Finding Their Sea Legs

[Bearded Gnome]

((Closed to Christina Bredith and Witchblade, part of the Siege))

"This ain't natural," Kilrog groaned with his face looking over the ship's railing. "Dwarf legs aren't meant fer the water." The last of his words were cut off as a gurgling sound came to his lips, and the food he had just enjoyed an hour ago was now greeting him again. The partially digested meal splashed into the ocean, and the dwarf warrior watched with watered eyes as it quickly floated away from him.

"Bah, buck up ye prissy elf," Rathmar replied. "We been out for near three hours and yer already spilling yer guts to the open water." The dwarf captain could only smile though. He understood the behavior, for the same effect was also taking place among other dwarves in the small fleet traveling in support towards Fallien. The small island nation were among the few peoples of Althanas that the dwarves trusted. Both for trade and battle.

The dwarves - even when holed up in Kachuk - had received Fallien's call for aid. So, with little persuading on Rathmar's part, the twin kings had approved the dwarf captain's proposal of sending a force to support their ally against such odds. But the dwarves held no tunnels that spanned far enough to reach the island nation, and to dig new ones would take months. In response, King Grimbold gave the dwarven craftsmen the task of building ships large enough to hold two scores of dwarves each.

After accepting the task and hastily building the five ships, for the kings were only sending two hundred men, the craftsmen were congratulated on their fine work. Soon after the dwarf captain set out from Etheria Port, once paying the Black Sails a hefty fee, and began his way to Fallien.

"Captain," one dwarf up in the crow's nest called, "We're coming up on 'em!"

He squinted his eyes and looked ahead, seeing the Cultist fleet surrounding the island.

Good, the dwarf thought. He looked to each of his men, and to the others on the ships neighbouring theirs. With a voice large enough to reach the other four ships he ordered, "Suit up boys! We got some heads to bash!"

[Witchblade]

One Day Ago…

It had already been a week. One slow moving week that seemed to have taken forever to pass by. All she wanted to do was explore a little, look around, check out the native sights of Fallien. After all, this was a region she’d never come to before and as such her curiosity was peeked and she wanted to know more about it. But no, first she had to get herself some stupid Exit Pass so she could freely walk around without the worry of being thrown in jail and though she could escape if she wanted to jail was not a place she wanted to be.

Already a week and the halfling was growing sick of the heat. Corone was hot but this place was just ridiculous. The sun never went away, the wind barely ever showed itself and clouds…what clouds!? She hadn’t seen any the entire time she’d been here! At first she’d thought her cloak would help protect her from the sun, after all half vampire and sun equals not a very good combination. But then there was the fact that her cloak was black and it did protect her from the sun’s light, but roasted her from the inside out instead. So, she’d removed the cloak and decided to just deal with it. After a week she’d been crispified pretty much every day and now sported a tan instead of her usual deathly pale skin.

On the bright note, she now had her freaking paperwork.

On an even brighter note she’d finally taken her first steps out of a place known as The Outlander’s Quarters where she’d been forced to stay for the past week, had two attempted muggings and one attempted killing.

On a not so bright note, it appeared that Fallien was going to war. Then again, this halfling was pretty certain that war could be classified as a bright note, after all there was death and killing involved in it, which was good.

She doubted the people living here would call it a good thing. Few people if any roamed the streets of Irrakam and those that did had worry etched into their darkened faces. Fear and uncertainty lit their eyes and poured out from their body language. They were scared that they’d lose the battle and their homes It was an odd concept to Witch as she had no place to really call a home herself. She stayed in Concordia most of the time but could not call that a home, so the thought of losing such a thing was foreign to her.

Perhaps she could have a little fun while she was here and join in the war, if only she knew which side she should be joining though.

Walking up to one of the many guards on patrol throughout the city, Witch stopped him. He was young and inexperienced and seemed nervous when she approached him, not to mention he kept looking from the strings holding her mouth shut, to the multitude of weapons adorning her body and then to her eyes.

“As you can clearly tell I’m a foreigner to your region and I hear that war is about to break out. I’m wondering if you could tell me anything about it.”

The young man seemed very surprised by the voice that was speaking within his head. Of course he’d have to notice, her mouth was clearly not moving. Still, he did manage to answer, even if he stammered a bit.

“The Cult of the Sun has teamed up with the Harpies, they’re planning on attacking Irrakam.”

Witch nodded her head in thanks to him and moved on. So, she could team up with a bunch of cultists and harpies, or with the people inside this city. Teaming up with the city seemed much easier then tracking down and finding the cultists, but then again, she always liked being on the winning side. Perhaps she’d wait and see.

Present Time…

Alikam looked out towards the water that surrounded Irrakam. Their ships were out there, waiting for the right moment to strike. But there would never be a right moment because thanks to The Jya, they knew the Cultists and the Harpies were coming and they knew to prepare themselves. Alikam had taken it upon himself to set up defences around the waterway. It was hard, considering Irrakam was an island surrounded by water, but they hadn’t put up defences everywhere because you couldn’t dock a boat everywhere. In some places the walls were too high to even think about getting up and into the city that way. So they’d set them up around the docks.

Homes and businesses had been evacuated, people had been moved off the island completely or just moved to safer locations. A bunch of alchemologists had shown up and were teleporting some of the citizens to safer grounds, which took a lot of the stress and burden off the inner city guards shoulders. There were still innocents within the walls of Irrakam, but even if a handful were gone it was handful that would survive and would not need protection.

“Captain Alikam.”

The Captain turned from his musing to see his second in command approach, Sergeant Liera. She was quite the head turner, when she wasn’t covered metallic armour, boasting dual short swords, tying her long black hair back and approaching him with such a serious expression.

“Liera, how are the preparations going.”

The two of them turned and looked at what they had been able to do in the past few days to help fortify the area. All along the bank of the river were large wooden spikes protruding from the water and the hard sandy ground, placed there to slow down the troops when they finally land and force them into a bottleneck. The small street led into a larger square where the majority of Alikam’s men lay hidden and waiting to surprise the Cultist once they ‘retreat’. For they were going to land and there wasn’t much they could do about it. Some of their arrows had been coated in poisons that the merchants had on hand, others were covered in oil and cloth so they could set the ships alit once they came into view.

They had a few other surprises set up for the Cultists in the square as well.

“Good, Captain,” Liera looked out over the calm water, “I think we’re just waiting for our enemy now.”

[Christina Bredith]

This day at the beach was not exactly Christina’s cup of tea.

She was standing in line with a slew of other soldiers positioned to defend Irrakam’s shore from the invading forces of the Cult of Mitra. Many of the soldiers with her were Coronian, sent here in response to the Jya’s call for assistance; Christina herself was not a registered, rank-and-file soldier of the Coronian Military, but the prospect of helping fight off the siege of a bunch of heartless, hideous beasts tugged at her heart strings – as did the promise of a lucrative reward thereafter. It sure didn’t hurt to be in a High Priestess’ good graces.

Right now, though, Christina had forgotten every ounce of that. One of the only females standing in line with a bunch of male, uniform-toting Coronian soldiers, she was therefore among the only ones who needed to worry about her hair. While the rest of her comrades stood stone-still with bitingly serious expressions on their faces, the blonde looked considerably more lackadaisical, eyeing her tufts of golden hair which were too frizzy to be met with her satisfaction. It would seem such a minor thing to be worried about for a soldier, and her hair really didn’t look that bad objectively, but to Christina she might as well have been wearing a bale of hay on her head.

She was also the only soldier present who was occasionally spraying herself lightly with a plastic spray bottle filled with water. It used to be quite cool, when she bought it from a cryomancer in the Outlander’s District, but after an hour or two in the desert heat it was lukewarm. Even so, the mist kept her skin cool and her hair damp, while at the same time giving her skin a sheen that attracted the eye of many the young male soldier.

For Christina Bredith, it didn’t matter that her actions might be seen as lazy and unserious. To be honest, she didn’t care how Fallien’s soldiers and superiors saw her; as long as the Jya didn’t shoot her with a lightning bolt, she would be quite satisfied. It was the woman warrior’s plan to get out of this sauna as soon as the fight was over – and the rewards were pocketed, of course – and return to her more bearable homeland of Corone. Her reputation here in the god-forsaken desert didn’t matter to her, because she wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough to make use of it.

That said nothing about her dedication, however. In recent months, if there was one thing Christina had become good at, it was battle. Nowadays it was all she had left. Her life and her family were gone, so the fine art of swordsmanship was the only thing left to her. Rosebite, with its pommel of chipped ruby, hung off her rounded left hip, glittering in the unforgiving sunlight. This sword was so much more than a showpiece. Christina was fully resolved to pluck the feathers of a few harpies with her runic long sword’s help; the approaching Cultists would serve as a suitable warm-up. She would defend this place, even if it wasn’t her home, to her dying breath, because that was the type of person she was.

You could never tell it from her demeanour at the moment. “Why did I come he~re?” she mumbled to herself, spraying her face with another mist of refreshing water. The soldiers immediately beside her turned their heads, either out of distaste for her unprofessional attitude or attraction for her involuntarily seductive actions. It was relatively obvious that many of them were growing annoyed with her, however; she didn’t care. “This had so better be worth it.” The woman grasped at a thick clump of hair that hung over her face and grimaced. “God… no mortal perm can overcome this!”

Suddenly one of Fallien’s commanding officers shouted out to attract their attention. “The Cultist ships are approaching! Prepare yourselves!” he announced. Many of the soldiers tightened their weapon grips and others shifted themselves into defensive positions to brace against the initial attack of the siege weapons. Christina let go of the clump of hair and brushed it aside, reaching her right arm across her body and resting her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her face took a more serious turn almost immediately.

If any of her comrades questioned why someone like her was here, they were about to get their answer.

[Bearded Gnome]

"Full sails and ready the oars!" Rathmar ordered as he stood on the deck, observing the movement of his men.

They were gaining on the Cultist fleet, only three hundred yards away. Rathmar smiled with anticipation, and the smile then increased tenfold as a blessing came upon them. As if the gods were smiling down on the dwarves, a strong wind began to blow. A large gust of wind that would add to their movements as the daring charge ensued. They built speed as they began to close the gap.

Two hundred yards.

"Man the oars!" The dwarf captain bellowed, and the dwarves under him complied. They rushed to the indentation holding their seats, lining the walls. They brought out large spear-like - except for the widened end - pieces of wood. Twenty oars, ten on each side, slid out of the ships' hulls and began to dip and push into the water and each push gained more force. They took up a chant, a seafarer's melody, to keep in rythm with their dwarven brothers.

One hundred yards.

By now the Cultist fleet had spotted the incoming force and began their barrage, but not on the poor islanders - they fired upon the dwarves. Magical projectiles whizzed past and Rathmar stood strong on deck, unafraid. He kept his men in line, kept the rowers at their steady pace and ordered for the dwarves on the other ships to do the same.

They still held the element of surprise, for who could truly conjure an image of Dwarves on water? The race was reknowned for their stubborn nature and their preferance towards the hard rock and stone. So the cultists - taken aback with wide-eyed surprise - led the barrage half-heartedly.

Just as Rathmar had hoped.

"Steady pace lads," Rathmar commented. "We're about to hit and need all the momentum we can get."

They closed in like a hurricane, the five dwarven ships speeding along the water. They were as spread out as the river would allow, twenty yards away from the other. The moment of truth had come upon them.

"Brace yerselves!" Rathmar shouted as he and the other half of his force fell to the deck.

The rowers gave one final push, and steeled themselves for impact as the ships collided with the Cultist fleet.

[Witchblade]

Alikam stood, waiting and watching. It was the worst part of war knowing you had to wait for your enemy to come to you instead of bringing the battle to them. How he wished he could sail out over the waters of the river Attireyi and bring the fight to the Cultists, but it was not to be. He was stuck on land, feeling the minutes and the second slowing ticking away as he just waited.

But time was paying off as Alikam watched the sails of the ship break the horizon on a steady pace towards them.

“Positions!”

He turned around to watch the archers take up spots along the roofs closest to the water. Infantry hid in the shadows of the buildings and behind defensive walls to hide their positions and the mages were sporadically placed within the two units, though most of them were waiting in the square for the retreat. There was also a large group of Corone warriors that had come to the aid of Fallien. Alikam knew not if they would follow his orders and the heat of battle was not a place to find out. They were soldiers though, men bred and trained for war, they followed whosever orders were yelled with enough force into their faces and that was what he was counting on.

“Archers at the ready!”

He made sure to give all his commands in Common, doubting that any of the Corone warriors could understand his native tongue.

The archers notched their bows, holding out steady and waiting for his next command.

“Light your arrows!”

The mages set fire to the oil and cloth.

It was then that Alikam noticed five ships trailing on the Cultists fleet and attacking them as well.

“Hold! Liera,” He turned to his second in command, “The other ships…”

She was staring out over the blue water watching as all of the ships rammed themselves into the sides of the Cultist’s fleet.

“Dwarves, sir.”

“Dwarves?”

Alikam looked out over the water with amazement and gratitude clearly evident on his face. How or why the dwarves had come to aid Fallien he knew not, but he was sure to express his thanks to them once this battle was over and they had crushed the Cultists.

“Aim for the Cultist’s ships men and…fire!”

A wall of flaming arrows shot out of the rooftops, speeding through the air like the great phoenixes themselves, heading straight at the Cultists ships.

On a nearby roof…

Witch crouched down on the roof, hiding in the shadows of the house beside it as she watched the battle beginning to unfold. She was unsure of who would win this altercation. The Cultists were magic heavy yet even from this distance she could see they were armed. But the dwarven ships—where they had come from she knew not—were fast upon them and already cutting into their numbers. It looked like they were trying to either drown them in the river or drive them to land quicker, wounded and battle weary. Either way, it seemed the Cultists had underestimated their enemy and were going to pay for it now.

Human wars are quite entertaining, aren’t they?

The white, baby dragon perched atop Witch’s shoulder purred in agreement as she scratched him under the chin.

[Christina Bredith]

The tension in the air was practically suffocating, and Christina swore she could cut it with her knife – she was just as certain that it was doing nothing for her hair. Even so, she couldn’t blame the soldiers on the shore as they watched the advancing Cultist ships. It gave one a helpless feeling to be standing in such a situation. Soon the ships would break against the shore, as close as they could come, and they would be met with a swarm of enemies with a sole intent that was perfectly clear. The only line of defense Fallien had before this wave struck was their archers – or so they thought.

It was perhaps for that reason that Christina appeared considerably more confident than the rest of her Coronian allies. They were muttering and chattering nervously, not loudly enough to be considered disorderly by their superiors and yet it was clear enough that they were not at ease with the situation. It wasn’t surprising; after all, it wasn’t as though Corone had been invaded in most of their lifetimes, so they wouldn’t have had much experience with such a thing. Christina didn’t either, but she did hold one card that none of them did. It was either her confidence or her naivety that made her brave.

“Archers at the ready!” came the command. “Light your arrows!” to the mages. Christina counted down in her head, watching the slow advance of the ships, almost hearing the drums of war pounding in her head. Any second now, she would hear the command. A rain of fire would light up the sky, and then they would be able to step back and assess the damage.

But something strange was happening. It was as though a small number of the approaching ships had been taken into a fit of madness and were ramming suicidally into each other. Even at this distance Christina could hear the cries of panic and confusion from the sea, even above the confusion of her comrades, even above the roar of the waves. She strained to hear one more thing above all of these: an explanation. Alikam’s words could not be heard directly by Christina, but the exclamation of his lieutenant trickled along the group of soldiers like a wisp of wind. Dwarves? Christina thought, tilting her head. I sure hope those boats are sturdier than they look – otherwise they’d better not mind getting their beards wet.

More important to Christina was the order shouted across the distance by their captain. The archers were ordered to fire, and immediately a shower of glittering embers painted the sky. They rose, arced, fell, and showered the cultists in a rain of holy fire, as if the Fallien desert goddess was punishing them from above. A number of the arrows struck open water, creating an audible sizzle and a cloud of steam that would doubtless sew only more confusion on the cultist ships.

For the ground troops, life was still uneventful. They were tasked with standing still, ready to draw their weapons and fight when the enemy finally reached the shores. Indeed, Christina had the feeling that a little fire wouldn’t be enough to stop them. She, however, still had her trump card, one thing the Cultists couldn’t possibly be expecting, and so she was the only soldier to spring into action when the captain’s command came.

“Ready, Rosebite?” she spoke to herself, just barely audible over the chaos. The sword couldn’t hear her – of course not, what a silly notion! – but sometimes Christina felt like it almost understood her, like it almost responded with a will of its own. Today, at least, it would remain nothing more than an extension of herself, a tool to achieve her goals and defend these people. In a grey flash, the weapon was loosed from its scabbard and drawn across Christina’s body until she held it aloft in her right hand. Five colourful runic gems adorned each flat of the blade, two of them glowing faintly as if with light from within.

No doubt her actions caused quite a lot of confusion among her allies, but they would soon have their explanation. The blonde warrior adjusted her position, facing the pack of Cultist ships and holding Rosebite to her side. The faintest smile twisted her ruby lips. “And scream!”

A silvery rune at the tip of the blade flared to life along with an orange rune carved into it. Christina swung the blade in an arc across the front of her body, and a blue crescent of energy launched forth from its path. It screamed across the sea and parted the water with all the force of a sonic boom. By the time it reached the cultist ships, it had lost a considerable proportion of its initial force; there was no chance of the blast doing any considerable damage to the hulls of the ships, but that was not Christina’s goal. No sooner had the rain of fire stopped than they found the very sails of their ships bombarded by arcs of energy that tore them to shreds.

The woman unleashed a second burst of energy almost directly after the first connected, this time aiming at a separate clump of ships, which likewise found their sails punctured and torn by the blast of blue energy from the shore. Now the Cultist ships were not only alight, but some of them were dead in the water. The warrior knew she couldn’t use too much of her energy here, but certainly this damage would be enough for now.

The blue gem glowed only faintly once more, and Christina stepped back to survey her own damage.

[Bearded Gnome]

The dwarves fought on with a fury. They had taken the Cultists by surprise in the initial attack, and after taking two of their ships from them, the effects of their brash ramming was wearing off. The Cultists were regaining their wits and were giving up a good fight, but they also noticed a weakness in the dwarve's wild strategy.

Since the dwarves emptied from their damaged boats, they had been fighting in small pockets. Groups of forty dwarves, tightly knit and battling from enemy to enemy. At first, the frenetic strategy was working to their advantage - battle-hardened dwarves against the lightly wielded swords and staves of the enemy - but now, with the Cultists remembering themselves and their place, they took note of the error.

As did Rathmar.

The Sun worshippers outnumbered the dwarves greatly, and that in itself was an advantage. So the only way the dwarves stood a chance against the massing forces of the Cultists was if they regrouped and resumed the attack as the well-trained and coordinated force that all the world knew them to be. But the window of opportunity was quickly closing as the Cultists hastily changed their battle structure to turn the tides on the dwarves, surround the separate groups on all sides, and prevent them from following through with their plan.

But that was something Rathmar would not allow.

"Fall back!" The dwarf captain bellowed. "Fall back and regroup for the counterattack!"

The dwarves heeded their captain's call and began to retreat, but, with the Cultists on the move to intercept, they were hard pressed to find an opening in which they could escape. Some of the groups found their way to their brethren with little resistance, but for the others, Kilrog's group among them, fought hard to force their way through.

"Form up!" Kilrog barked to the small band. "No prissy, staff-wielding humans are gonna be the death of us!" The dwarves around him roared in agreement. "Best fighters in the middle and at the ends," he continued while waving his hands around indicating his meaning. The dwarves reacted instantaneously to the orders, weaving in and between each other while forming a half cirlce with the railing of the ship to their backs.

The Cultists rushed in, trying to break the dwarves defensive position before they had a chance to dig in, but they did not take into account the solidity of the dwarves' resolve. Even while moving among each other they fought, striking out at the humans when side-stepping, trusting their comrades fully in the fact that another would be there to take his place after leaving his position.

And there was nothing Rathmar could do to assist them.

His forces were also on the defensive, pooling themselves at the interconnecting bridges and forcing the Cultists to bottle-neck and somewhat slow their advance. Most of the dwarves that escaped the Cultist's attempt to route their plans were at the front of the defensive line, matching - and even surpassing - their blows, cut for cut.

"Fight on," the dwarf captain yelled, "and the next round o' ale is on me!" Thinking himself low for having to bribe his men to fight, he quickly tossed the thought aside as yells came back to him.

"And ye'll be getting twice as many from me!" One dwarf cried.

"Aye," many more agreed.

Rathmar smiled wide with appreciation for his men. The noblest of dwarves he had ever seen. He was both honored and blessed for being given the chance to fight - and die, if need be - with such admirable dwarves. He quickly composed himself and forced his mind to stay in the present.

He scanned the area as well as he could, looking for the remaining dwarves trapped between them and the hundreds of Cultist forces occupying the ships before him. After many moments, he discerned that two groups were fighting outside of their ranks. One was holding strong, holding the Cultists back with as much ferocity as it was skill. Kilrog's group, no doubt, the captain thought to himself. The others, though, were being overrun, the sheer number of the army amassed before them dwindling their spirits as fast as their ranks.

Rathmar found himself at a cross roads. Should he send his force in full to the aid of the struggling dwarves? Or should he split his forces once again and try to aid them both? When looking at the two groups, one successfully holding while the other was in dire straits, Rathmar made his descision. He would aid the dwindling dwarves - in full - and hope that Kilrog could hold out long enough for the dwarven captain to rescue his men from certain death.

"On me command -," he began but was quickly cut off as a storm of flaming arrows streaked across the sky and struck at the back of the Cultist forces.


The spectacle was not lost on Kilrog either, and he noticed the attack for what it was: an opening. Just as the black-haired dwarf had predicted, the Cultists began to turn in the direction of their comrade's screams of pain.

"Now's our chance!" Kilrog roared. "Bust through!" The dwarves reacted just as quickly - if not quicker - than before and began hacking their way into the Cultist army. Formed as a giant spike, the dwarves gained momentum with every stride and made their way towards the main dwarven force. With Kilrog at the lead, they made every foot and found an opening to rejoin with Rathmar and crew.

But as if on cue, Rathmar sent his forces straight for the struggling group of dwarves - who had also taken advantage of the situation and were making progress towards them.

"Break the damned humans!" Rathmar yelled. "We'll not be losing another dwarf to these bastards!" The dwarves bellowed and worked even harder, enraged by the thought of more of their brethren dying at the hands of the Cultists. Kilrog's group joined up with them as they ran past, killing all in their path.

The dwarf captain noticed then the ease at which they were breaking through, and he knew that surprise was once again on their side. If the hail storm of flaming arrows from the island's forces was not enough to throw them off their guard, then the two large blue blades of energy that cut into their sails surely pushed them over the edge.

So after rescuing the seventeen remaining dwarves from being slaughtered, Rathmar ordered for, "An attack so fierce that the damned humans'll piss themselves when we come charging towards 'em!"

And as if the entire dwarven force was possessed with the strength of ancestors long past, they roared in compliance and charged head on into the Cultist army.

[Witchblade]

((VA, in your next post, drive the Cultists to land.))

Alikam watched from the shore as the Cultist ships broke formation. The Dwarves were overrunning them and the Cultists didn’t know who to defend themselves against. The barrage of arrows coming in from the mainland or the Dwarven fleets that were boarding their ships and cutting through their men. Soon, they would be forced to make land and charge into Irrakam and Alikam was waiting. Now was a chance to take advantage of the situation and cut through as many of the Cultists as they could before their forces had a chance to overwhelm them on land.

There were no more arrows flying through the air towards the Cultist’s ships.

“Mages, at the ready!”

They could only do this once.

“Attack!”

It seemed like a stalled effort, but Alikam knew otherwise. All along the rooftops, the mages that had set the arrows alight were beginning to chant the same spell. Their voices started off a whisper and slowly growing in power and volume as the spell continued. At first nothing appeared to be happening, but then Alikam began to see the efforts. By one of the Cultist ships the water was beginning to boil, rocking the vessel. Just when it seemed the ship itself would tip from the force of the waves and bubbles a giant sea serpent made of pure water rose from the depths of the River Attireyi. His body shinning in the light of the sun that bore down on Fallien. The water he was made from constantly turned and flowed, some of leaking off the creature and raining down on the Cultist vessel.

The Cultists on the ship began to make their own chant as if to ward off the sea serpent, but they never had the chance to finish it. Letting out a cry as if wrangled from the depths of ocean, the sea serpent crashed down against the Cultists ship, breaking it in half and returned to the water from where it came. The wooden vessel slowly began to sink down into the river, their cries for help unheeded by their own comrades. They would either drown in the water or somehow find their way to land. Alikam cared little either way, the more of them that died in the waters of Attireyi the less he would have to run through with his sword.

The mages stopped their chanting and the waters calmed themselves once again.

[Christina Bredith]

Back on the shore, things were not all quiet either. The soldiers gathered in preparation for the Cultists’ eventual landing were in a frenzy, scurrying about the sandy shore like little ants as they got into position as choreographed by their superiors. From the looks of things, the Cultists that actually managed to reach the shore would be a straggled few compared to the main force that was even now being divided and decimated by the frenzied dwarves. The confusion, surprise, and damage of the flaming arrows, Christina’s sonic sable, and the water dragon had only accelerated the Cultists’ spiral into defeat. Victory now seemed all but a certainty.

Perhaps it was not unreasonable that Christina’s hopes were high and thus her guard was a little low in the wake of the euphoria. The rest of the battle seemed a cake-walk now. The dwarves were already taking care of the messy bit, with Fallien’s finest standing at the ready to mop up any of the magic-chanting bastards that managed to escape. Still, if for no reason other than formality, the rest of the battle did have to take place, and so Christina took her place amongst her Coronian brethren as they lined up not far from the water’s edge and braced themselves for the impending invasion.

The warrior stood gazing out over the crystalline water of the river, which just moments ago had been so furious and frightening that its present calm seemed some kind of ruse, a sheepskin hiding the most dangerous of wolves. That wolf had already pounced upon its prey, which Christina could see were scrambling to escape the losing battle aboard their ships and make their way to the shores of Irrakam where, perhaps, their deaths might at least not be in vain. Their ships were now mostly immobilized with sails torn asunder, so she knew they would have to make their way to shore from perhaps a greater distance than they had intended. The increased rowing distance would serve to tire them out and ease the Fallien victory even more. If those archers and mages keep this up, I might not even get my hands dirty at all. Christina wasn’t sure whether she favoured that thought or lamented it.

The commanding officers were still barking out orders, most of which filtered only latently into Christina’s head for storage and recollection later. Most of it seemed, again, little more than formality. “Hold ranks, prepare yourselves, drive them back,” came the advice again and again. What for, she had to ask? The Cultists wouldn’t even make it to shore. Not a single drop of blood needed to be spilled by Fallien or Coronian sword. It would be the easiest victory and shortest invasion in the history of humankind.

If only Christina could have seen then how wrong she was.

[Bearded Gnome]

Rathmar looked on as his dwarves tore through the Cultist force like tissue paper. They were gaining ground, pushing the enemy back towards land with every passing moment. Even in the midst of battle, a battle that swiftly turned in their favor, Rathmar had an awful feeling. Something was wrong; the dwarf captain could not quite put his finger on it. The Cultists were giving ground with little resistance, sending a few sacrificial lambs here and there to be slaughtered and consumed by the rampaging dwarves.

It was too easy. Rathmar knew the humans could put up a better fight than this. Even with the all the attacks from both the Fallien forces on the island - the liquid serpents included - and the dwarves from the back of their fleet, they seemed calm. As if it was expected that reinforcements would come for the noble islanders and that was a dreary thought indeed. Perhaps the dwarf captain had underestimated these humans. Perhaps for once in decades, he had fallen into the enemy's trap like a fly in a spider's web.

"Kilrog," the dwarf captain beckoned, and the black-haired dwarf came running. "Take yer force through the middle," a twinge of panic could be heard in his voice, "and quickly!"

Kilrog could see the change in the ever-confident dwarf. "Captain," he said sincerely, "ye alright?" Rathmar's face twisted, whether in confusion or anger, the black-haired dwarf could not tell.

"Ye see anythin' weird about these Cultists?" Rathmar asked, and when his dwarven counterpart made no action to respond, he continued, "Don't ye think it odd that these humans, the same humans that came with the goal of destruction in mind, would be losing so quickly - would be letting themselves lose?"

A realization struck the dwarf's face. "Ye think they're reeling us into their schemes?"

"Aye," Rathmar replied. "So take yer force through the middle - quickly - and be ready for whatever they'll be throwing at us." Kilrog nodded and made his way back to the front line, but stopped when Rathmar's voice reached back out, "An' take as many as ye can with ye!" A smile cracked on the black-haired dwarf's face as he met with his force and began the drive into the middle of the Cultist army. Rathmar knew that when it came to killing, Kilrog didn't disappoint.

They fought their way ferociously through the Cultists, even spreading out at some points like tree branches, and broke through to shore, where they regrouped and spun around ready for the Cultists to follow...but none came. They left the gap open, almost mockingly, waiting for the rest of the dwarves to follow their comrades to shore. Even if it would lead to a trap, Rathmar could not pass up a chance to do significant damage to the Cultists, if they had not already.

So with a definitive shouted command, the dwarves pressed on with renewed vigor, slamming into the Cultists and cutting their way to shore. The Cultist force had thinned, rivaling Rathmar's band at an estimated three hundred strong. Yet, they held their ground. They stayed on their ships, as if waiting for something.

Then it came.

With horns held to their lips, they set loose a fierce cacophonous sound through the air. It lasted for several moments without wavering and abruptly stopped. Moments passed and nothing happened. The Fallien forces, along with the dwarves and Corone support, began to suspect that nothing would ever happen. Softly, like a whisper, it began. At first it sounded like crashing water, then evolved into a mass of horses, and finally rested upon its true nature: hardened boots upon wooden decks.

The Cultists poured out of their ships like cockroaches, their numbers renewed. Rathmar was baffled, something that did not happen often. He did not know how they had replenished their forces so quickly, but all became clear when he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of their forces. And caught a glimpse he did. He saw the Cultists running out from below the deck of their ships and instantly he understood.

They had divided their forces; half stayed on deck, and half went below deck. Rathmar could not help but see them in a new light. As Rathmar ordered his dwarves to fall back to join the Allied forces, he wondered, 'How could they have known he would come to Fallien's aid?' But whether from divination or just pure luck, Rathmar could not help but laugh at the futility of it all.

The dwarves joined the clustered Allied forces, battered and bloody, and placed themselves at the head of the force, first in line to meet the Cultists' charge.

Just the way they liked it.

[Witchblade]

Watching the battle unfold on the river before him was a test to not only his nerves but also his patience and Alikam was not a very patient man, not all the time anyway. His fingers itched to wrap about the worn leather covering the hilt of his swords and hear the familiar ringing sound of metal as he unsheathed the blades. And he wanted to run those blades through the heart of any Cultist bandhakineya who dared lay their feet upon the soil of Irrakam. He wanted to hear their screams of mercy as he gave none just like they gave none to the people he was left to protect within the city walls. This wish was fast becoming a reality as the Captain watched the Dwarven fleet pierce the Cultist Armada and begin heading for the shore. Their long boats rising onto the bank of the Attireyi as their men piled before that of Alikam’s and the Coronian support. Though short, the fierce expressions on their faces left none, especially Alikam, wondering about their battle prowess or their resolve at being here in a deciding moment of war. If Irrakam won this day and every day after it Alikam would gladly lay down his life knowing his home would survive. However, victory was not a sure thing, on either side.

The Cultist ships advanced on the shoreline and with every blink of his eyes they were one step closer to him and his many warriors, green under their armour. Many of the men and women standing with him today had never been in true combat before let alone war. They had trained and they had trained hard for many years, they’d broken up the occasional tussle in the streets, patrolled and kept peace within the city walls. Perhaps a select few of them had fought ruffians in The Outlander’s Quarters, but that was a few.

As the ships made land the blast of a horn rent the air and utter silence was left in its wake. Moments passed and the thundering of feet on wood became the wind’s melody as Cultists poured forth from the bowels of their vessels, emerging like the plague of rats they were.

“Katham! Archers!”

Steady hands notched arrows into their bows as the increasing rhythm of their hearts pumped blood through their bodies, quickened by their shallow breaths for air.

The Cultists had a few hundred feet to cross before they could reach Alikam’s forces and crossing it they were, though the Captain had never planned on making it easy for them.

“First line, fire!”

A curtain of arrows launched themselves into the air, flying high above the ranks of those in front of them only to arch and descend towards the advancing men and women. Their metallic tips piercing through weak armour and rending flesh, muscle and bone alike. Cries filled the air and the ground already began to drink the blood of its enemy as the dead and dying fell before comrades who would not stop to help them.

“Second line!” the first row of archers knelt down onto one knee as they notched their bows once more, “Fire!”

Another barrage of arrows felling yet more men and women and continuing to soak the earth, but still they advanced.

“Fire at will!”

Arrows flew at random, killing those that they could and harmlessly embedding themselves in the water beyond and the soil at their feet. Alikam moved to the front of the lines, as the leader he would never ask any of his soldiers to do something he himself would not. So here he stood, besides Dwarf, Fallien and Coronian and here he reached for the two hilts above his shoulders and removed the sheathed blades resting there. Oft times had his friends and comrades alike remarked on how the warrior lost himself in battle and became as if another person. It was something he could never explain or even notice himself, but often had he seen the most polite of people turn to monsters when a weapon was placed in their hands.

The advancing line of Cultists met the steady lines Alikam commanded and steel finally clashed. The curved swords and daggers of the cloaked and robed Cultists met the straighter Titanium of Alikam’s blades and everything about him became a blur of motion. Time seemed to slow and quicken of its own accord and the face of one Cultist was indiscernible to the last, as long as they died on his sword he didn’t care. And died they did. His blades were soon dripping red as he danced with whomever came close enough to him. His body dodging attacks, parrying their advances and once he saw an opening he snuck his blade through and sliced their flesh like the soft skin of the agra fruit. As one Cultist advanced on him, Alikam grinned a look that would have frightened his oldest of friends. The flash of steel came in across his chest and the Captain simply stepped back as he felt the whoosh of air pass by in front of him. The attack left the man completely open on his left side and as he tried to recover himself, the warrior advanced. With one sword he skewered the man through his shoulder, his cry of pain lost in the sounds of battle all around them and soon to be cut off. With his other sword, the Captain came in at the man’s neck, cleaning severing it from the rest of his body, which slumped to the hard packed dirt at his feet.

Two more Cultists quickly took the man’s place and once again the dance began as Alikam dodged blows and delivered his own.

[Christina Bredith]

Finally, the moment had arrived! It was with a mixture of dread and excitement that Christina had been awaiting the arrival of the Cultist forces on dry land where she could really test her mettle. For a minute she was worried the Dwarves were going to steal all the fun while they were still out at sea, but the enemy proved to be a touch more cunning than they had initially given them credit for – at least half their forces had been hiding away in the lower decks of their ships, popping out from the woodwork when the time was right. The brilliance of the strategy was, interestingly enough, not strategic at all – it was psychological. The sight of the enemy force suddenly doubling in size was nothing short of demoralizing for many Fallien and Coronian men alike.

But there were some, like a certain blonde warrior who shall remain nameless, who saw the population explosion as a challenge to be conquered. To their pumped up egos and overflowing adrenaline, the battle had gone from “too easy” to “too fun.” A smorgasbord was being unloaded on the sandy beach, and while those bloodthirsty archers were once again staking out the prime targets, there was still more than enough for the grunts to dig their forks and knives into. Bon appetit!

The forces clashed, and Christina was sure to be standing right at the fissure. Among the first clangs of metal on metal belonged to her, as she pressed herself against a dark-robed Cultist and his hook-blade. The hooked tip threatened to reach over her own steel sword and pierce her, but by edging her body to one side and forcing her opponent’s arms to the other, she was easily able to avoid the exotic weapon. Then, by shoving her opponent back with a swift kick and drawing her blade across his stomach, the clash was over.

The Cultists were armed to the teeth with spell and sword, but for the most part the same did not go for their armour. Christina couldn’t help but note that mowing through their ranks was not unlike fighting paper dolls. The only complication was that these paper dolls had teeth, and worse, magic. Christina knew she had to be on the look out for those threats as well. The tactic she was expecting was for the warriors to distract the Irrakam forces’ attention while the mages hung back to strike at a moment of opportunity. Sure enough, when she looked toward the shore, there were some smatterings of mages clustered around each other, some shielding from arrows and others casting assorted spells.

But… something was off. Christina was by no means an expert on magic, but even to her limited understanding, there should have been more explosions and chaos, shouldn’t there? The mages were all concentrated back there, all casting something… Were their efforts simply distracted by the barrage of fire coming from the archers?

Christina would have thought that was the case, except for when a bolt of lightning came streaking a foot out in front of her, just barely missing her face and instead striking down a Coronian soldier a few meters to her left. Her attention was distracted for just that moment, long enough to see that one of the Cultist warriors right in the thick of battle had cast the spell. Were the mages in the back just a distraction? Clever buggers! It seemed their enemy was hiding a distraction within a distraction. She had certainly underestimated them on that one.

The aforementioned warrior-mage was preparing another spell, and this one, she could tell, was destined not to miss. But now that she was onto their game, Christina was not about to fold. While her distant opponent was still chanting the verse for the spell, she pushed forward with her sword, shouted a command of her own, and shot a burst of blue energy out. It tore through the air like the clap of thunder that would have accompanied his lightning, if it had ever been cast again. Instead, the Cultist’s verse was punctuated with a resounding crack as his head snapped backward at an impossible angle and his body fell limply to the floor.

Two down, a few hundred to go. Piece of cake! And into the fray the blonde charged.