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.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

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."