Open Chronicles Battle of Shay Tirloc

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Mud?

White Snake was puzzled before he saw the thundering charge of mounted troops and heard the voices in his mind.

They thought him that weak that he would break to this witchery.
He bit of the tip of his own tongue and spat it out with his not instant mouthful of blood. The pain helped him resist, his fury did the rest.

For the terrain he applied another solution by stepping onto an elfling corpse and driving it down under his weight. There were a few already on the ground when the mud hit and there he stayed waiting. Beating away the spears with his whip and sword as the vornyx rode around to flank him. One who came almost close enough to swing got the whip in the beasts face and it flew into a frenzy breaking rank and sending a shiver of disturbance through the others. It's rider thrown down and groaning about she could not feel her legs anymore.

The White Snake laughed at them. Sending so many for just one was to him evidence of inferiority. How winning a straight fight was beyond the elflings.

"Bringk me yur besht!"
He spoke through his bitten tongue over the stream from his lips which fell onto the bodies on which he stood.
The whip cracked again and he stole a lance with it. He would force them to come right to him, make a bridge from their bodies and weapons if he had to.

Tyrnael Myrlochar
 
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Zathria paused at the report of the Lieutenant and although Zathria couldn't recall the woman's name, she knew that her platoon should be many more than the mere dozen or so who now stood before her. It spoke to high casualties in the front lines, a platoon of over forty reduced in numbers so severely. The enemy sold their lives dearly, but now was not the moment for remorse. Hesitation now would cost them the battle and even more lives.

She focused her attention, also, on the reports of the dragon. The statements matched up with what little Zathria had seen and now colored in more of the lines of explanation that had been a gap in her evaluation.

Is this Obsidian Spear still on the field or were they slain? she asked, uncertain based on the report if the Lady Dragon had managed to slay her enemy or not.

Azufel, Theron, Sheehan with me, she said, addressing a trio of Drow warriors who were never far from her side. Trained in the scout companies, they had followed Vyx'aria and her to the surface, always able to be relied upon when the battle grew most dire. They were being she knew would have her back and had become the first members named to her Rahi'Valsharess entourage.

Lieutenant, show me to this dark archer. We will find a way to undo her. Sergeant, she said, addressing the nearest squadron of infantry to her. Find the Lady Hebemarri and ensure she does not require assistance. Bring a healing mage, she said. She'd have been lying if she said she didn't consider leaving the dragon to fend for herself - she didn't trust the dragon - but there was far too much riding on this to risk such a valuable military asset being lost.

She saw the piles of slave bodies now beginning to rise in front of the gates and sneered. It was a waste, she knew, but a powerful distraction. She was loathe to waste any resource - slave or otherwise - but she rationalized it wasn't truly a waste if they were buying time and distraction with their lives. Such was the reality of war.

Hebemarri
 
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The lieutenant nodded, and motioned towards Zathria to follow her deeper into Shay Tirloc. She was insistent though that Zathria stay out of sight of the spire peak.

“A mage who was being guarded by us got split in two as she stepped in view of the spire for only a moment. I do not wish to offer them your head to claim as well.”

This avoidance was tricky though, with the spire looming over so much of the city streets. The soldiers who were least likely to be targeted took point, making regular mention of black bolts shooting from the spire whenever they caught sight of it.

It was not long, however, before the soldiers were also saying that the spire was just a few more streets ahead.

At this time, elsewhere in the city, Hebemarri held aloft a slave in her claw, digging her talons into the poor man’s flesh. She then said a prayer to Maelzafan as he screamed out in pain and quickly the slave began to wither in a deep red glow as Hebemarri felt her strength restoring and injuries mending.

“Ah…” the dragon sighed. “What wonders Maelzafan gives to those who accept her love…”

Hebemarri tossed the soul drained corpse onto a pile of two dozen more. The City was lousy with fleeing slaves, and life force was life force, no matter where it came from.

“That should be enough to last me the rest of the battle.” Hebemarri said, looking over her blood-stained talons. “Besides, from the sounds of things the fighting has taken to the streets, and with that even more opportunities to show who Maelzafan favors.”

As Hebemarri pondered whether she should risk taking to the cavern heights yet again, a drow bearing the sigil of Zar’ahal appeared from a passageway and kneeled before the high priestess’ person.

“Lady Hebemarri! I’m glad we have found you well!” The sergeant said, her voice relieved and glad. “I rarely exit in any other state” Hebemarri replied. She motioned to the drow to raise, who then did so promptly.

“Commander Zathria had sent me to locate you and perhaps the one known as the obsidian spear. Do you need any assistance my lady, healing perhaps.” Hebemarri scoffed with a sly flick of her tongue.

“No I am quite all right, the dark mother preserves me better than any healer or chirurgeon. As for the ‘obsidian spear’, that vermin is dead and gone, crushed and broken by my blessed strength. But what of lady Zathria? How fairs she, little sister?” The sergeant motioned off to the direction of the inner wall. “She makes for the perch of a bow-master who threatens our advance.”

Hebemarri stretched her back with a comfortable “you don’t say~”. Before strolling past the sergeant in the direction of the tower. In her mind she still saw the bow wielding priestess from before, and trusted that these two archers were in fact one and the same

“If that is all then, I shall go to aid lady Zathria myself. You have my thanks fellow servant of the queen. I implore you though to get your fill of vermin blood while you still have the chance.”
 
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Zathria was brave but she was no fool. She wouldn't risk being cut down by the archer by walking out into the open without a plan.

I understand. We move carefully and in cover, she said. It will be slower travel, but we are in a city and that means a myriad of buildings to weave into and through, she said.

She pressed on until they were drawing close to the spire itself, Zathria's sword clutched in her hand as they came to the base of the tower.

The spire itself was large, looming over the city and it crossed the Rahi's mind to simply have spell bombardments wipe the whole thing out, but if she were defending this city, she would have inscribed runes and wards of protection, which would need to be defeated to bring the archer down.

At the base of the spire were a small group of Drow soldiers, packed in a tight formation and with weapons at the ready. Zathria waited for her troops to make it into position before they struck.

That was when the ground began to shake with the impacts of the approaching dragon. The guards felt it as well, their attention drawn away and Zathria and her forces struck. Twin blades sliced one of the soldiers, battering aside a spear and closing in past his shield to slide a thrust to the exposed back of the knee and then swinging wide to land a blow to the back of the neck.

The other soldiers performed equally as well, one of her own being wounded but the three remaining guards were quickly overwhelmed as Zathria looked toward the approach of Hebemarri
 
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The vornyxes regrouped further uphill from the rampaging orc and away from the fallen priestess, changing up their tactics with a flurry of hand signs. One battlemage cast a blindness spell upon the orc, another sent an enfeebling ray at him, while the lancers all prepared nets. The priestesses continued pelting him with command-spells, forcing him to labor against their influence. It was clear they meant to wear him down and then truss him, much like hunting some bipedal armed and armored wild boar.

Once the path was clear for the shebali infantry, they sprinted in narrow streams toward the open gate, as Tyrnael's psychic sent advance warning to A'ni Zathria. Tyrnael signaled for the inner most squadrons to stay vigilant in case the orcs lurking at the mouth of the main out-tunnel thought to try anything.

Sazalam
Zathria At'Arel
 
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