Private Tales Attack On Qárele! | The War Board

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The Wicks are on the move. Approaching from the south, the enemy supply line is on route to establish a forward base along the northern road.
Should the Wicks establish a foothold, the Fortress Qárele will be vulnerable.

The Fortress Qárele, located on the northwestern border of Aeraesar, remains our first and only bastion to hold the main road into Aeraesar. If it is lost, any hope of ally reinforcements to Sharyrdaes is lost.
We cannot let this happen!

Stop the enemy advance as they cross the river in the Greywood Valley!

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The Greywood Valley is a relatively open landscape within the Falwood. With a solid treeline surrounding on the high ground, the valley itself is sparsely dotted with trees, hilly and sharp, and the river is wide while the bridge is narrow.


 
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Anárion passed through the trees at a relatively casual pace, nothing more than a jog. Behind him, scores of Aerai soldiers followed behind, and some others. Most were infantry, as calvary would be of little aid to them in this place - or so Anárion had advised.

At his sides, with their own soldiers at their call, Vordrakel and Kristen came alongside.

They passed through the treeline together, and the vastness of the Greywood Valley spanned before them. It was a wide and long clearing in the midst of the Falwood, as much of Aeraesar was. This terrain, however, was far more perilous than the flats of the meadows out before Sharyrdaes.

Slowing to a stop, he signalled the others to as well, and he looked out over the land before him.

"General!"

The shout alone was enough to alert him and draw his eyes. There - at the bridge. The enemy advanced!

Anárion pointed, and then started forward all on his own, "there! Give them no quarter! Attack!"

The host under his command promptly started after him.


 
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Kristen had been at the defense of Sharyrdaes, and she had seen firsthand that the cause of the Aerai was righteous and just. But she had not the freedom of a mercenary, though this lack pained her heart so. In time she would return to the land of Aeraesar, for she felt strongly that Aionus meant for this to be, her very pilgrimage to Mount Dincia the prelude to this present holy service. For now, duty to her homeland, and to her people in Vel Numera whom she was Lady over, recalled her.

But soldiers of the Dark Army, the Wicken, threatened the very route back home. And this could not stand.

Anárion, Vordrakel, and Kristen herself, leading forces of Aerai elves and humans of the Kingdom of Drennantor, made to counter their designs before the Fortress of Qárele could be assailed.

But were they too late?

There had come the shout and the alert from Anárion and his contingent, and Wicks, their fell legion armored in most malevolent black, were already beginning to cross the bridge.

"My Lady," said one of the Drennantor bowmen. "It doesn't look good."

"Trust in the Aerai," said Kristen. "They will hold the Wicken back. They must. We, for our part, must adhere to the plan. Let us make haste!"

And that plan was simple: if Anárion, Vordrakel, and their Aerai could hold the Wicken from breaking through on the other side of the bridge, then the Wicks behind those caught in melee, stuck as they would be on the bridge, would make for exposed and easy targets for the Drennantor bowmen to shoot from an unobstructed angle. Death could strike many a Wick before they even had a chance to raise a blade against Aerai fighters.

So Kristen and the bowmen broke off, marching at the double to the cliff's edge where they could find that angle, and thus let the rain of arrows upon the bridge begin. Hurry, hurry!

Anárion Vordrakel Deaz'renith
 
Vordrakel gave the order for his unit to approach the bridge and support Anárion's soldiers. Two squads of Aerai infantry, bearing swords and shields, followed behind him, and behind them was the true power of his unit -- a platoon of battle mages.

Their role was that of support: those who specialized in offensive magic were there to distract the enemy and create openings for the infantry and archers to utilize. Those more focused in defensive magic would guard against whatever magics the enemy might be employing.

Vord's infantry moved forward in a defensive formation, slightly flanking the other infantry unit. The offensive mages started to move into position along the riverside cliff where they could get a clear view of the bridge, opposite the archers' position. With any luck, the Wicks on the bridge would be caught vulnerable between a hail of arrows and spells.

Knowing his spells would be most useful in close combat, Vord approached just behind the infantry, elven curve blade drawn and glowing red-hot in silent anticipation of the battle ahead.

Anárion Kristen Pirian
 
Unlike his companions, he'd not been there at the battle of Sharyrdaes. Having been stationed further south in the Ashen Glades, this was his first real chance at enacting his own vengeance upon the enemy, and so he proved himself eager. But he was far from the only one. As Kristen and her contingent of Drennan marksmen veered off to take up position, he, Vordrakel, and the Aerai pressed forward with an accelerating vigor. The Aerai, even they as devout and faithful, had grown furious following the assault on their holy home.

As the gap closed, Anárion's call went out. It would not be closed soon enough.

Over a dozen of the nearest Aerai, emboldened by the magic in their veins, burst forward in unnatural displays of speed. With it, they drew to the bridge's mouth as the Wicks threatened to spill forth.

Swords lifted high, hammers fell, and cries rose up.

The vanguard of Aerai, though mighty in their own rights as warriors, could only sustain such a stance for so long. The expense of their charge forced them to diminish quickly - but this line could not be crossed, and stalwart as they were, many a Wick had fallen before the first Aerai blood was spilt. Desperation had fled from their mind, and even as their brethren fell, frustration and fury too all remained silent - empty.

Each of them had known, answering out into the nether of their joined telepathy - I'll go, they had said.

There was no going back.

After the first had fallen, it was not long after when they each of them were overcome by the darks.

But the time had been bought, narrowly.

Anárion and his infantry fell upon the line as the last few vanguards were cut down, and the Wicks now found themselves blockaded upon the bridge.


 
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