Aeraesar Attack On Qárele! | The War Board

[The Shorai]

Attack on Qárele!​

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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!

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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Vordrakel Deaz'renith | Kristen Pirian ​

 

[Anárion]

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.

---

Vordrakel Deaz'renith | Kristen Pirian ​

 

[Kristen Pirian]

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 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

 

[Anárion]

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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Kristen Pirian | Vordrakel Deaz'renith ​

 

[Kristen Pirian]

"There they are, there they are," said another of the bowmen, speaking of the Aerai rushing into position to hold the bridge.

"And so we hurry!" Kristen said, bringing up the pace of the Drennan unit above that of the double time, nearly at a full run.

"We can't run that fast!" said a bowwoman, and for those who had seen the frightful speed with which the Aerai vanguard had moved, they knew what she meant.

Kristen, for her part, sensed what was going to happen—the sacrifice the vanguard was willing to make. "For the sake of Sharyrdaes, the shield providing your homeland with sanctuary, we must not let them fall in vain!"

And so as the vanguard held, the Drennan archers ran. Proctor Magomo, who had been Kristen's primary instructor in the Anirian Dreadlord Academy, told her many times that it was better to sweat in training than bleed in battle. And today this again this proved to be true—save that it was Drennan sweat which could spare Aerai blood.

At last, at roughly the same time as when Anárion and the main force of Aerai soldiers came to hold the bridge, the Drennan bowmen reached the cliff's edge, and here had a wide vantage before them, the right side of the Wicken's advance open to their arrows. Aerai mages from Vordrakel's force were coming as well to join the bowmen.

Kristen held up her sword. The Drennan bowmen all nocked arrows, drew their bows, and aimed. And then Kristen swung her sword down and pointed it at the bridge and mass of Wicks upon it. "Loose!"

And the first volley of arrows flew. Kristen kept her magic in reserve for now, for she wished to see how the Wicks would respond.

Anárion Vordrakel Deaz'renith

 

[Vordrakel Deaz'renith]

Rage was a dangerous thing, especially for those who kept fire close to their souls. Vordrakel had done everything in his power to suppress such feelings within himself, lest the flame he held within burn beyond his control. Trying to shut out the collective righteous fury of his kin, however, was like trying to stand against the ocean. Seeing before him the bodies of those Aerai who had sacrificed themselves to cover the bridge, even he could not completely quell his anger - he dared say hatred - of the Wicken and their foul master.

The fire would escape, one way or another. All he could do was try to direct the inferno. Vvardax was roaring inside his brain, nearly drowning out all that he heard and felt through the Shorai.

"Bombard their center!" Vordrakel ordered his unit when he saw the hail of Drennan arrows blacken the sky. The offensive mages came forward until they were in range of the Wicken on the bridge, and released their own barrage of fireballs and lightning in the center of their formation. The effect was more explosive, but less deadly than the arrows; a tactic meant as much to daze and confound the enemy as to injure them. Each mage had to work with great care to avoid hitting their own infantry, and so their attacks came slower than the infantry and the archers.

The defensive mages went to work with a somber, clockwork precision. They had spread out behind the front line, running back and forth to wherever those too injured to continue fighting had fallen back or been brought to. Most were seasoned enough to understand the grim algebra of triage; resources were finite, and not everyone could be saved. But they saved who they could.

Vordrakel, too, had to be cautious with his magic in such close formation. Golden fire lashed hungrily from his blade, and he had to turn all of his focus towards keeping it from leaping onto his adjacent allies. He considered how he might create a line of fire across the entire bridge. Given the enemy's pressing front line, he deemed the maneuver too risky.

Anárion Kristen Pirian The Shorai

 

[The Shorai]

Vicious as the Wicks were, they could not press past the Aerai. Emboldened by their rage, the elves surrendered their lives but they refused to offer any ground. Any hope of them proceeding past the bridge's mouth to encircle their oncoming enemy was quashed, and the bulk of the Aerai forces came upon them. And with them, arrows descended from above. Shields were raised up, and they held their guard against the initial onslaught. The disruptive magics of the Aerai sorcerers soon fell upon them, and caused their steadiness to falter and many fell to the cascade of arrows loosed upon them at will.

But the Wicks were far from the same manner of foe as their monstrous allies, and they would return the elves' rage in kind.

While most of their number seemed to consist of infantry that escorted half a dozen beast-drawn wagons, there were also their own archers - in much fewer number - who had yet to retaliate, as well as several sorcerers, all mixed into to the mass of hooded and cloaked soldiers. And it was now that they finally revealed themselves, unleashing first a protective ward of flame that ascended into the sky and reduced the oncoming wave of arrows to ash. Then, the Wicks' own volley of arrows was loosed out toward the Drennans. Finally, the dark mages unleashed a flurry of dark lightning and fire upon the frontline Aerai - and unlike the Aerai sorcerers, they did so with complete disregard for their own soldiers engaged at the fore.

 

[Anárion]

Were it not that his place bid him to refrain from such acts, he'd have gladly been one of those who had charged forth and given themselves fearlessly. Loathe as he was to admit it, it was the knowledge and experience of him, and those like him, that was all the more invaluable in these times. And they gave themselves honouring this, and so he would honour them too by living as long as he could, to lead and achieve as many victories as there could be had. Just like he intended to here. But so as his infantry came upon the Wicks, despite all of this, he remained at the front.

Unlike the Wicks whose movements and strikes were forceful and demanding, the Aerai remained steadfast, denying them even the smallest measure of victory. They bent only so much under the weight of the prevailing darks, and they lashed out with every push, every misstep, every sudden weakness - each one driven into with as much holy malice as they felt willing to wield.

Even when the fires of the enemy mages went up into the sky - though perturbed, Anárion would not relent.

Onto the bridge now they stepped, pushing the darks back.

Anárion drove forward, skewering one of the Wicks upon his weapon.

"Watch out!" came a desperate plea from behind, and Anárion was promptly shoved to the side.

Anárion quickly found his footing and swung around to see a great arc of dark lightning cut through the air. It incinerated not only the elf who had pushed him aside, but several others in its wake. It wounded yet another number of others, and left the Aerai's infantry momentarily dazed. Anárion called out to rally them into a defensive posture, desperate to hold their position.

---

Vordrakel Deaz'renith | Kristen Pirian​

 

[Kristen Pirian]

More than mere shields of metal did the Wicken have to protect themselves.

Kristen watched with a keen apprehension as the volley of Drennan arrows withered to ash against the ward of flame. Aghast murmurs came from behind her, as the bowmen stood in arresting awe and fear, for if their arrows could not bring low the Wicken on the bridge, then all the ferocity of their attack would be borne by the Aerai. The sight of victory slimmed in such an outcome.

So Kristen thought of what to do. And at last she turned to the Drennan captains behind her, and she said, "Ready arrows once more. When the ward comes down, loose."

"What is it that you intend to do, my Lady?" asked the forward most captain, his brow furrowed and bemused.

"To strike swift and unexpected."

Kristen held out her arms to her side, and then, her boots on the very precipice of the cliff, she fell forward and disappeared over the edge, her billowing red cloak the final herald of this alarming departure.

"Lady Kristen!?"

Anárion Vordrakel Deaz'renith

 

[Vordrakel Deaz'renith]

The shield-bearers in Vordrakel's unit moved forward to fill any gaps in the lines left by the enemy's brutal magic attack, gritting their teeth resolutely against the next onslaught while engaging the Wicken infantry. Their foes spilled forward with no regard for their fallen comrades, but it was clear that they were losing ground, being pressed back into the bottleneck of the bridge. Seeing this, the Aerai fought as aggressively as they dared, trying to push them even farther back.

Vordrakel was still among the front line, telepathically communicating orders to the mages positioned away from the threat of melee. Two of the Wicken struck out simultaneously at Vord, misjudging the elf's seeming lack of physical armor as a weakness. One cruel blade rebounded in a flash of light that rippled out from the arcane shield he held in one hand, while he riposted the other and followed up with a lethal stab in the creature's throat. The strike sent a cone of flame forward through the Wicks, blasting the next three that had come behind.

Black fire flickered behind the enemy lines, and the Aerai infantry braced for another assault from the mages. This time, however, much of the spellfire met invisible barriers in the air, and rebounded or fizzled across their surface with loud, sputtering hisses. Vord had barely managed to focus on extending his summoned shield in time to protect himself and those closest to him. He felt the spell's impact shoot through his mind in a wave of pain. The problem with defensive spells was that they were intensely draining; something the Wicks would probably count on. That left them a small window of opportunity to take out the enemy mages while the defenses held.

His offensive mages already knew this, and most of them focused their energies on a more lethal and directed assault at the enemy sorcerers: all but two seasoned pyromancers, who instead turned their destructive fire on the wagons.

The Shorai Anárion Kristen Pirian

 

[Anárion]

They could retaliate all they liked, however they chose, it did not matter now. Even as the battle grew into one of many layers, many that were beyond him, he remained as steadfast. He could not wield great feats of magic like Vordrakel, or his sorcerer brethren - they were of powers unlike his. Like any Aerai, he could grasp at the power, but only so much. It paled next to them.

But this was never where his worth was ever measured. It was with the true sword, the sound mind - the relentless will to be victorious.

So there at the mouth of the bridge, amidst the charred remains, amidst the blood and gore, yea with it even pasted upon his face, he fought them still. With shield and spear, sword and fist, he fought. They fought.

As one.

So when the great fire of the Aerai rose up, and was hurled toward the wagons, those warriors who encroached departed with swift, appointed timing, making way for it to blaze past them unharmed, and maim those Wicks foolish enough to linger.

When the onslaughts dimmed, and the defensive magics of their brethren waned, they moved forward. And yet, without hail of Drennan fury to rain down, the Aerai - for all their indominable might - were stayed.

---

Kristen Pirian | Vordrakel Deaz'renith ​

 

[Kristen Pirian]

From the vantage of the Drennan marksmen, there came from a source unseen a Chain sailing as though loosed from a ballista nestled somewhere beneath the cliff. The spearpoint of the Chain impaled the underbelly of the bridge upon which the battle was being fought. Fiercely did the Chain pull taut. Then for those men of Drennantor who stood close enough to the edge came back into view Kristen, appearing as though she flew on invisible wings but in truth being pulled by the Chain which came from her artificial hand.

Rapidly did she approach the bridge from below. Wind from her speed blew her cloak and her hair in a lashing frenzy, this way and that.

And the Chain which she had summoned could tense and flex and slacken at her will. As she passed under the bridge, her Chain like a long and slender arm curved her upwards as she emerged from the other side, arcing her up now toward the sky, now back toward the Wicks holding the bridge. The Chain before she bid it to vanish flexed and snapped hard, flinging her like a bullet launched from a slinger's sling, just underneath the ward of flame (though its heat she certainly felt) and straight across the helmed heads of the Wicken.

Such was her speed that she would have but one attempt at this. And she was upside-down in her current flight.

But she had spied the Wicken Sorcerer from afar who boasted the power of the ward of flame. His dark hand was uplifted toward the sky, and from his palm spewed forth the fell magic.

Kristen held out her sword as she sailed overhead of her foes.

And severed the hand of the Sorcerer from his arm. The ward flickered and collapsed.

"LOOSE!" Kristen shouted, even as she plummeted then over the side of the bridge from which she had come, those waters of the river below rushing up swiftly to greet her as she fell and fell.

Vordrakel Deaz'renith Anárion