Post by godly on Oct 6, 2009 15:40:59 GMT 10
The clash of steel and the cries of wounded men and creatures were the only sounds, the flash of blades in the dying light, crowded living and dead bodies, blood on hands, faces and stone were the only things visible in the maelstrom of death and chaos, at least at first glance, then more became identifiable, certain hallmarks of races became clearer.
Sides became noticeable too, human soldiers against, light elves, goblins, trolls and the occasional rouge human marked by facial tattoos and brands.
Lightning bolts flickered across the melee destroying men from both sides, fireballs arced over the ranks hit battlements and men alike killing indiscriminately.
Of the two regular and four mercenary captains only one regular officer was still conscious and fighting. Of the seven lieutenants, three regular and four mercenary, two mercenary lieutenants remained, one of which was treating wounded at the main citadel.
The men holding the fortress had pushed back five assaults and were holding the sixth at bay; one third of the men holding the border fort had either been killed or wounded leaving four thousand men still fighting.
The last captain was scared and panicking as the Zerantel forces had deployed battle mages, having not faced battle magic before he was very frightened and unsure of what to do.
‘Push them back you spineless cowards,’ the officer screamed. He looked about for the remaining mercenary officer on the field just as a scarred old sergeant, one of the few veteran soldiers in the fort, fought his way to his commander and gave him a report.
‘One of the mages has cracked open the western wall and platoon of mountain trolls is advancing towards it,’ he explained as he gasped for breath. ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to hold much longer.’
The captain’s sword shook in his grasp and he started to reply but a crossbow bolt exploded out of his chest, leaving a gaping hole and only part of his heart behind.
‘*profanity*, no!’ the sergeant roared, dismay.
He looked about for the last remaining officer on the field; he was grasping the broken hilt of a long sword and standing over a ripped open troll, taking advantage of a momentary breathing space he dropped the hilt and picked up a war-axe, most men couldn’t lift, with his left hand and glanced about.
Glancing around taking in the situation he spotted the gilded breastplate of a captain with a large, ragged and bloody hole in it, rolled his eyes and looked to the sky.
Then noticing the lull around him he stopped and took some time to catch his breath.
The sergeant walked over, ‘Report sergeant. What’s the situation?’ Azerial asked.
The sergeant leaned against the battlements and watched fighting around them, ‘Battle mages have broken down part of the eastern wall. They must have been hiding in the forest. The reserve unit is holding them but for how much longer I don’t know.’
Running his bloody fingers through his already bloody hair, further tainting the silver colour, he also twirled the war-axe in his hand, thinking.
‘Beat them back,’ he said finally. ‘Not for long, just long enough for as many men as possible to retreat to the citadel. But, any man who retreats before my order I will personally kill.’
The sergeant winced as he heard that; harsh but it was the only way to keep the men in line, scare them more than the enemy. He watched as Azerial broke into a jog and headed towards the break in the wall, then when the lieutenant had disappeared into the melee he started sending the required signals and hoping his men saw them and made sense of them.
As he fought his way to the east wall Azerial thought of the ill luck that had brought leadership upon him, he hated others relying on him, preferring the life of an assassin and loner.
He would have been one too had it not been for the lack of employment, due to this factor he became a mercenary, he actually earned money at a reasonable rate.
When he reached the break he found it littered with corpses yet not a single living thing, he noticed however that the elven forces had regrouped and were marching towards the gap.
Azerial’s eyes blazing with hatred and battle-lust, he hated light elves and anything they associated with, hefting his axe and bracing his legs he prepared for the onslaught.
‘Azerial!’ a voice from behind him called, clearing his head slightly.
He turned to see the other lieutenant, Valeria, sprinting towards him, her black hair was damp and her face was haggard, he hands had just been washed but were still bloody.
She nearly fell as she skidded to a halt next to him, ‘I ordered the men to retreat when I reached the wall,’ she gasped. ‘I saw them retreating and marshalling once more. That sergeant told me the rest.’
The axe haft cracked in Azerial hands as he struggled to contain his rage, ‘What were you doing on the wall,’ he demanded his shoulders heaving. ‘Vilner order you to care of General Raize when he was wounded.’
‘The arrowhead was poisoned,’ she said her voice dead. ‘It was a made from Kashucas root.’
Kashucas root when dried, crushed and then mixed with certain substances became a deadly poison that took hours to kill, a very slow and cruel way to kill, when the root is boiled, however, could cure most sicknesses and slow down a few poisons and venoms.
‘He sent me out here looking for you. He wants to ask a favour of you.’
Anger coursed like a river through his veins as he spun to face the oncoming horde.
Slamming the axe into the ground he knelt over it muttered something under his breath then stood once more.
‘Lead the way,’ he commanded.
As Valeria lead Azerial to the citadel she got many chances to observe her comrade, as well as reflect on what he was like, she had been commanded by General Raize to give an evaluation of him, and she now understood his reputation as a fearsome and vicious warrior, he had a tendency to be utterly ruthless and brilliant the few times command had been thrust on him, yet at the first opportunity he abandoned it.
Walking through the double doors of the citadel Valeria noticed that she couldn’t hear the tread of her fellow lieutenant; it was only then that she realised that his other reputation, as a remorseless and brutal yet incredibly efficient assassin was true. Not just exaggerated to gain employment and open doors, she shuddered at the thought, this man was a killing machine.
Taking a leap Valeria asked, ‘Azerial why did you become a mercenary?’
‘I don’t know if that’s any of your business, but I did it for the money,’ he said, not a single trace of the anger that had so suffused him was left.
She shuddered again, it was as his men had said, he didn’t care for killing, nor did he hate it, he just did it.
Sides became noticeable too, human soldiers against, light elves, goblins, trolls and the occasional rouge human marked by facial tattoos and brands.
Lightning bolts flickered across the melee destroying men from both sides, fireballs arced over the ranks hit battlements and men alike killing indiscriminately.
Of the two regular and four mercenary captains only one regular officer was still conscious and fighting. Of the seven lieutenants, three regular and four mercenary, two mercenary lieutenants remained, one of which was treating wounded at the main citadel.
The men holding the fortress had pushed back five assaults and were holding the sixth at bay; one third of the men holding the border fort had either been killed or wounded leaving four thousand men still fighting.
The last captain was scared and panicking as the Zerantel forces had deployed battle mages, having not faced battle magic before he was very frightened and unsure of what to do.
‘Push them back you spineless cowards,’ the officer screamed. He looked about for the remaining mercenary officer on the field just as a scarred old sergeant, one of the few veteran soldiers in the fort, fought his way to his commander and gave him a report.
‘One of the mages has cracked open the western wall and platoon of mountain trolls is advancing towards it,’ he explained as he gasped for breath. ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to hold much longer.’
The captain’s sword shook in his grasp and he started to reply but a crossbow bolt exploded out of his chest, leaving a gaping hole and only part of his heart behind.
‘*profanity*, no!’ the sergeant roared, dismay.
He looked about for the last remaining officer on the field; he was grasping the broken hilt of a long sword and standing over a ripped open troll, taking advantage of a momentary breathing space he dropped the hilt and picked up a war-axe, most men couldn’t lift, with his left hand and glanced about.
Glancing around taking in the situation he spotted the gilded breastplate of a captain with a large, ragged and bloody hole in it, rolled his eyes and looked to the sky.
Then noticing the lull around him he stopped and took some time to catch his breath.
The sergeant walked over, ‘Report sergeant. What’s the situation?’ Azerial asked.
The sergeant leaned against the battlements and watched fighting around them, ‘Battle mages have broken down part of the eastern wall. They must have been hiding in the forest. The reserve unit is holding them but for how much longer I don’t know.’
Running his bloody fingers through his already bloody hair, further tainting the silver colour, he also twirled the war-axe in his hand, thinking.
‘Beat them back,’ he said finally. ‘Not for long, just long enough for as many men as possible to retreat to the citadel. But, any man who retreats before my order I will personally kill.’
The sergeant winced as he heard that; harsh but it was the only way to keep the men in line, scare them more than the enemy. He watched as Azerial broke into a jog and headed towards the break in the wall, then when the lieutenant had disappeared into the melee he started sending the required signals and hoping his men saw them and made sense of them.
As he fought his way to the east wall Azerial thought of the ill luck that had brought leadership upon him, he hated others relying on him, preferring the life of an assassin and loner.
He would have been one too had it not been for the lack of employment, due to this factor he became a mercenary, he actually earned money at a reasonable rate.
When he reached the break he found it littered with corpses yet not a single living thing, he noticed however that the elven forces had regrouped and were marching towards the gap.
Azerial’s eyes blazing with hatred and battle-lust, he hated light elves and anything they associated with, hefting his axe and bracing his legs he prepared for the onslaught.
‘Azerial!’ a voice from behind him called, clearing his head slightly.
He turned to see the other lieutenant, Valeria, sprinting towards him, her black hair was damp and her face was haggard, he hands had just been washed but were still bloody.
She nearly fell as she skidded to a halt next to him, ‘I ordered the men to retreat when I reached the wall,’ she gasped. ‘I saw them retreating and marshalling once more. That sergeant told me the rest.’
The axe haft cracked in Azerial hands as he struggled to contain his rage, ‘What were you doing on the wall,’ he demanded his shoulders heaving. ‘Vilner order you to care of General Raize when he was wounded.’
‘The arrowhead was poisoned,’ she said her voice dead. ‘It was a made from Kashucas root.’
Kashucas root when dried, crushed and then mixed with certain substances became a deadly poison that took hours to kill, a very slow and cruel way to kill, when the root is boiled, however, could cure most sicknesses and slow down a few poisons and venoms.
‘He sent me out here looking for you. He wants to ask a favour of you.’
Anger coursed like a river through his veins as he spun to face the oncoming horde.
Slamming the axe into the ground he knelt over it muttered something under his breath then stood once more.
‘Lead the way,’ he commanded.
As Valeria lead Azerial to the citadel she got many chances to observe her comrade, as well as reflect on what he was like, she had been commanded by General Raize to give an evaluation of him, and she now understood his reputation as a fearsome and vicious warrior, he had a tendency to be utterly ruthless and brilliant the few times command had been thrust on him, yet at the first opportunity he abandoned it.
Walking through the double doors of the citadel Valeria noticed that she couldn’t hear the tread of her fellow lieutenant; it was only then that she realised that his other reputation, as a remorseless and brutal yet incredibly efficient assassin was true. Not just exaggerated to gain employment and open doors, she shuddered at the thought, this man was a killing machine.
Taking a leap Valeria asked, ‘Azerial why did you become a mercenary?’
‘I don’t know if that’s any of your business, but I did it for the money,’ he said, not a single trace of the anger that had so suffused him was left.
She shuddered again, it was as his men had said, he didn’t care for killing, nor did he hate it, he just did it.
