Turn #67 - Living vs. Manethander in Elinie (Grey Hills)

[DM B]

There is preciously little time for merrymaking - the moon clouds over for a time, throwing everything into a darkness lit only by fires and torches, and suddenly there are cries of alarm from all around, then sounds of steel on steel. For a moment there is utter confusion...for a moment both good armies fear treachery from the other...but then the moon clears...to reveal masses of warriors milling among your ranks, weapons in hand. Their are short of stature, but broad and powerful, with hair-less scalps and pale skin. The Anuireans respond in kind, and soon a great battle is raging, one without clear lines...

[X-Osoerde (Alan)]

The Celestial Guard springs to defend the Archduke, who places a hand on the forearm of Captain Raenwe next to him, stilling him, while surveying the field.  The battle rages around him accompanied by chaos, death and dying. Yet, he remains still...until he finds what he wants: a section where the dwarves have not fully penetrated the line.

He looks to the Captain and smiles ever so slightly.

"Follow me," he says.

"To your Archduke!" he calls.

An his large horse, a celestial mount, agilely turns and charges. 

"To ranks! To ranks!" he calls.

The first dwarf barely noticed in the darkness when William's lance slammed into his robust head, nearly severing it, but freeing a few Pikemen from attack. 

"To ranks! To ranks!" he continues to call.

The second dwarf was a little more prepared, but all the same William catches him in the chest, yet his girth, pulls William from his horse and into the air.  William holds tight onto his lance sliding down it to land upon a dead dwarf.  He continues to run forward calling out to form ranks.

At first, it is a small collection, but with this start, William begins to form a ring of men first of the Celestial Guard and then others, by striking at groups of the dwarves and calling to Osoerdeans to rally and form ranks.

[X-Tornilen/SM (Alexander)]

Seeing the chaos below her, the Swordmage stands with the first column. The area around the valley entrance is fairly calm, most of the fighting is either in the valley or outside the valley mouth, below the place where the first column is arrayed.

She puts her helmet back on, sneering. "And so, to add to all the little joys of this day, we are saved by Osoer."

She raises her sword, gathering crackling energies around it, spreading a light for the warriors around her to see. "Knights of Osoerde, your kin awaits our help below! Warriors of Tornilen, your blades are needed! For Cuiraecen. For Haelyn. Charge!!"

The words are loud, boosted beyond the capacity of her voice and lungs. All of the first column hears it. Together they begin to charge. In front of them the Hell Hounds rush down into the fray, with shock infantry right on their heels, led by the Swordmage. The air infront of the Tornilen regulars ignite before their charge hits the dwarves, but the sorcery has little effect on sturdy dwarven mail and flesh. Steel, however, works just fine. Luckily for her, the Swordmage brought some of that as well.

[DM B]

Battle rages - more enemies add their strength to that of the dwarves; halfling slingers that hide among the rocks and strike from a distance, slavering dogs with red eyes (not so unlike the hounds summoned by the Sword Mage), even a handful of ogres...no, they are not THE ogre come again, just ogres - ten feet tall and strong like bulls. Nothing to worry about. Still it would have been a victory almost assured, for you are stronger than they in numbers, faith and skill, had it not been for the vampire masters and their spawns that strike at you leaders and officers...

[DM B]

(feel free to post your heroics in this thread, but do not expect to hear the final result before the adventure is finsihed)

[DM B]

In the valley below something is about to happen - or rather, three things are about to happen at the same time:

The dead are no longer content to stay dead. Instead the recently slain start rising, eager for warm blood and sweet flesh. They care not who they are killing, as long as it is living - both sides of the battle are fair game. Suddenly former enemies find themselves fighting side by side against this new menace - and the enthralled army of Landen Tshalen finally realizes that they have been under some spell and that they have now well and truly been betrayed.

It would have been the end for all those trapped in the valley had it not been for that other event. In battle men die. In large numbers. But a good portion of those who die do not perish immediately, for the human body is both frail and enduring at the same time. Instead they linger, overcome by pain and fear...for they know their days are numbered. Linger for minutes or hours, it depends. These men rise to, but there is another power calling them to battle. A faerie power, dark and beautiful - the Fey King promised his aid, and now it is here. In the moonlight morally wounded men regain their feet...and become majestic sidhe warriors. The sidhe turn on the undead and chaos is complete - but it does give the beleaguered humans respite.

Then came the other fey, arriving on the far band of the river, satyrs and others too strange to name, armed and armored in bronze the sped across the moonlit river as if it was slid ground to fall upon the undead. Speaking of Landen Tshalen - those who knew him well would later swear that the sidhe prince that led this new army bore a strong resemblance to their lord, so that many of his former warriors mistook him for their lord and captain come back from the dead to lead them once more...

[X-Haelyn's Aegis/RK (Andy)]

"Havok!  To the pits with you fiend!" cried Raenwe as he hurled himself into the path of the Vampire leaping to attack the ArchDuke and hacked brutally at it with his blade, "I've not ridden a hundred league and gained boils in my nether's to see him fall today!" Fighting without quarter Raenwe and his small band of templars followed the ArchDuke striking down or knocking back the minions of Shadow who would slow his path through the fray.

Seb, son of Donn sang the chant of St. Paeghan as he twirled his aspergil sending blessed oil flying all about, "rest in peace brothers, and rise not against your kin, let no shadow touch thee..."

Bryon, brother of Tarn hewed left and right with his greataxe, striking the vampire's head from his neck "fight together men of Anuire, our enemy seeks to sow confusion to prevent our acting in accord, fight by your brother, defend his back and he will defend yours!"

Tanen cursed as a halfling slingshot near stunned him, roaring his anger to drive away stupor he lashed out left and right with his flail at the diminutive warriors sending them reeling.  Seeing men yet heedless of the warthful Archduke he cried, "to the Duke men, form up about him and strike in unison!"

Their foes were treacherous, but if men could keep heart, if they could maintain discipline and cohesion, no foe could best them, such was trained into every templar in the north, your brother's life is your own, his enemies your enemies, for without him you will also fall...

[X-Tornilen/SM (Alexander)]

Block high, feint low, strike mid. Got the sucker. Dorinn was running through the moves in his head as he dispatched another dwarf. Behind him three had fallen. Finally this was turning interesting.
Having been a succesful duelist and fighter in both Ghieste and Tornilen, he had enlisted to prove himself. So far the opportunities had been few, but this night was promising. After tonight he would be a hero, after tonight Taela could not say no when he proposed.
He smiled grimly as he felled the next dwarf, almost laughing. They would sing songs of him after this, he had killed 5 foes. Him alone. All would know his name, as a hero of Anuire and Tornilen. So easy, they are no match for my-.
His thoughts stopped there, as an unseen warhammer took him in the back of his head, spraying brains and bits of his skull to his left. The low and stout man never even thought to inquire his name. Hah! Another fool human to add to my tally, tonight my name enters the annals of my clan.

In the valley, besides the river, Aegil was sitting. He had been sitting there for a while, trying to make his legs move. It was amazing really. There was an arrow sticking out of his thigh and it did not even hurt. He was leaning up against a fallen Orog. It's battleaxe lying halfway in the water. The blade will rust, shame really, looks like good craftmanship to me.
For some reason, the sounds of battle reminded him of his father's forge. Steel hitting steel, shouts and screams vaguely resembling the bellows of the forge and the hiss of water-cooled steel. It was a bit of stretch he knew, he had never heard steel scream in agony over a stomach wound, but still... If you listen just right...
With the memories of the forge came his father's voice, speaking careful instructions as he worked the glowing steel... the sound of his mother's laughter... the aroma of newly brewed mead. As he sat there, reminiscing, the world grew more and more faint. Dad, I changed my mind, I don't want to be a soldier no more. I want to learn... I want to learn all you will teach me.
Aegil did not mind the world growing dimmer, the life of a soldier, he had decided, was not for him anyway.

Merissa pulled her blade out of the dwarf's chestplate with a sucking sound. Dodging and trying to get her bearings, she looked around.
People were fighting, falling, dying all around her. She had rejoiced, as they charged down the hill, rejoiced in the anticipation of battle. Now it was not so fun anymore.
She had been in a lot of fights, some that were definitely worse than this. She could not remember any such battle, but she was sure that some of the scrapes she had been in would make this one look like a small holiday. After all, if she had made it through those, she could easily make it through this one.
For some reason her throat was sore... with a start she realized her throat was sore because she was shouting, screaming at the top of her lungs. It almost made her laugh, that one. How can one forget that one is shouting? It's like forgetting that one is breating... or walking.
She had also forgotten the tears that were running down her cheeks and the pain in her side. She did not mind forgetting those though, best not to dwell on it.
After all, a soldier needs a dedicated mind and an able body, like Sergeant Roeman used to say. He said a lot of things, could hardly shut up actually.
After that bolt took him in the eye, he was not going to say anything anymore. That almost made her laugh too. Or maybe cry, she was not sure. Best not to dwell on it.

[X-Osoerde (Alan)]

William, Captain Raenwe, Taran and the Celestial Guard have begun to reform lines; a feat made possible by considerable effort and paid with Osoerdean blood.  He can feel his voice growing hoarse, even at it is fueled by his blood; yet he still he calls out to the Osoerdeans and demands that they obey.

“Form Ranks! To Your Archduke!”  As he surveys, he calls out; things were going well.

From the darkness, he barely got his sword up to deflect vicious claws, receiving only deep gash upon the side of his face.  He is driven back.  The second attack pushes him even farther and as the Celestial Guard and the Captain attempt to reach him, large mastiffs seemingly made of shadow save beady yellow eyes bar their way.

The next attack, William is unprepared for stripping him of his shield and raking him along his back, which starts to open wounds just freshly mended.  Barely, William is able to catch the next attack, the snarling vampire loses half of its head for the effort, but still William is being driven back.  The ravine is behind him and soon there will only be open air in which to flee. A slash on his thigh, brings him to one knee; the vampires are barely visible in the moonlight and they would be uncanny celerity.  They plan to William an example. The next claws meet with still but the force of the attack send William backwards onto his back much to the amusement of his toothy assailants.

He takes a breath tempered in pain. Blood begins to blur his vision.  For the briefest instant, in this place of shadow, memory, time and dreams – images from past surge forth and make the present its thrall. They beckon a time from more 20 years earlier.

“Again, Prince!” Swordmaster Aegan presses the an attack which inevitably sees William upon his back and exposed…again.

Since dawn broke, they have been at it – it is now well past middy.  In that time, William has seen six different partners - each drilling the same technique which others, less stubborn that he, learned weeks ago.  His father looks down into the courtyard obviously in displeasure; he speaks to someone behind him.

“Again, Prince!”  William slowly stands, every bruise and tender muscle, screams in protest.

“I am tired!” he complains, to which Swordmaster Aegan replies, “I care not, Prince.  Perhaps you think your pretty face will defeat your enemies?  Perhaps, it will be so, but I am paid to teach you how to do so with steel – so stand up and do it again!”

An hour passes and William, on his back again, turns to spit into sand.  “Again, Prince!” Aegan demands with some frustration; William cannot bear to face him.

“Aegan, take a rest.  I shall teach the prince,” a voice says.  Aegan, happy for the respite, stomps off mumbling curses that would see other men hung for the audacity.

“Stand up, prince.”

William stands again and turns to regard Jaison, commander of his father’s guard.

“Good. Now, let us see what the little prince has learned?  Again.”

Hours would pass on that da;y exhaustion would finally end the days training for William refused to yield and refused to stop. 

A few days later when William comes to, he is disappointed to find Jaison by his side, looking at him with bemusement. He leans down to whisper something William.

“Again.”

It was youthful arrogance which saw him stand years ago – too stupid to recognize his own vulnerability and mortality. He laughs for a moment. 

William draws a deep breath, gritting against the pain and blood, he slowly stands bringing up his sword and another left by some Anuirean crossbowman, probably now dead.  He slowly backs up bring his heel to the ravines very edge and eyes the grinning vampires arrayed against him.

William stands for different reasons today: for god and gods, for land and people, for wife and child.

He smirks and beckons the coming night.

[X-Haelyn's Aegis/RK (Andy)]

"Damn the man, hasn't he died often for one man already?" Raenwe cursed as the ArchDuke racing ahead was borne from his mount, and beaten back from his guards by the demon horde.  "The Duke!  The Duke!  Havok!" Rallying the surviving templars and the Osoerdean troops, Raenwe charged towards the embattled archduke, roaring battlecries and shouting insults to his foes, as only a drill sergeant trained to parade ground bellow could.

[X-Tornilen/SM (Alexander)]

Further up the hill from the Achduke and the cliff he tethers upon, the Swordmage's charge has gotten stuck. Around her soldiers from Tornilen and dismounted Osoerdian knights are fighting with all they have. They are deeply entangled with several ranks of dwarven warriors, though both hounds and men are trapped among the dwarven lines. It is a battle with few clear divisions.

The Swordmage is fighting with utter abandon. Her own soldiers have cleared an area around her, as her cloak strikes out undiscriminatingly. It is a garment seemingly made of flowing steel, occasionally becoming hard and sharp. She has taken down many enemies, but she is not the greatest fighter on this field by far, only through her sorceries can she match the dwarves' skill and determination. Behind the mask of the Swordmage, Marya Tanar's mind churns around the image of her brother falling. He isn't dead. He still lives. He will wait for me. I will save him. He is not dead. He cannot be dead. While her mind churns, her mouth keeps speaking the incantations and her arms keep rising and falling.

[DM B]

The Archduke of Osoerde would certainly have met his end then and there, facing as he was multiple vampires...but suddenly a changes come over them, and they cease their attacks...and instead such as remains of their number flee into the night. The larger battle is also over - though the night has been bloody and confused the Anuirean's proved superior and their enemies are all slain or fled.

In the valley below there is also a change. The living dead fall to the ground, dead once more (an not a moment too soon). At the same moment Landens Tshalen's men seems to come fully to its senses...the men are confused, as if waking from troubled sleep. Seeing the battle lost the remaining orogs flee across the stream - many drown in the process - and into the hills beyond.

[X-Elinie/RiD (Niels)]

Deleted 

[X-Osoerde (Alan)]

William calls out to Captain Raenwe that he wants prisoners, as he stalks forward and begins to regain control of his army.  He kneels next to one of the bodies of the dwarves, carefully moving his head from left to right, in examination. He stands slowly and calls out to Commander Taran.

"When dawn breaks, go down to the ravine and bring Tshalen's men to me, I would have very harsh words with them ," he says.

"And inquire of the status of Baron Bellamie, as well as the others: Marquis Khaiaren, the Swordmage, his grace, Patriarch Daouta and his Holiness and invite them to join me for drink and talk," he says.

"And Commander, tread carefully." He nods his dismissal.

He directs an area to be cleared and the wounded tended to.  He calls back to the reserve that a camp might be made and welcomes back his knights and armsmen. In the moonlight, he look down again upon the dead dwarves and halflings.

"Hmmm," he can be heard saying.

"Dwarves and halfling indeed. Somehow, I doubt these were summoned..."  He strides forth again to ensure order is regained.

[X-Tornilen/SM (Alexander)]

The Swordmage pauses in the middle of the valley mouth. Looking back over her shoulder, she appraises the battlefield. A slight reddening of the horizon indicates that dawn may soon be on it's way, but there is some time yet. For now the torches dot the battlefield, where soldiers move around. Looking for injured friends and comrades to help, or enemies to show the last mercy. She looks down into the valley, where torches are moving as well. Same story there. There is a taste of ash on her tongue, like fury long gone stale.

As she climbs down into the valley, moving around the soldiers who are moving improvised stretchers up or down from the valley. Most of the men and women are looking grim, especially those who are coming up from the valley.

...is not dead, he cannot be dead. I will save him. He is still alive. I had to focus on the battle. He will understand. He is not dead. Oh Stormlord, oh brother, do not abandon me. He is not dead, he cannot be...

Her helmet is in her hand, she took it off sometime after reaching the valley floor... the dead lie everywhere. From the battlefield above, from the shadow realm and from the catacombs... all were crammed in here. To fight and to die. Now the rubble is being cleared from the entrance to the catacombs. Now there is no more blood being spilled.

After a while of searching, she finally finds him. He is propped up against a boulder, a stone's throw from the river. It looks like there was a small area of calm here, most of the fallen are around him, not on top of him or below him. His eyes are closed, someone closed them for him. His face... his body... is covered in dried blood. The blood is everywhere, still glistening wetly in the deepest wounds. For a moment Marya convinces herself that he is about to sit up, spit out the blood and smile up at her. Then reality reasserts itself, settling like lead upon her shoulders. Struggling under the weight, she falls to her knees, the helmet hitting a corpse beside her with a dull sound. Hands reaching out, touching his face, making to grab him by the collar and shake him... but it is useless.

From the side one of the soldiers is coming over. Walking carefully, coming to serve his duchess. He pauses as he gets a clear look at her. She isn't looking at him, but from the side she looks broken somehow. There are no tears on her cheeks, there is no sobbing, but suddenly he realizes that she is broken. It scares him, he holds back, not certain what he fears. He watches as control is reasserted, as sorrow turns to fury turns to ice and all emotion leaves her face. A gauntleted hand picks up the helmet and Marya Tanar puts it back on her face.

The Swordmage rises and turns to the soldier. "Stretcher. Now." He nods, leaving in a hurry, calling for others to help. The Swordmage leans forward for a moment, places her hand upon Drago's brow, letting it rest there for a moment. Then she rises fully, to find the corpse of the Ogre...