Post by godly on Sept 22, 2009 15:55:36 GMT 10
The sentry’s silvered armour glinted in the late afternoon sun, as he slowly made his way around the walls of the fort that was his home. As usual it was only himself and another man on the walls, the only time there were more was just before and just after noon.
The young man looked down into the courtyard of the fort, at the large water clock sitting there, four hours after noon.
‘Still another four hours of my shift left,’ he thought absently as he looked out into the nearby scrub nearly dropping his spear.
Coming towards the fortress were at least four companies of mercenaries, the sentry stood and watched in fascination. All of them marched in perfect unison, which contrasted noticeably with their varying armour and weapons. When they were just outside bowshot they halted and four men in worn, yet with more ornate armour and weapons strode up to the gate. Within hailing distance they stopped.
‘We would speak with your leader man,’ said one of them. He was as tall and as lithe as the two-handed shamshir at his side. ‘We have information and a proposition that he will find most interesting.’
The sentry stood stupidly for a second, then bolted for the inside of the fort.
‘Now let’s hope this bloke has some sense, eh Vilner?’ asked another man, with twin short-swords strapped across his back. ‘The last border garrison commander didn’t-’
‘And we lost our first chance at cart-full of gold,’ broke in another, this one with a long curved katana at his side, ‘We know Balthor, we know.’
‘I’m just irritated about being denied so much pay Xane,’ Balthor said bitterly. ‘We could have been in Cellneer by now if he had’ve listened.’
‘It would have been good,’ Xane agreed. ‘The women are always willing and the drink is always flowing.’
Suddenly a dark shape detached itself from a nearby bush and made its way to where the four men stood, resolving into a man in black tinted mesh mail with silver hair.
The last captain, a huge man with a double-headed battle-axe strapped across his back, walked toward the man. The two of them began conversing in low tones just out of hearing. When they finished the captain, Makoe, returned to the other three. From the look on his face the news wasn’t good.
‘Only one sentry according to Azerial,’ he said grimly. ‘And the light elf horde is no more than five leagues behind us.’
All three captains paled, Balthor started swearing, Vilner started praying to God and the lady luck, Anatha, yet Xane recovered and looked at Azerial, as if assessing him anew.
‘You covered that distance and back in several hours?’ Xane asked.
Azerial shrugged, ‘One man moves faster than a group.’
‘Are you certain they’re that close?’
‘I know Zerantel when I see them.’
‘How close did you get?’
‘Close enough to count them. There is more than twenty thousand.’
Xane’s eyes widened at the number, there had been less than half that three days ago.
‘Are you certain?’
‘Positive, if I did make a mistake it was missing out on some.’
Azerial made to leave but a motion from his captain stopped him and he stayed, to relay Makoe’s orders if need be told him.
After a few more minutes waiting the gate opened and a procession of three lieutenants in silver and gold trimmed armour, two captains in gilded breastplates and chain mail (one of which supported an older man in plain, plate and chain mail yet with a platinum amulet, signifying he was a Border-General of the realm) emerged.
Shaking off his support the general stood and looked at the four mercenary captains.
‘Why are you here? Mercenaries aren’t usually this far east,’ he said, his eyes were as sharp as razors. ‘My men would have informed me of blood shed nearby and I have heard of none.’
Makoe stepped forward as it was agreed he had the best head for negotiations ‘You are right General we don’t usually come this far east,’ he agreed. ‘But we have been hunting several light elf battalions that have passed the Goliath Steppes. And raided some of the smaller towns to the south. We engaged them as they headed northeast towards here. We think they seek to escape Acinta into Sanberaseo so we followed.’
The old man looked startled, Sanberaseo was a supposedly barren land, though none had made it more than a day inside its borders so it was unproven, ‘Six or seven hundred Zerantel, so many, just for a few small towns and then to the dead land Sanberaseo, yet there is more than eight thousand of you mercenaries, why so many?’
Rolling his shoulders uneasily Makoe looked at the other four men, the three captains nodded yet Azerial just stood impassively, watching and listening.
‘All three of our companies received different accounts of light elf movement, similar numbers but in different parts of the kingdom and all fled to this part of the border. At first we thought the other had been played false yet each company bore injured men, so we sent out several scouts. Only one returned, the man behind me, and he reported a gathering of almost ten thousand Zerantel.’
The old man nodded, ‘And so you headed for the nearest border fort, hoping to take them there, and I take it you were turned away, from Stilim Pass am I right,’ the mercenaries nodded, ‘Well Stiltas was always a fool. What happened.’
‘Annihilated,’ replied Vilner. ‘Not a soul left, they had battle mages with them.’
The Border-General swayed slightly on his feet, ‘And where are they now?’
Azerial stepped forward, ‘Five leagues to the south five hours ago, maybe four now, and they have doubled in number since the fort was destroyed a week ago.’
Before anyone could stop him one of the young Lieutenants had bared steel, ‘Die you lying scum.’
Before he could strike however Azerial stepped forward and dealt a quick open-handed blow to his sword hand, causing him to drop it, then in one fluid movement. Cracked the young man sharply on the chin with his elbow, put his forearm across his throat and his right leg behind the boy’s knees and applied pressure. The Lieutenant hit the ground stunned.
Each of the Lieutenants drew and tried to attack Azerial and they too ended up on the ground, flat on their backs, unconscious.
Azerial turned to his captain face still emotionless, ‘Apologies Captain Makoe, but I will not lead our company unless I have no other choice.’
Makoe nodded his understanding and looked once more at the Border-General.
The older man looked at his groaning men, ‘I believe your man’s report. He knows his work. Follow me, I’ll show you where you can garrison your men.’
Without waiting for orders Azerial headed off to get the troops, and the Captains followed the Border-General who introduced himself as Raize. They were shown a massive fortress, mainly empty, for not many young men came to the border of a dead land where little happened.
Few farmers lived in the surrounding country but thankfully far more than was needed to feed such men as Raize had, due to rules the General had implemented the surplus was treated and stored in the massive cellars beneath the citadel. Just in case of a great influx of population, or even less likely, a siege began.
Soon the mercenary Lieutenants had their men stationed in the vast, but mostly empty barracks, a full size watch, of twenty men on the walls at all times, was established. The men were fed and they began mingling with the soldiers while the captains and lieutenants met and held a war council.
It was soon discovered that none of the soldiers, except General Raize and very few enlisted soldiers, had any combat experience. It would be up to the mercenaries to give orders and keep things under control; as such every mercenary officer would be made a Knight of the realm, for this battle at least.
Now all that was left to do was wait, the Zerantel would arrive soon.
Azerial was sitting on the battlements one leg drawn up on the wall the other dangling outside it; trimming his nails with a long bladed dagger, watching, waiting.
Soon his overly keen eyes picked up the dust of a large group approaching; he stopped, put his fingers in his mouth and blew. A long piercing whistle cut the air.
When it finished silence reigned for a few moment; then all hell broke loose as every one hurried to ready for battle. The soldiers and mercenaries strapped on armour and readied weapons, the farmers and their families prepared salves, bandages and medicines or drew buckets of water from the wells ready for a fighter to drink or wash in.
All the while Azerial sat on the battlements, now shaving stubble from his face using his blade.
When he finished he looked out to see the Zerantel horde arrayed just out of siege engine range, a single light elf stepped forward and drew a glyph in the air with the tip of a finger; then he waited for it to fade before speaking.
‘To those in the fort, we will give you one chance to surrender,’ said the magically magnified voice. ‘If you do you shall be executed quickly, if not every prisoner we take shall be tortured to death. Make your decision.’
Looking around Azerial noticed Raize a few feet away. Makoe and Xane stood beside him. Turning inward Azerial slid of the battlements, then bent to pick something up.
‘Well, it seems a bit strange to see such a crew but it explains the reinforcements,’ Xane said looking and Makoe.
‘Goblins and trolls,’ spat Makoe. ‘I would expect them to side with blood elves but the light elves?’
‘Aye, strange events to be sure.’
‘Why do you think they’re doing this?’
‘I would venture that they have decided to take the world by force,’ explained Raize. ‘I’ve noticed that light elves have always had great contempt towards humans. They hide it well, but not well enough. Maybe they’ve decided to start a purge.’
‘General I can kill that elf?’ offered Azerial. ‘It might give us an edge, maybe not but it could be beneficial either way.’
The General, looking at the young man’s hands, noticed he held a bow with an arrow nocked. He also noticed what type of bow it was. An elven Great-bow.
‘If you can pull that bow,’ said Raize. ‘Be my guest.’
To the General’s great surprise the mercenary easily and fluidly drew the bow, took a bead on the elven commander’s head.
Looking to the heavens for some reason, ‘So it begins.’ He whispered as he let fly.
The young man looked down into the courtyard of the fort, at the large water clock sitting there, four hours after noon.
‘Still another four hours of my shift left,’ he thought absently as he looked out into the nearby scrub nearly dropping his spear.
Coming towards the fortress were at least four companies of mercenaries, the sentry stood and watched in fascination. All of them marched in perfect unison, which contrasted noticeably with their varying armour and weapons. When they were just outside bowshot they halted and four men in worn, yet with more ornate armour and weapons strode up to the gate. Within hailing distance they stopped.
‘We would speak with your leader man,’ said one of them. He was as tall and as lithe as the two-handed shamshir at his side. ‘We have information and a proposition that he will find most interesting.’
The sentry stood stupidly for a second, then bolted for the inside of the fort.
‘Now let’s hope this bloke has some sense, eh Vilner?’ asked another man, with twin short-swords strapped across his back. ‘The last border garrison commander didn’t-’
‘And we lost our first chance at cart-full of gold,’ broke in another, this one with a long curved katana at his side, ‘We know Balthor, we know.’
‘I’m just irritated about being denied so much pay Xane,’ Balthor said bitterly. ‘We could have been in Cellneer by now if he had’ve listened.’
‘It would have been good,’ Xane agreed. ‘The women are always willing and the drink is always flowing.’
Suddenly a dark shape detached itself from a nearby bush and made its way to where the four men stood, resolving into a man in black tinted mesh mail with silver hair.
The last captain, a huge man with a double-headed battle-axe strapped across his back, walked toward the man. The two of them began conversing in low tones just out of hearing. When they finished the captain, Makoe, returned to the other three. From the look on his face the news wasn’t good.
‘Only one sentry according to Azerial,’ he said grimly. ‘And the light elf horde is no more than five leagues behind us.’
All three captains paled, Balthor started swearing, Vilner started praying to God and the lady luck, Anatha, yet Xane recovered and looked at Azerial, as if assessing him anew.
‘You covered that distance and back in several hours?’ Xane asked.
Azerial shrugged, ‘One man moves faster than a group.’
‘Are you certain they’re that close?’
‘I know Zerantel when I see them.’
‘How close did you get?’
‘Close enough to count them. There is more than twenty thousand.’
Xane’s eyes widened at the number, there had been less than half that three days ago.
‘Are you certain?’
‘Positive, if I did make a mistake it was missing out on some.’
Azerial made to leave but a motion from his captain stopped him and he stayed, to relay Makoe’s orders if need be told him.
After a few more minutes waiting the gate opened and a procession of three lieutenants in silver and gold trimmed armour, two captains in gilded breastplates and chain mail (one of which supported an older man in plain, plate and chain mail yet with a platinum amulet, signifying he was a Border-General of the realm) emerged.
Shaking off his support the general stood and looked at the four mercenary captains.
‘Why are you here? Mercenaries aren’t usually this far east,’ he said, his eyes were as sharp as razors. ‘My men would have informed me of blood shed nearby and I have heard of none.’
Makoe stepped forward as it was agreed he had the best head for negotiations ‘You are right General we don’t usually come this far east,’ he agreed. ‘But we have been hunting several light elf battalions that have passed the Goliath Steppes. And raided some of the smaller towns to the south. We engaged them as they headed northeast towards here. We think they seek to escape Acinta into Sanberaseo so we followed.’
The old man looked startled, Sanberaseo was a supposedly barren land, though none had made it more than a day inside its borders so it was unproven, ‘Six or seven hundred Zerantel, so many, just for a few small towns and then to the dead land Sanberaseo, yet there is more than eight thousand of you mercenaries, why so many?’
Rolling his shoulders uneasily Makoe looked at the other four men, the three captains nodded yet Azerial just stood impassively, watching and listening.
‘All three of our companies received different accounts of light elf movement, similar numbers but in different parts of the kingdom and all fled to this part of the border. At first we thought the other had been played false yet each company bore injured men, so we sent out several scouts. Only one returned, the man behind me, and he reported a gathering of almost ten thousand Zerantel.’
The old man nodded, ‘And so you headed for the nearest border fort, hoping to take them there, and I take it you were turned away, from Stilim Pass am I right,’ the mercenaries nodded, ‘Well Stiltas was always a fool. What happened.’
‘Annihilated,’ replied Vilner. ‘Not a soul left, they had battle mages with them.’
The Border-General swayed slightly on his feet, ‘And where are they now?’
Azerial stepped forward, ‘Five leagues to the south five hours ago, maybe four now, and they have doubled in number since the fort was destroyed a week ago.’
Before anyone could stop him one of the young Lieutenants had bared steel, ‘Die you lying scum.’
Before he could strike however Azerial stepped forward and dealt a quick open-handed blow to his sword hand, causing him to drop it, then in one fluid movement. Cracked the young man sharply on the chin with his elbow, put his forearm across his throat and his right leg behind the boy’s knees and applied pressure. The Lieutenant hit the ground stunned.
Each of the Lieutenants drew and tried to attack Azerial and they too ended up on the ground, flat on their backs, unconscious.
Azerial turned to his captain face still emotionless, ‘Apologies Captain Makoe, but I will not lead our company unless I have no other choice.’
Makoe nodded his understanding and looked once more at the Border-General.
The older man looked at his groaning men, ‘I believe your man’s report. He knows his work. Follow me, I’ll show you where you can garrison your men.’
Without waiting for orders Azerial headed off to get the troops, and the Captains followed the Border-General who introduced himself as Raize. They were shown a massive fortress, mainly empty, for not many young men came to the border of a dead land where little happened.
Few farmers lived in the surrounding country but thankfully far more than was needed to feed such men as Raize had, due to rules the General had implemented the surplus was treated and stored in the massive cellars beneath the citadel. Just in case of a great influx of population, or even less likely, a siege began.
Soon the mercenary Lieutenants had their men stationed in the vast, but mostly empty barracks, a full size watch, of twenty men on the walls at all times, was established. The men were fed and they began mingling with the soldiers while the captains and lieutenants met and held a war council.
It was soon discovered that none of the soldiers, except General Raize and very few enlisted soldiers, had any combat experience. It would be up to the mercenaries to give orders and keep things under control; as such every mercenary officer would be made a Knight of the realm, for this battle at least.
Now all that was left to do was wait, the Zerantel would arrive soon.
Azerial was sitting on the battlements one leg drawn up on the wall the other dangling outside it; trimming his nails with a long bladed dagger, watching, waiting.
Soon his overly keen eyes picked up the dust of a large group approaching; he stopped, put his fingers in his mouth and blew. A long piercing whistle cut the air.
When it finished silence reigned for a few moment; then all hell broke loose as every one hurried to ready for battle. The soldiers and mercenaries strapped on armour and readied weapons, the farmers and their families prepared salves, bandages and medicines or drew buckets of water from the wells ready for a fighter to drink or wash in.
All the while Azerial sat on the battlements, now shaving stubble from his face using his blade.
When he finished he looked out to see the Zerantel horde arrayed just out of siege engine range, a single light elf stepped forward and drew a glyph in the air with the tip of a finger; then he waited for it to fade before speaking.
‘To those in the fort, we will give you one chance to surrender,’ said the magically magnified voice. ‘If you do you shall be executed quickly, if not every prisoner we take shall be tortured to death. Make your decision.’
Looking around Azerial noticed Raize a few feet away. Makoe and Xane stood beside him. Turning inward Azerial slid of the battlements, then bent to pick something up.
‘Well, it seems a bit strange to see such a crew but it explains the reinforcements,’ Xane said looking and Makoe.
‘Goblins and trolls,’ spat Makoe. ‘I would expect them to side with blood elves but the light elves?’
‘Aye, strange events to be sure.’
‘Why do you think they’re doing this?’
‘I would venture that they have decided to take the world by force,’ explained Raize. ‘I’ve noticed that light elves have always had great contempt towards humans. They hide it well, but not well enough. Maybe they’ve decided to start a purge.’
‘General I can kill that elf?’ offered Azerial. ‘It might give us an edge, maybe not but it could be beneficial either way.’
The General, looking at the young man’s hands, noticed he held a bow with an arrow nocked. He also noticed what type of bow it was. An elven Great-bow.
‘If you can pull that bow,’ said Raize. ‘Be my guest.’
To the General’s great surprise the mercenary easily and fluidly drew the bow, took a bead on the elven commander’s head.
Looking to the heavens for some reason, ‘So it begins.’ He whispered as he let fly.
