The Syzygy A Desperate Defense (The Syzgy, Cortosi Coast, Allir Reach)

[Sir Nathaniel]

It was a dark day when the Abyssal came to Cortosi Coast, Allir Reach. From the depths of the sea, slimy, tentacled horrors emerged from their underwater lairs and began to lay siege to villages and towns across the coast, abducting many and dragging them back into the water for some unknown purpose, killing any who resisted. Word had quickly spread to the city of wealth, Alliria and soon, the city guard in conjunction with the standing army began to mobilize. For every regiment that was raised to defend her, there were at least a half a dozen mercenary groups the merchants had hired to aid them. As when the Emerald Death had attacked, the city guard had manned her walls, declared martial law and sent out companies of fighters to delay the oncoming hordes, both to buy time for the refugees to escape and for yet more fortifications to be constructed.

Among those chosen to be on the front lines were the Freedom Fighters, a small but mobile group of sellswords that owed their allegiance to the Paladin, Nathaniel Jameson. However, when the hordes had arrived on the neighboring towns, their leader was away on an important, personal mission, and so it fell to his apprentice and right-hand man, Maximus Album to lead in his master's absence.

Max was not the tallest member of the Freedom Fighters, nor was he the most heavily armored, but he was by far the strongest of them physically and had learned under the Paladin of Nykios himself. Furthermore, he had previously been a member of the Army of Ragash, several years before. This skill lent well to field command as he had laid out his plan to drive back the sea-born hordes. Seeing as how the enemy could emerge from any point along the coast and had yet to show their full strength, Max's usual method of hit and run tactics were abandoned in favor of a static defense and overwhelming firepower.

They had chosen an uninhabited area of the beach, with their backs to the neighboring towns outside the city, both to avoid civilian casualties and to try and gauge the enemy's capabilities.

Mages and ranged combatants had set up makeshift trenches along the beach and prepared spike pits in sand dunes to trap incoming attackers. Archers and slingers and crossbowmen were among them. A line of spearmen in heavy armor and shields set up in the front and waited while Max oversaw their efforts.

Unlike his brothers, Max had forgone the use of heavy armor, preferring instead to remain outside the line, both to direct his men and to try to give them an inspiring presence. All the troops in the line had heard of Nathan's staunch fighting prowess, but to have him be gone in this hour would be detrimental to their morale. Instead, Max intended to show them that even an apprentice Paladin was still a force to be reckoned with.



"Men, women, my brothers and sisters." He began, deciding a speech would do well for them before the battle was joined. It would have to be a short one, considering the number of sightings were increasing with every hour. "I do not want to be here. These creatures, these...Abyssal are a force unlike any I have ever faced. An unknown threat that has emerged from the depths of the sea. We know not their numbers or their power. All we know is they threaten our homes, our families, our very way of life itself stands in awful jeopardy.'

No one spoke. Max continued.

'Perhaps my words surprise you. It falls to me to tell you that I feel no fear. That I know for absolute certainty that our victory is assured. Let me tell you the truth, for you have earned that right. I tell you now, I look into your faces and I see outstanding courage and resilience that I know is unequaled by any force in the world. It brings me no small amount of pride and joy, to look upon you and to see you standing here. I know, many of you are afraid, as am I. This coming battle promises to be one unlike any that has been fought before. I have faced horrors beyond measure, enemies beyond description, things even what my master himself has said would have been strong enough to slay even one mighty as he."

Still, there was silence. Men and women looked to their sides, as if puzzled by the apprentice's words, but not a word was spoken.

"Let me tell you now, that fear you feel, that bristling on the back of your necks, that is a good thing to feel. It will prove useful in the coming battle. It shows you are not fools. It shows that yes, we might well face death at the hands of an enemy we never expected to face. The fact that you still are here now... I cannot conceive of the sheer amount of bravery that beats in your hearts."

Men could not help but stand up a little straighter at his words. Max could swear he could see a few smiles on faces beneath their helmets, but still, there was not a sound. He might well have been addressing a company of statues.

"It shames me to admit this, but I would abandon this defense if I could. My instinct screams at me to run. To drop my spear. To flee for my life and spend my final few hours of life with my brothers organizing the defense of our home, behind the safety of the high walls. Yet, I remain. The dutiful side of my heart demands that I stay and fight. If I have but one choice, it will be this: I will stand and fight. I will hold this line, to give another hour, another minute or even a single second more time for our friends, those who are not here fighting with me!'

With that, Max turned, pointing with one arm to the sea endlessly lapping against the shore.

"When the enemy hordes emerge from those dark depths, they will find me waiting for them with my spear in hand. Not because I believe I can win, but because it is right! I stand against them, knowing that for every moment I give, it will buy another second of grace to our allies. If I cannot win here, now, then I will die knowing that I slew a great many of the enemy. That I will be part of the stepping stone that will bring salvation."

Max paused a moment as he donned his own helmet, then turned to his troops, raising his spear high.

"I have said enough. You need not hear more of my proclamations. All I ask now is that you share some of that courage with me. All I ask now, my brave companions is this: Are you with me?!"

"We are with you, Maximus!" The entire company roared back, raising their weapons in salute.

Just then, as if on cue, the enemy hordes began to arrive. Hideous and numbering in the hundreds, they slogged their way out of the sea. Thralls were the first of them. Humans who had been taken by the enemy and turned against their own. Pale skinned and bearing whatever weapons they had tried to defend themselves with before they were abducted, they formed an unruly mob that charged straight for the front lines with reckless abandon.

"For Alliria!" Max cried as he turned and rushed forward.

The first blood of this battle at least was drawn by men. Max's spear impaled straight through the chest of his attacker, one of the actual Abyssal creatures itself - a disgusting beast with three eyes on its featureless face. With a grunt of exertion and a prayer on his lips, Max turned it aside and flung the creature to the ground. It tried to swipe at him with its tentacled arms, but he quickly finished it by raising his booted foot and stomping, hard upon its head. Inky black blood spurted from its head as he split it in two like an overripe fruit. The tentacles immediately fell still; the creature slain.

Behind him, Max's troops cheered.

 

[Sir Nathaniel]

The sky above the battle was a rolling, churning mix of dark clouds and thunder, but no rain had yet fallen.

Magelights kept the battlefield illuminated, even as the sun began to set and the area around them became significantly darker, as did the occasional flashes of magical power and spells being fired at the hordes that lit up the coming night. The wind began to pick up, and the scent of seawater and the stench of slain creatures began to fill the air, which somehow dampened Max's spirit.

Every time he thought they had bought a reprieve, whenever one of the waves was destroyed, another simply emerged from underwater and began a renewed assault. The sands became coated with black blood and thick with bodies, both thralls and with the creatures themselves, ten thick in some places. On the right flank, Max had fought his way through about half a dozen of them, his spear still lashing and thrusting and punching through oily skin with every swing, but still, for all his strength, for all his training and hard-earned skill, in his heart of hearts, Max knew this defense was ultimately doomed.

No matter how what kind of tricks he had up his sleeve, no matter how many creatures he and his troops cut down, the enemy still had the advantage of numbers. Time and again, the hordes slammed into a wall of shields and were cut down by long spears or were disintegrated by offensive spells, but they seemed to be utterly indifferent to their losses.

"Captain!" One of his lieutenants called from the line, gesturing with his sword toward the shoreline. "Look!"

At this, Max turned and beheld it, his eyes widening in alarm. Another Abyssal creature had begun to emerge from the sea. This one was far larger than the rest of its kin and it had multiple eyes, at least four dotting the sides of its featureless face. The body beneath its head was thick with what he guessed passed for muscle; powerful legs and arms ending in enormous tentacles surrounded a wide chest.

It turned its head and somehow, Max could tell it was looking directly at him, as if assessing him. Could it somehow be aware of the threat he posed to it and its kind?

He blinked in confusion. How could he have known this? Then he remembered these creatures were as alien and unknown to human thinking as the creatures of the sea. They were mindless. That was obvious in their attacks.

Dismissing that thought, Max tightened the grip on his spear and charged.

"Face me, wretched creature!" He roared, aiming a stab directly for the creature's midsection.

In a blur of movement, faster than even the eye that beheld it, the Abyssal reared back and in its 'hand' what appeared to be a sword of dark water appeared and parried the blade of the spear in an angle. To Max's horror, the creature was possessed of incredible strength and effortlessly turned aside his blow. Max staggered back and in dismay, he watched as the creature rushed and made an attack of its own. The sword lashed out and Max brought his spear shaft back up in a clumsy sideways parry, mentally noting the blow could easily have rent his head from his shoulders.

Max gasped sharply as he felt a blow to his stomach. He looked down. The creature had taken advantage of his momentary distraction and had punched him, hard, in the solar plexus. His eyes returned to the blade, just in time as it raised the sword again for another strike, this one even faster than the first. The blade grazed his left shoulder, just as he turned to the right for a stab of his own. The spear thrust and hit the squid-headed being in the thigh. Black blood spurted out of the newly created wound, but it was not as deep as Max had hoped. Worse, the creature seemed to be angered by this, as it raised its arm and struck, harder, with another punch to Max's shoulder, right on the spot it had cut.

Gritting his teeth, Max reared his head back and smashed his helmeted face into his foe's in a brutal headbutt. The creature staggered but quickly recovered, bringing its sword into a vertical slash that would have cut the apprentice in two at the waist, only for Max's spear to block it, two-handed. Sensing what was coming next, he lashed a kick to his opponent's gut, once, twice, three times. Blows that would have broken a man's ribcage struck the creature time and again, but it kept up its advance, retaliating with punches that could have splintered a man's skull.

After one such exchange, Max changed his tactics. Releasing the grip on his spear, he took a page from his master and seized the creature's wrist before it came around for another slash and struck, hard with a side hammerfist at its grip. To his relief, the creature released its grip on the sword and it dissipated, fading away as if it had never been.

With that, Max body-checked his opponent in a shoulder charge. The creature dug its heels into the sand and the two locked arms, each maintaining a vice-like grip on their opponent's hands; steely muscles quivering with effort, their faces within inches of each other as they grappled. Though his strength was above peak-human, to Max's dismay, the creature's might was a match for his own. Changing tactics once more, he released his grip and lashed another kick, this time to where the knee would be found on a human.

Immediately, the abyssal retaliated with another punch to the side of his head, only for the energy behind the attack to be absorbed as the human side-stepped and seized its arm. Twisting his body forward, Max raised his leg and drove his knee into his foe's stomach. Once more, the creature lurched back, only to step forward again and strike with both arms, straight down onto Max's shoulders.

To the onlookers, it appeared they were evenly matched, not in martial skill, but in sheer resilience and determination. Each blow was countered and landed and struck with force that could have toppled lesser opponents.

Time and again, Max punched, kicked and kneed his foe to the body, but it seemed to be immune to pain.

For his part, Max was taking his own share of punishment, but to what he sensed was the creature's frustration, he stood up again and resumed his assault, no matter how powerfully he was hit. Back-and-forth, the two went about the beach while their troops fought furiously behind them.

 

[Sir Nathaniel]

Human emotions did not apply to the Abyssal creatures.

Indeed, though they possessed some degree of sentience, mankind's sense of feeling and reasoning was not their way. Nonetheless, the leading creature in charge of this attack was most definitely angry. The purpose of this raid was not to acquire captives, but simply to gauge the enemy's strength and to weaken their defense in preparation for a full-scale attack. Yet, the humans were proving far stronger than expected, as was this one in particular. No matter how many times he was knocked down or struck, like a sea-turtle battling a shark, he just kept coming and ignored every blow struck. Nothing seemed to keep him down. Worse, he kept retaliating - every stroke, every punch and backhand was responded to in kind.

Though their biology was utterly inhuman, the lead creature was taking damage that was beginning to take its toll. Like a cliff face being hit by the sea, over time, the sheer attrition would wear it down and eventually it would fall like so many of its kind. Humans were not supposed to be this durable; this stubborn, and yet the man just kept pelting the creature with blows that only seemed to be increasing in strength.

There came yet another punch to Max's helmeted face, one that sent his head reeling back, only for the apprentice to rebound off his back foot and deliver another retaliatory kick to his foe's midsection. This time, the creature was sent reeling as the kick connected. Corpses of its brethren squelched and crunched under its feet. Fists and blades were still being swung and reaped a mighty tally of its kind. The humans may have taken losses too, yes, but they were holding the line and struck back at every opportunity.


The sun had gone down fully by now, but the battlefield was kept illuminated, especially when another contingent of the Freedom Fighters had finally arrived with a massive jet of flame, conjured by powerful magic and sustained by a dozen other battle-mages. The conflagration burned away and utterly consumed every Abyssal creature it touched, both living and dead - their bodies reduced to black ash and blown away by the wind.


Gale Hawk, the primary magical specialist of the group, had come.


He wore bright blue armor, similar to the robes worn by all of his warriors, but unlike their plain cloth, the imagery of moonlight and the symbols of the Fairy Folk were inscribed upon his plate. On his head, over the locks of his bright red hair, he wore a helmet, one fastened by leather straps and with a single crescent moon crowning the top.

On his back, in a white scabbard that was shaped like the branch of a great tree, he carried a sword. At first glance, one might say it was inarguably beautiful, but by the standards of the Fair Folk and the Freedom Fighters, all known for their impressive presence on the battlefield, it was, all things considered, rather plain; a tool for shedding blood, a weapon to be wielded.

Grey eyes scanned the battlefield until they found his brother. Max had taken considerable damage, but he seemed to be holding his own well against a particularly large and hideous beast.


"Hold fast, Freedom Fighters!" He bellowed, his voice magically amplified across the din of battle. "You will not fall today!"

A gauntleted hand wrenched his sword free from its sheath. The keen edge was singing as he brought it around in a graceful, two-handed arc at the nearest abyssal creature, a beast almost as large as Max's opponent, with four eyes about its face. Before it could raise its weapon, a wickedly sharp spear made from coral, Gale had closed the distance between them.

Unlike his brother, who hacked and hammered and stabbed wildly, Gale's stroke was a picture of finesse. Every movement bespoke of superb martial skill; everything from his footwork to the turn of his hips and the slight bend to his knees to the push from his arms, all was calculated and executed with blinding speed. In the time it took for a man to blink, the creature's head was severed from its neck and fell to the sand with a wet thump.

With that, Gale raised his sword, the blade still coated in black blood and advanced. The two main combatants had seized each other by the wrists and now were tied up in a standing grapple.

From behind, Gale struck - his blade burying itself in the abyssal creature's spine. With a roar of pain and fury, the creature tried to turn to face its newest attacker, only for Max's hand to rip free from its grip, ball into a fist and strike - hard, across the creature's head in a brutal uppercut. Bone shattered with an audible crunch and the beast was sent sprawling. It collapsed in a heap, some distance away and did not rise again. A puddle of black blood spread from the corpse.

"Good of you to join the party, Gale." Said Max, flashing a nod.

"Less talking, more killing, brother." Gale replied as he brought his blade around in a fighting stance. "This battle is far from over."

 

[Arkhivom]

There was no conscious decision that had brought him to these lands in particular. He simply needed to get where he was going, and this was the path that led him there. But, during his time traveling from up in the Spine to the south, a strange happening had taken place, and he was reminded of the days of old. And then, curiously enough, he'd had his own encounter with an ancient, long forgotten creature. He scoffed at their presence, offended by their very being, deeming them as nothing but poor and insignificant copies of his own machinations.

So when he came upon the battle which raged there on the once quiet coast, he paused.

He had no use for the likes of Men, however...

---

There on the fringes of the battle line, the Thralls seemed to find some footing. Several of the Allirian warriors gathered together, and valiantly held their own against the crushing tide of their former kin. But where the likes of Max and Gale found favour, it would take a short while for their reinforcements to properly disperse amongst the trembling ranks of Max's initial defense. Or at least, that it how it seemed as a couple of Abyssal showed themselves and encroached upon the exhausted defenders.

The first of them approached the Allirians, and with its dark water magic manifested a great sword as the one who had fought Max had. It swung down, and pummeled not one, but several of the warriors with furious blows that beat down their already wearied defenses. No longer were they offering any rebuttal, they could only cover themselves from the onslaught as the second Abyssal came upon them and joined with its kin in its assault.

Darren, the de-facto leader of the half-a-dozen of them who still remained on this flank, hazarded a quick look. Gale's forces had arrived, but they would not reach him and his men in time... as he looked up to see the Abyssal raise its weapon again, he felt in his heart that these were to be his final moments. He roared out a terrible battle cry, raising his weapon in surely what was to be a futile defense, but he would meet it.

He was shocked, awed even, when a massive hand appeared from seemingly nowhere, somewhere behind his foe, and took hold of the Abyssal's face with what appeared to be a tremendous grip. And then, just as quickly as the hand appeared, the Abyssal was torn from its place and flung as easily as a doll in a terrifying display, paired with the roar of some thing that was unlike even these monsters they already faced. Panicked, he moved to attack the other Abyssal, but it too was grasped in a similar fashion before it could make another attack. Unlike the other, this one was simply lifted off its feet, and its head crushed before their very eyes.

It fell to the ground, and he only had a moment to see what it was that had come to their aid before the throws of battle carried on, but he saw clearly now. Its stature was immense, standing much taller than any man, towering over likely everything on the battlefield. Its face was that of pure evil, with fanged mandibles and sharp teeth, and yet it made no move to attack them. It turned from them as soon as it had finished with the Abyssal and focused its fury on the creatures that came from the water.

Whatever it was, it was hardly enough to make their victory assured, but it certainly a terrible force, one which he was glad to have on his side. He only hoped it stayed that way.

 

[Sir Nathaniel]

The Abyssal were among the Freedom Fighters' ranks now, having forced their way in around a half a dozen places. The first press of bodies were stabbed and slashed at by disciplined spearmen. At first singly and then in pairs, and then in groups, the men formed semicircles around any point in the ranks where the enemy broke through and formed into a tight shield wall. Bloodied and wearied though they might be, the humans were holding.

That all changed when on the left flank, a gigantic creature, one of a kind that Gale was all too familiar with suddenly appeared and began to rip into the enemy.

"Gale, what the Hell is that!?" Max cried as he withdrew his spear from the chest of his latest kill.

"A foe far deadlier than these thralls or even the Abyssal, Max." Said Gale grimly, tightening his grip on his sword. "Take care of things here. This one is mine."

With that, Gale started at a run, heading for Darren's unit. In combat, the Fairy Knight was a blur of movement, too fast for the untrained eye to follow. In a sprint, he was able to not only accelerate, but maintain such blinding speed for a long period. Even to one of Max's sharp sense, it was next to impossible to track him.

In just a few seconds, Gale had reached the left flank, his blade already buried in the back of the first Abyssal that stood in his way. To the surprise of the men in the ranks, Gale did not immediately turn his blade against the horned beast, but instead focused his efforts on repelling the horde. Better to deal with one threat at at time, most like.

"Push them back, my brothers!" He snarled as he parried an incoming sword stroke, riposted and drove his own blade into the attacker's throat until the tip stuck out the other side. He withdrew it with a consummate and casual ease that even Max was impressed. He had watched Gale fight hundreds of times before, both in actual combat and in sparring matches, but never had he seen the Fairy Knight move with such fluidity, such deftness. It was as if this particular struggle was enraging him.

More likely, it was the giant's appearance that had him in such a foul temper.

He barely had time to think, as if on cue, the Abyssal creatures began to perk their heads up and turned about face, as if hearing a distant call. Acting as though controlled by one will, those who were not engaged in combat ran back towards the water. Several of them disappeared under its surface. Even those who were bloodied and wounded simply withdrew and limped back.

The thralls, by contrast remained where they were and continued their assault. In fact, with their officers gone, their attacks became wilder; more unfocused and unpredictable. Whereas before they would target points in the line where the humans' ranks seemed to be weakening, now they squared off against any threat wherever it presented itself. It was as if they had lost any sense of cohesion or strategy.

"They're retreating!" Someone in the ranks cried. "Keep fighting brothers, we're winning!"

"Silence!" Gale cried, angrily glaring at the man. "They are not retreating, they are regrouping!"

A guess on his part, Max figured. Then again, Gale knew battle tactics far better than any of the group, save Arthur. The fact the thralls were so quick to cover them made sense. Why waste their fighters when they could simply have their slaves handle the heavy fighting? Then there was the fact that even if the thralls perished by the score, they were easily replaced by captives.

The enemy was probably thinking the battle had served its purpose. That or the humans really were doing more damage they had anticipated.

Again, Max shook his head. Where did these thoughts keep coming from?

Out of the corner of his eye, he made out a thrall that had been pinned beneath a number of the fallen. An older man, looked like; short, fair hair that was balding beneath the creature that had latched on to his face. From his style of dress, he had likely been a blacksmith, given the apron on his chest and the burly muscles underneath his shirt. His legs had been slashed, probably by a low cutting blade, but whatever the cause, Max was pleased at the sight.

"Hello there." He said, almost cheerfully as he walked forward and stepped, hard, on its grasping hand. The thrall shrieked in pain as the cartilage in his wrist broke under his weight. "I do not know if you can understand me, but if you want to live, you will cease your struggle and let me take you as a prisoner."

The man glared at him, though he made no attempt to raise its other hand or continue its thrashing.