Fable - Ask On Toward the Burning Dawn

[Vesic]

The Drow cut into their foe with all the voracity expected of their kind.

Had their foe bared blood, the ground would have been colored a deep crimson. None of them lingered upon a foe for too long, striking once, twice, and then darting to the next. Each engaged in tandem, hunting like a pack of wolves. Never drawing in on a single foe, but always dancing from one to the next.

The Gargoyles that remained pressed against the wall quickly found their frustrations in fighting back. Their slow forms too lumbering to push their usual advantage of strength.

Yet those felled did not matter.

Shouts from the wall above marked warnings of what as coming from behind. The rolling wave of the enemy that had been cut through quickly pressing, and then folding around the Drow. Though they had staggered their foe and prevented one collapse, another was yet to come again. "ALARA!"

Vesic called to his second.

"Be-" Before he could speak the last of his words, the ghostly pikes of Kristen Pirian sprung forth from the earth. Corpses falling to the earth seconds as the metal faded back into the earth.

The Drow's eyes briefly flickered up upon the wall, drawing over those there only to see one of the Avariel flee. Bloodied wing flickering crimson within the waning light. "Up the wall!"

He shouted to his men, the ever growing tide of their enemy pushed back for just a few seconds by the humans magic. Vesic knew that they would not survive if they stayed below, their numbers not enough, and their role never one of soldiers on the front line.

The Vanguard had been blunted, and quickly the Drow moved. With an agility born in the dark and torn tunnels of the Darklands, Vesic and his men darted to the wall. Blades piercing through mortar, and digging between stones as they quickly climbed up the wall and over the parapets.

Coming, one by one, to stand next to Oriane.

 

[Erën]

And so, the first wave of the attack had come and gone, and what stragglers remained of the vanguard retreated back into the mass of the oncoming primary force - save for one final skirmish on the far flank, where the Paladin and his Ranger companion still struggled through the monsters.

Upon the wall, Erën presided over the battle from his place just alongside the great gatehouse of Sharyrdaes. He was joined there now by not only Oriane and her Avariel comrades, but now Vesic and the ranks of his Drow. Kristen had departed from him, and was just there on the other end of the wall. No doubt she planned to hurry back and rejoin with he and the others, all save for Vordrakel, who Erën now perceived had encountered a troubling assailant as he traversed down through the gatehouse's side-tower...

---

"You are wounded," Erën declared, drawing near to Oriane as she landed upon the wall, "you must see this-"

Erën's worry was cut short but the sound of a great crash. Just there, behind the wall, one of the great flaming projectiles had finally found purchase - the great wards up above finally fallen. It slammed into one of the many tall structures nearby, and unleashed an arcane pulse that decimated the structure and sent rubble and flaming debris falling into the streets below. Aerai and ally alike scrambled to find safety, but more than a few fell victim to the attack.

Erën's eye shot outward, and yet he was still unable to cast his gaze through the mist no matter how hard he willed. Those siege engines, or whatever they were, had just become far more deadly. And worse yet, if they did not act quickly, the remaining allies out in the field would be left stranded and no doubt slain.

His eyes grew luminous as he channeled his thought into the thoughts of his brethren, conveying the urgency and the need to act. With the main force of the army still a ways out, now was the only time to consolidate their heroes and hold out for as long as they could.

He looked to those gathered round, saying, "we must send out riders to gather them up, I will travel below and hold the gate. Remain here and provide cover," a look to the Avariel, "gather your strength," and then he looked to Vesic, "that ram... we must either slay the giants or break its chains, or our gates will fall. When it comes near, can you... deal with it?"

---

The gates of Sharyrdaes, once again, thrummed an audible pulse. And one, not both of the great stones, slowly slid aside. Vailë, heading the calvary, readied herself. She was somewhat deterred by the struggle she now perceived Vordrakel to be embroiled in, but there were several of their Aerai brethren who also perceived this struggle, and darted into the gatehouse to help him.

Still, they could linger no longer.

With the way made open, she urged her steed forward, and with over two dozen horse riders following after her they charged out into the dead meadow, racing out and cutting down and through the number of monsters that assailed Nathaniel and Elias. On their first pass, two horses slowed to a halt near them as the rest of the calvary charged on, veering around and beginning their return pass.

They had only a short time to return until the gate was once again closed.

 

[Vordrakel Deaz'renith]

The expected ring of clashing steel was missing as Vordrakel's weapon collided with the solid shadow. Instead what met his ears was a loud hissing noise, like wind-blown sand over a dune. He moved to counter, only to find empty air. His enemy had melted back into the floor like spilled ink. The sword glowed softly in his hand, only enough to make a circle of light around him. He stared warily at his elongated shadow against the wall. An explosion outside caught his attention for a moment as every brick in the tower shuddered. The magical defenses were failing.

Vord had also missed his meeting with the cavalry at the gate. He felt the pummeling hooves of their charge in the back of his mind, almost in sync with the heightened beating of his own heart. Though he regretted that he couldn't help them, now he was forced to turn his thoughts to surviving this unseen assailant.

The Shadow-That-Waits. A relic of the past I barely survived, and had hoped was long buried. The voice whispering in Vord's mind was that of his ancestor Ranvara, steeped in woe and warning. An entity that stalks the boundaries between shadow and light. It is ill luck indeed if Arkhivom has enlisted its talents.

If it's the shadow it thrives in, perhaps we should drown it in light, Vordrakel thought and began to will his inner fire into the blade. He felt the ancestors in the weapon push back until he stopped.

You must not! You may think yourself safer in the brightest light, but it will prove you wrong. You must keep the balance between the shadow and the light.

It was then that Aerai reinforcements arrived from the plaza below. Vord sent them a warning through the Shorai, along with what little he had learned about this new nemesis. He moved with slow caution down the stairs towards the group.

As they came together, they did not need the Shorai to share the same thought: Why had it stopped its attack?

Do not doubt that it will return when it sees an opportunity. It is deadly in its patience, Ranvara whispered before fading back into the line of ancestors that slept in Vord's family blade.

Seizing the moment, Vord escaped through the bottom level door with his allies, wondering when and where the Shadow-That-Waits would strike again, or if he would even be its target.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Kristen Pirian Oriane Vesic Sir Nathaniel

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Their enemy driven before them, the Drow departed from the ground before the walls, scaling up and over the battlements, and joining the forces of the Aerai upon the ramparts.

Yet they were not the only friendly forces who had been fighting before the walls of Sharyrdaes. Now to Kristen's eye came a brilliant light, there out on that embattled ground, emanating from the sword wielded by one of two men. And though Kristen had not any fair measure of senses for earthly magic, palpable to her heart and soul was the holy power of the blade held in the hand of Sir Nathaniel the Paladin. She knew not his name, nor with certainty to which of the Six he was pledged, but the truth of the matter to her transcended the means of mortal reckoning: he was one of Astra's Children. A warrior of Celestialism.

Too far to provide help as she had with the Drow, Kristen dropped to her knees, and spoke a quick prayer for both Nathaniel and his friend Elias: "Blessed Aionus, Holy Sentinel, Guardian of Time, your servant calls to you, for her brother is imperiled. Here on this dark day your servant asks only for the means to do your will. May my brother-warrior be the sword to my shield."

And she ended her prayer and stood.

Bidden by a strange feeling, she looked to the side, into the city of Sharyrdaes, and saw the Watcher perched upon one of the rooftops of the mystical elven buildings, peering at her from afar with its singular eye. Much like Vordrakel and his encounter with the Shadow-That-Waits, Kristen, so it would seem, had garnered the malice of her own nemesis. The Watcher did not linger, for Aerai fighters in the city were giving pursuit. But the Watcher despite its hulking mass could contort and slim its body by means grotesque and unnatural, and so proved elusive for a creature its size. It fled before the Aerai fighters landing with mighty leaps upon the rooftop and disappeared out of view.

"Foul creature," Kristen said with disdain.

Then she began to hurry back toward the gatehouse, where now Erën and Vesic and the wounded Oriane resided.

For what had transpired thus far was merely the prologue of the battle, and much terror marched toward Sharyrdaes, even as Kristen ran.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Vordrakel Deaz'renith Vesic Sir Nathaniel Oriane

 

[Oriane]

"You are wounded," Erën declared, drawing near to Oriane as she landed upon the wall, "you must see this-"

Oriane did not know who held her steady as she attempted to remain standing, but the Avariel spoke a sunshine of curses as her wings flexed. She looked to see Erën, his mouth moving with words half heard. Her gaze narrowed as she did her best to listen, but only turned back to see the Drow being addressed to deal with it.

"Thank you, for your assistance." The irritation she felt as her wing could not extend fully laced her with anxiety, but Oriane's amber gaze looked out.

The order was to hold ground here, and Oriane hoped the recuperation would do her wound well... but to be left with such a dangerous wound did not sit lightly with her. Without her full use of her wings, she would not be one of the fastest Avariels, nor would be serve her purpose as the Harbinger.

"Someone find me a medic."

 

[Vesic]

Vesic's gaze flickered out from along the wall, frowning slightly at the siege engine drawing near.

In the Darklands, he had fought in his fair share of sieges though they often took a different form. Many cities in his home did not have the tall walls of those above. Instead they were holed up in tunnels, each protected by great gates with dozens of traps and secret passages that could be used for counter-attacking.

A pitched battle like this was even more rare. More often than not the battles of the Darklands were small and self-contained. A simple fact of the space available. "It will be done."

The Drow said in simple answer.

A grin spread across the lips of every Dark Elf upon the wall. Their fingers flexing around their weapons, their blood splattered clothes seeming to shimmer slightly as stances shifted ever so slightly. "We will fall upon them when the ram reaches the gate."

Vesic told Erën.

"Breaking the ram by the gate will clog up the space. It will seal us inside, but keep them from bringing up another." There was little doubt the enemy would try to drag the monstrosity of siege engine away, but when they tried it would be naught but death. "Kaya."

He motioned to one of the Drow. The woman standing nearly taller than Vesic himself, her clothes little more than ribbons of black and red, two daggers hanging on her hips, and dozens of scars laying upon her flesh. "If you would allow, she can heal your wing."

The Drow told Oriana.

"Though it will not be pleasant." Drow healing never was.

 

[Erën]

Erën nodded. He was confident that with the skills of all those gathered, the Drow would be given ample support while they assailed the dark battery. And still, there was some time yet before it arrived, more than time enough for Erën to depart from them there on the wall, and descend through the nearby tower. By now, Vordrakel's struggle had subdued, and he was now down below in the street. Erën was soon to join him, rushing past with a hand on the shoulder and a brief ease in his eyes, and then a gestured urging him to follow toward the still open gate.

As he approached, a monster leapt through the opening. Before it could even usher out is dreadful cry, it was promptly struck down with a burst of bright lightning hurled from a nearby Aerai. As second monster leapt through the opening, this one was cut down with similar haste by Erën's own blade. Several other soldiers had gathered behind him and followed close, and they spilled out of the open gate to waylay any further incursions.

From here as opposed to the height of the wall, the line of monsters in the distance seemed far more menacing, and with it passing moment in drew unnervingly near. From it the odd monster leapt forth with lusting vigor, foregoing rank and file and launching themselves at their enemy.

They were shot down with arrows or magic, or slain by those who held the way for the returning horsemen.

---

Vailë urged her steed forward, veering it around and leading the calvary on through into the return pass. Their quarry had been gathered, now comfortably up upon their own horses, and they joined with their number as they rode toward the gate.

The tide was drawing near, and if they relented even a little then the gates would have no choice but to shut them out. So even as monsters lunged through the air to assail them, they were either struck down in their attempt or - unfortunately - successful in dragging down one of the rescuing horsemen.

 

[Arkhivom]

Arkhivom was somewhat frustrated that the allied forces proved so shrewd, but in the same breath he was impressed. The Avariel were, to him, one of the more frustrating combatants on the field. Quelling them and their ability of flight was a high priority of his, and his initial fixation on them would have to be set aside. The allies knew the weight they carried, and as such, seemed to issue it with care.

But they'd fled not without bruise.

Nevertheless, not a one had fallen, and worse yet, the allies had capitalized on his tactical retreat. Riders had been sent out to gather up some other fighters for their cause.

Late to the party, as it were.

Arkhivom allowed some of his minions to harass them, and in fact instructed others to harass the gate. This momentary lull could not go on in stillness, and he could not allow the Aerai and their friends to take a moment of reprieve.

Behind him, in the thick of the mists, gargantuan flesh-crafted monstrosities crawled their way forward, or this way or that, positioning themselves to hurl their projectiles overhead - the magical melding of stone and burning flesh. They were strange looking creatures, wide and long, with legs that reached out far from their bodies. But they hugged the ground closely, their bellies almost rubbing against it, and even setting down on it quite easily when remaining still, and their legs were always more or less parallel to the ground beneath them, stretching out into a wide footprint while another appendage, resembling a catapult's arm, was used to send unleash the onslaught.

The ram continued forward, pushed with relentless fury by the giant monsters, each roaring out and groaning through the effort.

And so too, Arkhivom advanced. He would stay near the ram, perceiving a danger to it, one he could not afford...

 

[Vordrakel Deaz'renith]

Vordrakel returned Erën's gesture with a quick nod and followed him through the gate. Taking position at the First Sword's left flank, he scanned the battlefield for a visual of the cavalry. He sensed their coming, but it was reassuring to see the heaving chests of the horses galloping towards them. A detachment of enemy forces had broken away from the main mass and was harassing Vailë and the other riders heavily, as well as those guarding the open gate. Erën, Vordrakel and the other soldiers with them demonstrated with lethal force how united the Aerai remained. They would buy whatever time Vailë and her group needed to return to the protection of the city walls. With Oriane, and possibly other Avariel, among the wounded, they sorely needed the morale boost of their troops outside the gate returning safely.

He briefly wondered if the creature he'd encountered in the tower would attack them here, while they were outside of the city. It seemed to him that it was a creature more fit for assassination than open combat, but that thought gave him little comfort, for the scene before them was no less daunting or bleak.

In the shadows not far beyond the corpses littering the meadow, he could make out the forms of Arkhivom's army stomping and slithering about, and behind them the enormous silhouettes of other aberrations creeping across the ground. Every now and again something would shoot up from one of them, sending another projectile towards Sharyrdaes's walls.

And among it all, Ark's war engine and its entourage kept pushing forward, its advance heralded by the guttural cries of the unnatural beasts tethered to it. Vord truly hoped the drows' mission to disable it at the gate once they were all inside would prove fruitful. It was a sound plan, and what little he had witnessed of their ferocity and precision in battle made him believe it had a good chance of success.

Erën Kristen Pirian Oriane Vesic Sir Nathaniel

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Vailë riding hard to return with the paladin Nathaniel and the ranger Elias; Erën and Vordrakel holding the passage of the gates below; Oriane primed to endure the painful aid of the Drow healer—these were the happenings about the battle as Kristen entered the gatehouse.

Payloads from Arkhivom's catapultrosities rained down on the walls, on the buildings of the city close to them, and with many a fell crash did destruction have its triumphant moment and debris go showering to the ground. Kristen had to steady herself, as one such impact nearby shook the gatehouse as though the earth itself had sundered.

And to think that the main assault was not even yet begun!

She spared a moment to glance to Oriane, the Avariel, as one of the number of Drow prepared to tend to her. Something like guilt passed over Kristen in the sight, for again she was reminded of her desire, her utmost desire, to be granted healing magic by Aionus; yet Aionus, perhaps in the way a father withholds the object of a child's desire from them, saw fit to bless her—at present—with the domains of Conjurations and Curses only. Even if this did change in time, still she could not help the injured Avariel, nor any other defender of Sharyrdaes in this way.

But she did possess her own way to help, did she not?

And so Kristen went to one of the windows of the gatehouse, a slit through which archers could fire with maximum cover to their advantage. She looked out, toward the gargantuan battering ram and the Giants which pulled and pushed it. Could she, mayhap, slow them down?

Kristen eyed the Giants; the more debilitating the Curse, the more taxing it would be to her, and the more likely the Giants might resist. When shaping a Curse, then, it was best to find a middle ground, unless necessity demanded some extraordinary gamble. Here, if she could afflict them with something, surely that would be better than failing, and thus afflicting them with nothing at all.

And so she concentrated, closing her eyes. She stretched out her artificial hand as pale and frightful energies began to swirl about it. Cursing multiple foes at once was also a gamble, for she had yet to master this, but the situation warranted the risk.

Kristen's eyes slowly opened, and she spoke the Curse upon the Giants: "Slow and meek, tired and draining, limbs falter, as your strength you find waning..."

Her Curse, whether to full effect or else, descended upon the Giants like a heavy cloud, enveloping them in the dark pall of malicious intent.

Erën Vordrakel Deaz'renith Oriane Vesic Sir Nathaniel

 

[Oriane]

"Kaya."

He motioned to one of the Drow. The woman standing nearly taller than Vesic himself, her clothes little more than ribbons of black and red, two daggers hanging on her hips, and dozens of scars laying upon her flesh. "If you would allow, she can heal your wing."

Oriane looked up at the Drow, her teeth gritting tight to fight off the pain she felt. Too close, it was too close to entirely cutting off the full use of her wing. "I will allow it."

"Though it will not be pleasant."

The Avariel looked around, seeing her half of the Thirteen under her command. "Stay with the wall." She reaffirmed their order from Eren. "I will be fine with the Drows."

In her eyes, a promise to return to them.

She turned to Vesic, then to Kaya. The only leather she had on her was the scabbard to a short dagger gifted to her by an Aerai admirer. Taking the blade out, unbuckling the scabbard, Oriane then bit down it to prepare herself for the worst to come. Amber eyes flicked up to Kaya, and the Spear nodded to her. Ready.