Open Chronicles Sands of Glory

[Scabhair]

A composite bow in the hands of skilled archers was an instrument of speed and precision, drilling arrows into the broad of the animals as they split to bear on their flanks. The frontline horses reared and veered at the sight of the pikes. Men were thrown from their stirrups and crushed to a bony pulp in the ensuing chaos.

When the Steelheart cavalry slammed into the left wing, it only got worse. Scabhair released one last arrow, then shoved the recurve back into her quiver and hefted the axe from her belt instead.

The roar of battle was upon them then. Soon the pike formation was dashed, trampled under the falling horses. Hooves thrashed through the air – blood and sand and dirt flew everywhere, encroaching on vision, smell, taste.

One of the bandits brought his animal over the pile of the dead (and those soon to join them), lance a wreck of red splinters. He chucked it at the orc with an angry grunt. Scabhair batted it away with her wooden shield and broke forward into a loping run. Three, four long strides, and she was next to the trotting horseman.

He’d just about yanked his sword free of a tangled scabbard when the back-spike of her weapon sank into the meaty inside of his thigh. He screamed as all men do, but Scabhair didn’t stop. She passed the agitated beast, yanking the rider out of his saddle with a twist of her hips.

His cries were cut off along with the most of neck as she sliced the axeblade through his throat, straightened back up, and received the full brunt of a spear straight into the breastplate.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath drew a spear, but it seemed pointless compared to the wall of pikes that was protecting the bowmen from the cavalry. Rather than use it on the crowd he raised it up, shoving a crossbowman out of the way. Hath took one long stride and flung it at the advancing cavalry. The spear wobbled along its path to strike one of the bandits just below the sternum. He was skewered and tumbled, dragged along by his horse as they met the formation of pikes.

Battle was met and he was surrounded by the clanging of weapons and screams of the dying. Pikemen were crushed under the falling horses and their formation was stretched and strained.

Scabhair charged forwards with shield and a wicked looking axe. Hath was perfectly content to keep his distance from the cavalry. On the other hand it wouldn't be right to let her show him up like this. Also if the cavalry flanked and made for formation of crossbowmen he was in trouble.

One of the bandits cut down a soldier, spurring his horse on and throwing men to the ground. Hath ran to meet him. He kept his head low and swerved to the side. Jade runes on the head of his axe glowed. That seemed to be about all they did. He hacked at the horse's leg and darted away. He didn't have armour on and wanted to feel neither the bite of an overhand chop or a hoof to the chest. This wasn't the kind of fighting he enjoyed. A one on one challenge properly met was a real contest of skill and strength. At any moment here a stray arrow could find him. If he ended up isolated they wouldn't hesitate to form a group to cut him down. No honour here, organisation over skill.

Hath threw his frustration into a swing that cracked the horse's leg with shear brutality. As the mount fell he grabbed the mewing human by the back of his cloak and dragged him along the ground.

The bandit rolled over and raised his hands but the biting axe swung down and put the fight to an end.

 

[Scabhair]

The din of battle was distant. The clash of metal, the screaming, the drums of terrified horses – it all trickled down to her as if she were sinking into the depths of some dark sea. Spirits knew she was struggling to breathe, although the taste on her heavy tongue was far too metallic to be water.

Shite.

Instinct bade her roll out of the way as a great shadow kicked up above her. A moment later hooves hit the dirt where her head used to be, but she was already moving forward, moving away, moving towards an abandoned lance.

Before the bandit could bring his horse around Scabhair shoved the broken point through the neck of the animal. It reared up in a spray of hot blood, then raced off in its death throes whilst its rider kicked and cried as it dragged him over the wrecked battlefield.

Braced on her thighs, the half-orc watched as the rest of the skirmish played out to its gruesome end. The air returned ragged and slow to her lungs, full of dust and despair. Steelheart soldiers marched weary over the hungry sands, finishing off those foes that still drew breath.

Once she’d regained her bearings, Scabhair stalked over herself, to do the only proper thing to be done after a fight.

Find a new pair of boots.

 

[Joane Steelheart]

Men and horses screamed as they reared and bucked in pain and battle. Joane's lance shattered as it punched through one of the rider's shields, and she let it fall. Her sword rang from the scabbard as they pressed further forwards into the flank of the raiders. The pressure slammed them against the wall of braced pikes.

In what felt like moments, it had ended. The last of the raiders fell and the sergents held for a few moments longer, but then a few squads moved out into the battlefield, slaying the wounded who would never heal, and gathering those who would. Others left the formation and begin to pick through the dead, looting what they could find of value.

"Commander!" Joane cried. "Find their captain. Bring me whatever orders and information they carried." A small band of cavalry hurried to sift through the fallen for the one who carried any sign of rank or wealth.

She wheeled her horse around to get a glimpse of what was happening around them. it had grown quiet and the town guards only then began to appear from the gate, hesitant, but with more boldness as they surged forward to help with the loot.

A quick shake of her head and a detachment of pikemen moved to stand casually between them. Not threatening or aggressive, but casual, and looking the other way.

"No risk, no spoils." Joane called. "Next time, fight your own battle if you want the reward."

 

[Rob Yew]

He came to himself to find the fray over. The bodies of horses and men littered the ground and turned the soil muddy with their vitae. Godfrey grimaced as he lowered his sword arm. It tremored slightly from exertion, his grip and forearm weak, as though he had been swinging a bag of quarried stone for hours rather than a short length of honed steel.

Urahil dismounted and walked over toward a familiar face, the dwarf he spoke to earlier.

"You live," he rumbled, smiling broadly.

The dwarf turned to regard him, eyes going wide. "Carven gods man, were you unhorsed?"

"Eh?" Godfrey looked down at his white tabard to find it no longer white at all. Blood spattered it red and the chainmail of his sword arm looked as though he had dipped it in a trough of crimson.

"Clean your sword, man," grumbled the dwarf, fishing out a cloth and handing it to Godfrey.

"My thanks," Godfrey muttered and ran the cloth along the blade's length before he sheathed it.

"What's your tally then?"

"My tally?"

"How many did you kill."

"Ah. Zounds." Images floated through his head of a helm splitting beneath the force of his blow, hands detached from arms, spinning in the air, and the sensation of metal shearing through cloth and flesh. They came and went like yesternight's dreams.

"I don't rightly recall." Godfrey looked back at his horse. Thunder's white coat ran to red.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath managed to find a few of his own arrows. The dark wood and bright red dyed fletchings made them stand out. He lost two points from those, wedged so firmly in bone that he couldn't retrieve them whole.

The orc had a simple philosophy when it came to looting. If they looked like they would survive he left them to try and do so. Unless they tried to stop him looting in which case they were swiftly despatched. Those clearly suffering with no chance of recovery were given a quick end. Stiletto in the eye or axe to the back of the head.

A full bag of arrowheads, a hatchet and another knife were taken. Hath was of the opinion that one could never have too many knives.

Across the scattered dead he spotted the other orc as well as the commander of this group. He still wasn't sure what was coming for him in the end.

 

[Maridis Va Dori]

Maridis Va Dori walked through the camp, seeing the sites of battle and the twitching of the dying, he wandered around, looking for a survivor and he called out softly, sword drawn.

"Hello? I came here because I heard there was work for mercenaries, anyone alive?"

He continued walking around the camp, looking for survivors and calling out.

"Anyone? Hello?"

He kept walking, sword in front of him, walking slowly keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble.

(Sorry it is so short, didn't really know how to hop in)

 

[Scabhair]

Having procured a pair of new boots (delightfully soft leather) and cleaned her axe (to a polished sheen), Scabhair picked her way back to the camp across the corpse-littered sands. They hadn’t ventured far to face the bandits – if they’d been overwhelmed in the charge, the obvious plan was to retreat behind the palisades.

But now the attackers were dead, the survivors were tired, and the Captain was having words with the cowardly town militia.

Classic.

Scabhair dragged her feet past the token sentries left at the gate.

And stopped.

“Can I help you?” The words came out on a bright Elbion accent that had hardly any business in the vicinity of orcish fangs. Her pale eyes settled on the human wandering through the camp; her hand came to a calm but overt rest on the axe at her hip.

Maridis Va Dori

 

[Maridis Va Dori]

Maridis tilted his head sideways with curiosity. "Is that an Elbion accent I hear?" He said, with the same accent, as he was from Elbion. "And I'm here because I heard that mercenaries were being hired, are you one of the mercenaries or a bandit? Not that there is much difference."

Maridis lowered his sword, letting the tip plant itself into the dirt, as he gripped the hilt tightly with one hand, he shifted his shoulders around in his jacket and his green eyes scanned the vicinity of the orc. "I can't really tell who won, mercenaries and bandits don't exactly wear uniforms."

Scabhair

 

[Bayde Foemarr]

He never really got used to the smell of rotting corpses, although that only meant he could discern the stench of carnage even from a good distance away. He also heard the carnage as he approached the edge of the town but ran too slow to participate in the melee, more interested in keeping his stamina than bursting into a full sprint.

Pushing past the town's militia, Bayde broke past the cordon of shifting feet and scowling faces to observe the results of a poorly executed cavalry charge, judging by the dead horses that littered the battlefield. It wasn't hard to see why either, with the wall of a well formed and disciplined pikemen. He heard their commander call the town's guard out for their cowardice and immediately took several brisk steps forward to separate himself from their ilk.

"I like risks." he called back, thumping his breastplate twice to reaffirm his statement. "Heard ye' have need of good men and I've trekked far for this." The mercenary hefted his hammer up in the air for all to see and thumped his chest again in a show of good spirit and vigor. "Take me in. I can't hold a pike worth a damn but I'll take on any noble's son in armor you send me at. Smith for you too, if you've a forge I can use!"

 

[Scabhair]

Her expression of quiet distrust remained – ever directed to mysterious soldiers appearing just after battle was done – but her axe remained sheathed.

“That’s an interesting attitude to hold if you’re looking to find employment with this company.” Her lips twitched up with a shadow of a smile.

“And most of us are still outside,” she stuck a thumb over her shoulder, to the main gate at her back. “Going through the pickings. You can wait here until the Captain rejoins us – she can see to your enlistment.”

With that the half-orc strode past him, clapping his shoulder with a wink. “And you’ll find these mercenaries wear their own colors just fine.”

Maridis Va Dori

 

[Maridis Va Dori]

"Well, it's not like I came her motivated by my desire to serve loyally, I'm an honest man, I'm here for money." Maridis laughs and winks. "Aye, I'll wait for the Captain, just make sure your guards don't think I'm a bandit, I'd hate to have to kill them."

Maridis lowers himself onto the grass with a grunt, sitting with his legs crossed, his sword resting on his lap and he waits.

Scabhair