Open Chronicles Shadow and Ash | Battle of the Ashen Glades

[Anárion]

Victory for Sharyrdaes at Salquenor Minassë meant only one thing: war.

Following the dark army's failure to take the bridges to the vast meadows of Sharyrdaes, they'd retreated into the depths of the forest and on into Aeraesar. The Order and their allies had secured the Fortress of Qárele, and as a result the northern road leading out of Aeraesar as well. But they would not stop there.

Aeraesar, though well into the Falwood, had a diverse landscape from thick forests to vast, flat clearings. Just a few kilometers south from Sharyrdaes was a place known once as Sérinqua, now known only as the Ashen Glades. Here the trees grew wide and tall, and they stood far apart from one another, leaving much space in between. It was a stretch of land over a kilometer north to south, and well over three east to west, with the Sharyrdian mountain range and the River Eäron to the east, and denser, much harsher terrain to the west.

Just days after the attack on Sharyrdaes, many Aerai and their allies marched to the south, and soon came to Sérinqua.​

---

Having been there when the war had initially broke out over 130 years ago, the Aerai had come to know their enemy quite well. For six years they had fought them, and in that time they had come to know exactly what to expect - or so they had thought. Whatever monsters it was that they had faced all those years ago, they did not exist now as they had back then. These one's were far more... potent. They were not like the twisted disfigurations of the past, these were bred and honed. The battle of Salquenor Minassë had been a tease... this had been an absolute disaster.

Only moments after they'd started on their way through the glades, just long enough, and they found themselves rained upon with poison spines, arrows, and even catapults. Monsters leapt from the high trees onto their number, tearing and ravaging after unsuspecting silence. They'd been given no choice but to retreat into the denser, shorter treeline. And so the allies drew their line across the glade's northern edge, and the dark army drew theirs along the south.

And this had remained so for weeks now.

To the south and then veering east would take them to Aera Eäron, Aeraesar's once beautiful port city, which they sought to reclaim. But with how entrenched with artillery and magic that their enemy seemed to be, it was unlikely they'd be moving upon the city in any timely manner. Or at least this is how it seemed to Anárion as he dwelt upon their situation, all the while peering out into the misty dark of the glades.

 

[Aabrqu L'aqshy]

The Beastman had never intended to align himself with the cohort of the hidden Elves of the Falwood—the Aeraesarian, as they called themselves. As a former champion of the Breyherd, he possessed knowledge of their existence, albeit held at arm's length, as did most denizens of the Falwood. The Aeraesarian were known for their haughty demeanor, fallen low in the annals of his ancestors' tales, and it seemed they had plummeted even further since. Consequently, interactions between the Breyherd and the Elves were infrequent at best.

Aabrqu's journey toward the storied lands of the Aeraesarian was spurred by a longing for civilization yet tempered by a reluctance to forsake the Falwood entirely. Consequently, he found himself in their service almost by happenstance, driven by a need for purpose to distract him from the weight of his exile. Arriving at their encampment after their harrowing journey beset by skirmishes, he lacked the jaded outlook of his newfound allies; instead, he radiated a sense of fresh confidence.

Stalking through the camp, the towering Beastman's gaze occasionally drifted toward the once-glorious city around which this battle seemed to revolve. He snorted through his nostrils, his hooves striking the ground with purposeful intent, attuned to the rising tension within the encampment, which he instinctively absorbed. With his intense demeanor, imposing stature, and horned visage, he appeared more akin to the monsters the Elfkin battled against than an ally of the fair folk.

Eventually, the Beastman arrived at his destination, standing alongside Anárion, the Aerai commander of this battle host—or so Aabrqu presumed. He sensed the Elf's apprehension regarding the impending conflict. A strategist of grand battle lines and troop maneuvers, Aabrqu knew he was not. Rather, he was a brutal shock trooper—a hammer seeking its nail—and thus offered no strategic advice.

Beside the commander of the Elfkin, Aabrqu felt a sense of duty—a remnant of his past life. He had protected his own leader with unwavering loyalty, and old habits die hard. Whether the Elf desired the presence of the formidable Beastman as a guard or not, he had him nonetheless.

 

[Anárion]

Anárion had remained undisturbed for hours. Poised in his watchfulness, uncertain of not only when, but what to expect. There'd been little more than a rustling in the dark for the past few days, and the reprieve was nothing except unsettling.

Behind him was a small gathering of hushed voices around the quiet sound of a crackling fire. The voices fell silent as footsteps approached, rising again only once they'd passed and come to a halt just near him. He turned his head some, and regarded the Beastman first with an upward nod of his chin, and then turned his eyes back out into the misty dark.

"This is unlike them," he started, "in the past they have only ever been ravenous as starved wolves."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and looked up. The trees here in the glades were among some of the most massive in Aeraesar, and perhaps all of Falwood. And their canopy did not gradually grow as one might expect, their growth was abrupt. While he and the Beastman stood in the midst of great trees in their own right, those in the glades were like mountains in the midst of hills.

"I suspect they'll attempt to bait us out into the glades and surround us."

That was their first gambit, but they were likely a little more prepared this time.

---

Aabrqu L'aqshy ​

 

[Aerdeth]

Aerdeth's choice to enter the war was a risky move. For two centuries, the elf and his band of outcasts had been fighting a futile battle, serving as nothing more than a thorn in Vel Anir's side. If he wanted to achieve his goal, he was going to need outside help in some form and the reignition of this war provided that opportunity, but it wasn't purely political, the reason he fought was for future protection of his people and the Sharyrdian were still elves of the Falwood.

Aerdeth and his band have ventured into the war camp. There were no more than fifty of them, men and women, all elves dressed in a mixture of clothing with padded armour or no armour at all, blues and greens with accents of reds and yellows, greens and brown warpaint and camouflage was painted across their faces. They carried a mixture of weapons, but they all had bows. It was clear this was no formal or conventional warband, which you could figure by looking at their leader, Aerdeth, dressed in similar colours. Though his clothing and armour were mixture clothing styles of both human and elven, he was the only wearing among the group a mail habergeon and red headscarf covered his head and the upper right-hand side of his face, hiding his eyes and the scar that came through to meet his lip.

"Avi, Take the group and find a place to set up camp, near the edge," he spoke to his companions that flanked him. "Aessa, Vaendel, a company me, I need to speak to the commander of this army."

They walked through camp getting to see a good idea of the make of this army, it was mostly elves, but they were occasionally other races, mercenaries, he hated them, loyalty to coin was loyalty to nothing but the highest bidder.

They would eventually reach the position where the commander was. spotting the silver haired elf standing brooding as he looked over towards the enemy posintion with the large beast stood next to him. He would stride forward approaching Anárion from behind.

"Aerdeth of the stagheads, I was told to report here." Aerdeth didn't know if he would know who his group was and what they did, there was a bounty out for his group and his head. both in Vel Anir and the Falwoods.

Anárion Aabrqu L'aqshy

 

[Anárion]

They dwelt in silence for a time, the Beastman and he. Truthfully, when he'd spoken, he'd not expected a reply. It was more a verbal observation than anything else anyway, as they had yet to formulate a real plan to break through this stalemate. They wouldn't be going anywhere, not yet. He expected a few skirmishes here and there along the line, but nothing significant yet.

The silence was broken by another's approach, this time more than one, and Anárion turned to see, and then turned to face them.

"Aerdeth of the stagheads, I was told to report here," their leader said.
​

He bowed his head some, but he kept his eyes upon them as he placed his hand on his chest, saying, "well met, Aerdeth of the Stagheads."

The name of his company did have a place in his memory and that of the Order, but given their preoccupation with the situation in their own nation, the recollection was distant. Whatever ire their company might have incurred had little bearing here.

The Aerai had but one foe in this war, and so long as arms were drawn alongside them, few questions would be asked. For now.

"Make yourselves comfortable," he said, turning his eyes back out into the glades again, "our enemy is deeply entrenched on the other side of the glades, but make no mistake," his eyes cast upward into the high trees, and then back to Aerdeth, "there is danger far closer to us than I would have. Be not too comfortable."

He gestured, not only to the elves but the Beastman as well, to the nearby fire where there had recently come available a few more places to sit, "join me by the fire, and tell me of yourselves."

---

Aabrqu L'aqshy | Aerdeth ​

 

[Phyrra]

Moving fast and staying low, Phyrra made her way through the Ashen Glades in search of prey. Whilst the army licked its wounds and saw to the furtherment of its plans, she hunted; scouts and ambushers and officers were the targets of the day. Foes worth killing. Aithlin's words.

Of course, in the no-man's-land between the two camps, the latter was hard to find.

Drawing up against the dark, moss-covered bough of a wyrmling tree, the Third Blade of Nykios took a moment to catch her breath. Above and to her flanks, her brothers and sisters hunted, too. Having dressed down for the task at hand, they had all taken the extra precaution of covering their hair. Most if not all Aerai were blessed with silver-white hair, and it shone like moonlight even on the darkest of nights.

Reaching up, Phyrra adjusted her padded coif just so. She could not afford to make a mistake. None of them could.

They were not the only ones hunting, after all.

Ahead, thirty feet and closing. The warning came in the same moment Phyrra heard the sound of footsteps. Slowly, quietly, she lowered herself to the ground. The wyrmling's roots were thick and twisted, and provided good concealment for one so... What was it that funny human had called her? Slight?

The Dark Ones approached through the murk like spectres. Softly. But not softly enough.

Easing back into cover behind the bough, Phyrra slid an arrow from her quiver. Barbed, coated in fast-acting toxins, they would do for the four humanoid creatures approaching her position. Elsewhere, above and to her flanks, her brothers and sisters made their own preparations. She did not speak through their bond for fear of discovery. Fortunately, there was no need to.

As one, the Aerai warriors slid from cover to loose their arrows. Four flights, four targets...

No survivors.

Aabrqu L'aqshy Anárion Aerdeth

 

[Rhugarol]

Four flights, four targets...

And four little lights gone out.
​

How sad, she would think, but even in her thoughts there was no honesty in this. Instead a small smile formed across her lips, and from where she knelt with her palm against the black ground she rose. A dark form moved alongside her, and her hand lifted to rest on the head this form bowed to her as it drew near. From it, a clicking, and a gentle rumble came. Rotten stench in its breath. A gentle shudder, the whipping of its tail.

A hiss from somewhere behind as another Gwathui drew close.

Then ground crushed under the heavy footfalls of yet another.

There in the dank mists of the glades she stood for a moment. Her eyes looked on toward the north, and through the fog, though she could not see them, she knew where to find their prey.

Just a thought.

Go.

And all at once, from many places, a piercing and harrowing howl went up into the night, and guttural, hungry roars.

And toward where those four little lights fell... now dozens descended. Gnashing, howling, biting and clawing did these beasts tear across the land, bounding over gnarled roots and through twisted and thorny brambles. And whether it be the ranks of the allied line or those of Phyrra's vanguard, whoever they found would be fallen upon with poison spine and ravenous claws.

 

[Aerdeth]

Hard eyes searched Anárion up and down, Aerdeth had the eyes of a killer, sizing up everyone he met and how he would fight them, an instinct created over many years. He would join the other elf by the fire, though he would remain standing facing towards the glade.

"I didn't come here to discuss myself, I came here to understand the situation," he replied, he wasn't here for idle chatter or tell his life story whilst there was work to be done. Actions were far more important than words, especially in war, "and how to resolve it."

As those words left his lips the piercing howls cut through the night, It was no wolf's howl, it was something far more unatural. His and his companion's hands automatically went to his swords. "Do you have any many men outside the camp? Scouts or observation posts?" Aerdeth asked Anárion, quick and pointedly

 

[Anárion]

As Anárion came to sit there by the fire, he looked up to one of the various others who still lingered there. He was a tall orc, still dressed for battle, with his axe leaned there beside him and his helmet just there as well. They met eyes for a moment. Anárion nodded to him, and he nodded back. He looked around to the others: a couple more of the orcs and some men from Drennantor, and shared similar exchanges with them.

"I didn't come here to discuss myself, I came here to understand the situation...
... and how to resolve it."
​

His eyes looked into the fire, "to best match our enemy, we must know those whom we fight with, would you not agree?"

The Aerai were of course naturally inclined toward unity of action, and though Anárion had asked he did so only rhetorically. He did not expect an answer. More to the point then, Anárion turned his eyes from the fire and looked to his kindred cousin.

"In truth it is quite simple. The enemy is deeply entrenched along the southern edge of the glades you see before you, about a kilometer south. We have three options-"

Before he could continue, a shrill cry broke the silence in the distance.

He drew in a breath, knowing all too well what such sounds were heralds of. He stood, looking to the others around the fire. They needed to telepathy to read what was clear in his eyes, and they too rose from their places, taking up their weapons.

He walked alongside Aerdeth and said, "there are scouts in the glade, and it sounds some of them may have attracted some attention. Be ready," then he took up his initial place with a vantage out into the glades. He drew his sword.

And though it would take some time to reach those who were distant from him, he sent out a single thought, a single order to Phyrra and his other brethren: return.