Open Chronicles Cry Havoc

[Bayde Foemarr]

"Was never a doubt about it." growled a man from the hearth of the fireplace. He nursed a warm bowl of soup, chewing bread between his teeth with such ferocity one imagined it had insulted his ancestry. Bayde Foemarr, the son of a smith had traveled lands far and wide- to land himself in a typical siege was a break from exotic dangers and wheezing merchants. But that didn't mean he particularly enjoyed the task. There was better pay and prospects of surviving the battle was lower than the men's spirits after the battle.

His breastplate had a few dents in them, superficial damage suffered during the assault. "They could starve us out, but there's no telling how long their supplies 'll last." he added on to his assessment. "They could start tunneling if they get desperate." Bayde paused to finish off his meager supply of soup, wiping the greasy remainder on the back of his gloved hand. He was still hungry after the poor meal, but there was little the cooks could do to keep his stomach happy.

"'fore that though, 'spose they'll try onagers, treb's; see if they can't punch a hole through the walls, if not the gatehouse. Doubt our nice little hot trick will work on them again." The mercenary turned around to face the small group, a lucerne hammer resting on his shoulder, its wicked spikes still a little bloody. "Cheer up; butcher's work means more pockets to rifle through later on. If there's a later on."

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

"I wouldn't be too loud about that lad" Kjaran observed with one eyebrow cocked as he looked to Maridis Va Dori . "You sure you're not seeing things?". He took the hand briefly for a shake, "Kjaran. I'd not bother too much with the full introductions here. A lot of these faces might be gone in a few days".

He rubbed his fingers along the bowl, trying to eke out whatever last morsels he could. "They can send out foragers. We can't. Today was a test". It was easy to let emotions run away with you after a battle. The exultation at being alive tempered with the realisation that they were still trapped.

He shrugged as Bayde Foemarr 's comment. "The All-Father wove the skein of our lives a long time ago. Death will seek us out when it's our time". The thought of siege engines and tunnels bringing down the walls was not a pleasant one however.

 

[Thren]

Thren had never particularly enjoyed being hungry, though he supposed it was a fact that nobody really did.

For him it wasn't that it was worse, just that he preferred enjoying life rather than wallowing in the misery of what it could be. In easy terms, he would have liked to have been on the other side of this siege. A frown touched his lips for a moment and he considered just trying to walk out, but that would likely lead to him getting killed.

Better not to risk it. "Well. At least there will be plenty of rats."

Thren commented, glancing over towards the others and offering them a shrug. The climate here was temperate enough for the pests, and Larik had always been good at catching them. Sure the thought was disgusting now, but after a few days of starvation a rat would be as good as a chicken.

"Almost night time." He commented dryly, watching the sun slowly begin to near the horizon. It seemed to be getting darker than it should, and oddly enough he could not see the moons even though they were supposed to be full.

Odd.

 

[Aire]

Aire watched the humans, a hand pressed into the solidness of the ground. He didn't grab a meal of his own. He didn't think it was right to. He had come to observe and participate where it suited him, not leech from what rations the poor lot had. It did not look good for them. Some seemed to recognize this, but others either didn't care or didn't comprehend their situation. Both were something to ponder over, to him.

For the moment, he stayed silent, eyes reflecting back firelight as he observed and tried to leech more information out of the scene without pressing it.

 

[Bigsby Bighat]

Bigsby stooped upon a stool, sedentary but not shy. To the children, some women, and few elderly that the wizard kept company with he was a scintillating singularity of stylized stories. He kept them busy as sanguine ichor ran down the walls outside. He told them stories as men died to sooth their fears in an attempt to placate the nightmares that would haunt their dreams. Why was he in here? Perhaps he was scared of the sword or perhaps a brainless buffoon shoved him in here thinking he was infirm and of no use in a fight. He hadn't fought the fellow but had told him with vigor and in no uncertain terms that he was fit enough to help. His foe denied him and he was banished to look after those would could not fight.

If he had been covered in a little moss the massive majestic millinery would have made the wizard look more like a giant mushroom hunched over some children. Only the slow nod and warm speech of the soul under it gave mention at the monumentally mysterious man beneath it. He was telling the children a story. "The castle stood on a tall mountain and seemed to be trying to touch the sky. It was a dark, gloomy castle and it belonged to the wizard, Bobo. He hated it," Bigsby said as he gestured with his gloved hands.

His friendly foe return, now injured and slid against the wall within the small confines concealing this bastion of those too old or too young to swing a sword. He rose from his stool. "I am sorry little ones. We will have to continue the story another time. I think I may be of some help outside sometime soon," he said and then mussed two of the children's hair. Without a further word or looking back he picked up his former now fallen foe and custodian and helped him outside and then into the darkness of impenetrable night. He closed the door and helped the man slump against a wall, kneeling next to him as stones stained scarlet.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

It was indeed a black night. Evening fell swiftly with the stars muted and even the two moons barely visible in the sky. There was sorcery at work and people huddled fearfully about fires, discussing it in hushed voices. Others fell into an uneasy sleep, waiting to wake to a dawn of little hope.

Nothing happened for the first few hours. Nervous sentries kept watch, grateful for the visit of the watch sergeant making his rounds. It made them feel like they weren't alone. The fears faded slowly as the night drew on, boredom beginning to settle in. The darkness promised dangers but none showed.

It came in the second hour after midnight. Maximilian Kowal had paused for a moment by the southern tower, stamping his feet against the cold. Another hour until he was relieved. All he could think of was his warm bunk and getting his head down for a few hours kip.

The arrow took him right in the throat. He clutched at his neck, his fingers twitching. His legs lost all feeling and Max crumpled to the floor. A sentry ten yards away collapsed, his throat slit by a shadowy figure that seemed to materialise out of nowhere.

Others moved on the wall, the handful of assaulters moving towards the gatehouse.

 

[Thren]

Thren lay upon one of the far walls opposite the besieging army.

He had taken this place to sleep ostensibly to watch for assassins in the night, though in truth it had been simply to get away from the noise of everyone complaining. His head was propped up against Larik, his warhound, whom was sleeping just as he was.

They were not anywhere near the assassins that did come over the wall, and thus their passage into the fortress went mostly unnoticed.

The Barbarian only woke when Larik did. A slight whine passed from the Hounds lips, his head perked up, and a low growl escaped this throat. Thren felt himself stir as the dog shifted beneath him, his heavy bulk moving as though he wanted to stand up but also did not want to disturb his master.

A frown touched the Barbarians lips. "What is it?"

He said gruffly, addressing the dog with a slight hint of annoyance, having no clue what was happening on the other side of the Fortress.

 

[Bayde Foemarr]

Bayde slept with most of the garrison in the barracks, although lacking a proper bed slept with his back propped up against the wall, a thin shawl for his blanket. He slept in his armor, never mind the pinches and cramps he'd suffer: in a siege, precious seconds spent donning armor was precious seconds that could get you killed. His weapon laid flat across his stretched legs, hammerhead barely resting on the wooden floorboards.

Sleep however, did not stop the call of nature. Bayde awoke, an uncomfortable sensation between his legs. Gently picking his weapon up from his lap, the man-at-arms left the barracks for the outhouse. He staggered, bleary eyed using his polearm weapon to support himself.

As he finished his business and left the shack, he caught the glimpse of movement along the walls. At first he took no notice of them, figuring them to be guards- but guards did not move to avoid detection as those shadowy silhouettes did. The lit braziers spaced out far and between cast long shadows that the figures took great care to remain in. He shivered, although his gut told him it wasn't the cold that raised his hairs.

He didn't feel the need to sleep however, and set off for the walls. "Got a bad feeling about this." he muttered to no one in particular. He passed a few of the sentries on his way to seek answers, waving at them halfheartedly.

 

[Aire]

Aire dropped to the ground in front of Bayde, a pale hand flashing out to stop him in his tracks. He pressed his fingers to his lips, trying to silence him. Then quiet as the night around them, Aire drew his sword and pressed himself up across the tower wall he had dropped from.

An assassin slipped around the corner. Aire fell him with a slash of his blade, catching the body before it could drop and make a noise.

Aire turned back to Bayde, speaking firmly. "Run to the tower over. Sound the alarm and send men to the guardhouse, now." He straighten and ducked around the corner, disappearing the way the assassin came.

He worked along the wall, trying to deal with the intruders he had seen break off from the rest.

 

[Bigsby Bighat]

Bigsby didn't really wander too far. He had helped his former captor through the use of more mundane means, bandaging his wound and supporting him so that they could walk to some nearby crates stacked close to a lit brazier and sit. There they shared names and broke some bread that Bigsby still had on his person.

"It's a dark night," Hodge had said. The wizard hadn't really paid much attention to it up to that point but the comment prompted the big-hatted spell slinger to turn away from the fire and look up at the sky. That's something that's a little bit difficult to do with such a big hat and so Bigsby removed his hat to reveal an old man with bushy eyebrows and a long beard, both the color of fresh snow. His brow and neck were covered with a leather, cloth, and wool coif. Steel colored eyes examined the sky for a few moments and then the wizard replaced his hat but he did not take his seat.

He rooted around in various pouches and pockets, producing a number of smaller pouches, stones, crystals, and other bits and bobs of unknown origin and questionable use. Most of these were replaced. Finally he found a worn piece of rose colored stained glass and some tread. "Keep that crossbow handy Hodge." The soldier responded back immediately. "Is something wrong?" Bigsby was already looking around the crates with an undeniable haste. The old man huffed and puffed. "I'm not sure. I need a pair of tongs," replied the winded wizard. Hodge directed him where they may be found and soon Bigsby returned with a pair of wrought iron tongs.

He sat back down, his shoulders moving furiously from his exertion and then took the slender piece of glass up with the tongs. He held the iron tool with his right hand and splayed his fingers over the stained shard. Bigsby took a moment to steady himself and drew in a deep breath. Then he started to speak, slow, steady, and low. "Deep within the powers of yore bring to this moment the forces of four: water, earth, wind, and fire. By my strength of spirit and by the mark of gyre. Upon my life and within my heart, I invoke this spell to do the part. Foretold by ancestral lore of Eld, when called upon and rightly wielded. Oh shard, sliver of glass take up the scent of essence near and do as bade with charm on call 'til dust and light this world enthrall." Though he whispered there was power within his words. There was no visible change to the glass but he thrust it above the brazier's fire and once he did the light but not the heat from the flame was devoured hungrily by the rose colored shard.

Hodge just watched and they both now sat in tenebrous shadow, the brazier just barely lined with red. Bigsby reached into a pouch at his right side and cast a fine powder into the brazier. It flared brightly for the blink of an eye but this to was devoured as well. A form fell from a nearby wall and neither Bigsby or Hodge could see through the darkness to determine if it was a friend or a foe. "Keen senses Hodge. The crossbow bolt. It is needed," said the wizard as he wiped the powder off on the robe at his leg and then withdrew the shard of glass. "It's not hot. Lash it to the bolt quickly." Bigsby said, dropping the tongs and handing Hodge the thread and the shard. The brazier resumed its normal but muted illumination. As the footman did as commanded the wizard held his hands over the bolt and spoke more words. "Alone on the hill at the edge of the night stood the Giordan Lighthouse, poised to mark safety for wanderers' travels. It once stood tall and strong in an azure sky but now stands sterile in a troubled evening against stormy clouds." He motioned with his hands in the shape of a spiral over it.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

The killers were all handpicked. They mightn't have been the best to stand in a shieldwall but they excelled here. Clad in dark clothing with their faces blackened, charms of obfuscation had been cast on them to aid their approach. They made short work of the few sentries alert enough to spy them, usually far too late even to scream.

A scream cut through the night. All attempts at stealth were abandoned. The raiders ran for the gatehouse, cutting down whatever guards were left in their path. It was chaos in the barracks as men and women came awake to the sound of the alarm being raised. Soldiers hit off each other in the dark in their rush to get ready.

The gates swung open ponderously. A chain whined as the portcullis slowly began to raise. Black clad attackers worked frantically, not caring for the still warm corpses of the gate guard. A sentry stumbled out of the gate house, clutching at her throat before she collapsed spasming on the walkway.

Another noise began to become audible over the chaos on the outer wall and courtyard. Horses hooves, the thunder of approaching cavalry. Formed up in the dark with a path made for them over the entrenchments, it would be less than two minutes before they arrived.

Acillio Nazzaro Aire Bigsby Bighat Bayde Foemarr Maridis Va Dori Thren

 

[Thren]

Thren booked it across the courtyard.

He ran as fast as he possibly could, his boots thundering into the dirt as he rushed forward. Larik was beside him, the warhound dashing forward until The Barbarian let out a sharp whistle.

"The Gate!" Larik bolted.

The dog of course did not understand the word 'gate', nor exactly what Thren wanted him to do. Yet the Barbarians finger being pointed at the black clad figures working the machinery of the portcullis were enough of a cue for him. Within just a few seconds The hound was across the entire courtyard, his bulk weaving through men and mental.

A loud, almost gruff, bark echoed out and Larik pounced onto the closest man opening the gate.

Screams echoed as the man was quickly torn into.

 

[Bigsby Bighat]

"Quickly Hodge. Use your good arm and fire into the sky above the bailey," commanded the wizard as he planted his gnarled staff in the packed earth. The footman hefted the crossbow on his shoulder, aimed to the sky, and with a twang the bolt was away. Seconds passed and the footman lowered the weapon. "Was something supposed to happen?" he asked. "You can't rush magic!" snapped the wizard. "Reload your crossbow and steal me against steal."

In the air, high above the bailey shone a dull red mote of light, barely visible but steadily growing in brightness. The smell of sea salt, ozone, and rain permeated the air within the walls despite the fort's distance from any shore. It had been a clear night up to that point but now the sound of far off thunder drummed across the land. On the ground, not far away, and below the glowing red orb ghostly blocks of masonry shone a pale azure light as if thick smoke had blocked them from view and the breeze had dispersed it into the night sky. An unearthly pulse cascaded upward across the base of a phantasmal lighthouse, now more like invisible waves that clawed at the apparition from all sides.

The red flickering flame at the pinnacle enlarged, doubling in size until a dull red glow shone upon every exposed surface of the keep, her battlements, and her towers. Shadow evaporated before the crimson gleam and above them the stars twinkled and the moons shone bright in the firmament.

An arrow whizzed by Bigsby's shoulder prompting Hodge to reach out and yank the wizard backwards. He stumbled, fell, and scrambled to his feet as the footman half helped and have dragged him behind some cover. "Damn it man!" exclaimed the wizard in addition to a few more choice words and then thrust his staff into the ground. The light house shimmered and glowed before fully forming and casting a broad bright red beam of light in the direction of the encamped army and approaching cavalry. As bright as the long forgotten sun the spotlight clawed through the blackness until it reached the eyes of brave men galloping headlong in the direction of the widening breech and within the walls sat the Giordan Lighthouse.

The wizard grunted, gripped the staff hard, and started to speak. "The sea is full of wandering foam, the sky of driving cloud; my restless thoughts among them roam, the night is dark and loud." His voice seemed to mute as another clap of thunder rolled.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

Cries of shock, surprise, and fear sounded as the darkness was struck by the appearance of the lighthouse. Light struggled against dark as the castle's wizard strove against those in the besieging camp. They had been arrogant, not suspecting the presence of another there of their craft. Befuddled by drink and their early celebrations, they rushed to counteract the mage's spell.

The roving light had a stunning effect on some, it was like the appearance of the sun in the sky. Kjaran shielded his eyes but ran for the gatehouse. He could hear Thren and Larik charging in alongside him. Kjaran snarled and hacked down the first infiltrator, letting the battle anger take him.

The cavalry approaching the gatehouse drew closer, riders urging their steeds on with frantic cries. War horns sounded and their shouts drew closer. Defenders blundered into attackers around the gatehouse while others charged up stairs to take position on the walls.

"Close the fuckin' gate!"

The storming party seemed determined to lay down their lives to keep it open, every second they bought was one more that the cavalry drew closer.

 

[Bayde Foemarr]

Bayde was satisfied- not with the turn of events as it were, but pleased at his own gut instinct for noticing the out-of-the-ordinary situation earlier. He was taken aback by the elf's sudden appearance, and by the obnoxiously bright flare of light that sundered darkness from the castle grounds. All vestiges of sleep left the man's mind, but left him no clearer for the duty that befell on him: he ran past the gaggle of guards he had passed earlier, barking them into action. The sounds of thundering cavalry and the yells of awakened men roused the barracks but it took Bayde to kick in the door to get them out from under their covers.

After that he ran- though more athletic types than he would argue otherwise - to the gatehouse just in time to see a massive warhound rip into the throat of a raider, its massive bulk breaking through the hastily assembled cordon of intruders. Bayde wasted no time in sweeping the legs of the closest marauder under him with his polearm. Dazed and on his back, the enemy blacked out as the man-at-arms stuck him with the pike-head of his lucerne hammer. Bayde yanked his weapon from the corpse in time to parry a vicious swing from the left, retaliating with a diagonal strike with the stock of his weapon.

"Break through!" he yelled to those near him. He followed through by knocking a sword aside and deliver a kick to the midriff of another raider. They grunted as they staggered back into the arms of their allies. The mercenary was doing little on his own, herding the foes back further and further, making them more desperate. Bayde's coterie of 3 other men-at-arms was insufficient at breaking the cordon, though they were lucky the raiders were not looking to make an offensive on their own. "Close the fucking gate!"

"We're fucking-" Bayde barely caught a mace with the shaft of his weapon, resisting the weight of the attack and shoving the attacker back. With a quick shift in his grip he quickly smacked the hammerhead against the masked attacker's head with a THUD! "-TRYING!"

 

[Thren]

Shit. The word rang through his mind again and again.

Utter and complete Chaos had erupted throughout the fortress, blood sprayed the walls, screams echoed out, and he could have sworn he saw some of the defenders making a break for the gate. They were desperately trying to run, to get out while they still could. His lips thinned as he heard someone shouting about the gate, his eyes wandering to where Larik was tearing into one of the enemy soldiers.

Then something happened.

He was not entirely sure what it was or where it came from, but the blackness of the night seemed to fade away slightly, break open as a sundering light was brought forth. For half a second Thren shielded his eyes, and then he realized what was happening, or rather the opportunity that was now before him.

Without a second of hesitation he rushed in as fast as he could, breaking into a spring and throwing his dagger into the man standing nearest the controls of the gate. "SOMEONE HELP!"

Thren called out as Larik bit yet another man, the Barbarian himself rushing to the massive winding chain that held the Portcullis open. He searched for a nick, a small mark, anything.

"I need a hammer!" Something to break this damned thing.

 

[Aire]

A dead body dropped from the sky, landing in a crunch besides Thren. Aire followed suit, landing from the height with a soft bend to his knees. Metal glinted as it was raised over his shoulder, the only warning Thren would get before the elf was bringing his sword across the chain with a frightening force. The bright light casted a stark shadow across his features, twisting his smooth indifference into something wicked.

Chink. Chink. Chink. Chink. The elven sword broke through, the weight of the chains snapping both ends in opposite directions.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

The gate might have been open but the portcullis came down with a rattling crash. It condemned those attackers left inside to certain death while outside the cries of the oncoming cavalry turned to that of alarm. They reined in, easy targets in the glare of the lighthouse for grim archers. They showed little mercy as they drove shaft after shaft at the closest riders, taking the opportunity for payback.

Horses were shot out from under riders, the survivors feathered with shafts as they broke and ran. The majority stayed out of arrow range, sending futile curses and threats at the citadel. Subterfuge had failed just as surely as brute force had. The siege would be longer and more drawn out from now on. Count Beziers would not be made a fool of a third time.

 

[Bigsby Bighat]

Bigsby grumbled incoherently and the iridescent shimmering structure of the Giordan Lighthouse flickered as if someone were playing with the light switch. "There you are," the old man mumbled as if to himself and circled himself with his staff, dragging it's butt across the hard packed earth. With his left hand he drew out a fine red powder from a pouch on his left hip and cast it into the air. The powder dispersed on a rising wind but not before blinding sparks discharged all about the big-hatted magus.

High in the sky lightning danced, illuminating the land brilliantly for an instant. A storm-front of tremendous dark thunderheads was just now rolling over to devour the moon above but not a single drop of rain had yet to fall. With the same hand he had cast the red powder into the air he withdrew a white powder of crushed crystals and cast it upon the earth all around him and then he thrust his staff into the earth at his feet.

"Grounded? Yes? Alright then. What was next? Ah. It goes like..." he spoke low and then let his voice explode. "Fang of heaven, roar of cloud. Flash, disappear, and spark." As if in answer to Bigsby the sky once more alighted with lightning. The sorcerers under Count Beziers had fallen into the carefully laid trap, playing perfectly into a ritual designed to counter magical darkness and identify the source so that it may be traced back. As Bigsby's concentration on the lighthouse faded the ghostly structure started to flicker and dim but the magus only needed it to stand for a moment longer. Now he layered an evocation over the ritual to deal with them.

The ground iron powder he had flung into the air was drawn into long filaments across the ramparts and out into the battlefield. "Trace their magic back to them. Sunder, fire, scorch, and smoke!" Brilliant jagged forks of lightning cast down from the boiling black sky overhead, yanked, pulled, and guided by the tracing magic and then using the sorcerers' own counter-spells as a channel. Forked lightning like jagged white hot threads of liquid fire poured into the enemy camp, peppering and spearing enemy spell casters and leaving their charred corpses behind. The ghostly lighthouse burst into many motes of red light. Many of these continued to hang in the air now that the magical darkness had receded.

 

[Thren]

The sky seemed to scream, seemed to burn, lancing down onto the enemy camping and striking at those within. Thren barely caught glimpse of it, barely saw it through the murder holes built into the castle walls. "What in the fuck was that?"

He swore, Larik barking at him from behind to alert him.

The Barbarian turned on his heel, the dagger in his hand flicking up and stabbing just in time to impale the skull of a man who had been rushing towards him. The Soldier let out a guttural call of pain, and then suddenly tumbled to the side. Dead.

Thren breathed, looking around at those still surviving.

"One of you fuckers must have been praying to the gods." His eyes closed and his chest rose as he tried to calm himself. "Because I have no idea what the hell just happened."

Except for the fact that they were now trapped.