Fable - Ask Cold Steel & Blazing Hearts

[Karl von Stehlen]

"I beg you take courage; the brave soul can mend even disaster."
- Catherine the Great​

Upon the side of a nearby clearing was commotion that plagued the otherwise quiet stillness of the nearby forest. It was the sound of people, and not just anybody; an entire raiding host attempting to make their way through the forest after raiding a nearby settlement, attempting to cart away their ill-begotten gains. There must have been close to thirty individuals in this group, all armed to the teeth in a hodgepodge of weapons and armor. Yet despite such numbers and such armament, the raiding host seemed to have been driven into a bit of a hysteria, as their numbers began to dismount and their carts were guided into what looked to be a defensive line.

From the other side of the clearing came the sound of a trumpet that echoed, and it soon became clear what had agitated them.

A dozen men upon horseback appeared from the horizon, each clad head to toe in armor with a couched lance in hand, trotting out from the forest while maintaining a loose formation. One of the horsemen carried with him what looked to be almost a standard; a red and white flag with an iron cross marked in the middle, perhaps a representation of who these people were. Another loud trumpeting noise could be heard echoing across the field, causing the armored men to begin to assemble into what looked to be a wedge. trotting forward even as the formation began to tighten. The armored man at the tip of the wedge soon lifted his shield, seemingly signaling the trumpeter to his right, who raised his instrument to let off one last blow. With the last echoes of the horn fading from the field, all horses simultaneously began to pick up speed, their armored riders keeping their lances raised high in the air as they advanced on the makeshift fortification.

The ragged defenders quickly scrambled into a makeshift formation, some attempting to organize the formation as they shouted orders, though much of it was quickly drowned out by the thundering of a dozen hooves fast approaching their formation. Those who possessed bows were among the first to react, nock their arrows. drawing them back hastily as they took aim at the squadron of horsemen in front of them. A hail of arrows were let loose on the approaching formation in an attempt to halt their advance, some finding their mark on their intended target. But the projectiles merely bounced off their shield and armor plating, almost bouncing off the momentum of the forward charge. More arrows were loosed, as the next barrage became more desperate as their opponent covered more ground undeterred.

It was only when the armored horsemen were mere moments away from their opponents did they react, lowering their lances simultaneously like a single entity that lived and breathed as one, their voices soon could be heard piercing above the battlefield as they roared forward at their enemies.

But the defenders seemed to have one last trick up their sleeves, as a hooded man stumbled forward from the carts with what looked to be something glowing in both hands. As the man raised both arms into the air, it soon became apparent that the man was some sort of magic user, as a fire ball began to expand quickly above his palms. With one single motion, the man chucked the fireball at the charging mass. Upon contact of the first rider, the flame was quick to engulf the lead rider before spreading outwards into the rest of the formation. Time seemed to almost stand still, as the armored men were consumed into the blazing fire...

Yet as the fire burned bright, something flew out of the raging inferno; the lance of the lead rider was now coated in fire! Piercing through the blaze as it found barreled stright into the chest of the fire user, the shock from the strike alone incapacitant the man as the weapon ran through him. Seconds later more men began to rush out from the ball of fire, their armor glowing and their lances couched underneath their arms, lunging forward at the enemies in front of them. The shared momentum of such an organized charge out of flames was nothing short of terrifying to the unorganized masses of the raiders, as men went flying, with even carts getting overturned by the momentous weight of horse and man bearing upon them.

By then it was clear that the defenders had been scattered by the thunderous charge, their advantage in numbers seemed to diminished as the attackers fly by, fear now spreading through the ranks of the raiders as they attempted to regroup. Those who had attempted to organize a defense now were screaming for the men to rally, as weapons were drawn and magic was prepared in an attempt to retaliate.

Having pulled off their initiated assault, the armored horsemen began to wheel around, some raising their lances in preparation for their next charge while others (having shattered their lances on the charge) were now unsheathing swords in anticipation of the melee. What came next was the sheer chaos of a skirmish, with steel clashing with steel as a battle began to ensue. Even with their initial shock assault, the armored men were still outnumbered by their more numerous foes. What would happen next may have very well depended on who would happen upon this skirmish...

---

Battle Theme​

(OOC: DM me if your interested! This was largely meant for an interaction between one of my characters and the Knights of Anathaeum)

 

[Helena]

Raiders in the March lands.

With rivals on all sides, the Lord of Reiter's March, Aliksan Than Ordos, could not afford to send his men chasing after the warband that harried his borders. Not with the Baron Dal Ransic to the north, and Pinkrose there, just further west. So it came as small surprise to Helena when she had read those words in the missive.

Raiders in the March lands. The Lord Aliksan Than Ordos calls for your aid. Their trail leads east and south. Like to hide away and muster more strength in the Valen Wilds.
​

Best to kill the weed while it was still small. Pluck it from the soil, roots and all. So, they would ride, those Knights of Anathaeum with their Captain of Dawn at the van. Their band, while small in number, knew the lands well, and brought with them the potency of old magicks.

It would be in the woods that they laid in wait, and with magicked eyes gifted the sight of a flying hawk, they were able to chart their foes likely path. Resources, knowledge of hunting grounds and fresh springs and wells gave them options to consider. Until one became clearer than the rest. A band of thirty, far from any other contingent, marching east and north. They were making for the woods. So there the knights would set their trap. Engineering traps and obstacles that were sure to harry the footmen, whilst the mage-knights did their bloody work.

It was as they prepared for the encounter to come that the sounds of horn blasts and the thunder of hooves broke through the air. The dull thrum of bowstrings, the harsh crunch of mass come to crash, and the smell of magick fire.

"Attention!" Helena called out, her eyes set to the field that lied just beyond the line of trees that was the forest's edge. "It sounds as if our prey meets another hunter's claws," She turned to face those knights and squires with her. "Ready for battle, kin! Let's not let these curs slip from our own teeth now!" Helena turned toward the commotion and broke forward through the woods.

A great grey shape, lurked in the near distance. A ur-wolf. Golden eyed and fierce, Sin Cerulan, Prince of the Greystones, broke into a run to shadow the Captain's speeding into battle.

 

[Dal]

(( Soundtrack for the thread until this point ))

https://soundcloud.com/david-giffard%2Freharl-cold-steel-blazing-hearts

Dal knew that this was a moment to be taken full advantage of with such titled persons in the field to impress upon the worth of his presence in the Order. To be fielded into a combat with the Captain herself, this would be a time to bring about steel to the enemy and be known as someone worthy of summoning to such causes. No more work for coin and contract. This was a matter of career, of becoming more than a squire down the road. A fine engagement to add to one's accolades. Dal was accustomed to listing his participations in campaigns and battles to his prospective employers. He assumed that when the time would come to be judged for knighthood he would have to wear his bloody deeds openly and proudly.

His mind thought of valour and worthiness in combat before all else, despite the warnings from others that there was more to being a knight than simple combat effectiveness, Helena being one of those that had done. Knights had numerous attributes in personality and code, yet Dal more than anything knew them to be well trained, well disciplined soldiers, and he respected the prowess more than noble title. Not that the Knights of Anathaeum were such an order to be simple lineage and prestige to earn such positions.

Dal still thought of them as other than himself but this, a true combat, might ready his mind to call them all his military family. He had spent a little time training as a squire, physical conditioning, swordplay, tactics, mostly to ensure that he did not fall behind to his own standards. Already he had been summoned into the field, and to this, Dal was surely glad. Squire was he, with much to prove before being considered for further positions of responsibility. Not much time into the first year of squiredom had passed, yet here he was, about to be tested by a true field engagement.

Perfect place for it, Dal thought as he peered out.

The Captain provided her speech. Dal's ears were dull to it, he had heard less rousing speeches it was true, words spoken by mercenary hosts to just butcher and kill, but this speech by Helena was fit to the purpose he supposed. His eyes looked to his comrades for but a moment, and turned back to his own steel as he saw his own reflection. There was the usual tension within his body, not of fear, of expectation from himself to do more than survive, but to thrive.

He summoned the fighting spirit within his blood by his own tradition. He clenched the grip of his drawn blade and stretched his legs as his mind thought upon the killing deeds to come. To kill and kill again while avoiding such a fate for oneself. The God of Death, while not an actual deity to be worshipped in the half-orc's mind, was a facet of the field he would walk. He imparted his dedication to the cause of death he would serve.

To be swift and sure in the ruthless cuts. To be wise to the suddenness of defeat. To be confident in one's application to the carnage to come. This I shall do.

Dal was ready as he had been a hundred times before, but galvanised in purpose not for coin, but for the order's expectation. It was not something that set his heart aflame by means of the nobility of their purpose, but rather the staunchness of the ability of his comrades. Squire and sworn knights carried themselves well in training. Now was the hour to understand their mettle first hand, and Dal was set to not disappoint his assured conversations with others. He knew the value of his swordhand.

He would find a field to fight in this day. The clashing of steel could already be heard, the trampling of hooves, the sound of cuts delivered and received by pained cries. It was a comfort and thrill, the sound which Dal had chosen as his accompaniment in life. It was the reason he forewent the typical pleasures of a soldier, whoring, tobacco, drink. To the blade and field was his professional pride.

Lysanthir had once wondered if there was anything in life Dal enjoyed.

The answer would be obvious by his expression of satisfaction of having such a fight to bring.

Helena's words ended, the surging of soldiers began, and Dal, like the rest, began to run.

Pursuit was the cause to which feet were given purpose to tread with quickened pace, driven by the Captain's command. One of which was recently sworn Dal, clad in breastplate and gambeson, hefty blade in experienced hand, his feet pounding the earth with well measured step. The far off sound of combat being committed was gladly received by the half-orc as he moved up with steady pace. The soldier was used to this life. The charge, the chase, the driving of will to the enemy. Squires trained much, and Dal knew a life of training before being drawn into the command of Captain Helena. This was a prospect to demonstrate his ability in combat, and see how his new comrades handled themselves when steel was drawn and the temper was to be tested. His eyes were upon the forest line. He felt his time running up rivers prove all too useful, he felt light, warmed up, fresh and ready for the combat to come.

To the God of Death do I run true, to my order, I shall prove myself worthy of fighting in greater tasks.

He gripped the blade and eyes locked with the forms that snaked and moved and danced between calvary rushes, the gleaming of steel upon body and within hand receiving one another. Shield was raised, retort offered. Dal felt the thrill rise in him.

This wasn't a siege where he had to defend walls. This wasn't investigation into the arcane which he did not understand. This was a skirmish, simple and true, and this was his home to enjoy himself. Open fields, comrades to rely, a fresh sword and plenty to prove to more permanent comrades.

What could be better? Dal thought as he kept pace and closed the distance...

Then all thoughts faded as training and discipline collided into the frame of Dal, commanding nerve and steel to deliver a cut to the closest target has had chosen.

A bandit turned with longsword and faltering step to meet his approach. The blade the bandit held was far shorter than the one that Dal swung wide and clear as he charged into combat, and bandit parried barely in time.. The brigand faltered further, and the point of the the squire's blade was swiftly pivoted to a thrust which was seen but not caught, received and not blocked, and so the facet of Death that Dal did respect in his dedications was appeased as the bandit's life was ended, his body slumping as the blade entered his neck, the longsword falling the ground that Dal conquered in this moment and turned red by his exertion.

Dal was silent, yet his heart was glad. His dedications had proven worthy of response from the nature of death that pervaded all battlefields and warrior's minds before victory or burning defeat. One death, to be matched by a tenacity for more, always more.

And so Dal strode on forward, unsatisfied with but one kill, his eyes fierce and his movements assured. He listened to the cries of his comrades, some roaring in their approach as they cut and struggled. Dal was silent as the grave as he pursued his intent to prove himself this day, blade gleaming, breastplate fresh, his mindset lethal, the day his to spend in true battle instead of training, the day to be earned by his actions and the day to be judged by his peers.

 

[Rulgak]

The call was sudden, and required her to depart immediately. She was a Knight after all, and duty must be upheld. While it was not common for Rulgak to leave her workshop, it was neither neither an uncommon occurrence. She was as comfortable swinging warhammers as she was smithing hammers, and served where she was needed. In this case, Anathaeum needed the ability to not only counter the threat, but to remain ready to react to whatever unknown tactics, weapons and magic it might carry. They had the disadvantage of knowing little about the marauders, and they hadn't the time to learn. The situation required immediate action, and Rulgak's presence was required to better establish it.

She arrived with mule-drawn carts carrying all manner of devices and materials. Some of the traps were already constructed and prepared, while others remained apart in pieces ready to be put together. It was all that the smithy had on hand that was prepared, along with all the materials they could be built with. Many of the traps would have to be constructed on the spot. Had they the time, this could be done in the shop, but that was a resource they were sorely deficient of.

Of the traps that arrived ready to be set, some were enchanted and some were not. Though magic empowered traps were more effective, they were also more detectable and easier for a prepared mage to disable. This was not altogether an outright disadvantage, if strategically taken into account as Rulgak had. Placement of the few they had ready at a chokepoint between impassible clusters of trees might prompt wielders of magic to the front, where hidden skirmishers armed with bows might act as a living trap and lay ambush upon them. At best, casualties would be made from valuable targets, and at worst it would slow the raiders as intended. Doubtful they'd bother to pursue the skirmishers. It would cost them even more time, which they were unlikely to risk for such minimal benefit.

Most of the traps were mundane, and even those would often be made obvious. Sometimes, it was better for their foes to identify them quickly from a distance and avoid them. Other, more covert traps were strategically placed within the most likely routes the enemy would take. Snares, tripwire, buried pressure plates and tension loaded projectiles were favoured for the purpose. Sometimes, the mechanism of each would be connected together so that one raider's misstep might fell the entire group, with pockets of disconnected traps remaining to be sprung on those who hadn't been caught by the first.

Craftsmen were still busy constructing more from the materials they'd brought with them. With the deployed traps serving to influence their direction of movement, the ones they put together saw better use scattered among the trees. Tripwire would fell horses, and several were attached to a mechanism that would fell a dead tree that could both alert the knights to their presence, and force the marauders to regroup from the sudden obstacle blocking their path. Others would ensnare those travelling on foot, making them easy for archers to dispatch. Few were lethal– unattended traps take no sides, and deadly traps killed indiscriminately. These traps were deployed as soon as they were made, and lethal traps would require keeping record of them so that other Knights would know they location and avoid them accordingly. Well, the falling trees could be pretty deadly, but Rulgak at least had the foresight to direct the impact of those away from the trigger mechanism. It ought not harm the one who tripped it, but it would impede larger groups.

Rulgak and the smiths continued with their preparations, sending out traps one by one until the call for battle was made.

"Ready for battle, kin! Let's not let these curs slip from our own teeth now!" Helena called out, and Rulgak reached for her lucerne hammer the moment she did. Clad in a battle helmet and a hardened cuirass of exotic metal, she ran charging towards battle with her weapon brandished. The others had a head start, but powerful strides helped her to catch up. Soon enough, she had sprinted to the front of the charge, prepared to bring what wrath she might upon those deemed deserving of it.

 

[Karl von Stehlen]

"Karl! Northeast!" One of the armored riders called out, wheeling around to match pace with the aforementioned "Karl", who was in the process of felling another one of the bandits with his longsword. "Enemy reinforcements!?"

Karl turned his head towards where his mounted compatriot was gesturing, his armor visor masking whatever reaction he had of this incoming force. But before the man could respond, a familiar scream tore Karl's attention from the forest's horizon back to the fighting, turning in time to see a massive brute ripe one of his brother-at-arms right off his mount.

"Keep your distance!" Karl shouted through his metal visor, before urging his stead forward with his legs. Despite the young man's commands, he was now riding straight at the surging marauders, who were now beginning to crowd around the big brute and the dismounted knight.

Without so much as a pause, Karl barreled into the grouped-up horde, his steed thundering and scattering the enemy. Yet as the armored mount galloped by, the knight threw himself sideways off his mount, using the weight of his armored body and falling momentum to body slam the unsuspecting enemies below. The combined weight of Karl and his armor was enough to break some bones, causing some of the marauders to scream out in pain and scattering the rest. But paying them no mind, Karl used his falling momentum to push himself into a roll and towards his fallen comrade.

Soon as Karl was in range, he flies back onto his feet as quickly as he fell. With a steady grip on his longsword, Karl raised the tip of his weapon towards the back of the marauding brute and ran his blade straight through the back of his enemy, piercing through the massive man's chest. Such a sudden attack sent the big brute into shock, who dropped his weapon to grasp at the wound. But Karl, wasting little time, grabbed the man on the shoulder and threw him aside, revealing the dazed comrade on the ground.

With one hand, Karl reached over to grab onto edge of his comrade's metal breastplate, hoisting the lad back onto his feet in one slick motion. No sooner had the young lad found his footing, Karl released him, turning his back towards the rescued knight as the two faced an encircled. But unlike before, Karl was fighting back-to-back with his comrade, though with nothing more than a shield in one hand.

Yet such a fact hardly bothered Karl, placing his free hand on the edge of his shield as another challenger emerged from the horde. Soon as the enemy made their move, Karl quickly raised his shield into the path of the incoming blow. Using the upward momentum, Karl deflected the weapon to the side, before bringing the boss of the shield straight into the face of his opponent, staggering his now bloody nosed attacker.

Even dismounted and without a weapon, these armored men were quite formidable. But no matter how formidable they might be, the two men were still outnumbered and surrounded on the ground, while their mounted compatriots attempted to break the encirclement by strafing the outskirts. Anything short of a direct assault on the encirclement meant the two were on their own, as every passing moment meant another opportunity for the marauding horde to close in on the dismounted two...

Helena, Dal, Rulgak

 

[Helena]

Timing. It was the difference between steps and inches.

Helena's legs pumped her weight forward and her white cape snapped behind her, the Captain's heartbeat drummed in her chest,. Helena could see the roll and crash of bodies. Beasts bowling through armored men. Large, stout armed figures swung cruel pieces of metal into the horses whose throats did trumpet agony and horror as all came to death and its dealing.

Timing.

Was rarely perfect amidst the chaos of violence.

Men who broke away from the raiding party and ran frantic through the woods would find the keen steel of Anathaeum there to meet them. Blades that seemed to sprout from the trees themselves hacked at the unarmoured legs of fleeing archers who frantically sought cover in the thick of the woods.

Helena caught one man with a low sweep of her longsword, its biting edge cracked into the bone of shin and took his momentum out from under him. He fell with a tumble and a howl of surprise, her blade turned and came down at the base of his skull. He fell still, she pulled her weapon free, saw a second man come run towards her with a mace. Her heart beat continued to thrum in her chest.

A cool breath left her lips, her lead foot slid forward and with a short kick upward, a root crooked up and out of the crust of earth, tripped the man, and a sweep of her magicked blade saw vines and tangles ensnared him.

Sin Cerulan, the great wolf, descended upon the trapped man, huge jaws snapped shut around the man's head and a rabid shake ended his screaming as his neck went snap.

The Captain rushed on toward the treeline seeing the swirl of melee that seemed to gather round a singular point. Her lips let out the call of a goshawk, voice magicked by the Wyld, the rise and fall of the avian sounds would alert her allies to her position. The long cry that came next ordered them forward still.

An arrow whistled by her, wide of its mark. Her eyes snapped toward its direction, saw a man bent low as he knocked another arrow still. Only to have a great wolf pounce from their flank, heavy paws thumping against their bone before massive canines punched into flesh.

Helena nodded, and moved on, toward the circling mass of brigands beyond the treeline.

Karl von Stehlen Dal Rulgak

 

[Dal]

The tide of battle was still being determined, blades swung wild and fierce, arcane and mundane calls to action resounded, lives were committed and spent by their commanders. Helena bid her troops to surge forward through virtue of her Wyld magic, and the squire Dal received it and understood what was being asked. Blade in hand, he pursued the front line as it threatened to be robbed of his presence with each passing second. Each hurried footfall seemed not to be quick enough to chase the frontline as it dragged closer to beyond the forest line. Dal was aware that he had embroiled himself in one too many contests that had carried on too long, that had tarried him from being beside his captain at the moment of her call. Helena's cloak of white was some distance ahead of him. Dal had a moment to think as he picked up the pace, his movements steady and sure.

Old instincts compelling Dal to survive dwelled within him, to conserve his energy, to fight cautiously yet decisively, to do what he must yet to preserve himself over the call of zeal and glory. Yet the new way of things pressed him onto the attack with all he had, the need to become more than a simple squire of rank and title, to prove his own competency to the mission, not to the act of killing alone. And besides, he realised, I am not contending with a full suit of plate. I have the freedom of speed here on this day.

He applied with all speed to the cause of relieving those who had greeted the bandits so solidly. In his old career of mercenary he might have run less furiously as to ensure his survival. Not cowardice. Consignment.

But the Captain had made her call. And so, Dal obeyed as best as he could muster.

The forest was a host to all manner of fights, some swift and sudden, others prolonged in their conclusion. Dal was soon to arrive at the crest of the violence as it broke upon the shores of the enemy. He had now built up considerable speed and his body gave proper response to his expectation. His training served him well to the demands expected of him.

His eyes caught the vicious scenes all around him and added his own efforts to make them more vicious still. As Dal ran he delivered a cut to the back of the legs of a bandit who fought against another squire, which sent them to the ground to be dispatched. No time for an appreciative nod between the two, this was the time for pressing and running on.

And so Dal did.

Until a gleaming spearpoint did protrude defiantly in his direction as a bandit stood their ground against the advance of the squire, threatening to waylay him in further combat.

Dal's sword gave no gleam in the light that pierced the forest for the weapon was slick with blood. Dal did not slow or delay, he grew incensed at the thought of it.

I must follow the order.

He gripped his sword in the right hand alone, and his left hand performed a well practised gesture which was delivered with certainty. Fingers gripped and hurled something at the bandit's face. The spear was wielded heavily, the weapon desperately attempting to catch the metal which had been so suddenly invested into the fight.

The effort failed.

The weapon sagged down to the ground as the throwing knife found it's mark to nullify Dal's obstacle, as hands went to the offending item so lodged within the bandit's frame.

Dal ran on, satisfied that he would not be punctured or swiped at by the man who's thoughts were now to self preservation instead of stopping his own advance.

I won't be delayed from the true moment of combat that's asked of me.

The cloak of white lead the way, and Dal followed on as the forest yielded to open field, and the scene of carnage beyond. A scene of violence that Dal smiled grimly at as he gripped his blade with both hands and kept close behind Helena.

Helena Karl von Stehlen Rulgak

 

[Rulgak]

Rulgak was making headway towards where the fighting appeared fiercest, her hammer brandished and ready for battle. She did not miss the shout that announced their presence as reinforcements, and the call prompted her to run towards the direction from when it came. A further warning could be heard, shouted by another as she charged towards the fight. The tone sounded dire

Spotting a bandit in her way, he did not notice her until she was seconds away from delivering her strike. It was enough time for him to ready his shield, but the thrust of Rulgak's lucerne hammer carried much momentum with it. The head was weighted with dense adamantine metal sourced from dwarves, and propelled by Rulgak's mighty strength it glanced of the round shield the bandit held out in a futile attempt to block the blow. He merely managed to redirect the polearm to sink point first into his shoulder, tearing through rings of chainmail his cuirass did not cover. The weight of the weapon carried the strike through the impact, tearing free to leave a grisly wound in its wake. Neither did she stop or slow, barrelling into the bandit and bowling him over with his weapon wielding arm disabled from the injury inflicted.

The bandit tumbled backwards onto the ground, and Rulgak spun around as she passed him by. She swung her hammer with both arms, bringing the weapon in a low arc that sent the blunt end of the hammer smashing into his helmet, leaving a deep dent where the impact had been made. The vicious strike had hardly slowed her down, and she continued on with speed, leaving the felled bandit in her wake.

Onward she tread at rapid pace, closing on in where the fighting had appeared to be the fiercest. Many of the enemy fighters were present, and beyond them Rukgak spotted a pair of knights they vastly outnumbered. Most of them remained preoccupied with the two, though Rulgak's arrival was hardly unnoticed. Two opponents stepped forth to intercept her, one carrying a longsword. The other was wielding a spear, and the range of the weapon was enough to give her pause and finally slow to a stop.

Though she'd been halted, she was not deterred. A sideways swing of her hammer served to parry the spear out of the way to temporarily avert the threat it posed. In a deft motion, Rulgak choked up on the hammer to swing it to impact handle first into the chest of her other foe. The lighter end of the weapon was less lethal, but also able to move much faster, striking him ground-ward before he could take action to defend against the attack. With her grip choked up further, Rulgak make an immediate pursuit and brought the multi-pronged head crashing down into the side of his helmet.

One had been felled, but the spear-man remained a threat. Rulgak wasted no time in rising back to her feet, advancing a pace to properly face off against him. She made an attempt to parry the spear again, but the bandit backpedalled a step to keep her from closing the distance. Rulgak remained relentless in her pursuit of him, her hammer brandished point first as she followed each step back, conscious of keeping close enough to deny the advantage his spears greater reach might afford him.

There was only so much ground for the spear-man to withdraw too, and as he stepped back he found himself stopped by unseen thick brush blocking the path behind him. Rulgak seized the opportunity to lunge forth once he was no longer able to retreat. Caught off guard, the spear-man could only attempt to block the blow with his forearm, more out of instinct than anything. The attempt served no usefulness in stopping the strike, and Rulgak's hammer merely pushed the mans arm in and out of the way before connecting directly with the side of his skull.

Victorious for the moment, Rulgak surveyed the two knights again, still fending off a much greater number of attackers. With her present, there were now three to defend, but there remained many more foes than allies on the field.

“More are arriving, hold out!” Rulgak called out, partly to communicate with the unknown allies, and partly to gain the attention of their enemies. With her polearm held forward in preparation to fell the next who'd accost her, Rulgak awaited response from both parties.

Dal Karl von Stehlen Helena