This battle ends in three weeks. Good luck to both competitors.
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This battle ends in three weeks. Good luck to both competitors.
((I'll start us off proper))
February 26, CP 1806
2:00 P.M. Standard Althanas Time
Dyne Corona paced back and forth. There was a nervous tension in his heart; the revolution had begun. Starting to make his mark as a hero of the people; Dyne waited for the hour. He waited for the time. One would rise and one would fall. The warrior was born for this moment. His entire life was for the here and now; a moment to shine upon the brilliant history of Althanas. Many other such events came and went throughout the celestial time line. But this was his moment. A light afternoon breeze touched the field that surrounded him.
He could feel the breeze causing his clothing to flutter slightly. Flapping in the wind; his dual headband was tightly secured upon his forehead. The band completely covered the strange scarring that was located upon that region of his face. Dyne didn't like what the symbol meant. It meant that his Mother; Alma Cormyr, betrayed and murdered his Father, Gallen Cormyr. The Duke was a fallen nobleman who was a gem amongst his kind. He served the people and protected the people. That's who Dyne Corona inspired to be like; his Father. His Father took up the sword to defend the cause of the innocent woman and man.
Corone needed it's heroes to stand up. The Empire swept across the land like a plague. Dyne Corone; the Patriarch of Lodge Bladestorm, House of Sora, represented the military sector of the power group. Dyne hoped that he could live up to that responsibility. The House of Sora represented an army that was by the people; for the people. It was as simple as that. Dyne represented a cause. He represented the hope of the oppressed people who suffered thanks to the crimes against mankind dealt by the Corone Empire.
His boots were soft on the grass. They crunched the earth making an audible sound as he moved. Gathered before him was the disciplined army of the people he'd managed to assemble with months of preparation. He'd single handedly called for the unison of the people. He'd single handedly paid for the education of his army and called for the will of the people to be represented in a single flag. The Hammer of the People. Many had seen few summers; some too many. Either way; they were well trained by the Corone Rangers and the Monks of Ai'Bron. Some of the Monks volunteered into the army corps to represent the will of the people.
Yes. All of Corone would remember this day. This one glorious day. Few stood against many. Dyne's hand went to the rifle he'd recently acquired in Salvar. The Northlands were sorely missed by his aching heart. With the promise of freedom from the oppressors; the will of the people had gathered.
To make a long story short; Dyne was nervous becuase of the influence that the youth was able to wield in such a short period of time. He was astonished that so many were needing leadership; nay, begging for it. Dyne felt the butt end of his rifle as it was sheathed across his back. The still unfamiliar weight of the weapon worried the youth greatly. It could be a liability in battle! Shaking his head; Dyne promised to himself and his Father that he would show no fear in the face of whoever rose to defend the cruelties of the Empire.
Standing before the youth washis Commanders; both handsome older men. One was a named Kastor Troy. He was a leader within the Corone Rangers and the other was a man named Karxen Deourouge. This man was a Master Blacksmith that hailed from a blacksmith shop in Underwood called the Sleepy Willow. Dyne looked from either man; thankful for their gathered presences. One represented the fist of the people; the other represented the hammer of the people. Dyne was somewhere in between representing the heart of the people. The heart that had suffered too many breaks.
"What's on your mind Cormyr?" Came the voice of Kastor Troy. "You can't chicken shit out now my old friend." The man walked over to the boy's position and placed a large hand upon his shoulder. "This is the real deal Cormyr. Your men are assembled. This is an army of the people. We have a chance to deal a huge blow to Corone."
"Acting on the behalf of the House of Sora?" Dyne suddenly said. He looked up with his seemingly glowing green eyes. There was an intense radiance about his eyes now; an after effect of coming in contact with the Otano Orbs during a recent trip to Salvar. The youth was eager to try out his newly acquired power. His skin itched from where the earth armor was eagerly waiting to burst out from beneath his flesh. The process felt like it would be extremely painful; however, Dyne was used to pain.
The young man was handsome. His glasses rested upon the edge of his well formed nose. His Coronian cheekbones were well formed as the blood of nobles ran through his vessel. The psionic felt the tension of the people all around him; it was thick in the air. Much innocent blood would spilled on this day; far too much. Dyne sighed. He'd snapped at his closest companions.
"Do forgive me Troy; I am on edge. We are about to embark on a campaign that will alter history. I have more than my shares of anxiety. We have been overlooking strategy possibilities and trying to mark the terrain for weeks; nay; months. I don't even know how well we shall do against our opponents at all. But it seems likely that many will die."
"Do not worry about that Dyne. War is an unpleasant business. Always has been; always will be. But we will be standing by your side. May the will of Lord Draconus guide us."
"There shall be many offerings made to him on this day." Dyne said with a sad expression on his face. He barely noticed the reptilian lizard that skittered past his feet. It paused for a moment as if looking straight up at Dyne Corona; the thing hissed loudly and then skittered off into the underbrush, out of sight. He turned away from the strange critter that was somehow directly connected to the many possible manifestations of Lord Draconus. Dyne heard an eagle shriek overhead and looked up. He thought of Lady Y'Edda. The eagle swooped down and captured the lizard in hand, then flew off towards Concordia Forest with its meal in clawed talons.
Dyne frowned at that sight. As the wind moved about them in tendrils; Dyne heard the sounds and noise of an army assembled at his feet. The fields between Serenti and the areas near the ferry were vast and just right for a large tactical siege to take place. Squadrons of Dyne's army assembled as the earth rumbled. Cries of hailing were heard as the people looked upon their chosen leader. Dyne Corona felt his tension leaving his heart and prepared himself for the battle that waited ahead. He started walking towards each of his squadron leaders. He knew that the enemy army would have to march to his position from where ever they waited in hiding.
He knew that the will of the Thaynes and Lord Philemon would be done...
Remember Gisela. The people began to shout.
For the first time in days, Sati enjoyed a few hours of undisturbed sleep in the commander’s tent. Ever since she set foot on Corone from the southern coastlines, the priestess had spent her time plotting and scheming, all the while studying the topography of the fields that spanned wide and far between the baronies of Tylmerande and Yarborough. From the rise of dawn, she would outline countless scenarios and review them over and over to ensure that all loopholes were closed, all creases ironed and all angles explored.
This left her with only the finer kinks to work out, but she’d then repeat the whole process till the closing hours of the night. During this time, scouts and other informants would come and go, piling ill tides upon ill tides over her already-burdened shoulders, more often than not sending many of her best laid-out plans face down and dead in the waters. The countless bouts and arguments she’d had with her generals did little to relieve her accumulating stress and, until noontime today, what little was left of her twisted sanity had been hanging on to a most tenuous thread – it was quite fortuitous that she’d finished crossing and dotting her letters before it could reach the irreversible point of breaking.
Alas, unkind dreams were rousing her from her slumber. A jolt coursed through her elbow, making it knock over a bottle of ink. The loud and hollow clanging from the desk to the floor trawled her from the darkness of her mind to the darkness that was now spilling all over her maps. The priestess swore, inked hands raised in frustration and disbelief as the puddle spread over the wood and dripped into her lap. “Damn it all! Damn it all to hell and beyond!” she snarled in surrender, tears bubbling in the wells of her eyes like drops of acid.
“Cassock believes that you should reenact this poignant scene before your soldiers, for seeing one’s leader bow down at the least of setbacks is allegedly stellar for morale.” As he entered, the grey little creature threw up a fold of the pavilion’s burgundy fabric over his head, shining a flash of afternoon light on the woman’s wearied eyes. It made her wince, but she used the pain as an excuse to lower her face and hide it behind a screen of unkempt, blood-red hair. “Cassock is not fooled by your ill-attempts at coyness, and in fact mocks them in good heart.”
Almost as if on cue, an invisible sheet had peeled itself from the table, lifting the pool of stagnant ink into the air. It then shifted into a gutter-like conduit that funneled the black liquid back into its bottle without a single spatter. Sati sighed in relief: the maps had been unaffected, and neither was the folded sheet of parchment that lay blank atop the stack. “What could this be?”
“A letter to the House... or at least it will be, eventually,” Sati said with half a smirk, lowering her beryl eyes in a feint apology. “A... simulacrum of civility before the bloodshed, if you will.”
“If only just that,” replied the general, the wrinkles and bluish scars on his watermelon head deepening with the mild furrowing of a hairless brow. “A handful of operatives and three Gateformers are on their way to the enemy base. More ghosts are here right now: a window will therefore be available for the delivery of your missive within the hour.”
The priestess replied with a tired yet thankful nod, to which the Dover Patriarch sedately bowed. Sati raised an eyebrow when he remained idle with his hands crossed behind his back, round eyes like translucent tangerines riveted onto her person. “Is there anything else?”
“This Empire must be on its last leg if it is contracting a group of mercenaries to fight its wars,” he said at last, eyes blinking curiously as he awaited any sort of agreement or correction to his tentative statement.
“Hardly,” Sati scoffed. The general was still very new to the world beyond the city of Bizet, isolated home of the Dover Demons. There wasn’t much time to learn about lore and politics when one had to worry about his status as a hunted exile. “Cassock, the Coronian military force numbers in the hundreds of thousands. For all intents and purposes, they could wake up, march here and be done with that army before breakfast is ready.”
“The problem is that mobilizing the whole of their numbers would put the population of Corone in a state of alarm, and even sending small battalions would raise inquiries that the Empire would much rather not answer. When it all comes down to it, the army out there is fighting for the people or some other humbug: openly going to war with them would rile the Empire’s obedient little citizen-pups into showing their rotting fangs, and they don't want that. That’s where Sine Nomine comes in.”
Cassock nodded. He knew that their organization had been offered a large sum of gold by an unknown benefactor, in exchange for the disposal of the fledgling thorn at their side. He presumed that the anonymity of said benefactor was to prevent any trail from tracing back to the Empire, thus ensuring that their white gloves remain fresh and immaculate. To continue the analogy, Sine Nomine was only the highly pejorative pair of costly tweezers: ‘Strong enough to bring down the House, just not the Empire – Cassock duly notes the novelty of the matter.’
“By the by, what in the hells is Orarion doing? He hasn’t reported anything in ages – not that I don’t enjoy the bright side of that,” Sati asked, her head lazily propped on her palm, staring listlessly at the bare strip of parchment under her nose.
“He has been leading the scrimmages, but Cassock believes he has also been attempting to lead your campaign on his own.”
“Goes to show that age has no bearing on wisdom,” she scoffed and followed with a mocking sigh. “Does he realize this is exactly how he came to die in the first place?”
“Orarion is apparently a firm believer that, when history continuously repeats itself for the same person, it is akin to flipping multiple coins in a row.” Cassock paused to consider his words, then slightly bowed forward, narrowing his eyes. “Cassock believes you may also cross off common sense from the correlation.”
Sati sighed again, letting her face sink into the cup of her hands, slowly massaging her eyelids with the tip of inky but dry fingers. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Maiden!” shouted one of the zealots who’d come rushing inside the tent. The man had gone silent upon the ruined yet ravishing sight of the one he’d sworn to protect, and was even more titillated by the fact that she was not wearing her silver mask. Unfortunately, Sati had turned her head away, hiding as much as she could under long red clusters of hair. A curt ‘speak’ from her had jostled him back into reality, albeit a bit harshly. “Word has come through the nexus from the eastbound operatives. The House of Sora idles in wait!”
“An invitation? Then it would be rude to keep them waiting. Let us come a-knocking on their door, shall we?”
“B-But Maiden, is it not clearly a trap?” blubbered the zealot, unconsciously balancing sideways to catch a peek of his commander’s rosy cheeks.
“Of course it is,” was her simple reply. She stood up, producing the feathered mask from her side to don it, which made the soldier frown in disappointment. “If the information came through the Nexus, then the Gateformers are already in position. I think it’s time for me to have a little correspondence with the House.”
:::::
Near Serenti, a peculiar formation in the sky had drawn the attention of a few. Pale sparks like muted lightning crackled high overhead, twisting as time went into a halo of watered purple and ghastly white. At first, it seemed to grow, but it was clearer and clearer to the soldiers of the House that the sorcerous vortex was in fact looming closer and closer. Blades were drawn, arrows were nocked, murmured cantrips gave way to bursts of readying spells, all in preparation for whatever would come with the unnatural storm that brewed so close above their heads.
The spiral was close enough for the soldiers to distinguish three spectral faces contorted under some unknowable pain. The ghosts wailed as they whirled, louder and louder until a tunnel burst open within the vortex. From it, a sealed letter popped out, seesawing through the air until it fell into the hands of Alberdyne Cormyr. The portal then burst out of existence in a puff of smoke, quickly becoming nothing more than a snaking grey wisp in the wind, carrying with it a fading chorus of ghastly cries.
Upon unsealing the envelope, the boy would read:
Quote:
Remember as you wish.
None shall remember you.
Love,
Maiden.
Time passed after Dyne Corona gathered his forces. Keeping occupied; and his unsteady nerves at bay, the youth started to have regular sparring sessions to keep his men solid. Constant scouting forays into the areas around Serenti meant that information was coming back and forth in a constant stream. The Corone Rangers’ finest units set intricate traps all over the countryside. Some were much more elaborate than others depending on the unit’s level of skill. Traps were tested, retested, and tested once again until they were like a finely oiled machined. With the knowledge that the Corone Rangers held of their environments; they were able to hide elaborate traps into the outlying fields meant to bring down units both large and small. Where wires were required to trip some of the devices; these were cleverly hidden in the underbrush. The whole process took a matter of several weeks to get the army fully sharpened into the heart of steel that the people would forge.
Destiny came calling. It was on the lips and tongues of every unit gathered on the side of the people. This was an army gathered by the people for the people. No longer simple peasants; they were all deputized into their appropriate factions. Some joined the Corone Rangers whilst others joined the Monks of Ai’Bron. Some opted to remain fighting for the people; but gained the knowledge of both the Corone Rangers and the Monks. Blacksmiths busily forged weapons and armor made up of everything from leather masterwork pieces to steel and even plynt. The House of Sora’s war funds and Dyne Corona’s own vastly growing wealth paid for the gathering of the army. Connections into Underwood allowed for a steady workforce to continue to feed the hungry machine.
Supply lines were established between Underwood; Serenti, and other outlying towns in secret. Underneath the ever watchful eyes of the Empire. The Empire was a constant threat to Dyne’s gathered military force; since it represented the House of Sora. It represented a rebellion of the people. The people’s anguished wills; broken hearts and worn souls. Dyne ate an apple whilst his men and women trained in various sparring sessions to keep the army in top form. Day in and day out; the people trained under the supervised guidance of Dyne Corona and his generals. Advisors working directly from the Monks of Ai’bron made sure that form was as true as intent was lethal. Swords flashed in the sunlight as the afternoon sun hung overhead. Dyne found himself staring at a particularly unusual series of clouds. A cloud that was gathered like a vortex. This happened one afternoon and the field scouts reported that the thing was moving in their general direction.
An attack from the enemy? Dyne wondered. Dyne’s hand went to his weapon. Nearby soldiers noticed the disturbance and all eyes went to it. One by one, sparring sessions slowly stopped as all activity turned into a silent whisper. “A trap?” Gathered nearby were Dyne’s two generals. Both of the men held significant influence to Dyne Corona’s personal education. One; Karxen Deourouge, was a Master Blacksmith from Underwood. He operated an organization known as the Sleepy Willow. The shop was a blacksmith forge that catered to large orders on the fly. Dyne Corona took up an apprenticeship in the shop to bolster his own growing knowledge of the blacksmith’s art. The son of an exiled Duke named Gallen Cormyr, Alberdyne took this whole situation as a chance to really test himself against live opponents. His thoughts were on his late Father even as he noticed that the cloud came closer and closer.
Until finally it was upon them! The cloud released a vortex of energy in front of Dyne’s position. The youth automatically drew his masterwork sword and prepared himself for a fight. Instead; something strange happened. From out of the portal emerged a single parcel addressed to Dyne Corona directly. The youth stepped back for a moment keeping himself reasonably far from the parcel. The wind blew and the heavy package remained on the ground waiting for his strong hands to wrap fingers about its form.
Dyne used his newly acquired empathy ring to detect danger from the parcel; no immediate threat came from the package. However, Dyne did feel a tremendous sense of danger from the general direction that the parcel came from. He looked off and knew that his enemy was somewhere out there; planning his downfall. Dyne rotated his sword and sheathed it in his scabbard elegantly. The movement was fluid and without hesitation. His hand went to the rifle at his back instinctively as he went to attempt to pick up the letter. “Dyne don’t it could be a trap!” Came the voice of the other man who stood nearby; Kastor Troy. The man’s voice was deep and filled with a certain concern. “I think it’s all right Troy. I don’t sense any immediate threat from this thing. I think its more of a weak attempt at diplomacy on the part of the opposing forces’ leaders.” Dyne mused. Troy chuckled at that and Karxen merely stroked his beard carefully but kept his hand upon the handle of his war hammer just in case.
With shaking fingers; Dyne reached for the parcel and grabbed the package in his left hand. His hand shook while he lifted the thing and he quickly calmed himself down. The youth noticed the wax seal on the parcel; it was a familiar symbol that he’d seen only a few times before in his life. It was the symbols of Sine Nomine. As educated as he was; the activities of rival Power Groups was something that caught his interest. Sine Nomine was one of the biggest rivals that the House of Sora had. Dyne broke the seal to the parcel and unraveled the letter. He saw the ink that was used to scribe the thing; it was fresh. The letter must’ve been recently written by the hands of their enemy leaders.
“It’s a taunt. The enemy gathers somewhere beyond in the lands of Serenti. We must be prepared. If that vortex was a sign of our enemies’ power we are in for a long siege.” Dyne said casually as he looked at the letter. The letter made him angry. His opponents were arrogant enough to think that he would allow the will of the people to be crushed. H e obviously didn’t know a thing about what the House of Sora stood for and the indomitable will of the people. Dyne walked over to a nearby fire and tossed the parcel into the flame watching it burn. The paper crinkled into tarnish ashes as the flames licked at it greedily. Dyne walked over to his commanders nodding at them.
“It begins.”
Dyne stood ready to lead the forward infantry into the battle as his men sat bravely waiting for their orders. These Gisela style events often brought out the darkest armies of the imagination to the battlefield. “Send out our forward scouting parties that aren’t already on active duty. You there. Prepare the Archers for their orders to fire at will. I want a line of archers releasing arrows at all times. I want the monks ready with their Chakra abilities should the worst come to pass. If that cloud was an indication of the enemy’s power; then we are in for a seriously long siege.”
Just then; a scout party returned from its investigation of the outer lying areas around Serenti. They’d been gone for days. The soldiers looked terrified. Dyne frowned. A strong willed man would only be terrified if they saw something like a monster or a ghost; much to the chagrin of the young hero. As time passed; the sense of danger grew stronger in his gut. The soldiers were moving quickly on foot; made their way to Dyne’s position. They easily spotted him amongst the other soldiers. “Lord Dyne. We have a serious problem. We scouted out the farthest reaches of Serenti to the North areas and have discovered the location of the enemy battlements. They have all matter of fell beasts and undead with them! Sir! This battle is madness! We ought to surrender whilst we still have the chance!” The man was struggling to catch his breath.
Dyne’s eyes immediately narrowed as he looked upon the frightened soldier. “Gather your wits about you man. This is what our enemy wants. We’ve been preparing for weeks now. Our strategy is sound. The Thayne bless us. Lord Philemon guides our will across the battlefield. We’ve said our prayers of guidance to Lord Draconus! They will protect us during the bather. Just gather your balls about yourself man. There’s no room for cowards amongst the House of Sora!” The Ranger looked like he’d been struck by a blow across the face. “F-forgive me Lord Cormyr. It’s just what I saw. It frightened me. It frightened most of our men; but we will stand alongside you to win the day.”
“The Thayne will stand alongside us.” Dyne said casually as he looked upon his friend. They were all brothers and sisters to the young leader. The man saluted Dyne and went to go prepare for the battle that was about to take place. Dyne walked a few paces forward. “So the enemy uses monsters and the undead against the will of the people? Bunch of cowards they are!” Dyne spat on the ground and began to prepare for a long siege that would surely come. His men needed to be brave if they were to last against the army that was assembled against them.
“Do you have a plan?” Came Troy’s voice. “The men will rally around a solid plan.”
“We will proceed as we’ve been preparing. The only thing different is that undead will mean a lot of ghosts. I will rally what ghosts to our side I can.” Troy didn’t understand what Dyne meant by that; but it was all right. The youth moved to his eagerly waiting rank and began to issue out orders to prepare against the imminent assault. In order to survive a siege against the devils that were coming; the men would have to be brave. The Monks of Ai’Bron sat in silent meditation to prepare their weapon-like bodies to fight against the horde that gathered. One of the Monks approached Dyne.
“Sire. The legions are ready for your command.”
“Good. Prepare our forces for battle. We’ve waited long enough. The will of the people speak now!”
And with that; the House of Sora’s greatest battle would begin in spades. Dyne thought about the letter that the enemy leaders sent them. No, they were wrong. Dyne would rise and become one of Corone’s greatest heroes that written history had ever seen. He wanted to become as great as the legendary Devon Starslayer was back in his generation. One would rise and one would fall. Dyne Corona was ready to stare history in the face.
The afternoon sun cast a vibrant shade of sienna over the raised tents and drooping awnings. It was warm enough to draw pearly sheets of sweat on the foreheads of the few remaining soldiers like little, crystal droplets on a chilled flute of wine. Sweat was a thing of disgust to the priestess – most understandable, as she hailed from the northernmost fiefdoms of Salvar, where pure, white snow was an everyday blessing and curse. On this day, however, she wasn’t so quick to dismiss its poetic nature. “Stinging, caustic and nauseous to the smell, but its musk has a strange quality that makes you feel profound, doesn’t it?”
Cassock was impassive as he watched Sati saunter along the beaten pathway. She had one downy hand raised above her mask as filter from the sunrays, softer than they’d been at noon yet still too intense for someone who’d not seen the wide blue in days. “Sudation, a quiet prelude to a man’s violent bath in blood,” she said with a warm smile, so disturbingly angelic as she readjusted a blood-deep shawl on her shoulders – she was too engrossed in her own world to notice the last zealots filter out of their tents and taking to the north end of the camp. Noting nothing of the woman's twisted, everyday self, the Patriarch considered her words with unnecessary care, voicing his staid assessment shortly afterwards.
“Cassock finds your prosody poorer than a homeless destitute warming his feet with urine by a dumpster.” He’d shown with his bizarre statement a level of phlegm she’d only ever seen mirrored on historic busts, carved in stoic stone – if that. Had it come from any other male, she’d have put her sickles to his throat in an instant, but the Dover was one of the select few who knew how to make her feel annoyed and inadequate. He’d put a dent in her high and light mood, but she was still too puzzled by his unusual simile to say anything about it.
“Well if it isn’t the midget codger and the virginal whore!” The corners of Sati’s eyes flinched at the mention of these unflattering sobriquets, though what was really grinding her nerves was the bastard who’d spoken them. In the musty warmth that had overtaken the bivouac, she’d felt a stray breeze from above, then another. It was a rhythmic beating that grew louder and stronger, accompanied with a strident caw that reminded her of an old woman’s broken, hoary laughter.
Her eyes darted up to the flying mass of raven dark, with streaks of silver grey upon great, threshing wings. It was one of the Laughing Crones she’d recruited in the Ahyark Mountains back home, but she wasn’t the object of Sati’s current hatred: it was the bony husk of a man astride her saddled back. “Not hiding in that little tent of yours anymore? Don’t tell me, all that sobbing and griping got to you, too?”
“I see you haven’t dropped your mutinous antics, Orarion.” Sati crossed her arms and tilted her head to watch the lich with derision.
“Now now, I’ve done nothing naughty, darling. Kept your precious troops in shape, and I can’t help if I’ve made a few friends by, oh, not being remiss of my duties as general? Besides, without me, they’d all be sitting on their laurels and turning into mush; or did you want to command three hundred tubs of goo? Either way, I can only be content: fodder for the enemy cannons or fodder for my lovely creatures.” Orarion hefted both his hands, thumbs of clawed and polished bone darting up as his lipless grin muttered a light 'win-win'.
“Do you still get erections from hearing yourself talk?” the priestess snapped, already jaded with his ceaseless nattering. “There's no one left in the vicinity. I take it they're all in formation?”
“Waiting for your word at the gates of the settlement, oh mistress bitch,” the Lich replied in his singsong voice, rubbing a bare phalanx on the great crone’s feathery neck. He whispered a few words to the overgrown crow, and at once she swooped toward the sky. Sati made no sign of having heard his taunts; instead, she gave a last look around the empty pavilions for any sign of life while she pressed two fingers against her lips. Expelling air, she whistled hard and shrill.
Padded sounds came from behind, large and heavy paws that crunched on parcels of dry grass and crackling dirt. They were three immense beasts, quite larger than the fiercest of bears. Their fur was a fuming coat of soot-black hair, dancing in the windless air like plumes of dark smoke. ‘Barghest, Gytresh and Drummer: the three Hounds of Gevaudan.’ Two of them were without rider but, straddling Gytresh, the middle hound, was a woman with features eerily identical to the priestess’, differing only from her by her tied-back hair, the lilac corset she wore and the hooded cloak of deep purple she’d thrown on her shoulders. Sapna Sarasvati was her twin sister, the life she cherished more than any other, even her own. “How did the scouting go, sis?”
“I saw bunnies on the countryside,” Sapna said with a childish chuckle. Sati smiled back, the wistful expression in her eyes glinting with a bit of relief. It seemed that today was a good day for the traumatized girl. “Some had their feet caught in traps, and others were beheaded. My friends and I marked the places of those we’d found on this chart.” To this, Sati extended her hand and took the piece of paper. She perused it for a while, noting with a momentous wave of alarm that their enemy had made preparations, too.
“Thank you, Sapna. Tell you friends that I am grateful for their help as well.” Those friends she spoke of were the Wraith Operatives she’d been assigned – ghosts. Of all the living – no, corporeal – people in this army, only Sapna and Orarion could see these invisible spies. The comparison made her sick. Shaking it off, she grabbed onto a patch of Barghest’s fur and heaved herself up. Cassock did the same, though he instead used the power of his mind to lift himself off the ground and onto Gytresh, finding a comfortable seat right in front of Sapna. The girl grinned wide, gently taking the smaller creature in her arms.
“We regroup at the helm of the legion.” As darkness flickers at the sight of the sun, so did the hounds in synchronicity. Their shapes seemed to blur, their pelts darkened into the very stuff of night, and their very presence faded into greys, faded into nothingness.
And then they were gone, like shadows before dawn.
:::::
The march of the Maiden had lasted but a few hours, and there they were now, looking up at the rising earth upon the vast plains that encircled Serenti. They were only a few hundred paces away from the enemy settlement, and Sati could see the motion of dots far in the distance, far upon the spine of hills up ahead. On their way, they’d disarm a good number of the traps their scouts had detected. Crones had risen above the countryside, lugging overland large and sturdy drapes laden with rocks and packed dirt. Stone rained from above in all the places Sapna had marked, dismantling bear traps and activating triplines all over the vacant battlefield.
They had marched onward with caution after the storm of rocks, but the House had been thorough in concealing their snares and pits. There had also been too many, far too many for the avalanche of stones to trigger them all. Still, Sati had only lost a dozen zealots to spiked pits and automated crossbows, though three of her dragoons had fallen to rain of spears. It didn’t matter so much, for Orarion had reanimated those three as undead warriors, albeit a bit grudgingly. There were probably many more traps set up between them and the hill where the House lay in wait, but they would be in much fewer numbers; the House wouldn't risk injuring their own ranks on home terrain. Now, it was time for the Hexxen Nacht to play at this game.
“Undertakers, stand back and begin the provision of ammunitions. Cassock, tell your Grand Dukes to stand at the ready and keep their position.” At once, three long-limbed skeletons began the execution of her orders. They were nondescript from afar, but closer inspection would reveal glossy, white plates upon their ribs and small horns cresting their skulls. Patches of earth were calved off from the ground, grinding as they were packed tighter and tighter by the wicked geomancy of this singular trio of undead. The Dover Patriarch simply narrowed his eyes, relaxing them a second later, his task accomplished. “Tell me,” Sati began as she steadied her hound with a tug on its reins of bone and sinew, addressing no one in particular. “How did their leader react to my epistle?”
“He burned it,” said a disembodied voice. There was a wraith here, and operative who’d been informed through the Nexus, a network of communication formed by the Gateformer Ghosts. “He did not tear it up or throw it away, as you had expected. He burned it whole, Maiden.”
The priestess fell silent for a moment, then let herself loose in a fit of laughter. “In the fires? I hadn’t thought of that option.” She laughed on, letting the crystalline sound shiver in the air for a few more seconds until it was cut dry. “I admit I am pleasantly surprised. Spiced up my plan, wouldn’t you say?”
“Your wordplay is also lacking, although Cassock feels that the intention is there.”
“I’ll take what I can as compliments. How many Gateformers do we have left in our ranks?” she asked again.
“Less than half,” replied the same Wraith.
Sati muttered under her breath. “Nothing grandiose, then. Very well, open a Nexus. It won’t hurt to have a little heart to heart with the man.”
The wraith obliged. Faint whispers were carried in the breeze, though she could not make out their content. Sapna, however, giggled on the back of the hound Gytresh, whispering her own string of incomprehensible words into Cassock's ear. Sati froze in disbelief when she saw the little being grin in her presence for the first time in ten years. There was little time to be taken aback, however, as the smoky face of a wailing ghost materialized in front of her amidst a great puff of silver ectoplasm. Not a stranger to the system, the priestess leaned forward and spoke into its wide-open maw.
“Good afternoon, Sora representative. I am Maiden, leader of Sine Nomine. This is not a negotiation, nor is this a threat. I am only speaking to you for clarity’s sake.” Sati looked over her shoulder, back at the thirteen dark shapes that idled in wait at the far back of the legion. She could also see the Undertakers work the soil and bend it at their leisure, piling boulder-sized projectiles. Perfect.
“We know that you will not surrender, so know that we will not as well. You have come for the Empire – know that we have come for you.”
“Stand at the ready if you so desire. Regardless of what you do, we will set your world on fire.”
From the heights of the hillside, a great flame roared into life. It had started as nothing more but a small fire, nothing more than a small movement in the ashes where the House leader had discarded her letter. Upon the command they’d heard before the Nexus was severed, the Gemini Poltergeists had begun their work. They’d ridden the portal in the guise of a missive and its envelope, but now they boasted bodies that were nothing alike.
The first was a golem of ever-shifting rocks and earth, as tall as three men and wider than seven cinched together, and its goal was to wreck havoc and thin the enemy ranks. The second was a creature enswathed in pale, licking fires, breathing streams of burning smoke and ember alongside its ground-quaking brother: it did not target enemy troops in particular, favoring the spread of its sorcerous fires all throughout the encampment – all in all, heat and smoke to burn and choke. There had been no casualties yet, but that was soon going to change, and Sati knew it, expected it. Revelled in it.
“Cassock thought that the Brothers could only overtake that which is solid,” said the Dover Patriarch as the flames rose in his great eyes like mirrored bonfires.
“Then you thought right,” Sati answered. “A Beast of Stone… and a Beast of Ashes.” A wan smile tugged at Sati’s lips when her blue eyes wandered off to the hillside, which lit up here and there as though stricken by earthbound stars. “Arm the catapults!” she hollered at the top of her lungs, knowing that Cassock was conveying the order through the hive link with his minions. After waiting a good twenty seconds for good measure, she raised an arm and brought it down. “Fire at will!”
Closing her eyes, she could hear the stones soar high above their heads, hear them whistle near their zenith, near the clouds, before hearing the chorus of screams that made its descent. “Between witching fire, living rock and a rain of tainted earth, they will hare down. Until then, we wait – we watch.”
‘And enjoy,’ she told herself in an afterthought, watching the first stones plummet and crash with a sickening delight.
Out of Character:
We're about 400-500 paces away from your army, not too far from the foot of the hillside where your troops are stationed.
Thirteen Boulders of Tainted Earth have been launched, though I leave the number of successful shots to you. Know that the earth is magically-cursed, so contact with the debris will cause pain, while contact with the projectiles themselves would most likely spell crushing death, quite naturally.
The Beasts of Stone is pretty slow to move, but its strikes cover great areas and are rather powerful: it'd most likely cause damage from knockback rather than precision strikes, though it's not that much of a horrible aim. The Beast of Ashes is, for all intents and purposes, a Fire Elemental: it moves much faster and its goal right now isn't to kill enemies, but to start as many fires as possible (though it'll hurt anything in its way).
Earlier-
Dyne Corona felt the tension grip his heart. He was feeling a general sense of danger from several miles to the opposite side of his chosen combat field for the battle. The Thayne blessed the young warrior with their strange sights and sounds. With every passing minute; the sense of danger grew thicker in his heart, spilling like black ink within a fresh water supply.
His archers were prepared for the task at hand. Bows were armed as well as crossbows loaded. The Hammer of the People lacked the proper military funding to acquire things as complex as catapults. Dyne was working out of pocket from his own gathered fortune and the fortune of the House of Sora that was available to him. In order to fund the military operation of the Conquest Trials; Dyne needed to be at his best level of competence for them to win the day. Or die trying. He knew he was on the side of justice and the will of the people. They would not be undone! Dyne walked right by the fire that contained the earlier remains of the parcel sent by the enemy through their interesting network of communication.
Approached by one of his soldiers; Dyne prepared to talk to his comrade.
Before he could; however, he was interrupted by an immediate sense of danger that came at his back. Dyne drew his sword on instinct revealing the paranoid nature of the youth’s heart. The war had him jumpy; that was for sure as this was the first time he’d lead such an operation on such a grandiose scale. He’d fought many battles; but this was the first time he’d fought on the scale of an army versus army battle. He didn’t want to screw this up for the House of Sora. There was far too much riding on this for him to make a mistake now. And suddenly; the portal approached the youth and sprung open just as it had before. Dyne already had his weapon drawn when a spoken message was uttered through the portal.
Dyne heard a female voice. That must be the leader of their army. The coward. She can’t approach me by herself. A message was uttered that sounded just like the initial diatribe that the letter contained. Dyne sensed further danger approaching from the vortex, and as the nexus opened; the marking on his forehead burned with an intense pain. Dyne’s eyes narrowed with the pain he felt as he looked upon the portal casually. One her words were spoken; the portals closed. Dyne hadn’t been granted a chance to reply which further cemented into his heart that the leader of the enemy army was naught but a cowardess. Dyne immediately had no respect for the enemy’s commanding officers. Just then; something else happened. The attack begun.
“Sir I don’t think she likes you one bit.”
“She thinks I’m a coward, soldier. That’s the problem with all of this. All the eyes of Althanas are upon us now and this bitch thinks of me as a coward! I’ll make her pay for that insult!”
“Keep a cool head Dyne.” Troy’s voice interrupted. “You don’t want her taunting to get to you-“
A nearby fire pit suddenly burst with a loud wailing sound. Dyne cursed loudly. “Son of a bitch! That letter was rigged!” Keeping his sword in his hand, nearby units came and gathered around the youth just as the battle began Monks who were meditating in nearby positions suddenly rose up from their lotus positions in order to prepare a counter offensive for what was coming. Receiving visions inspired by the Thayne; the Monks of Ai’Bron foresaw the threat that was coming. However; an immediate threat was upon them. The Gemini Twins burst from the ashes of the letter in the flames and began to wreak havoc on Dyne’s gathered army. At the same time; one of the Monks yelled: “Incoming! We have incoming!”
“She intends to overwhelm us in one fell swoop! The will of the people will not be denied! Men prepare for aerial assault!”
And helter skelter came crashing down upon them. Two beasts of burden emerged from the fire and gathered substance. One gathered the very cursed earth underneath it; and the other gathered the smoke that was flowing from the fire pit. Dyne’s eyes widened with terror as he looked at the materializing beasts; he’d never seen such beasts before. Quickly gathering his wits about himself; the boy remembered what was the purpose of the day’s attack. Too much was riding on this for him to back down now. He’d been granted an out and didn’t take it. The two creatures prepared to attack his men; and one of them started to set small fires throughout the camp; launching flames at strategic locations. His troops reacted like a well oiled machine and showed no fear. Dyne felt his heart turn to steel as he prepared to defend against the initial attack. He could see the wailing spiritual forms thanks to the marking of his people. The gift of the psionic revealing itself as a manifestation of his ability to see the dead. The Gemini Twins were suffering greatly underneath the weight of corporeal cages. Dyne wanted to exorcise these beasts but had no way of doing so; it was beyond his current power.
And so; he knew he would have to depend on his Monks. Turning towards them; Dyne began to issue orders. “Take them down! Prepare for incoming!” The beast of ash was moving quickly through the field possessed of ethereal agility. Dyne knew that it would take a great deal of energy from the monks to take them down. They would have to hold position. There was no way that they could march against such a foe…yet. With fear in his heart; Dyne moved against the two beasts that were gathered. His masterwork sword was made of plynt and would cut through the stones with ease. Dyne was mostly worried about the beast of ash. Smoke started to fill the air around the camp as tents were set on fire. Supply stations were abandoned and all that could be saved; was. Men gathered what extra supply rations and ammunition they could. The Monks rose out of their meditative states one by one. Just in time to receive the orders that were relayed by Dyne Corona. Kastor and Karxen were busily trying to take down the Beast of Stone. Karxen’s finely forged adamantime weapon easily crushing pieces of the beast.
Dyne could see the battle taking place even as his sensitive ears caught the sound of something incoming. This was what the monks were preparing for!
A few were engaging the Gemini directly in small squadrons. Dyne felt the world slow down. He turned to look towards the incoming missiles and spat on the ground. For a brief moment he had no idea what to do. All of his training had amounted to this; and suddenly a large shadow started to come across his position. Several gathered monks and Corone Rangers were skittering this way and that preparing for the impact of the missile. Dyne froze for a moment as he stared at the rock that had his name on it. He gathered his plynt sword and suddenly reacted on instinct. Guided by the training of the Monks; Dyne lifted his sword against the mighty rock and prepared to move against it. As the rock came closer; Dyne could see the strange texture of the boulder and feel the cursed energies flowing from the boulder as well. Dyne quickly gathered himself and leaped up against the boulder quickly slashing towards the boulder with his fencer’s skill!
He knew that the boulder was simply just granite and earth. Feeling the impact of his plynt weapon against the central structure of the incoming missile; Dyne yelled loudly knowing that his move was foolhardy. In a blazen move meant to inspire his troops; the warrior cleanly split the rock into two even pieces. The rock moved with tremendous forward momentum and was cut in half. Dyne gasped as he used tremendous strength to perform the deed. Two even halves of the boulder fell to the ground on either side of the boy. It hadn’t taken that much effort to react; it had only taken the will to survive. Dyne looked at the astonished face of his troop for a moment as they gathered their morale and prepared to react against those devil twins.
The air crackled with smoke and fire. Dyne could feel the heat rising and archaic forces rippling through the air as the Monks summoned the vast powers at their disposal. Several of the boulders; out of the initial thirteen that were launched, slammed into the ground and crushed some units. In general; of the thirteen boulders that were launched; six made it to their targets and managed to crush at least twenty units. The Monks caught the rest of the boulders with their spiritual powers; falling back on their control of the elemental wind. Following Dyne’s orders to a tee; the workforce reacted to the assault with intensity and pride. Banners with the markings of Corona’s army were set aflame but not completely destroyed. Even tattered and worn; the flags of Dyne’s brothers and sisters still flew proudly.
“Burn the dead! If they have Necromancers we have to disarm them of their ability to refuel their ranks!” Dyne suddenly ordered. Those that weren’t busy against the Gemini went to the grisly task of getting rid of dead corpses before Necromancers had a chance to rob them of their fellows. The order had come from seemingly out of nowhere. Dyne saw the Phantoms of the dead quickly rising and lurking about in confusion. He was tempted to gain control of these Phantoms but would wait for the ghosts within the enemy ranks to approach them. The Phantoms of the fallen were useless to him currently. However; Dyne saw something interesting happen. On their own; the dead of their side continued the battle. Drawn to the ethereal energies of the Gemini Brothers; the Phantoms gathered in a single force and began to fight against the evil dead. Dyne smiled at this blessing. Continuing his assault on the two Brothers; Dyne felt his sword smashing against a limb made of stone. From time to time; bursts of magical lightning, blades of wind, lances of ice, eruptions of fire, spikes of living earth, and other archaic weapons were launched from the concentrating monks. Boulders were caught by the Monks’ control of the wind and sent back whence they came.
In this fashion; six of the boulders were sent back. Hopefully to nail targets that were chosen by the Monks at random. The wind guided each of the boulders; fueled by the power of the Monks. Once the boulders were sent back; all units focused their attention to the Twin. Everyone was fighting. Some people were fighting against the fire and smoke; others were fighting the Twins directly. Several small fires that were quickly spreading throughout Dyne’s camp were taken care of quickly. Water from the supply stations was sent to meet against the fires that were set by ash and smoke.
By now; the defenders against the Twins were sending significant counters against them. Magical blasts were launched at the twins meant to disrupt the the two giants. Casualties were kept at a stabilized minimum thanks to the training that Dyne had funded for his army; but there were casualties. After the initial losses from the boulder attacks; Dyne lost a total of 40 men. Each of the casualties ranging from the different brigades at his command and the command of his generals. Dyne hated each and every loss to his army but he knew that the Phantoms were rallying to his cause in an unexpected turn of events. Where once things seemed bleak as all hell; the situation was turning around rapidly. If these were the types of enemies that they would be facing; Dyne knew that they had a good chance of winning the day.
And then; as he continued the fight against the Twins and his men had gathered around them, the attack continued.
Quote:
Brief Synopsis:
Total losses from initial assault: 40 Units.
Dyne has his whole army currently attacking the Gemini with everything they can throw at them. Some of them are being used to redirect whatever boulders that are thrown as follow up attacks.
The Phantoms are rallying to Dyne’s cause. ((As we discussed on AIM. Dyne will contact one of them very soon and start a Phantom rebellion))
Boulders=6 landed. Dyne destroyed one by himself raising the troop’s morale as an effective leader. 6 were re-directed by the Monks’ magics. ((Dyne has a plynt masterwork sword))
The Monks are launching a full out elemental assault on the Twin things attempting to take them down. The ones that are not fighting are taking down the fires with ice and water magic.
‘One, three, five…’ Sati counted the fall of each boulder, listening for the distant rumbles, even feeling the ground shudder from the shockwaves, all the way to the frontlines. There, she sat astride Barghest with her arms crossed, her eyes closes and a wicked bow of a smile upon her carnelian lips. ‘Six… six?’ The smile shattered; her eyes snapped open, carried with haste to the range of hills. Strong winds were brewing at the summit, bending more and more to the will of some strange wizardry, contending against the desecrated stones before flinging them back with a vengeance. “That’s a steaming pile of hogwash,” she whispered in disbelief as her arms loosened and fell halfway to her sides.
“Sati, shall Cassock intervene?” came the voice of the Patriarch, resounding deep within her mind, dredging the priestess up from her incredulous daze.
“No,” she replied assertively, her mischievous grin reclaiming its throne. “Not now, not yet; not when we can still do this.” Sati lifted her arm high, eyes steady on the boulders as they were seconds near the height of their trajectory. “All Crones, take flight! Slow them, catch them and throw them back!” There was almost no delay between the order and the execution, courtesy of Cassock’s telepathy.
They took to the sky, rising in a shroud of black feathers that spread out like an umbrella near the rocks that had just begun their descent. They swooped back and forth, fast to catch the stones with their ash-white claws, stealing momentum, and then releasing them just as quickly to let another continue the work. The aerial waltz went on for a while, until the boulders were slow enough for six crows to swoop in and to latch on without fear of breaking bones. The last one had been caught only a few feet above the head of a shivering zealot, but it had broken to bits from the wear of claws – the soldier could still feel the gust of the avian on his skin, still feel the poisonous pain where the debris had struck him, still feel the warm sting that dripped down his thighs and calves. The five successful crows traveled swiftly to the encampment, dropping the boulders without difficulty as swarms of spells glanced off their magic-resilient coat of feathers.
Pained caws rang shrill, followed by the barely amortized crash of two crones. They’d been injured in the maneuver: one had seen its foot snap at an awkward angle from a missed stone, the other had been blindsided by another that ricocheted hard upon its back. “Wardens, tend to the wounded!” Sati hollered out; she had expected this, but no amount of preparation to these ill news could wash away the bitterness that now stewed in her mouth.
The Crones themselves hadn’t suffered from the poisoned earth, due to their innate resistance to countless forms of magic, but the debris of stone that’d been scratched off from the boulders had also touched a handful of dragoons and twice as many zealots, who were now fighting the sharp pains that surged where they’d been touched. Still those wounds were minor, and Orarion’s squadron of wretched clerics would provide the cures and healing support.
“Cassock’s way would have counted no injuries,” he stated with the same familiar passivity.
“None other than your own,” Sati hissed as she turned to face the little being, yet the fires of her anger were quickly doused by the silent hint of gratitude in his amber eyes. He knew it as well as she did; their soldiers, man, reptilian or avian, were expendable, whereas he was not. “Sapna, Cassock, I’ll need you both now. Carry out the plan, but please don’t overexert yourselves.” The Patriarch nodded, but Sapna did not. “Do you hear me, sis?” the priestess asked with her most gentle tone, already preparing an apology in the sheer misery that ran over her face.
“I don’t like this part,” Sapna muttered under her breath, her countenance set in a reluctant scowl. Her hands moved from the Dover’s shoulders to his temples, the tapered nails of her fingers running along the faded-blue scars on each side of his head.
“Cassock feels compelled to agree.” Preparing for what was to come, the Patriarch grabbed tightly onto two clusters of smoky fur on Gytresh’s back. After drawing in a large breath that bulged her lungs, Sapna let loose a frightened squeal, eyes shut hard as her fingers sank into the Dover’s skin, bone and brain with a wet and sickening tear. Blue blood dripped from the fresh wounds, the horrible wounds that the creature almost seemed to ignore.
Sapna made a backwards motion when she felt something crawl inside the bleeding hollows, but she squeamishly fought against it. Small blue tendrils wormed their way out, slipping around her skin like a thousand drooling slugs, stopping only at her knuckles. The feeling had chilled the very core of her marrow, and she was currently stricken with a wave of nausea that worsened with each of the tendrils’ living pulse. Cassock finally spoke, his voice having now lost what little emotion it used to convey. “The link is established.”
“Then it’s time, Sapna… make them big,” Sati said solemnly. She looked to her left, where another wailing visage hovered patiently with its mouth agape. This ghost, she knew, had made a connection with all of its brethren, had opened a channel that spanned all over the battlefield, through which she could now speak. “Tear down the Gates of Hell! Release the Infernal Fiends!” All across the plains did the warcry carry, riding up the hill, quaking through even the skies as if thunder had been given voice.
Thirteen silhouettes rose from their stations at the foot of the hillside, thirteen creatures with glowing eyes like fiery copal, their skin bristled with miniature green horns and their gangly arms raised as though in communion with a mystic presence. They were the Grand Dukes, demons of high rank under the Patriarch’s command, and they had just now been given a powerful gift through their link with him. They chanted unintelligible words that sounded oddly lyrical, a strange sight considering their utter lack of a mouth. Blurs in the space surrounding the hill sparked in and out of existence, but with each coming did their outlines become clearer, their colors more pronounced and their shapes almost tangible. Another spark, soundless and white. Blinding, if only for an instant.
Thirteen giants had come to be, thirteen demonic colossi standing at the ready, each with their six, clawed hands brought together in an unholy prayer. Eight eyes like bleeding rubies lined their elongated heads, aglow with great, wicked flames, souvenirs from the hellacious depths of their native land. ‘Monstrous… beautiful beings,’ Orarion thought as a chill ran down his fleshless spine, the fear and admiration a remnant emotion from his centuries as a man, centuries he’d thought long, long gone. The crone he rode dipped to join the ranks at the frontline, threshing her wings to break the dive when they were right in front of the three hounds of hell. “So this… this is the girl’s power?” he asked incredulous, the hollow darkness in the orbits of his eyes sparking vicious embers. His pride had returned full bore, preventing him from praising the bitch’s sister, from believing in its reality. “That’s… that’s a steaming pile of– ”
“Hogwash? Yes, I know the feeling.” Empathizing with the Lich didn’t help the pungent taste in her mouth, and the fact that they were so alike in disbelief almost made her vomit. “Most would call Sapna an illusionist, but that isn’t quite so accurate.” In the silence she let hang, the only sound that reached his hollow ears was the rhythmic flutter of his crone’s wings. “They aren’t tangible, Orarion. However, that does not make them illusions. They exist, only not in this world. They exist in her mind.”
“That’s just the same! They’re not real, they’re make-believe!” In this moment, his last words had seemed to lodge in his non-existent throat. Sapna, though still and focused as she maintained the bond between her, the Patriarch and his Grand Dukes, had let her eyes wander to the necromancer. For the slightest of seconds, he peered in those emerald mirrors and saw a glimpse of the insanity, a glimpse of the broken, twisted realm that lay behind the looking glass. His trance had been broken by the hounds’ threatening barks. “Don’t tell me they’re…”
“Sapna met them there. You’ve noticed how the hounds shift through dimensions to travel?” The Lich shook his head, vertebrae creaking like dust ground in a mortar. “They shifted from their world to Sapna’s, and from hers to ours. Now stop wasting my time, and go prepare your Golems of Flesh. They’ll turn into useless tubs of goo if you don’t feed them soon, am I right? Go use the bodies of those we’ve lost to the House’s traps.” Orarion scoffed, gave the crone a gentle yet jerking tap and flew away.
“They have not yet let loose a volley of arrows,” Cassock remarked.
“If they don’t, then their leader is the bumbling idiot among a village of fools. They can’t know if the demons are a threat unless they hit each and every one of them.”
“Cassock notes that your imagery has improved, if only slightly,” he said listlessly, eyes closed in focus as he relayed his orders to the Dukes. Almost instantly, the thirteen Fiends moved their six arms in a wheel-like formation, and thirteen hodgepodges of yellow, red and dark flames burst forth, growing in the heart of each circle. “Imminent threat might drive them to cogitate at a more adequate speed.”
“Your friends are amazing, Cas. They can control them… I never could on my own.” Sapna was speaking slowly, struggling against a sudden fatigue. Sweat was already breaking on her brow and Sati was beginning to hear from her a concert of labored breaths. Sapna noticed the worry in her sister's eyes, noticed that she was about to say something: the girl shook her head and smiled. Now, Sati couldn't tell her to stop, no matter how badly she wanted to. ‘I’m so sorry, sister. I will make it up to you, I promise.’
“The Brothers have encountered trouble,” said the Wraith whose presence Sati had almost forgotten. “They have elemental monks at their disposition. Also, those felled by the first assault are rising as phantoms and are, somehow, inflicting substantial damage.”
“What? That makes no sense at all!” Sati cursed, but there wasn’t time to second guess metaphysics. Rather than to disprove their actions, she’d prefer to simply destroy those fledgling ghosts, once and for all. “Wraith. Can ghosts kill ghosts?”
The Wraith paused, then answered. “Yes.”
“Rally your brothers, and do what you must. While you can, tell the Stone Brother to burrow out of the way and back here, and the Ash Brother to survive and support the Fiends when they fire. We’ll smoke them out eventually.” The Wraith acquiesced, and she heard nothing more from him. They were already on their way, and would be upon the settlement in minutes.
“Fire your volleys, then come down and fight us. I’ve already sent you countless invitations, and one more refusal would simply be rude.” There was actual sorrow lacing the priestess’ words, the woman no longer enjoying her enemy’s coyness. “If you refuse one more time, then I’ll just have to come up there and make you a man – a very dead man.”
The mask of sorrow cracked. The manic laughter returned.
Out of Character:
I’ve sent all my Crones (except the one ridden by Orarion) to slow down the velocity of the boulders by latching on and off, until they were slow enough for six crows to catch them completely. One of the boulders broke, wounding ten of my zealots and five of my dragoons, while two crones are down from mistakes in the maneuver.
Five boulders have been sent back your way, and your monks’ spells glanced off the magic-resistant Crones. However, they have much less force than the first six since they were carried there and flung by the Crones rather than the Catapults. Write out the damage as you wish.
The Dover Grand Dukes have received Sapna’s Chimerical Ghost ability, though the creatures summoned aren’t ghosts but actual demonic Fiends. Only, they are out of phase with this dimension and are thus intangible – they can stand on ground, but they can’t break it. The blasts they will shoot are intangible as well – they can latch onto objects, but they will cause no actual damage.
In your post, after you fire your arrows at the Fiends, have them release their thirteen balls of fire. Huge fires will start all over the camp, more than the Beast of Ashes could do on its own, except that these fires don’t actually burn. However, Some of your soldiers will be hurt because the Beast of Ashes will be assisting these fires with its own, very real, flames.
Somewhere during your post, the Beast of Stone will fuse with the ground it was made of and will burrow away, back toward the Hexxen Nacht. When it emerges, it will still bear the wounds your monks have inflicted upon it.
10 Wraith Operatives have been sent to kill your risen ghosts, once and for all. They have minds, unlike the Gateformer Ghosts. That can work for you, or against you.
We should probably have the actual clash of armies occur right about now.
Number of Dead:
10 Zealots (Killed by the traps, used to fuel the Golems now)
3 Basilisk Dragoons (Reanimated as undead by Orarion)
Number of Injured:
2 Laughing Crones (Consider them incapacited for the rest of the battle, even though they're being healed)
10 Zealots (Suffering from mild magical poisoning, are being cure, out of the count for three posts)
5 Basilisk Dragoons (Suffering from mild magical poisoning, are being cured, out of the count for three posts)
EDIT: Forgot to remind you that Sati used the ghosts' Nexus ability like some sort of ginormous megaphone, so everyone heard it when she said to 'tear down the gates of Hell.'
“Concentrate your efforts on that infernal creature!”
It was one of Dyne’s many battlecries for the hour at hand. Things weren’t going so great. Already the initial field reports suggested that the enemy was barely suffering any casualties from their assaults. The Gemini things were taking too much time to bring down. The air was lit up with mystical lights that burst with energy, making the environment a chaotic place. The Monks’ spirit energy through things out of balance as did the powerful summons that the opposing army relied upon to fuel their evil and dark necromantic needs. Dyne was at the center of it. His plynt masterwork sword deflected the limbs of the ash creature whenever they came too close for comfort. But this was no good.
The Monks’ spells took a few moments to prepare and cast. Rocks were sent spiraling head over heal back to the encampment, but this time, the warriors of the House of Sora were prepared. Monks that weren’t busy engaging the Beast of Ash or putting out fires, or burning the dead, concentrated their Wind Magic upon the rocks. Instead of sending it back to the enemy, everyone knew that was futile now, all remaining rocks were gently tossed to the side so that they could no longer pose a threat to the House of Sora. A division of Monks was ready in case another volley of cursed earth came. The Corone Ranger known as Kastor Troy was preparing himself to head the forward march of his infantry. No more games. Dyne Corona had seen the cowardly way that the enemy fought.
The enemy fought using tricks and the undead! Preparing a sizeable amount of his forces for a forward march across the field, in an attempt to crush the enemy units. As a young hero, Dyne could not let this pass.
Dyne tactically prepared for the coming siege. But in order to advance across the field, one last obstacle remained. “Get rid of that damned monster!” Dyne barked to some nearby Monks that were still fighting the Twins. And suddenly, the beast of earth took entirely too much damage from Dyne’s forces. It let out a mighty shriek of agony and buried itself into the earth, traveling to some distant location to lick its wounds. Dyne grinned when he saw the beast retreating. That was the first sign of hope in as many hours since the battle started. Dyne carefully reacted to the beast of ash’s attacks. He timed his dodges so that he wouldn’t be caught by any of those burning limbs. Choking smoke filled the air by now, but the Monks’ magic suppressed the air from becoming poisoned by the smoke. Monks that weren’t busy fighting against the Gemini were busy tending to the wounded or tending to the matters of the fires. Fires were doused as quickly as they started by the Monks’ superior Spirit Magic. Calling upon blessings of the Thaynehood, the Monks served as Dynes’ greatest single tactical advantage.
Magical blasts crackled across the air sending powerful vibrations that kept everyone on task. The girl’s words did not serve to demoralize the troops, they were too busy fighting against her Gemini to concern themselves with petty taunts. Dyne ducked underneath a swipe from the Gemini and turned his attention towards Troy and the gathered army he’d assembled. Of all of his five hundred forces, they were down to merely about four hundred units now. The casualties in the last round of assaults by the Gemini Twins was a serious matter. Everyone was focusing on trying to get rid of the second monster that wasn’t assigned to the march.
A marching squadron was prepared that consisted of half of Dyne’s available forces. Most importantly, Kastor Troy was there to lead the main assault until the battle reached the encampment of Dyne’s stronghold. The youth knew that all of Althanas’ eyes were upon them now. He would have to plan every tactic and strategy quite carefully from here on in if he had any chance for victory. So far, they’d overcome their greatest challenges yet, the Gemini. But the youth knew that greater difficulties lay ahead. With the sun hanging overhead, Dyne knew that the time had come. He ran towards the Ash monster with his plynt sword in hand. The masterwork quality blade should hopefully inflict greater damage to the beast. Once he was well within striking range, Dyne leaped towards the beast and slashed in a downward arch towards the creatures’ midsection. Blasts of the Monks’ powers charred through the air towards the beast traveling past Dynes’ general direction.
Nearby, Karxen also moved against the Ash monster following Dynes’ near suicide attack against the beast. Dyne and Karxen were confident in their own skill level against the beast and assumed that they would be able to take it down. Armed with both plynt and adamantime, the two warriors fought heartily against the monster attempting to bring it down once and for good.
Karxens’ hammer swung through the air mightily, aimed also for the great midsection of the beast of ash. Dyne and Karxen timed their attacks effectively together.
Nearby, Troy was preparing his forces for a march on the field.
Approximately two hundred of Dynes’ best were prepared to march against their enemy army. Dyne had insisted on staying behind in order to keep the morale of his troops high. They would prepare a secondary squadron of a lesser amount of forces. Dyne still faced losses in the battle as the incendiary blasts of the beast of Ash coursed their way through the camp.
The screams of the wounded and the dying touched Dynes’ ears. By now things were procedure. For every friendly unit that fell, the corpses were immediately burned to spare the fate of twisted Necromancy. Dyne felt every major loss. The loss of any one of his allies was a brother, a family friend, a friend. This was an army of the people, and now the people were suffering greatly. Dyne cringed with every loss. Every loss he saw became a Phantom. And the Phantoms were rallying to Dynes’ leadership. They wanted to help Dyne, but Dyne couldn’t get to them. So in the meantime, they acted on their own. Dyne would have to exploit their help later on in the game. But for now, he concentrated on the task at hand. He would join Troy later on.
And so it went. On the fields of Gisela, two hundred of Radasanth’s finest, prepared to march against an army of fiendish beasts.
Quote:
Summary:
Total losses are roughly are 60 units for a total of about 100 dead so far. The bodies are instantly burned by the Monks who can take care of this matter. A legion of about two hundred troops lead by Kastor Troy is ready to march against the main forces that are incoming comprised of equal portions of Monks, Civilian Warriors, and Corone Rangers. These are the best in Dynes' forces and they are pumped and ready to go.
When the Fiends had risen from the foothills, so had a great surge of anticipation, strumming at her heartstrings a tune most fit for the warpath. Sati knew that, if that representative had any thimble of wits left in his skull, he would send a volley of arrows at the thirteen gigantic demons that were standing as towering walls between both armies. If the boy had even a fragment of a critical mind, he would try to fell the hellish summons before they could unleash their storms of fire. Countless arrows would then be wasted, splashing onto an empty span of earth and grasslands as would a harmless, summer rain.
Alas, her tense excitement had fast collapsed, like a limp and broken puppet that’d just seen its strings snipped off. He did nothing. The idiot did not fold at her bluff, nor did he call it – he simply ignored it. The thirteen spheres of fire that the fiends were cradling in their six arms like burning, black suns had been unleashed upon the enemy’s encampment, latching onto everything as would any material fire, save without the heat and burn.
As it was, the black inferno was harmless due to its intangible nature, but that was precisely why she hadn’t recalled the poltergeist that had taken searing ashes as its corporeal host. The fiends had been summoned to bring the flash while it packed the heat, setting the hilltop bivouac on fire wherever it could so that everyone would believe the demonic flames to be deadly harmful. The plan was working, she was soon going to smoke them out of their foxhole… and then, the Hexxen Nacht would set on the wild hunt. Only, Sati could revel in nothing now, the dull commander of the House having smothered out all hopes of a good thrill out of the woman. “Let’s wrap this up,” she said at last, cold eyes riveted onto the high knoll, choked in black smoke and red sparks.
“Have you reserved them a fate?” the Patriarch asked in earnest, most likely echoing the priestess’ own feelings of disinterest within his grey and bony chest. There was something disturbing in his immobility when his brain was still stabbed by ten fingers and fingernails, but she dismissed it as best she could. In response, Sati only gave a curt nod, tiredly tugging at the reins of bone and sinew to nudge Barghest out of its statuesque stillness. Cassock blinked, amber eyes unmoving as they glistened anew. “Which will it be?”
The woman dawdled for a moment, closing her eyes as she cleared her thoughts. “After so many days in that tent, all I wanted was a few hours of entertainment.” They snapped open, gleaming pools of night-kissed blue that had lost the warmth of wrath in exchange for cold, silent despise. “Quick dispatch. We need food for Orarion’s pets.”
“Not just the pets.” Black wings swooped somewhere above their heads, carrying with its feathery threshes the cold, skeletal ring of the Lich’s voice. Sati held nothing but contempt for the monstrous existence, but something in his tone told her that, at this moment, she had no desire of provoking Orarion. Few would prod a famished beast; none would taunt one whose hunger can never be sated. “Lo, there they come, crawling down the anthill,” the necromancer crooned, a gentle dementia lacing his song while lights flickered in his empty orbits, dead set on the descending army.
Hisses came from behind the frontlines as if spewing from them maws of a hundred steam pipes. With them came a foul stench of burn and decay, that of furnaces fuelled with cadavers, their chopped, rotting limbs turning to coal in the fires of those steel stomachs. Loud stomps shook the earth, falling loud and flat like boulders tumbling out of synchronicity, until the five mutated shapes of something greater yet lesser than man pushed a score of terrified zealots out of their path.
They stood as tall as hill giants, but looked nothing like them: their skin had been flayed, leaving only bulging red cords of pulsing muscle, scarred and burned and festering where it hadn’t been stitched together like a patchwork quilt of various fleshes. Three studs, each bigger than both of Sati’s fists held together, were bored into their shoulder while five somewhat smaller ones lined the knuckles of their right hand – their only hand. Their left arm was a swarm of thick, green-tinted tentacles that writhed over the corpses of felled soldiers. They had once been fellow zealots, but were nearly skeletons now; their clothes and skin was almost gone, still dissolving as though a million, hidden mouths nibbled under the sinister cover of wriggling tendrils. “There is more food ahead, children. Charge. Charge and kill. Charge and devour!”
Swards of grass explode in waves behind the Golems of Flesh, bursting again and again with each of their stampeding steps, the sound of their mad dash escalating to the ominous rumble of a rising avalanche. Horrid-smelling steam was expelled from the severed, fleshy pumps on their backs, expelling more and more of the smoky stuff as the slope became steeper. They didn’t have to wait long, however; the enemy was only a few paces away, a few inches only – a hair's breadth.
Blood and limbs flew every which way as the golems collided with soft, unprotected meat, mimicking the messy beauty of a few dozen soldiers, mesmerized by a symphony of whistling, falling cannonballs. The undead terrors basked under a fresh fountain of crimson, waking more bloody geysers with each step taken forward. They swiped heads and lopped them off with one hand, lugging them into the toothy maw in the middle of their chest. They snapped necks out with their tentacles only to suck out the juice and tear off the skin and muscles in a hundred edible slivers. Skulls split open as they crashed against the Damascus studs, bits and chunks of soldiers sticking on the tainted metal. There were screams; screams of fear from those who fell victim and screams of something like twisted pleasure from the mindless monsters, these famished crimes against all that was holy.
Yet, without a warning, the bloodbath ended. All vigour was expelled from the golems’ reanimated limbs, all titanic strength and violence tamed in a second, silent death. They fell on the gashes of their knees, stale blood spurting between bone and earth, toppled forward and splattered chest first into patches of blood and grass. There was confusion in the ranks of the House, but they were quick to celebrate the unexpected death of these short-lived hulks, cheering almost as if they'd been responsible for the feat.
“No, no, no, little ants,” said Orarion, his Crone swooping down and circling the soldiers like a vulture. “Silly things, always looking in front of you, always omitting what wonders unfurl above.” He swiftly flew out of harm’s way, letting them see the thirteen demonic Fiends lurching over, blotting out the fading skies with their sheer size. A hundred paces away, Sapna jerked away her fingers from Cassock’s skull, blue blood spurting in profusion. because of that, their devilish bodies sizzled in unison, trembling and fading as everything that made them was losing integrity. With a loud boom, the demons vanished out of existence, becoming nothing but motes of dust that drifted away like dark starlings on the wind.
What they revealed, however, was cause for much, much more concern.
Fifty feet above and just as many behind the opposing army's heads, the sky had been ripped apart, held open at the edges by the swirling, wailing shapes of tortured ghosts. There was a darkening tunnel on the other side, an eerie whirlpool of smoky waters that, somehow, seemed to darken even further as the roundish blotches within it grew bigger and bigger. There were three at first, then six, then nine: nine silhouettes that looked half-humanoid while being far too large for that. Their other half, however, behooved the looks of something more than simply massive, something like steel wagons or war rams.
Finally, the bodies swam out the cyclone of darkness to descend upon the House of Sora.
Minutes ago, the gateway had been opened, linking the witching legion to a patch in the skies. Through it, Sati had flung nine of the Prometheus Catapults, the same things that had launched the desecrated boulders of earth not so long ago. Only, they were not machines of war, nor were they machines to start with: they were vicious titans of old, brought back to a wicked life by the powers of Orarion, their severed lower halves replaced by the steel-armoured base of a catapult – they were his masterpieces.
The whole plains shook when the undead giants hurtled themselves into the hillside, raising immense plumes of dust and earth that doubled as a blinding screen, all-concealing. Wit the exception of the last powerful shakes of the earthquake, there was utter silence hanging on the battlefield. Utter silence, save for a baleful whirring and clicking.
Colossal bodies slid out of the screen of dust, dragging drafts of the stuff in their backwash. The Prometheus Giants were rolling down the versant, brandishing immense mallets of steel to knock whatever obstacles they met out of the way. Anything that their weapons would miss, the wicked spikes lining their wheeled half would quickly crush and skewer.
“Now is our time: the Hexxen Nacht joins the fray.”
At the base of the hill, the legion moved as one, a yard of swords, spears and beaks gleaming death in the dimming sun.
Out of Character:
All 5 Golems are now out of comission after using all their energy for their Charge ability.
13 Demonic Fiends have been dispelled. Their disappearance revealed that a gateway has been created above your army.
Sent 9 Prometheus catapults through the gateway to land behind your army. They are now rolling down and gaining momentum. They have steel mallets and spikes on their wheeled base. They will brake eventually so as to not crash into the Hexxen Nacht, and will be stationary for the rest of the battle (little clamps under their base keeps them from sliding down). They can still swat people around with their mallets when stationary.
Edit: After reading the following post, I really started wondering where you found the idea that the brothers were that strong individually. They can kill a lot of people before being taken down, but they're just 2. They were supposed to be distractions and the beast of Ashes was doing hit and run attacks most of the time to save its sorry ass, but anyway.
Also, I think I told you twice that the demons were not illusions, and neither is their fire. They're just intangible. First in PM, second in AIM. After you asked me if they were, on top of all. Then you just went ahead and said that they were.
The girl called her cheap tricks. Some of the threats of her army were much more serious than others, and Dyne’s forces reacted accordingly to each and every threat that was called. Marching up the hill, Kastor Troy saw the horrible Flesh Golems and what they were capable of doing. “Men! Hold your grounds!” And the true battle began. The Flesh Golems had a temporary stay upon the world, all they had to do was survive. O yes, there was blood. O yes, there were terrified screams. But Kastor kept the fiercest of his warriors at bay. There wer e Corone Rangers mixed in with Monks as well as some of the volunteer Corps of Dyne’s army. The men from Radasanth bravely stared down the threat as they came. Reacting within moments of the creatures’ sick appearance.
Almost as soon as those well armored beasts began their attack, the warriors of Corone and Salvar prepared their defense. Reacting quickly, using what they had learned from the Monks of Ai’Bron, the warriors moved as they were trained. Kastor launched bolts from his deadly crossbow weapon, seeing them fly through the air attempting to intercept the undead flesh of the foul creatures. Having overhead now, the disc in the sky was rapidly lowering to usher in the time of night. Monks released their powerful spirit magics at the terrible beast calling upon nearly limitless reserves of powers thanks to the secret blessings of the Thaynehood. Kastor’s forces were thinned out by the terrible beasts and there were casualties. O there were casualties. The dead and dying that couldn’t adapt strategies to the beasts sent by their enemy were simply crushed. The Monks immediately attempted to burn all they could fearing the curse of Necromancers in the enemy ranks. They didn’t want to have to face the burden of killing bodies of friends a second time. Each loss was felt by Dyne’s forces.
Every unit that fell lowered the morality of the troops. But Kastor’s leadership was tremendous. They rallied to his cause. Kastor fought for the will of the people. “Hold your ground men!” Kastor cried out to the frightened soldiers of the House of Sora. Their enemy was a terrifying one that relied on the powers of death and destruction. Fighting like proud men of Corone Kastor’s forces reacted and attempted to simply stay alive despite the nearly overwhelming powers that were sent to demolish them. Of Kastor’s two hundred men, only one hundred and fifty remained. The beasts of flesh took down fifty more men. But soon, their time in the world was up.
Kastor observed and his brave men watched alongside them as the creatures began to simply fall limp upon the ground. Their great engines of steam silencing as they were devoid of their second life. Kastor grinned as he noticed the pattern within the tactics of the enemy. She’d been bluffing so far! Kastor prepared to call the enemy bluff. He turned towards his forces and began to halt the march. No, this time they would call out the enemy from their own. Stopping the march, Kastor ordered the phalanx formation and watched as potent shields were placed in front of well trained men. The strongest and bravest of the few were in front of the army whilst the specially trained Monks took up the rear of the advancing forces. They were preparing a volley of terrible magics.
Seeing the enemy camp just a few paces away, the fighting began. “NOW!”
Kastor yelled and raised his fist into the air. A volley of arrows from his archers, they were deadly close to the enemy now, flowed through the air towards the enemy ranks. Mixed with the arrows were a series of bolts from those who had crossbows in their possessions. The rest of the men began their march. With one hundred and fifty soldiers left, and Kastor guessed that the enemy was starting to get all out of tricks, Kastor split his forces in half. Half for the march and half to remain where they were to lunch spells and arrow from a distance. Kastors’ men yelled like lions as they rushed forward to take on the seemingly superior force. You’re all out of tricks little girl. Kastor thought to himself as he rushed forward, stomping the earth with his well formed boots.
-
The thing wasn’t falling despite their attacks. However, they had no choice but to take down this beast of ash before it was too late. The monks’ magics purified the air and eliminated the smoke that was spewed by the horrible beast. Dyne fought hard. He was too busy trying to survive and keep his remaining forces alive than care what the enemy thought of him. His Monks were master illusionists, they wouldn’t be fooled by petty tricks anyway.
When the “Thirteen Fires of Hell” were launched as part of the girl’s bluff, the Monks quickly reacted to the illusionary magic. They were able to tell quickly the nature of the tricks and dispelled them where they could until all of the illusions were gone. Dyne was mostly concerned with getting rid of this Beast of Ash until something else happened. Behind their forces, and in the way of their supply lines, portals ripped open that revealed yet another supernatural threat. The dead and dying from the Gemini Twins’ true fires were filling Dynes’ ears and it was hard to concentrate. He turned his attention quickly to look at the new surge of energy that erupted atop a nearby hill. There were new threats arriving. Dyne kept moving even as he observed the threats of the Prometheus catapults. The Beast of Ash continued to swipe at Dyne and Karxen, taking equal shots at the two of them whilst spewing more fires at the camp. A small squad of Monks were busy putting the flames out with ice and water magic. Those skilled in the arts of healing were busy tending to the wounded that were still fit for battle.
Mercy kills were used on the lost causes and their bodies were instantly turned to ash and let loose into the four winds. Continuing the assault of the beast of ash, more lightning, ice, and water spells were launched across the air. The thing wasn’t going down! They’d taken out one of the Gemini Twins, but were needing to take out the second so they could concentrate on the new threat. Then, something horrible happened! The Prometheus Catapults began their march down the hill. Thankfully, most of Dyne’s forces were centered at the epicenter of the camp. They were too busy trying to take care of the fires, smoke, and the beast of Ash to worry about a threat that was far off. Despite this, there were a few more losses to Dynes’ forces. Ten more units that were at the rear of the camp tending to errands of intelligence matters fell the sudden surprise attack.
Despite his concentration, Dyne could see the Phantoms of the dead continuing to wage war on their own. They were engaging what enemy Phantoms they could find. The Wraiths of the enemy that were under the girl’s control. A spiritual war was taking place as there was a physical one as well. Dyne needed to do something about the beast of Ash, but his options were limited. Suddenly, when Dyne was distracted by the activities of the Phantoms, the beast of ash took a quick swipe at the boy and sent him flying backwards several paces. “Argh!” Dyne screamed in agony as his flesh was seared by fire and smoke. “NO! DYNE!” Karxen screamed as he looked upon the fallen form of his adopted son. Karxen turned his full attention to the beast of Ash now. “You’re MINE!” With that, the old blacksmith attacked with his adamantime war hammer and prepared to land a spectacular finishing blow against the last remaining Gemini Twin.
Nearby, a trio of monks approached Dyne’s fallen form that weren’t actively engaged with the enemy. The monks knelt down in prayer to the Thayne, Lord Draconus, and prepared to use draconian healing arts. Their bodies glowed with a mystical aura. They laid their hands upon Dynes’ chest and let their energies coalesce with the youth’s injuries. Thankfully, his epidermis was charred but the injury was not serious. Dyne still managed to hold on to his sword. He clutched at his chest in agony staring at the beast of Ash with hate in his eyes. “Someone take that damned thing down!” The youth ordered. And another volley of spirit magic was sent crashing towards the beast. All of the majority of Dyne’s forces were well out of the way of the Prometheus Catapults when their wheels were locked and they became stationary. Dyne screamed loudly as other people screamed when the Monks laid their hands upon the youth and a surge of energy flowed upon the boy’s chest.
It was only a matter of time before they dealt with the more serious threat of the day and that was the Gemini Twin. “Hurry up, I wanna take that thing down!” Dyne screamed in hysterics as he sat upwards against the Monks. They pushed him down upon the ground with superior strength. “Rest easy my child. You’ll get back in the game. Let us work the healing arts upon you.” And Dyne consented.
Quote:
Summary: The beasts of flesh took down fifty units. The beast of ash took down another twenty units and the catapults took down only ten units. Dyne divided his forces roughly in half. Kastor leading the march against your forces and Dyne leading the attack against the Beast of Ash.
Total Losses=80 more units.
Total Casualty Overall=180 units.
Remaining Forces=320 units divided evenly amongst the Monks, Corone Rangers, and Volunteer Corps.
Bowstrings snapped as one, launching a salvo of arrows that sought revenge in the hearts and lungs of her soldiers. Sati knew it would come, but there was little she could do to steel herself, if anything at all. Cassock, Sapna, even that bastard Orarion: she feared, feared for their safety. The Hounds of Gevaudan sensed the danger to their riders and at once bucked on their hind legs, baring their underside as rippling shields of fur and muscles. The steel tips glanced off as if striking stone ramparts, some nicked, others shattered. A few shafts from crossbow quarrels had dug into the three hounds’ skin, though they were quickly pushed out by surges of red and black mist that poured out like gaseous blood. Alas, the zealots hadn’t fared as well under the volley, more than two dozens having fallen upon first strike while twice as many were wounded.
Sati snarled as she quickly assessed the damage with a backward glance. Even faced with such a sudden wave of death, the zealots had not buckled, and even the injured still held onto their long swords, plucking splinters of wood out of their bloodied chain mail. This had been nothing like a harmless rain, but they would not let a bit of bad weather pull them down – neither would she. More arrows were being nocked, though thankfully the crossbows were slow to the charge. Theirs would simply have to be faster.
Over a hundred zealots charged onward, their onslaught of steel and war cries a thing of marvel. The first clash of swords was followed by a dissonant orchestra of ringing and slashing, of plates banging and mail links splintering. Sometimes, she could hear the gurgle of blood as a blade plunged into a man’s throat. Sometimes, she could hear the cries of one assailed in all directions, feeling cold steel in his neck, spine and guts right before the weapons jerked, twisted and pulled out. The priestess had to shake herself back to reality right then, lest her mind wander further in vengeful fantasies against mankind. She would have to let her old wounds itch, today, so that no new ones could mar her further.
The priestess gave Cassock a quick look, then sent his way a swift, meaningful nod. In reply, the Patriarch looked away, sealing off his fiery eyes behind lids of dappled grey as he spread the order telepathically. As if on cue, the ranks of the hundred zealots that hadn’t been sent to the forefront parted halfway, a swath of scaled bodies cutting through the path they made, battalion lances bared and lowered. All forty of the Basilisk Dragoons were stampeding forward as fast as mounted soldiers, their four reptilian legs slipping deftly over parcels of grass, even under the weight of their half-plate armour. As they charged, they bellowed and hissed in their native tongues, clicks, rolls and snarls mixed with a sibilant elegance; in answer to the cantrips, their lances darkened and glowed simultaneously, the brown shafts turning a poisonous black while the dehlar heads were alit in a sickly green.
Their leap in the fray had changed the tides of battle. They spread a stunning disease through the sorcerous poison of their spears, infecting all those whose flesh they cut. Stranger, however, was how some of their opponents seemed to freeze upon a glance, as though they’d seen a petrifying horror through the slits of the Dragoon’s visors. In these moments, swarms of Crones swooped down from the skies, croaking their hexes in what could have been maniacal laughter. Those who’d gone as still as stone underwent a second transformation, their bodies transmogrified into minuscule rats or toads that were picked off the ground and squished within the witch crows’ jagged beaks. Alas, some had been struck down on their downward arcs, unsuccessful with their witchcraft, while two dragoons had already been felled by well-aimed strikes to their flanks and hamstrings. One of them, however, had lost its helmet in the fall, revealing on its face the features of a man crossed with a vicious dragon’s head, with eyes that sparked a thundering green. In the sudden flash, it had turned a handful of foes into stone statues, killing them in petrifaction.
The earth growled underneath everyone’s feet, as though they’d been standing on the spine of a slumbering beast from forgotten tales. Out came a hulk of rocks and packed earth, its heavyset limbs scraped and broken from more sword slashes than could be counted. The Beast of Stone was on its last leg, almost literally at that: there was very little it could do in its state, and a strong wind could well end its short stay in the material world. “Pitiful creature,” Orarion howled from the back of his Crone. “Your brother has been of much better use, up there on the hills. Why don’t you reclaim your pride down here, where all that is earth is your bailwick?”
The beast cringed, dust rolling off in a grating noise as what could have been its neck moved up and down. The Necromancer’s teeth parted, but considering his lack of skin and muscles, the cackling that accompanied it was the only thing to suggest it was a smile. He outstretched a bony hand, aiming it at the solidly-packed mass of humanity. His bones shook, overtaken by wretched spasms, and a wave of ghastly light rippled in the air, aglow in deathly purples and blacks as they struck a group of soldiers from the House, as well as a Dragoon and a few of their own zealots.
They writhed and grunted as life seeped out of them like water from a broken cup, swallowed in drafts into Orarion’s body. With his other hand, he aimed at the Stone Brother, then unleashed the life force he’d just garnered onto the creature. Its stone body seemed to bubble; earth moved from the ground beneath like climbing mud, filling the hollows and gashes, making the creature whole once more.
Orarion fell silent for an instant, catching something on the currents. He spoke again, without a hint of emotion. “Your Brother has just fallen. He lasted longer than I would have fought.” The renewed golem was shaken by the news, or at least the malevolent spirit within it had been struck by the feeling of a severed link. Sati watched the monstrous sorrow with an empathic look; it was strange, relating to something she had thought to be mindless. It roared, the deafening bellow coming out of its splitting, rocky mouth, and it rushed to the battle in a vindictive rage.
Sati sighed, reminded of the things she’d done when her sister was broken by men, so many years ago. She would kill everyone alive, only to avenge the wrongs that had been done unto her. “If it kills enough, I might consider reviving the other,” the Lich said listlessly as he riled his mount into flying off. In that moment, she regretted fearing for his safety, regretted that the arrows hadn’t bored a thousand holes in his skull.
“Have the Crones pick off the archers and mages. They can maneuver around arrows, and spells can do no harm to them,” she told Cassock, who instantly relayed the order. “And tell the Undertakers that they can summon a rainstorm.”
“Sapna, Cas, come with me. Orarion, you stay here and lead. We’ve overstayed our welcome; it’s time for us to say goodbye.”
:::::
There was commotion up in the House encampment, the sounds of celebration. Bent by the wind, a hundred thin streams of smoke trailed upward from the remnants of the fires. A larger source of black fumes came from a pile of ashes, big enough to be the remains of a scorched elephant. The monks and soldiers had killed it at last; the beast had escaped death too many times, due to its swiftness, but that would no longer be a problem. A wayward gust wafted by, scattering the ashes.
It was a victory for them, and it made them proud. When monsters such as this one were slain, the slayers always revelled as though they’d done the world a great service, as though they were heroes – a daft idea. One monster, as wicked and dangerous as it was, remained just that: one monster. Down below, at the foot of their homes, stood hundreds more. Even beyond that, on the plains between Tylmerande and Yarborough, in the forest of Concordia, dwelled thousands and thousands more. The whole world teemed with creatures such as the one they’d felled, and they were killing unhindered while these men laughed and smiled. “One damn monster. That’s just pathetic,” one gritty, hollow voice spoke, disembodied as if the winds had found words in their whispers.
“You should look down, once in a while, boy.” Another had come from nowhere, a sweet echo in counterpoint to the grating of the previous one. “Your first wave is quite nearly wiped out.”
“A glance upward is never lost as well. Does the House not preach the limitless skies?” Monotonous, this time; it held none of the disdain and condescension the previous two voices had outwardly shown, only a sedate tedium so often viewed in disillusioned teachers. “Look up, and you may learn something from it before the end.”
Three thin shadows climbed the heavens, piercing through clouds. It was a strangely slow ascent, like the rise of fireworks at the end of a midsummer festival in Radasanth. The voices fell silent as though their owners were watching the slow ascent. The shadows bogged down, reaching their peak, over a hundred paces above the small mountain where the House stood in watch, noticing that the shapes were eerily reminiscent of a man’s spine. A fourth voice came on unseen currents, posing an innocent query. “Will this firework be as pretty as the last ones?”
Then, the three shadows burst into three hundred, drawing a blossom of white flowers in the sky.
Splinters of bone rained from the clouds, shooting down like a shower of polished stars. They battered the tents, piercing holes through cloth and awnings, poking exposed skin, eyes, cutting tongues, drilling through throats. All those who had not sought cover were pelted, and though the projectiles were small, they could be deadly due to their speed and number. What monks remained had blasted many away with gusts of wizarded wind, but their numbers had thinned since the first assault. Before they could recover from the rain of splinters and tears of bone, three blurs had appeared in the heart of the settlement, from which the horrible silhouettes of hell hounds emerged. Three of the four Hexxen Nacht leaders had made their appearance, right before the eyes of the child the House had sent to stand as a prettyboy commander.
They were quick to dismount, and they sent their hounds to wreak havoc on the camp. There were still many, many standing, but the three did not look the least bit worried. After all, they were close enough to kill the House boy, and the Hounds were no slouches either – something that had become quite apparent when they bit off and devoured the heads of their opposition, at once healing the wounds inflicted by the crossbow bolts in the first volley. Sati lifted and arm, telling the dogs, as well as all soldiers, to stop.
“They kill unless we tell them not to.” The warning was as clear as could be. Kill us, and nothing will stop them from killing you. “Even if you somehow manage to dispose of all of us, and you’ll still have to deal with the commanders left with my army at the foot of the hills.”
“Now,” she continued, as lightly as if she’d begun a routinely business. She turned to the boy, whatever his name was. “We’ve only come to say farewell, really. There’s no purpose in doing any more... it’d be wasted on the likes of you.”
“You’ve lost so many already, and we’re still fresh. Those Golems we sent in? They won’t be down for too long.” Sati absently dusted off her priestess’ garb, then flipped a stray cluster of silky, crimson hair out of her eyes. She smiled something disturbingly angelic. “And those tricks of mine? I’ve only shown you appetizers: believe me, the main course is much, much harder to digest.” Hands behind her back, she leaned forward in a rise of crystal laughter, so innocent, so endearing. So wrong. “What can I say? I’d have already killed myself out of boredom if I had to resort to simplistic tactics like yours.”
“I could be bluffing though. So please, take your chances; that might liven up this day a tad.” At those words, a crossbow bolt was let loose, aimed to burst into her skull. The quarrel glanced off an invisible barrier that pulsed into existence around the three, then vanished just as quickly. “What do you know? Another trick of ours,” she said with a sigh, giving Cassock a look of feigned defeat.
“It’s too bad ghosts can’t hurt people – not yours, at least. Then you might have a shot in hell, considering you’ve got almost as many ghosts as we’ve got soldiers.” A not too subtle jab, and oddly the boy had still not spoken a word. “Ah well, I believe this covers all our bases. No more loose ends. Cassock, you can let him speak now.”
With a blink, the Patriarch released the leader’s mouth from the invisible hand he’d used to shut him up. It was no secret that he could just as easily snap the boy’s neck and be done with it.
“To live or to die, the age-old question,” the priestess mused solemnly, waiting for the reply. Hopefully, he’d realize that though the question was ancient, his answer needed not be so long.
“Your verdict?”
Sati smiled at the futility of her build-up; he only ever had but a single choice. That would dawn on him, soon enough... and so would the reality of his defeat.
Out of Character:
With that said: it's been fun, man!
((This isn't over without me doing a conclusion post as we discussed on AIM))
((And bunnies approved))
In a single moment, Kastor Troy saw a glimpse of the fires of hell. The zealots of the enemy army pounded the earth towards his men despite the fact that they’d taken down so many. Kastor ordered his men to prepare a second volley of chaos to release upon the soldiers of their enemy. As their main wave of assault was launched, contradictory to the assumptions of the enemy, Troy’s men were prepared. Training in both The Citadel and Lodge Bladestorm prepared the men to face any ordeal that might come from their first army battle. In a matter of moments on the field, the soldiers were battle hardened and prepared to overcome the challenges of the day. The crows that came too close were met with a different tactics from the Monks of Ai’Bron. They used the blessings of the Thaynehood to augment their physical characteristics greatly. The enemy had greatly underestimated the will of the people. Dyne commanded Troy to take down the enemy forces to the last man. There would be no mercy, there would be no surrender. The battle would grow into epic proportions and be sung about by the survivors of this terrible day.
Troy picked up the slack for each of the losses that they faced on that day. But the Monks and his well trained Corone Rangers were an invaluable asset. They used the knowledge granted to them by the Thayne to prove their superiority on the fields of Gisela. Against an army of monsters, the people of Corone remained valiant to the bitter end. Troy fought hard with his well formed weapon hacking at any units that came too close. The introduction of the Dragoons showed the desperate nature of the enemy that was currently upon them. They’d done their damage. And now the enemy attempted to take them down in one fell swoop. With Troy’s forces split evenly in half, a second wave of his men prepared their attacks. The Crows were the ones who would pose the most problems. When they came in too close they met with fists as strong as war hammers. Taking swipes and releasing furious uppercuts upon the underbellies of beasts, the Monks and Corone Rangers reacted bravely.
Yes there were losses, but each loss strengthened the resolve of a fellow unit against a much more serious threat. Zealots fell to the blades of the Corone Ranger and the spells of the Warrior Monks. This was the first chance that patiently waiting soldiers had to meet the enemy directly in combat. And they took that chance with readied morale. Each loss only served to increase the morale of Troy’s companions. Regrouping against the incoming horde, the ground vibrated with the kinetic energy of the two armies colliding against one another. Evenly split down the middle, a group of Monks handled the incoming pesky crows, and the rest of the Monks reinforced the forward advanced group. The dragoons started to fall one by one which further awakened the rekindled warrior spirit.
With the secret blessings of the Thaynehood, the warrior Monks would see the day through to its end. Many were reminded of the terrible battles between the Elves of Raiaera and the forces of Xem’Zund. A Necromancer and her vile beasts of Hell would fall today. Every single soldier was busy with a task. Those gifted with the spirit magics were launching wizard’s energy across the fields of Gisela towards the enemy. One by one, enemy units were falling. As routine as it had become, those that fell were instantly burned. And at the camp, came the greatest victory yet…
-
Monks and Rangers fighting against the horrible Gemini Beast finally scored a victory against the damned beast. With a mighty burst of wind, and a refusal to die, the creature was burst out of existence. All at once the gathered and remaining troops rose their arms to the sky and hailed the Thaynehood for a great victory. Blessings were immediately given to Lord Draconus. The earth itself seemed to get corrupted against the terrible energies that were released by other side, one side having more restraint than the other’s terrible power. With Dyne’s injuries fully healed, the youth prepared himself for what he knew was coming. The enemy had grown arrogant and confident in their ability to win. Dyne knew that was an Achilles’ heal. Attempting to take advantage of the potential win, the youth prepared for the next leg of the battle. He would need any remaining unit he could muster to secure a victory for the House of Sora.
And then something unexpected happened. The enemy transported a large squadron to right at their own doorstep! Dyne turned his attention to the enemy camp’s leader and saw that she was naught more than a Priestess of youthful age. He didn’t recognize the emblems on her clothing or any other markings upon her person. Dyne assumed that she probably followed an obscure religious sect of the many on Althanas. She clearly wasn’t a follower of the Thayne. On a normal day, Dyne might’ve tried his luck at bedding either of the two girls that seemed to be the leaders of that army of monsters.
Yet the second commander, her twin it seemed, had her hands in the skull of an individual. The individual creature moved forward and released a mysterious power that crackled and wavered across the air. The power wrapped itself tightly around Dyne’s mouth and squeezed preventing the House of Sora leader from effectively speaking. Dyne tried to grab at the invisible hand, but his own psionic skills were relatively weak compared to the powers against him. He fell to his knees, sword in hand, and grabbed at the ground in agony. He looked up, barely able to move against the force that held him in place. Studying the enemy, Dyne Corona felt the marking on his forehead burn with pain. He fought against the sensation, managing to rise to a half crouching position.
The tip of Dyne’s well forged sword was buried partially into the ground. He saw Karxen about to make a move against the enemy, but he shakingly raised a fist to prevent his other commander from doing such. He wanted to hear what the enemy had come to say. And then words were spoken. Mere taunts came from the bitches’ lips. Dyne frowned visibly as she started feeding him a sob story about her presumed victory. The bitch was arrogant all right. He learned a lot about her from those few moments of actually facing her. And then once her threat was done, Dyne shook his head.
“You’re the one who is pathetic. Depending on bastard creations and supernatural demons to do your dirty work for you. You release the forces of hell upon us and we still stand. We’re men of Corone, little girl, and we won’t be giving up anytime soon! Your petty cries for surrender fall on deaf ears.” With that, he gave Karxen his blessing to move against the three beasts that were assembled before them. The Master Blacksmith quickly covered the ground between himself and the deadly twins. He leaped mightily on powerful legs once he was able to, and rotated his warhammer with great skill overhead. It was now in swinging position. At the apex of his jump, he reached forward with a mighty leg towards the head of the beast that he was attacking. The thing was snapping towards Karxen’s legs, but the skilled warrior’s foot kicked out gracefully making the beast yelp. The warrior sent the head of his hammer towards the combination on Senpa and the bastard creation, Cassock. Karxen’s hammer went down in a swinging arch to the midsection area, and towards the head of Cassock.. The adamantime seemed to glow with the promise of power.
Karxen hoped that the Thayne would bless him with a powerful hit to the enemy’s morale.
At the same time, Dyne, now free from the enemy’s grasp, prepared his sword and was going to strike against the leader of the enemy. Sati herself. With his superior fighting skills, he knew all he had to do was land a single blow against her to end this madness. Their army still had leaders, but the Monks could take all of these down. The only serious threat that the enemy had were those bastard monsters cutting off their supply lines. These would be dealt with last. The enemy was on the march. Somewhere out on the field, Dyne knew that Kastor Troy was busy taking care of the marching forces.
Dyne had a grin on his face. “You have failed.” And he sent a powerful slash towards Sati’s bosom. Her words only served to have the opposite effect on the troops at Dyne’s command. She was desperate, she was bluffing, and she was all out of tricks. “Die you bitch!” He hissed as he saw the green blade of plynt flow through the air skillfully at his opponent’s chest. He moved easily around the huge beast of burden, unafraid of the huge paws after previous monsters that he’d faced in his life. He’d long ago conquered his fear of the darkness. And today, the will of the people would have their victory.
The End.
Dirks charitably offered to judge this battle. The following is his judgment:
"One reminder: battles work better when the story is developed together. When it is, the battle will be fun for the participants and the thread will be remembered for all times.
Morituri te Salutant v. Celestial Warriors (Army Battle)
Alberdyne_Cormyr (Celestial Warriors)
Continuity (4/10)
Setting (4/10) - Serenti and Gisela are actually much farther apart than implied in this battle (though I took no points off for this).
Pacing (3/10) - The writing style you chose hurt the pacing of the battle (see more on that below). Using short, concise sentences tends to give the reader a sense of urgency that wasn't present in the beginning of the battle.
Dialog (4/10)
Action (4/10) - You should have given a better explanation of why your dead warriors attacked the Geminis.
Persona (4/10) - "Kaster Troy" was the main character of the movie "Face/Off," and "Kastor Troy" played very much like Nicholas' Cage's version of the character. Give us something that sets your character apart. Also, Dyne seemed uneasy at first, but had no problems slaying Sati in the end--work on character consistency.
Mechanics (5/10) - You overuse the semi-colon which effects the fluidity of your writing.
Technique (4/10) - Work on your connecting words. For example, instead of using "He did this. She did that." use "He did this and she did that."
Clarity (6/10)
Wild Card (2/10)-Three point penalty for posting after March 22nd.
Total (40/100)
Magdalena (Morituri te Salutant)
Continuity (4/10)
Setting (4/10)
Pacing (4/10) - Good start. As the action picked up, the battle started to drag. Understandably, the conclusion was also rushed.
Dialog (5/10) - The best part. Cassock was my favorite. His unique dialect brought out his character, and got you some good interaction points.
Action (1/10) - Your army's actions and abilities were completely unrealistic for a level 0 character. Though your army was approved, you have a responsibility to use it reasonably given your characters' level. For example, destroying the boulders, creating portals to other realms, and instantaneous communication are all things that should be toned down (please note: I did not take off points for Alberdyne's interpretations of your characters).
Persona (5/10) - Good interaction amongst your characters. Their motivations and their personalities were not as apparent, however. Your conclusion and the "mysterious" conversation were confusing and unsupported by previous interaction or explanation.
Mechanics (6/10) - Too many commas. In this particular battle, your pacing was affected sometimes due to run-on sentences. Work on your brevity a bit, but do not cross into Alberdyne's realm.
Technique (5/10)
Clarity (6/10)
Wild Card (3/10)- Two point penalty for posting after March 22nd.
Total (43/100)
Winner: Magdelena (Morituri te Salutant)
Rewards:
Magdelena receives 2374 EXP and 450 GP.
Alberdyne_Cormyr receives 750 EXP and 200 GP."
Rewards added, sorry for the wait. You both level up!