Open Chronicles Battle of Shay Tirloc

Shay Tirloc or "the Twin Stalagmites" was so named for the pair of massive stalagmites that sprung up from the city center, extending all the way from the base of the cavern it occupied to the ceiling. At over fifty meters thick, the solid stone had been hewn out by Drow slaves many centuries ago. Stairs and rooms filled the towers from bottom to top and long suspensions and wooden platforms had been strung between the stalagmites that made up the center of the city.

Only those of highest honors were permitted within the tunnels and suspensions of the towers and status was measured by the proximity that one found themselves to the towers. At the far edges of the city, slums overflowed even spreading beyond the walls that had been erected to protect the occupants from the dangers of the underrealm beyond.

It was into this place that Zathria marched the army of the Onyx Throne. Company on company spread out through the tunnels before her. Already the scout companies had engaged in a few scattered skirmishes and the light Vornyx cavalry had driven off a few probing attacks of the forces of Shay Tirloc. The lead Matriarch of the city - a woman whose name Zathria could neither remember nor did she care about as she would soon be without a head - would know they were coming and would be ready. The city at the behest of their leader had reportedly strung up Vyx'aria's messengers by their entrails and hung them from the upper levels of the suspensions as a message of defiance and support for that traitor Dalrithia.

Zathria would make her wish for such a quick death.

Her face was almost glowing as the walls of the tower came into view. The skirmishes and scavenging of the surface was nothing compared to the thrill and even fear (though she would never admit the latter part aloud) of leading a full-scale assault.

I want scouts probing the walls for weaknesses or entry points and light cavalry set up on the flanks to screen, she said, starting to issue orders to the captains gathered around her who had been selected as command staff for the march against the city.

First Siege Company will batter the gate under cover of ranged companies and the catapults Siege Companies Two and Three. Infantry and heavy cavalry in reserve until we've found our breach point. Go. Make it so! she said and the officers began to scatter to their posts and the army came into position. She knew they had some tricks up their sleeve for this battle and she could already feel her heart beginning to beat a little quicker.

As the army came into position, Zathria, right hand of the Queen and Rahi’Valsharess, rode forward to the front of the army, rubbing the small stone in her hand to activate the spell that would carry her voice to be hold by all nearby.

I look out at this city and I see a reality that I refuse to accept. A reality where my comrades... she pointed out to the bodies hung far in the distance, where she knew they were food for the cave carrion ...are strung up and defiled for the greed of an absent ruler! Where our people are broken and scattered, driven about by the whims of foolish leaders who would tell you to squander your birthright! she said, pausing just a moment to let the memory of what the Onyx Kingdom had once been settle into their minds. To let them remember the dominion the Drow had once held over all the Underrealm.

But I look out at you and I see another reality. A reality where the Drow once again stand unified. Where we can stand shoulder to shoulder in pride knowing that we not only met but surpassed the exploits of our ancestors. Where we no longer live in fear of the other kingdoms because none would dare raise a sword against us! she shouted, the emotions rising within her with each word because it was truth. She fought for a vision of what had almost been and could yet still be.

We each heard the call of the Onyx Throne, and when my Queen asked who would go to change reality, I said "here am I, send me!" Because the world I see when I look out at you is one that I will fight for! One that I will die for! And whoever bleeds alongside me today does so for that future! For unity! For the Onyx Throne! she said, pulling free her sword and thrusting it into the air. Her cry poured out as if from her very soul, a visceral part of her poured into the sound that reflected what lay at her heart: true belief.

The chant was taken up by the ranks as the yells echoed and reverberated off the walls, shaking Zathria's bones as it carried unmistakably up to the very peak of the twin spires. It washed like a wave over the city and its enemies, shaking resolve and morale before even the first arrow was fired.

The reclamation of the throne was won, but the battle for Shay Tirloc was only beginning.

The roar of the battle cry rose as the army began to march forward, preparing to lay siege to the city. The siege companies pressed onward and Zathria's attention came to the massive dragon that had accompanied them.

It was one of the secret weapons that they had brought with them into this fight, and though Zathria's face was icy and stoic, there was a discomfort within her at the massive creature. She had fought dragons before and she knew how dangerous they could be. It was an ally now, but she knew better than to trust.

We will bring justice to this city and purge it of the traitors, she said, cool confidence in her voice. It was a statement and a promise of what was to come. It would require a trade on blood, but that was simply the way of warfare. Zathria wouldn't flinch.

And that was when things took a left turn.

The male she had met on the surface all but collapsed before her, blood dripping and Zathria's face turned, its intensity falling onto him, barely able to make out the sounds of what he said over the cacophony of the battle that was now raging.

Arrows were being exchanged and even a few more wild spellcasters had unleashed a bolt of lightning or a wave of flame into the ranks.

We will not have time to collapse it, she said, knowing the spells and equipment needed for such an endeavor would take more than the minutes they had to prepare. That left only one choice. One agonizing, awful choice.

Captain Acharan! she shouted over the roar of battle as the realization of the threat dawned on her. A sick dread settled in her stomach and she felt like ice rushed through her veins. They were double crossed and outmaneuvered, suddenly on a back foot that could easily result in their destruction if they were not careful.

Take the heavy infantry into the tunnel and form a phalanx. There is a natural chokepoint just past the entrance. There is an orc horde coming to outmaneuver us. Do not let them through. If you do not hold that line, we all die, she said.

We will see it done, Commander, the woman said, her face set in stoic stone as moved her company along with two other companies to plug the hole.

Zathria's brows furrowed, her upper lip crunching up in a sneer as if she had just ingested vomit. Disgust and nausea settled in the pit of her stomach and she pushed it away. It came, she knew, because she had just sent four hundred of her troops to their death. She knew Captain Acharan. They had served together for decades. She knew that Acharan would hold. She knew they would sell their lives dearly for the cause.

And she knew that they would all die.

That was the burden of command. Four hundred of her soldiers would die so the rest could live.

Lady Hebemarri! Break their morale! Go to the stalagmites and begin burning the nobles out of their hiding tunnels. Make the cost of resistance too high, she said. Zathria was furious. She wanted blood. She would have her vengeance and deliver the Queen's justice. So it shall be.

She motioned for one of the apothecaries to bring a healing elixir to the male, getting him back on his feet and not entirely out of hospitality.

You! Salamander! she shouted Sazalam. It wasn't actually his name, but maybe it could be seen as a nickname of sorts.

That elixir comes with a cost. I need a path into this city; a gap in the armor. You were cunning enough to survive on the surface. Find a way to get these gates open or my soldiers inside. Go! she said.

Sazalam Hebemarri

Zathria had been here countless times before and she did not break or shatter under the weight of command. Grief, if it would come, would come later. Now was the time to fight and punish the loss of each of her soldiers.

Try not to be slain by the magics and ballistae of the towers, Zathria returned to the dragon. Whether either woman meant the comment as a slight against the other was ambiguous. Somehow even the comment about staying safe sounded like an insult from both wrapped in honey.

Still, Zathria had to admit that a Dragon was impressive to behold as it flew off to lay waste to the city, but she could not waste her time thinking on that with the battle ahead.

They needed to close out one front so they could focus their forces, but that was easier said than done.

She yanked the reigns of her Vornyx and drove it hard toward the entrance to the orcish front when she heard a hymn she recognized and the barrage of lightning and death that followed.

Her eyes scanned the darkness of the tunnel, taking in the site of the dead and dying as she searched for the answer to this unexpected blessing.

Psychic! Zathria called, summoning to her side a mage who specialized most in the sending and receiving of telepathic messages: a critical component of any underrealm communication and one who would be a high prize for the enemy to kill.

Find out who assaults the rearguard! she commanded as she turned her attention once again back to the front of the battle itself.

At the rearguard assault, Tyrnael Myrlochar would find her own psychic communicator attempting to deliver a message although a simple one: who is your commander, what are your numbers, what is your purpose?

The time for joy, thanks, and formalities could come later, but in the center of the fray, all that mattered was the information required to coordinate a victory.

But Zathria would be lying if she said she wasn't feeling at least a hint of relief at the sudden appearance of reinforcements. The surfacers may have said not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but Zathria would always look a gift Vornyx in the mouth.

Inside the city walls, if he made it to the gatehouse, it was one of the locations where Sazalam would find there was a collection of guards but they were very distracted. The four men and women in the room were preoccupied with loosing arrows through slits down into the sappers below attempting to batter down the gate.

Zathria was left with as many questions as answers, unsure if the appearance of these other Drow was a blessing or a curse. She didn't know the names of those approaching, and that raised concerns about betrayal.

Still, they were killing her enemies, which made them at least more tolerable than the orcs themselves.

Many of the orcs had found other routes out, small side tunnels that carried them clear of the fighting and out of the killing zone. Inevitably, those forces would find a way to rally and regroup, but the bulk of their threat was shattered.

She locked eyes on the other approaching woman, her gaze searching and her weapon always close in her mind.

You are Commander Tyrnael? she asked, looking up to see that the woman was at the very least flying the banner of the true Queen Vyx'aria.

We had no word of reinforcement and certainly not from the South, she said, as her eyes searched quickly over the Drow who were following this woman.

Tyrnael Myrlochar Sazalam Hebemarri

Zathria listened to every word closely, trying to place which house this one had belonged to when it snapped.

Your family and mother pledged to the Usurper! she realized, her hand falling to her sword and pulling it free though she didn't attack yet. She listened still but stood ready to defend herself or strike down the traitor should it be required.

It was only then that Zathria realized what the woman had just said.

Her head?! Zathria gasped out before realizing it.

The head of the Usurper Dalrithia is under there? And you killed her? she asked, raising her sword to lift the hood free from the dead head.

This was some sort of trick, wasn't it? One of the Usurper's own had slain her? That seemed too good to be true.

Zathria's mind was still wrestling with these facts as Tyrnael rattled off her tactical situation and Zathria just didn't hear any of it.

In fact, Zathria went over to put her hands on the head of their enemy. To confirm it was no illusion, to sense if there was magic emanating from it, but there wasn't. It was real. The traitor was dead. And Zathria laughed. Not out of amusement but out of that relief that a soldier felt when they survived danger. It was a realization that their enemy - the ultimate enemy and driving force behind this war - was dead.

Now this is welcome news A'ni Tryrnael, she said. Beyond welcome.

Her head was still swirling with this realization, but she knew she needed to remain focused on the battle lest it turn to the bitterness of defeat before the night was over.

Your forces all swear loyalty to the true Queen Vyx'aria Tor'Rahel? Every woman and man under your command? Prepared to fight and die for this cause? she asked. There was no point in dancing around the topic. She wanted to know if they were ready to fight even if she knew she couldn't truly trust any of them.

The head of their enemy. It still felt like a trick, but she had seen and felt it for herself. The winds of change were shifting.

Tyrnael Myrlochar