi female were preparing the beach, some of which were specifically designed by Arnaud. The sands at the extremes of the beach were made into quicksand, similar to the many he had encountered in his treks in the West to claim the land that would one day be Virang. Most fodder and weaker mages were essentially doomed without a plan to handle them, and how often did the Eskandr ever raid the deserted lands of the North and West? The only safe landing area was at the centre, where troops were already positioned, and the shoring ships would be funnelled into.
”Dame Camille de la Saumure.” he called out in the ranks, ”Come.” the massive figure extended his hand out and gestured his fingers for her to come. From her position she likely only saw his back, and would only find a fully-armoured giant the closer she got with no distinguishable human features, ”Quand ils mettront les pieds sur la terre sacrée de Parrence, je peux compter sur ta volontée? Ainsi de m’aider avec tes paroles divines?**” he turns his head ever so slowly to look into her direction, gauging the youngling’s reaction and resolve. Such a young Knightess, so clearly out of her depth. It reminded Arnaud of his own youth. Thrust into battle as a prodigy, and perhaps she too would become a war-bound hound like he did.
Here they were. The Southern Armada. An army bigger than anything Aheri had ever seen, whether it was in Rettan or Belzagg, he had never seen such a fleet in one place with this level of coordination. It was impressive, but nothing that would make the metal-clad executioner flinch. He stood firm in place, stalwart to the cause he had taken and unmoving in his resolve. He brandished his axe from over his shoulder and roughly slammed the pommel over the stone below him, causing a mighty thud to reverberate throughout the Parrench lines and the lines of sand they had carefully prepared for the occasion. It was a signal: The enemy was here, and they had to step up.
Archers and ranged mages went first, blasting away at one another. Lightning strikes from a considerably powerful Thunder mage terrified the many, even some of Arnaud’s close men, but he didn’t budge. Should he be struck, his own accumulated Force energy was enough to repulse a stray bolt, and he could perhaps even draw from it to return the favour to the source. But then came the Mist and the visible destruction of Redane from even Arnaud’s position. Something had happened, something that would have made a younger Zuyr king rush into battle, but he knew better now. Only by holding his position would they have a chance, and he made sure neither his men, nor Maerec, nor even the young little Camille would seize the misguided initiative.
”Trickery already, eh? Very well.” he chuckled while clenching the metal bar that held his weapon together.
Dark clouds began to form above them. A bad omen or maybe a signal? In any case, as the battle commenced and longboats began to make land, the experienced warriors on the beach would not be the only ones to notice a major discrepancy. Arnaud could feel it ever since the mist came about, but now that he could witness the Eskandish tactic unravel, he wordlessly raised his poleaxe, holding it as close to the pommel as he could. He swung it in a circular manner over his head, prompting a considerable amount of air to unleash from the motion. And then another, with the accumulated air getting bigger and bigger. Aheri’s men began to draw from that very air while simultaneously slowing the enemy on the beach with similar forms of drawing with Maerec spearheading the endeavour. With more and more gusts of air concentrating over Aheri and his men adding to it and ‘containing’ it in a small area, it was becoming more apparent that his goal was to conjure up a small storm– a very localised hurricane to not only attempt to dispel the mist with violent winds, but also focus enough of it to unleash a devastating blast to the fleet.
Projectiles were beginning to lose efficiency on both ends, as the winds became more violent in the Beach area, while those in Relose and the Cape were definitely feeling powerful drafts coming their way. Arnaud had no issue continuously drawing and unleashing more Force via his axe’s movement. And when it was time, his second hand came to hold his poleaxe as well. The massive weapon, readied and now still with a great concentrate of energy and air held together by his men and Maerec right above it, was to descend down the same manner he had always done to exact the King’s Justice. He purposely aimed it toward a ‘trapped’ area of the Beach, aiming slightly to the direction of the Cape where there had been a confirmed assault already. The blast was massive, more than what a Third Wheel could normally unleash. Although he was not only a Leadvein, but it was a group effort too. A straight, vertical wave of pure force blasted through the sands and waters alike, unleashing a horizontal shockwave in its wake akin to multiple explosions occurring in that one slash.
Any boat in the way would likely be obliterated, those just shy of the main blast would be propelled so harshly, survival was unlikely, and those far enough to survive but feel the full might of the shockwave would capsize and be devoured by the ocean’s waves prompted from the mighty attack. With that, Aheri banked that the blast would be enough to dispel the mist, if only temporarily, and get proper sight of the Eskandish machinations. The blast went as far as about 200 metres, matching many other mage attacks, although the shockwave extended much farther (albeit losing its lethality beyond a 15 metre distance from the epicentre).
The conjured mini-storm had made communication difficult for that brief moment, and would only be now that word would come to Arnaud regarding the Cape and the Witchwood, ”Hold. Your. Post.” he called out for all those nearby to hear. Without an order from the King, or a high ranking official, it was foolish to expect anything good from questioning authority and battle strategies now, ”If Le Lion needs help, he can come and get it.” he bellowed out as he raised his weapon once more, going for another round of storm conjuring with his battle-induced laughter of excitement muffled by the gusts of wind surrounding him. So long as Arnaud remained at the top with his support, safeguarding La Plage, the divided Eskandish had little chance of breaking through the middle by brute force. Not without a proper mage to take charge.
*Yes. They’ve informed me of your arrival. **When they will put their feet on the sacred land of Parrence, I can count on your will? As well as conferring me your divine words?
-Maerec proposes to support Arnaud as a Force Saboteur on the Beach and enhancer to the berserker. The latter also has a small troupe of lesser Force mages from his Tribe to assist. -Camille is beckoned to join Arnaud, and then encouraged to show what she's got when the battle starts. -The Mist's deception gets everyone, and Arnaud conjures a 'storm' of wind with the help of Maerec, his squad, and perhaps even Camille's 'prayers', creating a localised hurricane to begin to dispel it and hinder navigation. -He then swings his axe to unleash all the accumulated winds and force into a single, vertical wave to 'cut through' the veil and blast it it away, scrambling the boats in the process and probably destroying quite a bit. -He can continuously do this if not pressured by a strong force. -Arnaud will likely pressure the Cape if he is allowed to mow through the Beach with his team of mages and the bulk of the army, but is contingent on orders from Arcel.
Location: Relouse city walls, near the eastern gate
“From Echeran’s scarlet throne…” “Descends a power on high.” “Safeguarding our souls…” “Against struggle and strife.” “To the Bringer of War…” “Friend to the wielders of fire and sword.” “Your servants pray to thee...” “In our moment of direst need.” “Grant us the courage to face the enemy...” “Fill us with strength unequaled.” “We are dogs that feed on carnage...” “Our spirits flourish in the field of battle.” “By your command we face war unending….” “In the darkest of hours, we heed thy call.” “We shall give no mercy. We shall show no fear.” “In Echeran’s name we pray. Amen.”
The three Rezaindians sat cross legged atop the walls with their hands raised in prayer. While the garrison in the south engaged the Eskandr vanguard, those on the eastern battlements held themselves in reserve. As an auxiliary unit to Captain Auclair’s company, the trio of priests were under orders to remain on standby until further orders from the crown.
The captain’s men showed exceptional discipline as they moved materiel back and forth across the walls. He had drilled them well, and everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going. Onagers and ballistae were wheeled in or assembled on site while sleds full of ammunition delivered bolts and stones to their defensive positions. Barrels of arrows were dragged into place where the archers could easily restock.
Gerard stopped praying for a moment and twisted his upper body towards Auclair, who was eyeing the sky suspiciously. Unlike the common soldiery, the minor nobleman was clad in armor befitting his wealth. Heavy scales and lamellar plates shielded most of his body from harm. His status was conveyed by an intricate heraldic tabard which displayed his family’s crest and coat of arms. The plumage on the officer’s helmet blew about in every direction as a heavy wind slammed into the city walls, forcing many to brace themselves.
“What do your eyes see captain?” Gerard questioned. Captain Auclair angled his head slightly towards Gerard upon hearing his voice.
“The skies grow dark Red One, and storm clouds have begun to loom overhead. We may not be able to rely on your arcane power for much longer.”
“Do not worry. There is enough energy in this city for me to destroy a hundred longships.”
“Truly? Well, I hope it won’t be necessary. If they’re smart they’ll realize how outmatched they are and leave quickly.”
The defenders continued to bide their time. Gerard scraped a whetstone against his seax, vigorously sharpening the small sword in preparation for close combat. Tristan and Misha used their Gift to help move equipment around. Captain Auclair gave orders to the various squads under his command while occasionally stopping to speak to one of his aides. If one strained their ears, they could hear the sound of battle over the increasingly loud winds. The Eskandr vanguard must have landed and engaged their fighters on the beach.
Some time later, a messenger arrived at full sprint headed directly for the captain. The exhausted soldier raised the visor of his helmet and saluted.
“Sir, I bring news from the beach head! We have been deceived. The enemy is splitting its forces!” “What!? Are you sure?” Captain Auclair gently pushed his assistant away to give the messenger his undivided attention.
“Yes sir. Some of the lords are rallying men to defend the Witch Wood as we speak. How shall we respond?” The nobleman closed his eyes and considered the rapidly changing situation. Gerard and his two students began to rise to their feet, having overheard the new intelligence.
“What of our generals?” The older man inquired.
“The king’s orders still stand sir. They want us to hold our positions.”
“If we allow the heathens to capture our holds in the north and south, we will no longer be able to funnel them into our artillery. The tide of battle will flow heavily in favor of the enemy.” Captain Auclair grumbled. Gerard stamped his staff against the brickwork underfoot.
“That would be the assumption if we were following Parrench military doctrine, captain. The Eskandr do not fight like us. Their attack on the Witchwood may be a diversion. As your equal, I suggest you continue to consolidate this position.”
The officer’s face became quite severe, but after pondering over Gerard’s words he nodded his head in agreement. “Whether it is a full scale attack or a mere diversion, I am confident that His Majesty will answer appropriately. As you say, we should place our trust in the king and wait for further instructions.”
The caravan had the woman on edge, being in this feminine attire didn’t help with her feeling off either. Her thoughts about it all came to a halt when someone approached her. “By Ipte, what have I caught here today? A fair lady.” Hildr was visibly disgusted with the man. “Could you please refrain from this, I do not wish for any trouble. . .” the man closed the distance further with intent in his eyes. “Oh, miss. I do not wish for any trouble. I just wish for some fun.” It was then that the man touched her, causing the warrior to grab his arm and slam him down, shaking the cart. “Dare to speak to me like that again you Quentic dog!” Just moments later the cart was silent and the man sat far away from the woman, clenching his arm.
A couple days have passed and the caravan hit its destination of Salterburgh. Hildr took a deep breath as she stepped out and looked upon her kingdom of origin. going through the capital to search for a place to stay the night, she could hear whispers about her. Had she done something that caused trouble here or had Kressia become Quentic too? She couldn’t care about that for now, all that was required now was a peaceful night’s rest. Finding an inn and rather swiftly hitting the hay. The same couldn’t be said for the morning as two Kressian warriors waited for her outside. “Hildr, Duke Wulfric wishes your audience.”
Wulfric, that man probably summoned her to ask for her hand in marriage once more. He wasn’t even that bad of a man either, liked and approved by her father as well. Yet something about him sets her off. Like the passionate attempts were more cold and calculated. Once arriving in the court the duke welcomed the knight with open arms. “HIldr, it’s been too long! Have you reconsidered my offer?” Wulfric stood up from his stool and hugged his guest.
“I have not, Wulfric. . . However it is good to see that you are well.” Wulfric would fake a pained expression. “Oh, Hildr. How you hurt me so!” There was a twinkle in his eye, but this play ended rather soon as a serious look replaced it. “This was not why I summoned you here. Have you heard the news about Hrothgar?” The woman nodded. “Of course I have, it’s spread to every corner in Drudgunze.” Wulfric extended his arm towards the other with a confident smile. “I want you to join me in aiding his assault.”
“I accept.” The warrior smiled warmly, shaking the duke’s hand. “However, you might need to wear the armor of one of my knights. . I have plans for you, friend.” Hildr would look surprised. “one of your knights? This isn’t a trick to get me stuck in Kressia again, right?” Wulfric let go of her hand and faked a shocked expression. “You know I wouldn’t trick you into working under me. . . However, I do have some gifts for you once we return.” A sigh followed the warrior’s breath. “What is it this time? A piece of land? Becoming knight-captain?” a sly grin covered the duke’s face. “No, no, nothing like that. I want you to take your father’s place as my personal aide. That Quentic idiot brother of yours has been pestering me for this position and I would much rather give it to someone who isn’t ‘the lesser’. You know your father’s spent from ever fighting again, this is why I need you, Hildr. . . What do you say?” The conflicted Hildr nodded. “It’s quite dirty to bring my father into this. . . However I agree Siegfried isn’t meant to be in that position, especially after converting. .”
“Wonderful! Now that that’s sorted, we have to discuss my plans. I will plant you into my forces wearing our attire. We wouldn’t want them to know a dragonslayer was within our midst, you’d become an instant target and you’re worth more to me alive then dead.” “I see, that makes sense. I don’t think I’ll be able to move as comfortably in it however. .” Wulfric laughed. “That is the point Hildr, to not catch too much attention! If a knight suddenly starts fighting with the same force behind their hits as you they’d immediately realize something is off.” With an arm over the other’s shoulder the duke showed much confidence in his plan. “I will make sure the armor is fitted for you before we depart. Be sure to be ready within four day’s time.”
As some time had passed a rather annoyed Hildr would look upon the fleet that she was among. “I never thought Hrothgar would be this serious about it. . However the battle will turn, none will be happy with the results.” the Red now in Kressian knight attire would be approached by the same duke that had coerced her to join. “Isn’t this great? This will be our great triumph over those Quentic swines, hah!” Hildr was hesitant to be too excited. “Will this really be a triumph? Word has probably already spread and I am sure they wouldn’t be dumb enough to not reinforce it. . Hrothgar’s a smart man, but this will just get good men killed.” “I’m sure he has a plan that would be foolproof.” The duke laughed before returning to his men.
I’m sure you’re also going to be there, blood brother. . And I hope you were wise enough not to have Vali join you. That boy is perhaps even more talented than us both, but he is not ready for a battle like this yet. .
L O C A T I O N | The Witch Woods I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death’s Hand @Th3King0fChaos; Mentions of Nettle @A Lowly Wretch
Where Kol’s heavily armored form left its mark upon landing, Vali left nothing; his feet were light upon the ground, barely-there as he pulled the energy from the movement, practically instinct by now. His eyes scanned the cliff before them, senses reaching out with the Gift for any sign of danger among the rocks. Though these steep walls would make good shelter for seabirds, there were few that remained; with the scent of blood and storm on the wind, a few more dove, wings sweeping the air as they cawed raucously over the waves. He felt rather than saw them vanish into the darkening air, eyes already scaling the stone.
"Brother, go an take this group and scout ahead. Any hidden mages or groups will need to be dealt with."
Vali turned towards Kol, lips curving in a predatory grin. His blue-green eyes looked past the king, towards the men he was being given, and the ranger nodded sharply. ”Better climb quickly, Brother, or there’ll be nothing left for you,” he replied, gaze locking with the Death’s Hand. He slung his bow around his chest, seeing many of his rangers doing similar, and jogged towards the cliffside.
Looking to either side as his small force lined up against the stone, Vali barked out, ”Quick, but quiet! We don’t want to startle our prey.” He reached up, fingers digging into the rough stone, and began the ascent. Though Vali was known for using his Gift to sense and track while softening his movements, he was no stranger to climbing. More often trees than cliffs, but the strength was there—and was boosted by his Gift, letting him move a little faster and reach a little farther. He pulled a little ahead of his followers, though many of them were capable of similar feats.
Vali reached the clifftop and pulled himself over, staying low to the ground as he reached his Gift out across the small bit of open land that rested between the cliffs and the forest. There was nothing in that grass, the only nearby movement that of rangers pulling themselves over the cliffside onto their feet or their bellies, staying low and watching Vali for a sign.
”If they’re hiding, it’ll be in the woods. Spread out, but stay within sight of someone else. Kill any stragglers, but hold off on attacking anything larger than us,” he ordered, voice low as the Eskandr around him nodded. They crept forward, low but swift, crossing the grass and road into the first brambles of the Witch Woods. The mists of Eskand were at their back, but rain began to pour heavily upon them as they made it to the shelter of the trees.
The woods seemed to grow dark and darker still, and Vali halted. Was it a trick of his eyes, or some unknown Gift at work?
He breathed out, closing his eyes and reaching. It was faint, here at the edge of the woods, but the trees moved more than the should—swaying softly to and fro in the winds, but moving upward too, it seemed. The forest was thickening like something from a story meant to scare children.
His eyes scanned to the right and found the ranger on that side had paused, watching him. Vali gestured over him, and the woman on his left. As they neared, he stated quietly, ”The trees are not with us in these woods. Best not to climb them.” The pair watched him for a moment, glanced toward each other, and then nodded. The picked their ways through the bracken to either side, to pass the message along.
Vali continued forward, awareness spreading around him like a pool of water. He could feel the ripples of his own force. Occasionally, he would sense something else—some small group of fighters, perhaps lookouts or perhaps those who had simply strayed from the herd. Twice he saw them with his own eyes and twice ended them with his own arrows, but others were taken out further down the line.
The magic seemed to grow, much like the trees, as they made it deeper into the forest. The rain still poured, dampened by the canopy but seeming to only grow heavier. The ground was wet with every step now, but Vali did not splash in the rivulets that ran beneath him. He felt as though he could hear singing, just on the edge of awareness, but it was too hard to tell with the noise of the rain.
He sensed the edges of the encampment long before he would’ve been able to see them, and paused the advance once more. Pulling his flanks in, he explained the plan that would be passed down the line to either side.
They were to circle the force, staying hidden within the trees. Once the ends were in place, they would give a signal—following Vali’s own, the rangers were to open fire on the camp, staying hidden and staying in motion. The goal was to harry and confuse them, using illusions if anyone was skilled, and keep them guessing as to how many were here and on the attack. Keep them occupied and uncertain until Kol’s men—who Vali was sure would not be far behind—arrived and started the fight in earnest.
If the senses of the force in the Witch Woods were not keen, the only warning they may have would be a few seconds of birdsong before the rangers attacked; some might realize this was strange in such a storm, or that the birds were not native to Relouse but rather to the lands far south—but noticing this would only give them a moment to brace.
Vali and a force of ranged fighters are going to begin an attack on the force in the Witch Woods. NPCs are attacking from every direction, maybe with the use of the Gift.
These secondaries are open for attacking, fighting, and killing as you see fit.
Message or @ me if you want to discuss interaction (direct or indirect!) with Vali!
Interaction: @YummyYummy Siege of Relouse / Beach Landing
It felt strange when Camille wore her armor. The gift of Dami removing the burden of the weight she carried made not only her armor and equipment weightless, but the clothes she wore underneath. It was like a thin air levitated everything away from her and it made her feel naked. Naked at a time like this in front of all these people! She could never get use to this feeling of being exposed and always it seemed people looked to her. It was almost like she was really nude in front of them like some spectacle.
Her people weren't like that, she knew. They were just looking to her for hope, many have said it to her before. The put her on a pedestal of what the best of Perrence could be. Maybe that's why she felt the way she did. She wasn't a saint like the people in the stories, she was just Camille. Somebody who would gladly accept Dami's Judgement to let her return home and live a quiet, peaceful life but she was judged to have more work to do, especially this day.
Her grip tightened around her weightless greatsword watching the mass of ships roll in. There were so many. She had fought the Eskandr before, leading battle groups against an array of three longships at most. But this? How many were out there, she wondered. A hundred? A thousand? Each with savage warriors who would rend the heads of newborns and drink their blood. Her right sand slipped from her sword and reached into the small bag she had tied around her waist. She couldn't feel it on her skin, but she knew what she was touching. The sand of her home, still fine and soothing as she dug her gloved fingers into pouch. It gave her hope for a better tomorrow. A tomorrow where she would return to the beach by Port Morilles...
”Dame Camille de la Saumure.”
Camille froze. The deep voice of the giant boomed with an air of authority. She wasn't the only one to freeze around her as everyone ahead of her seemed to stiffen, even jump.
”Come.”
The giant's hand raised and fingers motioned of her to approach. She knew better than to dodge a summons of a lord, though this man she had heard about. Le Séisme, the stories often called him in a testament to his sheer force of presence. She wasn't sure if the ground shook when he spoke, but her certainly sent a ripple through the people around.
She stepped around the levy's, some making a path for her, others too zoned out to notice until she brushed past them. It wasn't long before she had approached the giant's side, dwarfed in every sense of the word next to him. The only thing she had comparable was her greatsword, still resting in her grip, propped up by her shoulder, the tip of the blade towering even over the giant.
Camille turned her head and looked up at him as he spoke, her own helmet disguising her reluctance to be here. When initially summoned, she had no idea what a man with that reputation could want that she could offer. Yet here he was, asking her for support. She wasn't sure what he was getting at. Did he need the reassurance like the many draftees? Surely not, considering his reputation but maybe, he did. Claude always told her that when people asked her for a blessing or what their chances are, she had to be confident. It gave them hope and made them fight harder. If that was even half true then a man like the giant fighting harder would surely be a gift to them all.
"Je ne veux promettre que ce que je suis sûre de réaliser...1" Camille replied back, projecting her voice from experience to sound stern and reassured. She continued, "I'll do my best if you do your best."
She hoped that was enough.
A mist rolled in, Camille knew enough to suspect the underhandedness of magic to cause this but she didn't know to what end. Hide were the boats were landing but there was only one beach. They had to land here as scaling any of the cliffs seemed like a lot of work but she wasn't sure. Tactics that some of the nobles would employ seemed far out of reach for her head. She never questioned them, even if they did seem nonsensical so who was she to judge in Dami's place? If this was an attempt to outsmart them, she would do what she could to not make it easy.
Eskandr landed on the beach and made their way up to where the Grand Armee awaited them. Camille couldn't help but wince at the sight of more than a few of them going down to quicksand. She liked the sand of a beach but not that much, hearing some of their last cries before getting submerged entirely. Those of the invading army that made it past the line of defenses made their way towards the defensive line. Camille brought her greatsword off her her shoulder and she slid into a ready position.
"Right behind ya, girl. We'll keep an eye out." She heard Claude call out from behind her. The two of them were instructed to back her up but they discovered quickly how best to do that.
Dami, give the strength comparable to your will.
The Eskandr warriors charged and Camille stepped forward. With a display of experience, she timed her swing just as the first line of warriors approached her range. The three warriors looked to rush in before she could swing. They chose poorly. Camille felt the strength Dami gave her course through her arm, bringing her sword swiftly along a horizontal line in front of her. The blade whistled sharply in the air. The rightmost warrior hastily raised a shield in an attempt to deflect or block the blow but even with his shield raised, her greatsword had such a power behind it that it cut through the wood without a slow of momentum. Her sword continued and the warrior let out a roar of regret as the blade sliced through his arm, torso, and through his other arm without stopping.
Her blade didn't stop, either. The other warriors on their approach continued, only managing a step or two closer before the greatsword cleaved through them just as effortlessly. It was a mess of gore as she severed bodies cleanly through. A warrior in the second line, on her rightmost again, looked to dart in quickly with her sword to the left, trying to close in before she could recover. She was weightless, however, and any awkward footing from momentum never existed in this case. Her grip on her sword adjusted, bringing the tip of the blade pointed towards the charging warrior and Camille thrusted her reach forward. The steel ran swiftly through the warrior who had scarce time to react before being punctured in the stomach. She pulled the man forward, catching a glimpse of his weathered, aged face.
Old. They were all old. Camille felt her stomach tie in a knot in revulsion. The Eskandr were sending their elderly to die, first. Such savages! She punted the man, planting her boot on his waist and sending him off of her blade.
A spark of lightning zipped from behind Camille's head, hearing it crackle as it went. The bolt continued on, striking the hastily raised shield of an Eskandr, slowing her to stop. Claude's doing as the man was a one and half wheel Thunder Knight. He knew well enough to stay out of Camille's swing range but his role as to slow or pick off those that tried to get the drop on Camille was enough to keep her virtually untouchable.
Camille brough her blade around and ended that warrior's chance at continuing in this battle.
"Girl, I fear the Eskandr are up to something. Do not stray far."
She hadn't realized she was stepping further away from the mainline but that was natural given her tendency try and catch opponents as far as she could. There was a bit of a break in the wave of warriors, anyway, and Camille pulled back to the line just as the giant began weaving a powerful wind. She hadn't noticed the storm roll in until now. Was it always going to rain today?
"I heard the Witch Wood is under attack." Armand chimed in, appearing out of nowhere. Camille frowned and glanced over to the walls of Relouse. Were the Eskandr actually attacking the Witch Wood? If so then why were they here? The Eskandr were just sending their elderly to die. "We should go help." Camille replied but was quickly spoken over by Claude. "No that's exactly what the enemy wants. The beach is the only accessible way to land a massive force. If we give up any ground here then they can land more of their forces here. Let them waste energy climbing those cliffs."
Camille looked once more to Relouse. Claude sounded convincing but then why would the Eskandr send their old to just die without any gains? They could have just attacked the Witch Wood without these needless loses.
Location: Cape Redame Mood: Fuel to the Fire Current Event: Defense of Relouse Interacting: Asier @Ti
“Show me the way I should go, to you I entrust my Life.” The Book of Pennes, 57:24
The might of the expeditionary force was not enough. Having placed heavy stock in their attack by fusing kinetic missiles with magic, the size of the Eskandr was far too great to sustain any defensive effort for long. It truly hit the faces of Caelum and Asier as the church came crumbling down from the impact of Eskandr volleys. The enemy appeared hell-bent on ensuring the cliffside was transformed into rubble and continued to pummel it along with the rest of the Cape. No discretion, no mercy, just sheer firepower.
The hooves of Asier’s horse pounded next to Caelum’s as he addressed the situation,“King Arcel needs to know what has happened, do what you can lead these men the best you can.” Caelum turned his head to meet Asier’s, “Pentad speed brother!” Caelum then reigned his horse right to peel off back to the Parrench who was still firing off what they could to meet the Eskandr fleet. As Caelum returned he noticed all of the large slabs of rock, wood, and debris left over from the church and the constant Eskandr barrage. He roared as loud as he could as he rode through the Parrence lines as shots from Eskandr magic continued to impact around the Cape, “RALLY ON ME!” Caelum shouted a few more times before stopping his horse just around the church. The Parrence began forming up as the word spread quickly to reorganize. Caelum could not wait for everyone as the bombardments closed in and he addressed who arrived, “I need all those who can use force to begin focusing all of your efforts on moving all the debris, rock slabs, wood, anything that can fill the gap between the Cape and the Island, and everyone else focus your might on the lead ship until it moves no more, then the next, and wait for the signal to retreat!” Caelum paused,“For Pentad!”
The men roared back, “For Pentad!” Everyone broke free from formation, some spilling off left, and right, and others getting hit by the enemy before their hands could be used to progress the fight. As the ships grew closer, the stack of material on the edge of the cliff between the Cape and Island grew larger. The first Eskandr ship entered between the Cape and the Island triggering the men who could not use Force to begin focusing all of their strength on it. It fired back taking out small chunks, and as it reached close to their position, a final push of force by Caelum was used to toss all of the stacked debris into the water - from church and building leftovers to cliffside rocks, disabled ballista parts, and all. The amount of material cascaded down and shot across which generated some small waves and a small barge. The lead Eskandr ship facing direct fire and now having to react to the barge overcompensated its steering bottoming out on a shallow spot near the island. Between the small barge of debris and beached Eskandr ship, the gap between the island and the Cape became significantly more narrow for the remaining Eskandr to maneuver through but still passable.
There was no room for celebration as more chunks of earth were tossed up by the other Eskandr ships following quickly behind. Caelum roared, “Retreat!” More men and more earth were thrown into the aether as each did their best to fall back to the beach head where they would no doubt arrive after the first few boats of Eskandr landed. The obstacles would slow them down, but their ships were still plentiful and fast.
Asier rides to Arcel to warn him, while Caelum stands to defend the Cape.
Caelum notices a strategic opportunity to slow the Eskandr and rallies remaining Parrench.
Caelum orders expeditionary force to focus on collecting debris and firepower at the lead ship.
Eskandr lead ship enters the gap and debris is cast off the cliff using force magic to create a small barge.
Lead ship reacts to surprise and bottoms out on the island shore, forcing a small gap for the rest of Eskandr to maneuver through.
Talit’yrash’osmax sat among the branches of a yew tree, feeling the enemy’s approach, and began to draw energy to herself. Unlike those less practiced, unlike the humans, she did not draw all from one source, draining it, but rather in increments from many. Even so, such gentleness was difficult: akin to picking up fragile insects without harming them. With a deep breath, the yasoi rose and continued drawing. She could do this more quickly, of course, but she did not wish to disrupt her allies’ magic and the Eskandr host was taking some time to congeal anyhow.
Murmuring the words, Tali made the sign of the Pentad, calling on each of the five Bringers in turn. Her left hand, she brought to her right shoulder, feeling that arm fill with power. “Ypti,” she whispered. Her right hand came to her left shoulder, and it too crackled with magic. “Shiin.” That same hand shifted down her body and pointed to her leg. “Oirase,” she said quietly and all types of energy filled it. “Exiran.” Her left hand gestured at her stump. “Damy,” she concluded, bringing both hands together over her chest, pointing up towards her head. Her eyes fairly glowed with magical power, pupiless for a moment. Today, this would all be used in the service of Exiran, yet Tali was not at pains to offer him further prayer. He had already taken her right leg - the one dedicated to him – as offering long ago. Ever since that fateful girlhood misadventure, the death god’s blessings had flowed freely and vigorously, such that she could almost not begrudge him the loss of the limb, inconvenient though it often was.
The yasoi took another breath, her moment of meditation over, and knew that she was filled. She stretched her awareness out across the battlefield, where her people were now starting to engage the southern barbarians who refused to leave their northern neighbours alone. Otios, she remembered, the Thunder user. Lyen, the Maledict. Nettle, the puny half-blood. It was the last who had conjured the rains that now coated the forest. These three had proven memorable upon meeting and Tali bowed her head momentarily, offering words to Vyshta that they might emerge unhurt from the coming danger.
The Lady of Loriindton sunk onto all threes, crouched low on her branch and ready to leap from it. The musty smell of Exiran’s favoured tree surrounded her, as did its deadly red berries, like lanterns to guide lost souls through the burgeoning night. Like a great spider at the centre of her web, Talit searched for energies that stood out in power and purpose. Two such, she found. Peering into their chests, she could feel the racing of their hearts. “Will you walk into my parlour?” she whispered into the rain, the steam of her breath wispy and then cut to ribbons. A wicked, toothy grin split the lower half of the dervish’s face as she found her target. Long, flexible tendrils of steel snaked out from the bracers around her wrists, and she leapt.
The sun set, leaving curtains of moody orange, fuchsia, and purple behind. As these graduated to midnight blue, the Eskandr offensive died a horrible death upon the beaches of Relouse.
One is told to fear old men in a profession where men die young, yet these ones died without posing much threat at all. They fought honourably. They fought ferociously, in many cases. They earned their places in Gronhall. Yet, they fell to the Perrench defenders and, were this the quality of the entire offensive, there was little doubt that the Quentics would hold out.
As the Eskandr on the beaches petered out, the defenders grew in confidence, shouting paeans to the gods, taunting their failing enemies, and striking directly against the seemingly endless fleet that approached, bottlenecked for some time by the wreckage at the cape. Yet, those strong enough in the Gift or perhaps simply clever enough, soon realized that something was wrong. It was around that time that panicked reports began flashing in from the Witch Wood of a large force making land there, scaling the cliffs or using the Gift to bypass them entirely. For some, visions of Vitroux danced in their minds' eyes. Others maintained that it was a diversion and that the main attack was on the beach. Yet, while there were longships, there were no more invaders. They simply stopped coming. The ships themselves, instead of sliding up against the intertidal cobble, dissipated once they reached land.
That was when the real panic began to set in. Columns abandoned the beach in droves, rushing north to where the small contingent of yasoi and Drudgunzeans were badly outnumbered. Some, however, opted to stay the course. Contradictory orders were shouted. Perrench soldiers, knights, and lords argued. Units became tangled up in each other. For all of its mighty size, the Grande Armee was a nightmare to actually command.
Yet, it was not long before riders arrived from the cape, including Baron Arslan himself, demanding an audience with the king. They swore that the Eskandr force was far more spread than what could be seen from the city, and that it had split. They urged people not to abandon the beach, for worse was coming: far worse.
Then, it happened: first, a massive lightning strike that battered the town's walls. Then another, a third, and a fourth. Sheets of it ripped across the sky. Tendrils splintered and spidered along the aged stone, blackening it. Onagers, catapults, and ballistas splintered. Thatched and wooden roofs burned.
But there was the rain, and the fires did not last against it. What had started as a persistent drizzle had been given time tor grow, to be nourished by a hundred other users of the Gift. It was now a mighty tempest, providing not only nourishment for the heaven-splitting thunder attacks but also drenching the the battlefield, lashing attackers and defenders alike with powerful winds, battering the fast-approaching longships.
Suddenly, they were real again. The first few defenders were caught unawares. Most of the beach's traps and preparations were gone. The first wave had lived and died solely for the purpose of exhausting them. When the ships did not dissipate and real flesh and blood Eskandr leapt from them, it was a cold shock to those who thought that they were merely here to guard and mop up. Less so for the prepared.
The city's defenders rained hellfire from the walls, then. Those on the beach organized and kept their shape, but this, now, was the true strength of the Great Heathen Army that they faced. Walls of flame rolled out from the approaching longships, decimating much of the small, tangled mangrove forest that had grown there over the past few hours. Chains and blades scythed across obstacles, defanging them. The water itself went nearly still where the ships sailed and massive agglomerations of energy made themselves felt. Then, the wind whipped back, reversing rouce into the defenders' faces. The air grew cold and the ground frosty and hail replaced rain. This came screaming at the Parrench now, blinding and pelting them. The Eskandr were nothing if not masters at using their environment to their advantage.
Still, the lightning came, the frequency of the strikes dizzying, and the city suffered. From the walls, arcane mages returned fire, smashing Eskandr ships before they could land, lancing through chests, limbs, and heads with beams of light, sending great roiling fireballs out into the night. The Tourarre horsemen raced back and forth, dodging enemy fire as they went and fighting when forced to as they relayed messages. It was heavy going and the Parrench found themselves pushed back to the harbour, the seawall, and the Porte-Bonheur.
Then, the King appeared, in full regalia, standing atop the parapets. A great bolt of lightning snaked across the sky to strike him, but disappeared before it could reach its target. Arrows disappeared. Eskandr as far away as the Witch Wood and the final few ships rounding Cape Redame collapsed, clutching their heads, chests, and throats. From his sheath, Arcel pulled Sanguinaire, the legendary sword of Echeran. "Hommes et femmes de Parrence," He roared and, somehow, everybody on the battlefield, no matter where they were, could hear him, "tenez ferme contre l'ennemi! Les dieux sont avec nous!"*1 With a grunt, he deflected another lightning bolt, this one aimed at the Harbour Gate. "Allez à la plage," he urged. "Défendez la ville!"*2
As he spoke, the soldiers of Parrence found themselves almost preternaturally buoyed. Fresh vigour flowed through their arteries. Doubt and fear dried up in their minds. Those near the beach found themselves further lifted as Queen Eleanor joined them, clad in shining plate armour. She waded into the thick of the onrushing barbarians, and their attacks, both mundane and magical, seemed to have little to no effect. Yet, the Southmen, how they flocked to her, each seeking the glory of having brought down the enemy's queen in open combat, each eager to sit near the head of the table in Gronhalle. By the dozen, she deflected them, pummeled them with great bursts of force, and flung them back into their allies or the frothing waters. The Parrench rallied around her banner, pushing back against the onslaught and defending the gate. They gained ground.
That's when the shouts started: "Le roi!" screamed one. "Le roi tombe!"*3 Some turned quickly and witnessed the sickening sight of the young King Arcel tumbling from the top of the walls, an enormous lance through his midsection. Limp and bloody, he fell into the river and sunk out of sight. A cry went up from some. Others, unengaged, rushed for the spot and dove in. There were those who reached out for the energy that might've denoted his presence, but it was extremely difficult in the heat and press of battle.
From a stillness in the storm emerged a great dark ship, twice the size of the others, with black and gold sails adorned with a horned kraken. A young woman with silver hair leapt off, streaking through the air on blazing tail of fire and landing in a crouuch. An old man in simple robes was next, clutching a gnarled staff. The very trees seeming to bend and lean towards him. There came a berserker next: lean, shirtless, and corded with wiry muscle, rushing past the others, two axes in hand and another four whirling through the air about him. Finally, there was Hrothgar.
The Eskandr king of kings stalked forward, great shadowy bats and vultures circling him, enfolded in spreading tendrils of darkness. His eyes glowed demonic red and the air itself seemed to recoil from his presence, cold and gusty. The darkness spread to engulf Parrench knights as they screamed and writhed, and when it touched his own soldiers, they swelled and howled, turning into snarling, slavering beasts.
Directly in his path stood Genevieve Chalamet, Baroness of Chambroix, and she was not cowed in the slightest. Lightning to rival that of the the as-yet unseen Eskandr master leapt from her palms and the sky alike. This struck the figure of Hrothgar and, for a moment, he stilled. It arced and sparked from his body and smoke rose from him. Then, he continued his march, drawing a great poleaxe and an even greater amount of energy from the sea behind him. The first he wirled efoore him, ever faster. The second, he slammed into her with such force that she hammered against the city walls and went limp. For a moment, the young baroness stuck fast, crumpled armour and ruined stone holding her up. Then, the battered figure slid down, leaving a trail of smudged blood, and dropped into the river.
Hrothgar cast his gaze about the weakling Greenlanders and there were those who stood in defiance. Yet, many shrank from him, their soft Gods unwilling to reward the glory of a death in battle. He seized upon the Queen's position and began drawing.
In the woods to the north, however, the concerns of the beach and the city walls were too distant to be relevant. The Eskandr were landing in ever greater numbers, probing deep into the forest. Their veteran rangers, under Vali the Twice-Born, called on all of their skills and power to survive the garden of horrors that had grown here and the relentless guerilla strikes of the yasoi in the trees. The very forest itself stood against their march, harbouring poisons, grasping thorns, and relentless illusions to confuse and terrify them. The storm above their heads struck at them with lightning, much of it redirected lovingly by the yasoi thunder practitioners hidden in the branches. The rangers did not lose their cool, however, and struck back where they could, even mustering illusions of their own to inflate their apparent numbers.
Yet, the real armies were coming. The majority of the cliff force, at least a couple thousand strong, arrived under Kol, the Death's Hand, and these followed his blood brother into the forest, a smallish, handsome man with gold hair and a cruel smile racing ahead with blinding speed, daggers in hand. The Strumish king's presentiment that they were marching into the web of some great spider proved correct, however. Among the yasoi lurked the someday-baroness of Loriindton, Talit'yrash'osmax. As she moved towards her enemies, the very fabric of reality seemed to come alive and follow her directive. She would appear, out of nowhere, in one spot and then in another - sometimes even seeming to be in two places at once. The roots and branches of the trees leapt out at Eskandr, dagger-tipped, to tangle, stab, and skewer them from every direction. Knives of hard water lashed up from the puddles, bogs, and ponds that had been born in the storm. The rain itself turned hard and sharp: a thousand tiny daggers that punctured skin, eyes, and eardrums. The water turned red with blood and the roots of the Blackbriar Trees grew engorged upon it. Those strong and brave enough to launch attacks saw them batted away effortlessly, the yasoi only having to lift a hand from her crutches maybe once or twice. Yet, the Southmen kept on coming and it was clear that this was no mere diversion. For the dozens that fell at the fifth-wheel witch's foot, came dozens more, each eager to claim for him or herself an honoured place in Gronhalle.
Elements of the Grande Armee, peeled off from the beach, drew near now and engaged the Eskandr in earnest. The king among them roared his battle challenge and carved a swath through his enemies. Yet, now his force found itself at an increasing disadvantage as numbers were concerned, even with some of the Grande Armee turning and rushing back towards the beach as the main invasion force began to land there. It was clear that the Parrench and their allies would have to hold the Eskandr here, else the city would be attacked from two directions and its already-battered defenses split. It was equally clear to the Eskandr that they would have to do something - anything - to alter the tide of the battle to the north: one where they were outnumbered and outgunned. Then, they came face to face: the king and the 'spider' he had sensed. At least... for a moment. Then, she was nowhere to be seen.
1) Men and women of Parrence, hold firm against the enemy! The Gods are with us!"
2) Get to the beach! Defend the city!
3) The king! The king falls!
1) There are four mighty warriors of the Æresvaktr present, and each will need to be dealt with if you are Parrench or an ally or assisted if you are Eskandr or an ally. They are:
Thorunn Silverhair: crown princess of Heglelich, her father was the one who was sent to the Visitor's tale in the opening chapter. She is in competition with her two brothers to distinguish herself in battle and win the crown. A complete pyromaniac, she is the arcane witch who sent that wave of fire forward that wiped out much of the forest.
Olaf the Aged: an elder shaman, Olaf has survived countless raids and battles. He is a master of the forest and the weather, a weaver of spells and poisons, and a healer of the land and its people. Chanting paeans to the gods, he has landed on the beach, turning much of Nettle's work against her allies.
Hrolf Bloodaxe: A tall, wiry berserker, he has leapt from his ship and raced ahead of his allies, cutting a swath of destruction through his enemies. He is an absolute wildman: extremely quick, nimble, and vicious. He dual wields axes that he both chops with and throws, calling them back to his hands with the magnetic powers of Thunder magic. He generates further crude axes by Blood drawing from fallen enemies and forming them. At any given time, there will be at least four (and up to ten) other blades under his control, forming both an offensive and defensive kill zone.
Sweyn Thunderspear: The foremost Thunder warlock of Eskand and perhaps the known world, the stern, towering figure of Sweyn, with his great forked beard and bristling eyebrows, remains hidden, as he is also an illusionist of some ability. He continues his relentless strikes against the city and any targets wearing conductive armour. His power and precision are not to be underestimated.
Horik the Gold: a deadly illusionist and assassin, Horik is small, wiry, and muscular, with long golden hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He uses powerful Force magics to boost his speed to inhuman levels, and Essence magics to suffer no ill effects while rendering his enemies, sluggish, ill, and impotent. Fading in and out of sight, he kills with knives and shortswords, licking the blood of his enemies from them in a macabre ritual. He has landed alongside Kol and Vali near the Witch Wood.
In total, the Æresvaktr is made up of:
1) The Nashorn 2) Horik the Gold 3) Hrolf Bloodaxe 4) Brunhilde of Hegelo 5) Sweyn Thunderspear 6) Olaf the Aged 7) Thorunn Silverhair 8) Kol, Death's Hand 9) Gudrid Fangtooth 10) Bjørn Coldfist
2) Queen Eleanor is a Priestess/Paladin type and an absolute defensive powerhouse who focuses on protecting her allies from harm. A near-fifth wheeler, she is very potent, but less versed in single combat with others of similar power. She will provide Force and Blood shields to anyone near her in need of them. If you'd like your character to slip up or nearly die without consequences during this chapter, now is a good time. She'll give all Parrench and allies one get-out-of-jail-free card via a shield.
3) In addition to his fiendishly strong Force abilities, Hrothgar is a grandmaster level illusionist, and he has a team of fellow illusionists, hidden within his forces, who are helping him to enhance his display. They are employing both Internal Essence (brain chemistry) and Arcane (light-bending) in this endeavour. This plan would be known to any Eskandr who attended his small council before the ships set off. He is much fond of psychological warfare and trickery. Some say that he is an avatar of the lesser god Joken, the trickster satyr who taught Sister much of her magic.
4) Not everyone has seen Arcel fall. It appears to mostly be high-ranking individuals who will give orders and affect the tide of battle. Those who dive into the river will not find a body. Eskandr in the distance continue to mysteriously drop dead. The death toll is over two hundred now. Some have started praying.
5) Nettle's storm around the beach is too far for her to directly control, so it has been co--opted by the Eskandr, particularly Olaf the Aged, and has been used against the defenders to a significant degree. If you have a character who can fight back and retake control of it, this is their time to shine!
6) Hildr the Red, a Kressian Knight of some renown, has declared for the Eskandr side and is present in this battle. However, she is not wearing her distinctive armour and heraldry and will be difficult to spot among the regular troops. Beware.
7) Lady Tali, a fifth wheel caster, has rolled a natural 20, 19, and 20 on her three big attacks and a 15 on her defense. The dice have spoken. If you are an Eskandr player in her vicinity, you are advised to be very careful and avoid facing her directly. There is a real chance of serious injury or character death. She needs to be stopped, from your side's perspective, but trying to overcome her with brute force is going to backfire disastrously.
1) For Parrench-aligned players, feel free to have your character engage with either mooks (which can be killed without approval) or the Æresvaktr. Just make sure that, if two or more people are going for the same target, you coordinate.
2) For Eskandr-aligned players, it is time to support your king(s)! Kol is under attack from the yasoi monster known as Lady Tali and could probably use an assist, despite his own legendary strength. Hrothgar is marching up the beach, crushing the Parrench as he goes, seemingly invincible, but he will not only be fighting Queen Eleanor, he will be a target for all sorts of opportunistic attacks. Don't forget about the assassin, Sir Rodric, and the many player characters.
3) For yasoi, the baroness has struck the enemy a mighty low and given you some breathing room, but the Eskandr keep coming. Now, the relief force from the Grande Armee is arriving. How will you capitalize? Will you fight your own battles, assist Lady Tali, or take on a dangerous enemy in single combat?
4) There are still plenty of PvP opportunities and I encourage this over fighting NPCs where possible. Just make sure that you collab and determine your ending.
5) The main thing this round, aside from reactions, is to pick your fights and start playing them out!
Interaction: None 2.1: Siege of Relouse / Let them Come The enemy forces dwindled Trickled, Then stopped coming.
This was just the beginning.
Claude had told her to stay, and she would. His instincts were too reliable to persuade her otherwise. Even among the shouts and orders of those around her, she held her ground as Claude clasped a hand around her arm. "Girl, we are going to lose a lot of people in this confusion. Try to do what you can." He sounded steady despite the commotion, Camille thought as she glanced to the raining sky. If only she could be like him then maybe she'd be worth all the admiration, praise and handshakes she has had to endure these past few days.
She closed her eyes and let a familiar prayer come to mind.
Dami, guide your flock and steel their hearts for what is to come. May they stand firm.
There so much noise. People shouting in triumph but others in confusion. Orders being barked by superiors and mummers of hesitation in response.
May they stand firm.
The voices around her quieted. Enough to hear the rain bouncing off of metal and sand. Grips tightened on weapons.
May they stand firm.
Boots dug into the sand and despite the calls and cries around them, those close enough to feel Camille's influence felt their hearts bolster. They didn't have to be told they were in the right spot. They felt like they were. Let the Eskandr come. They were ready to meet them.
Camille felt a squeeze on her arm, Claude letting her know that he approved. "Good. We'll need their help but if we all stick together, there is no Eskandr that can break us." He always sounded so sure, Camille mused with amazement. She might have been the one with Dami's Gift but he acted like he didn't even need that to be strong. It made her think he should have been chosen because who was she? "You're sure we will all make it out okay?" She muttered but Claude's attention shifted.
"Armand, what news are you hearing?" Camille turned to see Claude clasping his hand around the leather of Armand's shoulder. The younger of the two, shook his shoulder free. "Riders from Cap are returning. I couldn't hear why but they aren't dead so. Take that for what it is worth."
Claude let out a laugh though Camille thought it sounded fake. "Ha. Coming back from sniping King Hrothgar, no doubt. Wouldn't that be a sight, eh?" Camille and Armand both exchange a look. Claude had a habit of noticing that from them. "Oh come on you two. Have a little faith." He reached out and wrapped his arms around the both of them. "You'll see. We'll be back in Au Diable Roux, wondering what Alain put in his stew again. I'm already betting potatoes and pork to celebrate." "Oysters." Camille chimed in, her mouthwatering at the memory. "Carrots." Armand spat like he was disgusted by the very word. "Heh. If you go and order the stew, you'll doom the three of us to that. Every time." The three shared a laugh, however brief that might have been.
The clap of thunder from a bolt striking the wall had sounded for the next phase to begin. Interaction: None 2.2: Siege of Relouse / The Storm Arrives Camille had raised her arm, ducking her head to try and better weather the howling storm. Wherever this storm was coming from, she now knew it wasn’t natural. The town of Relouse was being battered by commanded lightning while she and the rest of the Grand Armee were battered by the winds and rain. The darkening sky was lit up by the occasional glow of magic which was an impressive array by itself.
The storm worsened as rain turned to hail and clanged off of her armor. Ships, real ships, were now appearing along the beach and landing. ”This is it! This will be the battle!” She heard Claude yell behind her.
"Hommes et femmes de Parrence, tenez ferme contre l'ennemi! Les dieux sont avec nous!" ”Je n'ai pas peur! Dami, mon Seigneur, c'est pour cela que je suis née!1” Maybe it was hearing the King but Camille felt steadfast all of a sudden. She wasn’t going to turn back. She couldn’t do that and let others die needlessly in her stead. This was going to be a fight and if this was a predestined path that she had to walk, so be it. She was going to embrace it because right now, her devotion would be the only thing to see her through!
The line of charging Eskandr closed and she shouted, joining the shouts of her comrades in arms as the battlelines met once again.
Camille moved effortlessly, her sword cleaving an overly zealous warrior in two. A crackling wave of lightning slipped across her right side and arced into the raised weapon of an unlucky Eskandr. He dropped his axe only to be met with a greatsword being brought back around. A third warrior approached, more measured as she raised his shield to meet Camille’s blade. He knew better to take the force of her blade and ducked under the swing to advance suddenly.
It would seem that she was left open but removing one hand from her greatsword, Camille reached for her shortsword and drew it in a swift draw to thrust into the warrior’s leg, halting him. She twisted and rammed her shoulder into his shield, knocking him clean off of his feet as she withdrew her shortsword, cutting effortlessly across any flesh the blade touched, half severing his leg by the thigh.
A whirl of her greatsword with one hand kept others, daring to take her on at bay. A crossbow bolt fired and caught one of them who had been more focused on Camille’s blade and got his neck, entering a coughing fit of blood as he collapsed. Her team was well versed in working together and would give any opposing force real pause, Claude always boasted. Camille never wanted to test their limit but they would have to eventually against the Eskandr.
She had a bad feeling in the pit of stomach. Destiny was calling. 1: I am not afraid! Dami, my Lord, I was born to do this!”
Interaction: Hrolf Bloodaxe 2.3: Siege of Relouse / A Blood Price A break in the Eskandr waves had given Camille the opportunity to glance down the Perrench battle line to see how her allies were fairing. They were holding but around twenty meters down their line, a brute of an Eskandr creature was cleaving through Perrench soldiers with frightening efficiency. Bodies of full soldiers sent flying with a single axe swing, half bodies sent even further. The violence that monster caused was becoming a cacophony to the shaking wills of her people. If they survived encountering them.
Her feet moved without a thought. Dami, lend me your strength. ”Girl! Wait” She heard Claude holler from behind her but she was already committed, closing the line towards the Eskandr brute swiftly. A circular area around the man existed where Perrench soldiers were too fearful to approach the whirling orbits of crude axes. One Perrench man in particular had Hrolf’s full attention, his panicked jabs with his spear doing little to deter the giant of a man. He didn’t even spare a gesture as a floating axe came and shattered the spear just beyond the man’s grip, leaving him defenseless as the Eskandr raised his axe like an executioner. He brought it down..
Clung, Clink
Camille’s upward slash of her greatsword met the axe before it could fall on the Perrench man. Her strength was enough to deflect the blow but an axe came around.
Dami, protect!
Her shield, strapped to her back swung around, pulled towards the incoming axe to deflect the blade from hitting Camille. She holds herself firm, realizing that she had saved the poor man who was threatened but she was now in this monster’s sights. His great leap coming to bear down, she didn’t think of anything other than to trust in Dami’s protection, leaping back herself however to try and keep him at a distance. She swung her sword again, trying to catch the Eskandr before he could land.
She watched her sword bounced off the metal of his axe but the tip of her blade catching his stomach enough to make Hrolf howl. He draws from a nearby corpse to pull material to close his wound in an obvious scar. Now faced with the man, Camille was sure she had his full attention for that and quietly cursed under her breath. She keeps an eye on Hrolf but she catches the movement in her peripherals. Whirling axes were coming around from all sides to try and cut her. She dove, instinctively to the Eskandr’s side, letting her greatsword lash out striking one axe away as she moved. That was one but she was watching the nearest axe follow her, set up to cleave her across her neck. She didn’t even have time for the full prayer.
”Dami!” She pleaded, begging for her God’s intercession. She wasn’t sure how she was going to escape with her life but then the obvious sign of Dami’s favor was bestowed. The axe in her sight was blown away suddenly. Dami protects! She praised, rising to her feet catching the movement of her companions in the corner of her eye. She knew they would follow and with the Eskandr focused on her, she hoped their surprise would be enough.
— ’Damn that girl! Taking on the biggest Eskandr she could find. Take your shot and slip away. We’ll have to catch him not looking, I think.” Claude commanded as he ran with Armand, given only a silent nod in return. His sword began to spark with Thunder Magic as she let out a downward slash, sending a crackling wave towards the back of Hrolf. Armand slid to a stop and hastily aimed for the brute’s spine before firing his crossbow. He moved after firing, trying to duck back into the Perrench lines… —
Camille hoped quietly but those hopes were dashed quickly as the lightning was scooped up in the invisible vortex of Hrolf’s axes and the crossbow was deflected by a wayward axe. The brute turned his head to catch Armand before he sank back into the Perrench battle lines and felt himself halted as the pull of Hrolf’s drawing began to decimate his armor, clothing before starting to dissolve his flesh.
His cries of anguish were obvious enough to Camille who screamed in a panic as she brought her greatsword up and attempted to thrust it into the Eskandr’s side. Hrolf wasn’t a fool and attempted to dodge out of the way but desperately, she pursued leaping with her thrust to catch his flesh. Her blade sank up into his abdomen, the brute of a man giving a very human howl of anguish.
Yet he didn’t relent. Armand’s screams grew louder and Camille found herself joining the chorus of desperate cries. She wailed in a desperate rage as only one thought came to her mind.
”Dami! Kill him!”
Her sword began to glow as if showered in a golden light. There was intensifying pain in Hrolf as his wailed. It was over almost immediately but the moment felt long in her head. Hrolf’s center mass burst in a shower of blood and gore and the once great man of the Æresvaktr fell in two, his last words something that Camille couldn’t understand. She kept her sword elevated, its golden glow illuminating the darkened battlefield for a moment before it faded as her mind focused on the only thing that mattered. Armand.
She turned and ran to where she thought she had last saw him. Where was he? Was he alright? Maybe she could ask Dami to heal him and then…
An tight grip caught her arm. Camille turned to try and slug whoever it was but found Claude was holding her. ”He’s gone! He’s gone!” He shouted at her. She thrashed in his grip. ”Let go! No!” She rasped, her voice already showing signs of strain.
The resolution to her struggle was put on hold as the area just ahead of her flashed and banged with the force of a thunder spell. It wasn’t just the one. It was a barrage of bolts, igniting the beach around them. Camille could barely hear Claude’s voice above it all. ”We have to go! Come on!”
Camille felt herself being tucked under his arm and pulled along. The lightning artillery battered the area. She caught a glimpse of a few Perrench soldiers too grouped up being blown apart by the sudden crash of a bolt. The flashes made it difficult to see and the percussion of thunder made it difficult to hear. Wherever Claude was going, she couldn’t tell, feeling the sting of something pierce the back of her leg. She hobbled slightly along, feeling like she was barely keeping up with Claude. Again, it was a few seconds of real time that seemed to drag out but they had managed to retreat far enough away.
Claude kept them going, however, towards the back lines of the Grand Armee.
Location: The Witch Woods Mentions/Interaction: Vali, Twice Born @Wolfieh, the warriors under Kol's command, and Talit'yrash'osmax @Force and Fury
As Kol and his forces entered the Witch Woods, the Spider began to make it's move. The forest came to life, it's branches opened up like knives and struck with speed few can see and with precision that could kill men in moments. The water that pooled were like hiding vipers, as the rain came down it added to the pit of snakes that would lash out and take all that were near. Even the rain that fell was that of small hornets that flooded the entire area, puncturing everything it touched, as the water reddened, Kol felt his blood boil. As his armor broke the blades against it, even with the precise aim, it seemed to not his, like something was stopping it from even touching his skin. A silhouette seemed to form around him as his arms and head seemed to twitch. Frustration was a fuel, rage was the engine, and there was one answer…
A roar erupted from the giant as the clattering of armor from him seemed to become drowned out. The thunder itself seemed to almost hush itself in the face of this one man's fury. Kol drew in energy from everything around him, draining the energy from the leaves, the heat from the very heat from the area. Men knew what this meant as they split away, Kol was going to begin his march forward through this marsh of death. As a chill ran through the area, Kol's mind filled with raging wyverns, as heat radiated from him his mind willed against the rage of these beasts. Kol witnessed the raw power of these beasts as the infernos erupted, in front of a wyvern Kol stood as it brought it's head up before roaring flames onto Kol. As his eyes flashed back to the now burning woods, as in his current roar fire is flowing from his mouth, and like a might wyvern he reels his head up and ignites the upper trees before finally the fire disappeared from his mouth.
Kol's eyes landed back down and forward as he sensed the 'spider', as from the fire he created a Yasoi woman stepped out. She was one who stood tall even among the swamp and death, she must be the one who has been controlling this forest. This woman fought like a true mage, the forest was her weapon, so even a missing limb would not even affect her. Kol locked eyes with her for but a moment before she disappeared. It was time to fight, Kol raised both of his hands and pointed to either side of him and roared, "Charge!!". He commanded those following him to charge forward as when they did he looked to those infront of him and envisioned raging beasts charging forward. He filled each man in front of him with strength of beasts hundreds times their weight, endurance only seen of the berserkers to no longer feel pain, and fury that only those who rage against a Brother killer can find within them. He filled them with visions of transforming into monsters who have no sense of fear, no concept of death, and no understanding of defeat.
Kol thought of what was before him and wished his Brother and his group would come to his aid for this hunt, yet this was not the time to hope, this was the time to act. Kol looked to his people and began to bark orders, calling to those in his command to begin giving orders to those they are under and they come across. Burn trees, as you move, and create small infernos. The spider can't see everywhere, so as they created chaos in the forest, it would cut down on the deaths as they made their way through as she needed to look through the large sources of energy. Kol knew that they could only do so much as of now, so to at least have multiple groups cause chaos while the main group slowly pushed their way through would be important. But for Kol, he needed to find the spider and apply some pressure, so he followed his Dogs of War, the berserkers whom Kol filled with power and had now rushed headlong into death. He followed the trail, as he filled himself with Visions of the Hawk, as he felt himself leave his body. As his eyes opened he began to see like the Hawk, with such precision that he could even see the presence of people, fire, the lightning, and now he begins to hunt his target, the one-legged spider.
-Kol began to burn some of the forest. -He empowered multiple berserkers to charge forward where the 'Spider' was. -He began to tell those who were following him to break up and begin setting fires as they moved to create hot spots of energy so the Spider would be confused if they did it enough. -He extended out his sensing range to try and find the 'Spider' and begin to hunt her and distract her so she is unable to kill more of his people.
Events: The king's death(?) - Duel between the Flame of Extermination and Hrothgar the Black - The Queen's Intervention Location: Outside the harbor Gerard surveyed the engagement happening to the south from his perch atop the city walls. After cleverly peeling apart Relouse’s defenses with tactics and sorcery, Hrothgar the Black had finally made landfall. He and his elite champions were taking the beach by storm, and it seemed that the Parrench forces were in disarray. Those rallying around the Queen had become the most cohesive fighting unit still defending the beach and the outer harbor.
“What’s taking so long Tristan!? We’re losing him!” ”Stop shouting at me damn it! I’ve never treated a man who got hit by lightning!” Gerard’s two apprentices were huddled around the unmoving body of Captain Auclair, who had suffered mortal damage from the massive lightning strikes. Tristan was doing his best to stabilize him with essence magic, but the officer was showing no signs of regaining consciousness.
Gerard turned back towards his acolytes and gazed upon the captain’s lifeless body. ”Don’t waste any more magic on him. If he hasn’t woken up by now then he’s already gone.”
Tristan nodded gravely and rose to his feet, ceasing all efforts to bring Auclair back. Misha was stunned by this and immediately began marching towards her master, grabbing his arm and shaking violently. “We’re not talking about some grunt soldier here! He’s a nobleman! We have to keep trying!”
Gerard threw her hands away with an unusual amount of aggression. ”He’s gone! Feel for his manas! You and I both know it’s true! This is a gods damned war, you can’t be so soft anymore!” The raven haired apprentice looked like she was going to tear up and cry, but held it in somehow. Tristan approached from behind and held her shoulder comfortingly, but appeared to be in agreement with their superior.
Another wave of hail blew across the walls, though Gerard had been constantly protecting their position by turning the ice into water before it landed. The fact that he was having a conversation with the younger priests all the while was a testament to his skill and concentration. The poor weather was taking its toll however. The troops were becoming demoralized by the wind and rain, which made the ground hard to walk on and chilled each man to the bone.
“Master, what now? Without the captain, where shall we-” Tristan was interrupted as a soldier sprinted towards them from one of the battlements.
“The king! The king has fallen!” The messenger shouted at the top of his lungs. Those men who were still in fighting shape looked at each other doubtfully, and some began to lament their defeat under their breaths. This was devastating news. Losing the king meant losing the entire war. What could they possibly do without a leader to rally around? Even if Parrence survived this war, the now unified country would again devolve to infighting between petty warlords and would-be successors.
When word of the king’s death reached his ears, the air around Gerard seemed to change. Under his hood, his eyes were gleaming with rage.
They’ve doomed this nation with their avarice.This cannot stand any longer. If they fancy themselves kingslayers, then we shall give them the same treatment. The elder Rezaindian looked at his apprentices and began to lay out their next orders.
”If we are to survive this battle, we must destroy Hrothgar.”
”What?” “What!?” The two neophytes exclaimed in unison. Gerard walked back to the edge of the wall and looked upon the beach, where Hrothgar was cutting down the Parrench vanguard like wheat.
”If we take them by surprise, I can kill Hrothgar myself. I will hide my image while Misha sends me down and provides support with her Force magic. Tristan, protect my body from internal attacks. With our combined strength, we can land a fatal blow against the heathen army and save this city.”
After Gerard finished speaking, Misha again grabbed at his robes. “Master this is suicide! You’ve heard the reports! That man possesses godlike power! I won’t see you become a martyr!”
”DO AS I SAY!” Gerard shoved her so hard she nearly fell to the ground. ”We have a duty to Echeran and this country to DESTROY the sea people!” He started restlessly pacing back and forth while breathing heavily. This was not the calm Gerard from before. It was like another man had taken over his body.
”My first barrage may fail. If I enter into a pitched battle with their king, you must wait for an opening and hit him with everything you have. I will use the opportunity to end his life with all my power.” Gerard grabbed Misha’s shoulders and brought his face very close to hers. ”Misha, I will need you most of all. Augment my movements. I cannot face Hrothgar in a battle of strength. I would not even consider striking against that monster without you two here to help. You have to believe me.” The apprentice girl recoiled slightly from her master, intimidated by his maddened demeanor.
”Misha, we have little time to debate. If the Eskandr close in from the north and south, we will be able to reach the black king no longer.” Tristan said, attempting to convince his partner. Her eyes moved between the two of them fearfully, but after a few seconds of internal debate she seemed to relent.
“Fine… fine. I’ll do it. Master, I only ask one thing of you. Please come back to us.” I can’t promise you that. Gerard thought to himself as he nodded in agreement.
Gerard was so dearly close to his prey now. As the bastard king and his dogs of war carved their way through the Parrench defensive line, the Rezaindian hunter stalked through the battlefield like a ghost. Nearly invisible to the naked eye and silent as a cat’s footfall, the only sign of his existence were the fast fading footsteps he left in the muddied sand. With dozens, if not hundreds of soldiers swarming the beach, even a seasoned mage would have difficulty detecting the presence of Gerard’s manas. It was the perfect backdrop for an assassination.
Any lesser man would have recoiled in terror at the prospect of approaching the king of Eskand. It was like an archdemon had descended upon the earth. Any who were not consumed by darkness were torn to pieces by the beastly thralls surrounding Hrothgar the Black. The king himself appeared nigh invincible, striking with such force that his poleaxe didn’t even need to touch the Parrench soldiers for them to explode in a shower of gore. The sight made Gerard’s heart race with excitement. The more wickedness displayed by the heathen invaders, the more they vindicated his belief that they should be cremated alive.
Then, Gerard felt a moment of clarity. The flow of battle slowed as the Queen’s forces viciously fought Hrothgar’s elite troops to a standstill. Gaps in Eskand’s shield walls formed as the outnumbered raiders reformed their ranks to hold off the increasing number of defenders. If he could slip through, Gerard would only have to confront Hrothgar himself and the remains of his honor guard. This was the best chance the warrior priest would get.
With his speed enhanced by Misha’s remote Force magic, Gerard easily sprinted through the enemy line. He had to hop over corpses, dodge arrows, and sidestep flying bodies in order to get close enough to his target. With dogged persistence he chased Hrothgar, until finally he was upon him. The despot was close enough now that Gerard could hear him bark insults at the Queen’s soldiers, laughing at them in his disgusting, barbaric tongue. All it would take was one well placed spell to shut that mouth forever. Magic was not out of reach to him, even in the bitter cold of the wind and rain. From the warmth radiating off the bodies of a thousand warriors, to the residual heat trapped within the veins of the earth, there was energy aplenty for any mage with the sense to draw from it.
But it seemed Gerard had grown overconfident in his camouflage. As he neared Hrothgar’s position and drew energy in preparation for his attack, the pagan king stopped shouting and scanned the battlefield with his bale eyes. When they fell directly upon the encroaching priest, his heart nearly stopped. The lord of Eskand had effortlessly seen through his disappearing act. But Gerard’s thirst for revenge was far stronger than any fear, and when Hrothgar began to point and shout, his own hand was already moving. He would give the king’s bodyguards no time to react.
From his belt he retrieved a hard leather flask. Gerard pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured the contents into his mouth. Like a man hunting Froabass, he expelled a massive breath of fire that practically engulfed Hrothgar and his war beasts. That was… a nice fire, Hrothgar had to admit. Theatrical too. A certain part of him had always enjoyed the arts and theatre: a part of him that now found expression only in moments like today since he had taken the crown. Of course, the Eskandr king of kings was nowhere near the Red Rezaindian’s attack. The moment he had felt the man creeping up on his position, he had remained still and sent an illusion ahead: one visible only to a few grunt soldiers who he’d light-bent into looking like an honour guard and the Parrench fool who was now roasting them with an unsettling sort of glee.
Hrothgar was already moving and, when he appeared, he was behind the man, eyes bugged out, howling like a beast, and raising his mighty flaming poleaxe overhead to deliver a deadly strike.
Gerard cut the flow of his spell when he heard Hrothgar’s war cry, but there was no way he was going to avoid this unseen assault. At least, that would be the case if he were fighting alone. He felt an invisible hand’s tug, and he was pulled away just before the king’s axe sundered the ground beneath them, sending several other men reeling. As Misha released her supportive spell, Gerard spun back around to face his foe.
“So, you have some friend help you, eh boy?” Hrothgar mocked in horrible Parrench. “Sure this are not your Gods!?”
“Do not speak of my deities lightly, you godless cretin.” Gerard replied in grammatically perfect Eskandish. The king could laugh all he wanted, but he had left himself open for an instant too long. This was the opportunity Gerard needed. He knew his apprentices wouldn’t miss this chance either. The priest pointed his staff at Hrothgar and began to funnel his drawn energy toward its crystal core. Men nearby would begin to feel a chill as the warmth was stolen from the very air around them. In order to buy the time needed for this deathblow, Tristan and Misha would slow him down with a combined effort of Essence and Force.
Little effort was required for Hrothgar to brush off their attacks. Their power was negligible next to what he could muster, but he was delayed for a couple of seconds, and that was all the time needed for Gerard to unleash the full extent of his arcane mastery. He pointed his staff at the lord of Eskand and let everything go.
”WITNESS YOUR DOOM!” It was the grandest of arcane lances. It was a beam so focused that it could have torn an entire castle wall asunder. Only a spell of equal caliber would turn such a devastating attack aside. Gerard truly thought that he had Hrothgar’s head. Yet, fate was not written in stone, and the man he was facing was no ordinary wizard.
The king of kings threw his hands out to absorb the lance, realizing the danger almost immediately. This ‘rezaindian’ was impressive. The mighty arcane lance - spear of Eshiran-Zept - died in midair, its energy flaring, dimming, and being sucked into a vortex of nothingness as Hrothgar drew it away. So intense was the display that many flinched and hid their eyes. More than a few opportunistic kills were scored among the soldiery on both sides.
Yet, the lance grew nearer, its power not tapering off in the slightest and the Eskandr king could not draw it all fast enough. Capacity wasn’t the issue: it was sheer drawing speed. A final burst broke through and burned him, and a snarl of pain, like that of a wounded bear, could be heard. When people were done blinking, they could see a charred, blasted hand, smoking and steaming with crisped flesh. Hrothgar turned to Gerard, livid. “You think you hurt me, Re-Sane-Die-An.” His eyes practically glowed with energy and, as everybody watched, the damaged flesh reconstituted itself, healed in barely more than a second, as if harm had never been done to it. “My gods,” Hrothgar mocked, “strong than your gods.” An enormous, toothy grin split the lower half of his face. “Now, little red man, you die.”
Gerard was too stunned for words. One of his most powerful spells, which had already taken the lives of over a hundred Eskandr, had been repelled single handedly merely by drawing. No counterspell, no attempt at avoidance, just drawing. What had started as a seemingly winnable fight now looked like a prolonged death sentence for Gerard. He could already feel a MASSIVE amount of energy welling up within the king’s body. Misha would be hopelessly outmatched if she tried to protect him now. Even if he himself tried to deflect it, he could tell that his magical capacity still paled in comparison to Hrothgar’s.
Like a boon from the gods, a pale light bathed the local area. A magical flare, a signal from the Queen as she led her strongest warriors in a piercing charge through the Eskandr shield walls. Her Highness had the perfect read on the situation and had rushed to support Gerard just in time. He too saw the opportunity and ran with everything he had, feeling his legs effortlessly gliding across the ground as his apprentice bolstered his movements. Queen Eleanor’s potent defenses would surely prevail against Hrothgar’s onslaught.
It was a fleeting hope. Hrothgar’s spells were too mighty, too fast. In the middle of Gerard’s mad dash for safety, the black king plucked him off the ground with an invisible fist. There was nothing his three and a half wheel subordinate could do. Gerard’s body ragdolled as he was launched towards the castle wall like a cannonball. There wasn’t even enough time for him to cry out. A loud thud could be heard as his body made impact, and his vision went dark.
Seconds ago, Eleanor had watched the world waver, and it made sense to her. She had seen her husband fall from the parapets, a lance through his chest, yet she still felt him as strongly and clearly as ever. This Eskandish monster - the man they bowed to as king - was an illusionist, and he had other illusionists to support him. Truly as clever as he was vile.
The Red Rezaindian who had taxed him so would be in need of her, and so she called on all of the Gift the Pentad had blessed her with and plowed through the enemy shield wall. Truly, she did not wish to harm any of these men and women. They had faces which held hopes and fears, anger, sadness, and laughter just like hers. They did not know the Gods and most would die here, never having known them. That pained her in a way that few would understand. Yet, they had come to harm her people, and the one who led them was a twisted thing. To him, she felt no compunctions about offering violence.
Yet, before the queen could do so much as meet his eyes, he had released a tremendous amount of energy and the priest hurtled for the castle walls. “Oraphe-Sept protect him!” Eleanor shouted, and she drew every bit of energy that she could from the human projectile, locking eyes with Horthgar and glaring.
Gerard Castello hit the wall, and he hit with force, yet he did not leave a stain on it as the Dame de Saumarre had. He splashed into the water and she could still feel the spark of life within him. Reaching out with Force, she began to pull his limp form to the surface.
A colossal blow took her in the side and she bit back a scream as she felt ribs cave in. Yet, the Queen had drawn a copious amount of energy herself and this, she now used to heal those same ribs and stop her momentum. She landed on her feet, ripped five wheels worth of power from the lightning that came opportunistically for her, and shot it at the Eskandr king.
Hrothgar had not expected such a quick recovery. That the Queen of these people would fight on the front lines like a common soldier was foolish, but brave. She tore Sweyn’s lightning from the clouds and hurled it at him, great crackling bolt after bolt. The first, he hurled a rock in the way of, but the second was unstoppable. Diving out of the way with a burst of Force magic, he nonetheless felt the searing heat warp the very air around him. The third, he drew from. Yet, when he looked around, people were staring at him bemusedly. Others looked up to the parapets, and Hrothgar knew the Queen’s Gambit for what it was: her goal had been to disrupt his illusion. “You are discovered, sorcerer,” she spat. “We see you for what you are.”
A great, frosty laugh echoed from the Eskandr king’s mouth. “Impressive, witch, but you will wish you -”
From nowhere leapt a blazing lance of light and it took the towering black figure in the shoulder. With a howl, Hrtohgar dropped to one knee. The ground shook with a thunderous impact and there appeared Arcel, King of Parrence, rising from a crouch and very much alive. He stood in the storm, Sanguinaire incandescent in his left hand, steam hissing and rising off of it from the violent clash of heat and water. "Get your filthy hide off of Parrench soil, heathen. Your foul tricks are as nothing before the power of Shune's Light!" He pointed the legendary sword at Hrothgar, the air around him crackling with arcane energy, and advanced. "Fight me!" he bellowed.
Hrothgar stood and, as he did, the hole in his shoulder healed as if it had never been there. His glare fixed upon the young king and his lips formed a thin line. Wordlessly, he drew a dozen longships to splinters and stalked forward, the very fabric of reality seeming to roil and warp as he moved.
Gerard receives news of Arcel's death and attempts to assassinate Hrothgar. After slaughtering a few worthless soldiers he is ambushed by the king, and the two engage in a short power struggle. Gerard does minor but impermanent damage and tries to flee. He is knocked unconscious by Hrothgar's force attack and thrown into the water, but his life is saved by the Queen who bravely charges through the Eskandr lines. The two royals clash briefly, and Hrothgar is forced to dispel his illusion. With the façade broken King Arcel is revealed to be alive, and he challenges the Eskandr king of kings to a duel.
It was chaos. Creatures clad in hides and metal killing one another in a hectic fervor of violence. At least in the swamps the killing made sense. Something would die to nourish those who fed on death so that they too may die and continue the cycle. Out here in these strange forests, far from a true swamp in any degree, these creatures weren't even trying to eat one another. They were maddened and fought simply to fight. What the man beasts she was told to protect were doing was well and beyond her.
Then came the sharp stone shooters. They used wooden tools to launch their stones very fast, stones mounted on sticks to make them easier to hold and made sharp. Things were getting dangerous and she was quite uncomfortable with how close they were killing people near her. Then came the one-legged woman who moved about the trees on strange silk made of clinking metal, killing many archers and whoever else was in her way as she raged across the path ahead. Not wanting to be caught by more of these flanking rock shooters she stopped her song and hunkered low. Pulling the nearby shadows unto her as one might a cloak she fed upon the light to keep within the dark shadows of the ever growing canopy which had become far denser from the energy she had spent thus far. With the dark clouds swallowing the moonlight and the dense canopy blocking out what little light might of been able to escape these woods had become pitch black. Only the fires illuminated their immediate area, all else bathed in darkness.
Aside from subtly moving within shadows that were twisted to hide her dark form as she skulked like a salamander through the underbrush she also made sure to conceal her scent, using her cloak to break through the puddles of paralysap while pulling mud onto herself to mask her scent. Her magic use was minimal but effective while she employed all other techniques available to her, learned from a lifetime existing within the deep swamps back home. The beasts of her homeland had many senses designed to help hunt their prey, senses honed over their entire existence to serve that very purpose. They could not catch her and neither could these slow, unobservant beasts that ran about clumsily through the bushes and mud.
_ She was making her way to the mists that were crawling up from the waters onto the sides of the cliff, mysterious mists designed to conceal their boats. A simple trick really, their mists weren't even that mysterious. As proof of that she was going to head on over and hide behind the attacking enemies. While they struggle to fight their way into the forest they'll be moving away from her and thus be giving her ample room to work her magic. Even if they turned around to go find her she could slip into their own mists and evade them, further delaying them from continuing to harm those she was sent to protect. As she went along though something terrible arose. A great fire erupted, burning a chunk of the forest some distance away. She could hear shouting and detect more flame arising through her mystical senses, feeling the chemical exchanges arise and propagate.
Reckless! Stupid and reckless! she silently castigated them as she crept past towards the river. Fires were bad as they tended to spread, kicking toxic smoke into the air and threatening to enclose the very place you stood. They were not only going to get themselves killed but many others! She was going to show them the error of their choices. She gathered seeds from the ground as she continued, picking up a large handful as she eventually reached the river's mouth which spewed forth into the great waters beyond.
Seeing the cliffs that these man beasts used to jump up and attempt to rush through the forest from she took the many seeds and planted a dense grove right past the bridge over these running waters. With magic she plucked stones from the river's floor and piled them up as boulders. Thanks to the fires these fools were creating she had a plentiful source of easy energy, distantly pulling at the teeth of the flames to keep them from eating through the foliage while she built her dam.
_ Soon enough it was build. A wall of piled stones blocked off the river and she had even gone ahead and extended it past so the river wouldn't just overflow then run over another portion of the cliff. On top of making it harder for new man beasts to try and jump atop it served as a great dam for her to start what would be the beginning of a mighty flood, a flood that would swallow the man beasts and drown them in poisonous waters. Taking one of her remaining paralysap tree seeds she sat it atop the crest of her great dam. Within her palms she imbued it with great energy, sparking a chemical symphony within it's case and provoking it's germination procedure without the present of nurturing soil. All the nutrients it required she gave unto it in plentiful portions. As it extended it's roots she used her magic to shape them, adding mass along the angles she sought it to take. She did the same for it's branches, even using her crook to hook a branch as it ascended along the growing trunk, pulling her up along as the tree grew tall in mighty in very little time at all.
She clambered through the foliage of the tree until she was in a position both well hidden and not open to any sharp rocks suddenly flying through. She cast out a handful of strugglethorn briar clippings which scattered about the base of the great paralysap tree, a trap that once grown in would ensnare anyone foolish enough to attempt to climb her tree and hold them fast at the bottom of the building river which would soon drown those unfortunate enough to become stuck in their viny grasp.
With the energy she continued to pull away from the flames these beasts were spreading she pulled more of the mist up along the edges of the cliff around where she now stood. Now in the dark of night with mists about only a true fool would try to find her in the building waters which continued to grow as the river found itself bottled, the rain water agitating it's peaceful saunter into an aggressive rush. Hidden within the canopy in the growing grove of tightly packed trees she began to sing once again, this time pulling from both the chemical reactions begun by the flames as well as their surrounding heat to fuel the rain clouds she continued to sing into being.
Very soon this drizzle would become a downpour.
Very soon this downpour would become a flood.
And not long after these fire breathers would soon be breathing water instead.
Event: Defense of Relouse |Location: Battle on the Beach, Parrence.
The battle is in full flow even as King Arcel himself joins the battlefield. The Eskandr number in the tens of thousands, sweeping across the plains of Parrence like a plague of locusts. It was fortunate that his worst fear didn’t come to pass as the Eskandr stopped short of turning Cape Redame into a second beach-head, but the explosive assault upon its rockface will impact the terrain for aeons to come.
Asier led a group of Tourrare horse riders with him as he swept the battlefield, rerouting the defenders from Redame into the reserves for the beach defence, plugging up holes left by those reinforcing the attack from the Witch Wood. His bow repeatedly releases that twang as arrow after arrow plunges into the waves of bodies advancing upon the Parrence defence. “Maintain the shield wall! If they flank us, they will overwhelm the defences. By Echeran, we will get through this day.”, Asier rides along behind the defenders, his horse archers stemming the tide as much as they can.
It wasn’t long for the most shocking news to start spreading across the battlefield, "Le roi tombe!", the words were chilling, the man he was only speaking to moments before, the one they all pledged themselves to, the one who promised salvation, has fallen. He could feel the coldness sink into his muscles, that sickening feeling, the shock lowering his blood pressure and heart rate, the exhaustion overwhelming as it feels like he was about to fall into a pit of despair, teetering upon its edges… then there was a light, like a dim star in the darkness, he feels himself drawn to it, no, he moves himself towards it, charges himself towards it, he forces everything he can into it.
Asier releases a massive roar, a fierce guttural shout, the power of the force flowing through him as his words bound across the battlefield. “Parrence! We do not fight this day for glory or honour, we fight here today for our children, and our children’s children!”, the storm clouds continue to roll as lightning shoots down, thunder booming, outside of the cries of battle, silence grows along the battlefield. This is no petty dispute for riches or trivial gain, this is an assault on our very people, our home, and our very Gods of the Pentad themselves., the importance of this battle is clear, the endless ships on the horizon spoke of this being no ordinary Eskandr raid, but something far greater, and more sinister. ”We stand here with all our might and the strength of our Gods can give us not for any man whoever it may be that orders us, but for us, as Men of Parrance, to surpass a monstrous tyranny that threatens to salt the very earth beneath our feet, rape our mothers, wives, and sisters, to enslave our children.”. This battle is not about King Arcel, for such a battle would have already been lost. This is a battle for Parrence itself. “We will not withdraw, we will not concede one inch, we will push these Eskandr one step at a time back into the very waters they love.”
The speech did what it was intended to do, the wavering battalions starting to rally around, routing forces were starting to turn around and starting to rejoin the reserves, preparing to do their part. The shouts of panic are now being replaced by a sombre tone as men and women pray to the Pentad, knowing their part in what is to come.
It was at this moment that something quite unexpected started to occur, a tune started to play throughout the battlefield, the rhythmatic thuds amidst the fighting. A shout erupts as a battalion with their shields raised, make their charge against the Eskandr shieldwall. “For PARRENCE!” with a resounding cry of “PARRENCE!” as the others follow the charge. A voice shouts up, as in answering in response, “Where man has his wine and bread!”, a few chuckles as further chorus “PARRENCE!” is yelled. This starts to cause a chain reaction, as others start to yell what they love about their motherland. “The hearths are warm”, “They heat my home”, “the fields are green”, “my road is built with stone!”, “The forest is filled with game!”, though a few of the offered suggestions such as the daughter of old Bill having a shapely bosom did not make the final draft in the history books. It was said in these moments a bard was inspired and brought these to script, and as a new song started to spread amongst the men, the song of Parrence marching to war.
Note: to be sung in a similar style of ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home’.
It is written it is said, Parrence! Parrence! Where man has his wine and bread, Parrence! Parrence! The hearths are warm and heat your homes, Fields green and roads built with stones, Our Motherland, The Parrench march for war! For our children, The Parrench march for war!
Under Oraphe’s watchful gaze, Parrence! Parrence! Your forests are filled with game, Parrence! Parrence! Blood shed keep us safe and free, We would sacrifice our life for thee, Home forever, Shaped strong and true! Children prosper, Raised up from new!
Your fine Shoppes are stocked full, Parrence! Parrence! Wearing clean clothes of wool, Parrence! Parrence! Yet we long to turn away, We know the cause to which we stay, Without delay, The Parrench march for war! We sing today, The Parrench march for war!
Asier continued to ride towards the river, the last known location of King Arcel. Despite what he announced so far, he wasn’t sure how long the Kingdom would last after the battle without their King leading them.Interacting: Ser Percy PerpignanDuring one of the last bends of the battle, Asier starts to slow down as the smell hits his nostrils, a foul lingering smell that can put a hog farm to shame, the rich ammonia starting to irritate his lungs as he starts coughing, pulling back swiftly. As he looks around, he notices corpses with raised hideous puscles, black mottled skin, watery dark liquid which at some point could have only been blood. “We need to go around… by the Pentad, something ungodly is happening here…”, before Asier could charge off, a menacing laughter is heard.
”Mon ami, are you leaving already, why, the battle has just begun. Égorge ces Eskandr comme des porcs. Oink oink oink.”. Coming out of the mists was no other than the blond nobleman from Viennes, Ser Percival Perpignan. He gives a grin as she pinches his fingers together, flicking them apart as he blows a kiss, mwah. “C'est beau, the way their bodies just quiver and twitch, the last of their élément vital oozing out through their skin.délicieux”. Percy raises his blade which appears to have a thick coating in the blackened blood of the foes around him, moving to lick his tongue along the flat side of it. “I was saving this one for you, Dear Arslan. L’empoisonnement à l'arsenic.”. Asier couldn’t help but spit towards the ground in disgust at the Parrench nobleman’s actions. “Inhumain, they’re Eskandr but they are still people.” Percy simply laughs loudly with a chuckle, his fellow cronies joining him in the chortle, “Oui oui, I told you, Man of Arcel, so easy to rile up. I tell you what, Chevalier Cabré, you may have your fancy speeches, oui, I heard you, but you won’t do what is necessary for Parrench to win, this around you is how Parrench wins, real men with guts.”, Percy thumbs upon his stomach to place emphasis upon the point. Asier waves off the comments, “Chevalerie, honneur, these concepts help keep us humans, not turn us into sauvages.”. Asier pulls away with the horse riders to the jeers of Ser Percy and his fouteurs de merde. “Oui, there goes the lion, tail between his legs”. Interacting: Gerard @PantothenicAsier pushes into the river upon his horse as the body of Gerard was floating upon its back, along the side of its banks, still twitching with the signs of life. He pulled it to the back of his second horse, bringing him over to the shore. Once laid upon the ground, Asier puts the man upon his side, and thumps his back. He could see the recoil and spasms as the water sputters and drains out from Gerand’s mouth upon the ground. “It appears that both Queen Eleanor and Dami favours you this day, Magician. Tu as du culot après cette manœuvre." It appears that Echeran has given Asier good timing as well, as he hears the battle cry of none other than King Arcel himself. It appears that both the royal figures have decided to make their stand opposing each other on the battlefield directly. The bards are already recanting this incident to memory, those more savvy have the inks wet and write down the details vividly. How heroic this match-up will be documented in the history books, this is not a clean duel, both men surrounded by warriors and champions alike as they battle for glory.
A band of Eskandr armed with bows were in this position for this moment, the harbingers of the final moments of King Arcel himself. “Horsemen, intercept!”, they gallop along the river bank as Asier and his riders start to harry the warband. Their bows twang repeatedly as arrows fire towards the enemy position, as the shieldmen line up formation to block their way, shields raised high as each of the round shields begin to turn into hedgehogs as they are repeatedly being studded by the arrows. The defensive formation holds the ground, forming a barricade around the archers. The field of vision is clear, the bows readied. The Eskandr warband leader barks his orders, “Spidd gullgåsen - Skewer the Golden Goose!”.
Asier sensing the storm to come draws on the abundance of thunder energies upon him. “We must protect the King!”, one of the Tourrare horsemen uses the opportunity to sprint heroically ahead, able to provide in his fateful last moment a temporary shield as arrows pierce through his flesh, the horse neighing wildly as it falls down upon the floor in its last protest to this cruel world.
Warband leader barks his orders more fiercely. ”igjen og igjen - again and again!”. The Tourrare arrive in their position, dismounting in their own positions to provide a shield wall between the Eskandr and their king. Spears cross with spears as the walls meet, as the exchanges occur between the men of the north and those of the south. Obscuring any direct line of sight to the King. Asier and a couple of his best riders do their best to exploit any openings within the enemies shield wall, those this is few and far between given the veteran nature of these forces. The warleader continues to throw curses where his blades fail, "Gamla lombungr, sugandi toti merr madr - Thou art morons, sucking at the teat of your mare mother.". Asier could only laugh at the man’s frustration, not understanding a single word being spoken, but clearly having some idea of his intent. “Il est issu d'une lignée infidèle et vile - He clearly comes from an unfaithful and vile lineage.”. He gives the signal to target the foul-mouthed Eskandr, the horse-archers line up their shots as they adopt the Cantabrian circle, each of them using the power of the force as they fire shot after shot towards the Warband Leader. The Eskandr grunts as he raises his shield, continuing his taunt as empowered shots repeated hit the wood as it starts to chip and crack, and as he realised too late that this was their plan, the shield snaps and breaks, leaving him completely exposed as Asier himself fires the arrows which stick him like a pin cushion as he falls upon the ground in his final breath.
With their leader down and the Tourrare putting up a fierce defence, the archers move to a volley stance, ”Volleyskudd!”. If they cannot attack through to the target, they will rain arrows upon the King instead. Each of the shots firing true in the air, as they rise high above the battlefield. However, this was the moment Asier was waiting for, to force them in this situation as he uses the magnetic properties of his Thunder magic to control and guide the arrows onto a new trajectory, as they curve up and around, heading straight back to the archers who fired them. “Mort d'en haut - Death from above!. The rain of Asier came down with such force as the archers were shish kebab with the very arrows they fired themselves.
This left an opening, the fatal one, which allowed Asier and the remaining Horseriders to charge through the lines to break the Eskandr formation, scatter the survivors, and allow the infantry to put the final nails in their coffins. “Now for the next lot. Let’s support his Majesty the best we can”.
Asier uses the Force to deliver a battle speech. The Birth of a Marching Song occurs upon the battle field. Asier meets Ser Percy Perpignan again. Percy uses arsenic on his foes, makes a bad joke about how Arsenic sounds like Arslan. Does his best to rile up Asier, advocating how his method for war is the superior one. Asier picks up Gerard from the river. Asier supports King Arcel by taking out a warband who was tasked with shooting the king on sight.
Interacting with: Olaf the Aged @Force and Fury Opportunity: Everyone feels the earthquake. Feel free to say hello to waking up Arnaud! Event: Defense of Relouse Location: The Beach
The storm raged, tugged by both sides of the conflict with the beach growing in occupation now that the traps had run their course and more Eskandr busied the forces to the point where Aheri had to forgo sentinel duties. War axe clenched tight in his right hand, he stood vigilant over the small peak that overlooked La Plage and considered his next play wisely, as distracting echoes from other fronts were keen on destabilising him. One in particular simply had the Northern man smirk behind his featureless mask, ”Le roi tombe, hein? Tombé sur son cul, oui! Ne laissez pas ces conneries vous séduire! En avant!*” he shouted at his men and those close enough to hear the executioner’s metallic voice.
Arnaud hurled his whole being forward, having since taken notice of the unnatural grove that bled from the Witch Wood. Regardless of what brought it, it was now being used against the Parrench, and thus was an enemy. The fodder was wise to not directly engage Arnaud- No amount of glory justified a swift and pointless end to the axe that could obliterate even the more heavily armoured in a single swing. Leave it to Olaf the Aged to handle these cases, as he did many times before. With a great stomp of his left foot, Aheri unleashed a focused blast of Force toward the mass of unnatural plant life, along with fissures to go with it, in the hopes to compromise the vined structure.
It dented the false forest, although it was far more resilient than Arnaud had initially thought. But the architect of this machination knew full well a few more concentrated strikes could end this peculiar endeavour– and so he attacked. A barrage of strange branches were sent toward Aheri– branches of a wood that very much defied the conventional. The executioner made the mistake of not realising this sooner, figuring a strong air blast from a swing of his axe would do, but he was wrong. Enough withstood the blast with their trajectory barely affected, hitting Arnaud at various points: The left armpit, the cheek and the hip, breaking some of his armour and revealing just a tad of his face, although one would mostly see his dark and greyed beard. Arnaud wasn’t bleeding quite yet, as his armour was endowed by the queen’s Boon. But at this rate, he would exhaust this blessing and rely only on his own power from here on out.
Olaf didn’t stop for a moment and went for his own wind strike. Aheri stands his ground, consolidating his stance to be immovable and with a mighty, lion-like warcry, prepared himself for the oncoming attack. But the elder Eskandr’s assault is far more powerful than he could have anticipated– The blast became far, far more powerful the moment it hit the ground before Aheri, prompting an explosion to completely destabilise the executioner! In this moment of weakness, the shaman capitalised with a closing of distance and tapped his wrinkled hand over Arnaud’s chest. A kneeling Aheri attempted to seize the older man’s wrist, but was too late to prevent his system from being exposed to soporific poisons. The attempt to catch Olaf was met with failure, as vines bound Arnaud’s being and the elder was allowed to retreat to safety.
The Royal Executioner feels his body waver, the poison already starting to have an effect. His size and inclination toward Essence magic delayed the effects relatively well, but Olaf’s poison was indeed potent. Arnaud knew he didn’t have much time before he would be rendered too weak, and so he charged with another war cry, but instead of swinging his axe, he performed a feint and instead stomped the ground when he was right before Olaf, who had been attempting to recover through syphoning energy via the plants. Surprised at first, Olaf’s eyes widen but he does not panic. With a strong exhale, he manages to downright deaden the air near him, preventing the kinetic blast from doing anything beyond serving as an annoying gust of wind passing by.
Left in complete disbelief, Arnaud pauses at the sight of Olaf’s raw power. He hesitated, and that was enough for Olaf to bind the axe wielder with vines and attempt to bury Aheri for good. The poison was making good work too, to the point where Arnaud seemed just about done.
Tomber, sans que mon adversaire ne connaisse mon nom? Foutaise!**
ROOOHHHHAAAAAR!
A great roar echoed throughout the Beach, and could be heard all over Relouse, some parts of the Witch Wood and very clearly for those that stayed near the Cape. A Lion’s roar, which ironically was probably unknown to most present in this conflict. What followed it was like thunder to lightning, a great earthquake that rumbled through the whole beach and the vibrations reached as far as the echoes of the scream. Aheri had slammed the pommel of his axe into the very ground that was ready to consume him, liberating him in the process and leaving the man with ceaseless steam that coated his being. His own sweat was cooking up!
”I, Arnaud Maobe, The Aheri, recognize you worthy foe. Old Eskand Warrior, will you give me your name?”
He says with quite the foreign accent. Olaf first speaks in his native tongue, something the executioner couldn’t understand, but he does honour the request with his own broken Avincian.
”Name. Old. Olaf.”
Arnaud nods. In spite of his clearly empowered state, the poison was still there and his threatening demeanour was thoroughly compromised. A shame he could not go at a strength worthy of such an opponent, but the Zuyr warrior embraced these circumstances of war. With battles continuing around them despite the grand quake, the executioner darts toward the enemy, faster and more devastating than ever, and readies a single axe swing to cleave through the coming projectiles from his equally reactive opponent. Once close, he readied another stomp, one that not only forced the sands and stone beneath to violently rise under Olaf, but was transformed through Essence magic to be as sturdy and impaling as possible. Unfortunately, Olaf was known for his manipulation of sand in particular and easily dissolves the transformed material, creating a cloud of sand in the air.
Aheri capitalises, but ends up outplayed by his opponent once more. Bound by vines through a deceitful counter by Olaf, the Eskandr sought to free the executioner from his tool of justice. The tug was strong, and Aheri’s strength was waning. Thinking it was the end, now that the big man had his mighty weapon taken, the shaman would be rightfully caught off guard by Aheri’s next manoeuvre: He simply abandons his axe and charges in, faster than ever from the lack of burden. Olaf reacts with a sprouting branch to uppercut the disarmed axeman, buying himself enough time to retreat, but Aheri doesn’t give up, even as his age and weight start to get to him along with the poison.
Confident after this swift dodge, the Eskandr taunted the Parrench warrior, ”You no good fight. Weak! Hahaha!” then he drew his own weapon, a typical sword of his people, and went to attempt a Coup de Grâce. Arnaud, too angry and battle charged to die, parries with his silver gauntlets and pushes back with enough force to destabilise the geriatric foe. Olaf stumbles, his own age also affecting his performance, and stares in rightful fear of what’s to come next.
The Parrench crouched before the recuperating Eskandr– to get at his level– and readied his right arm behind him, winding it up with a couple of spins. His left hand rested over his shoulder, keeping his posture steady as he focused on that one, decisive move. It all seemed slow, especially for such a fast paced battle, but it was all calculated, just enough to make for a devastating attack with the window Olaf had given. And then he struck, as fast as a snake thrusting its fangs onto its prey, in an attempt to lay that massive hand onto Olaf’s chest. The shaman knew he wouldn’t have a torso if this was allowed to hit.
With every bit of energy running through his being, Olaf propelled himself back whilst sacrificing a large amount of vines in the process. Aheri’s strike was so that the simple act of his palms and fingers grazing the side and shoulder of the elder caused bones to break: Shoulder and rib. If anything, Arnaud had succeeded in getting this veteran out of the picture for a while, even if it wasn’t through death, as these injuries were certainly dangerous, especially at that age.
In a cold stare, Olaf silently took back the taunting words. Having flirted with death so closely, far closer that an elder of war like him was used to, given his survival thus far, he knew it unwise to call Arnaud weak. Before Aheri can pursue and put an end to a now very wounded Olaf, he begins to lose control of his legs.
”Merde.” he cursed, now on one knee. He could barely see straight, and his armour was weighing far more on him than normal. Before long, he fell unconscious, in the middle of the battlefield, although was conscious just long enough to fall on his back, ”Next time,” calls the shaman, staggering away, ”We play again, big man. Next time, I no play with me food.” Arnaud heard it all, the last words he would hear before blacking out.
One of the most powerful warriors in Parrench was now ripe for the taking. If it weren’t for his squadron arriving on time, now missing two bodies from the initial six, Arnaud would have been a free claim to glory. Although perhaps the fact that Olaf didn’t finish him off was potentially enough of a warning to the lesser that it wasn’t wise to pursue the issue. Regardless, with Olaf out of commission, the Beach was just a tad safer. Safe enough for Aheri’s faithful men to drag him back into Parrench lines for recovery.
*The King Falls, huh? Fell on his ass, yeah! Don’t let this bullshit seduce you! Forward! **To fall, without my adversary knowing my name? Fuck that!
-Big fight with Olaf, Arnaud is a bit too confident -Most of Arnaud's attacks are countered by Olaf, his expertise outmatches Arnaud's raw strength and speed. -Arnaud is poisoned and made weaker, he is slowly succumbing to fatigue at an abnormal rate -He buffs up to buy time and threaten the veteran, causing his roar to echo through Relouse, some of the Witch wood and very much the whole beach, along with an earthquake. -He is disarmed despite his buff, but says fuck it and goes with his bare hands, and Olaf kind of realizes he's even more dangerous like this. -Arnaud nearly obliterates Olaf with a grab (Rolled 19 ayyy), but the elder manages to barely avoid death, ending up with a broken shoulder and a few shattered ribs. -Olaf retreats, Arnaud is unconscious but found by his men. Beach is a tad safer with Olaf tucking tail.
