Completed The Battle of Ninagal
- Thread starter Gerra
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- amol-kalit ragash
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He wasn't surprised by what she said. He'd read that many of these Shah's trained and employed women as Assassins and personal guards. Even typically going as far as training very beautiful women, as to distract the typically male opponent, or lure them into thinking they did not know how to fight. He'd heard Vel Anir had also employed similar strategies. But, in any case, he was right; she was no soldier. At least, she wasn't making it clear.
A message to Aqra the Scorpion.
He was a famed killer across the land; part human, part scorpion, a fierce and brutal warrior in battle, and a heartless and pitiless leader in war. Along with the Shah's sheer numbers, he was sure they'd win any battle Gerra put up against them. Then again, Gerra wasn't stupid.
He'd have something up his sleeve. But what...
Then, almost from out of nowhere, Alistair appeared, still in his Yellow robes, far more stylish and practical than Sparhawk, who'd brough his simple dark blue robes. He was panting like Sparhawk, the sun clearly getting to both of them. As he looked at Djana, he stammered, and took a second to take in her beauty.
Nice...
A cheeky grin was written on Sparhawk's face.
"Easy to set on fire... hmm..." That was a curious observation indeed. Sparhawk stroked his beard as he thought about it.
Surely Gerra knows how outnumbered he is. He'd lose even if the army were as unskilled in weaponised combat as Sparhawk. If he knew about the encampment, surely he'd be aware that it's flammable. But very few Pyromancers alive could take on a feat like that.
Something for Sparhawk to think on.
The slave who put Sparhawk's horse away approached him.
"Mister uh, SpaHawk suhr, I can show you boths to yorr' room." He said, with broken Arethillian.
"Oh, fantastic, if you'll please excuse us. I hope we meet again." He gave a slight bow, and then followed the slave, who gave a slight tug on Sparhawk's robe to follow him.
"Hey, Alistair, once we're done here, i'll take you to a fantastic bar not far north of here. My Master took me there when I was about your age. Great drinks." He winked. Through the last month, he felt he'd got to know Alistair a little bit better. Of course, now he was a Professor, he could not take on a single pupil as an apprentice. But if he could, it'd probably be Alistair; his protégé.
They eventually made it to an elevated tent, on a small wooden structure. The slave pointed towards it, then quickly scurried off, like it had forgotten his place. It made Sparhawk cringe, to think he could've been in that same position if it weren't for his old Master, Jerik. What a terrible world we live in. He thought to himself.
As they entered, they found themselves in a very well furnished tent, complete with two small beds, along with bed-side cabinets, a space to put their clothes, and a large, central table, most likely for if they had more heavy equipment, or had to lay out a map for the rest of their trip. He put down his heavy bag onto his bed, unloading it as he talked to Alistair;
"I know you're curious to why I have a relation to Gerra. The College told me that I could not tell a soul for as long as I taught there. If everything goes well, I'll tell you everything." He shot Alistair a smile.
"I recommend we go to bed. We should be fresh for the early morning then. Hopefully the battle won't take place for a few days." He said, a hopeful tone to his voice. Gerra was not one to delay, but surely not this soon. As he readied himself for bed, he kept on his light shirt, despite the heat, not wanting to show the litter of red and black scars that painted Sparhawk's body.
He laid his staff down by his bed, and slumped his body into the warm, yet aerated cloths of the bed. He slowly closed his eyes, thinking of home, and thinking of the mead he'd have at that bar they'd visit.
That reminds me, how is Gerra even planning to win this battle?
He'd have to have something really special up his sleeve to combat the numbers, with well-trained soldiers like the Shah's.
Along with the thatched, flammable roofs, it would take more than fire-tipped arrows to take down the entire city.
To light up an area that wide, you'd need something tantamount to a Dragon for Christ's sake.
A Dragon.
A Dragon.
A DRAGON?!
"A DRAGON?!" Sparhawk shot up, shouting to himself. Alistair sat beside him in his own bed, startled by Sparhawk's scream. It was very late into the night, the tent pitch-black, and the area silent, except for the beating of the wind on the tent, and the sound of the sand soaring through the air-waves.
"Alistair! Gerra, he has a-" He was interrupted by a terrifying sound. The sound of trumpets from far, far away, echoing across the skies. Along with this, came the clanging of metal from a shorter distance away, with shouting and angry noises. A battle ensuing. Now? Oh, of course now.
"Alistair, grab your things, now! We have to leave!"
"We're doomed to die if we stay."
A message to Aqra the Scorpion.
He was a famed killer across the land; part human, part scorpion, a fierce and brutal warrior in battle, and a heartless and pitiless leader in war. Along with the Shah's sheer numbers, he was sure they'd win any battle Gerra put up against them. Then again, Gerra wasn't stupid.
He'd have something up his sleeve. But what...
Then, almost from out of nowhere, Alistair appeared, still in his Yellow robes, far more stylish and practical than Sparhawk, who'd brough his simple dark blue robes. He was panting like Sparhawk, the sun clearly getting to both of them. As he looked at Djana, he stammered, and took a second to take in her beauty.
Nice...
A cheeky grin was written on Sparhawk's face.
"Easy to set on fire... hmm..." That was a curious observation indeed. Sparhawk stroked his beard as he thought about it.
Surely Gerra knows how outnumbered he is. He'd lose even if the army were as unskilled in weaponised combat as Sparhawk. If he knew about the encampment, surely he'd be aware that it's flammable. But very few Pyromancers alive could take on a feat like that.
Something for Sparhawk to think on.
The slave who put Sparhawk's horse away approached him.
"Mister uh, SpaHawk suhr, I can show you boths to yorr' room." He said, with broken Arethillian.
"Oh, fantastic, if you'll please excuse us. I hope we meet again." He gave a slight bow, and then followed the slave, who gave a slight tug on Sparhawk's robe to follow him.
"Hey, Alistair, once we're done here, i'll take you to a fantastic bar not far north of here. My Master took me there when I was about your age. Great drinks." He winked. Through the last month, he felt he'd got to know Alistair a little bit better. Of course, now he was a Professor, he could not take on a single pupil as an apprentice. But if he could, it'd probably be Alistair; his protégé.
They eventually made it to an elevated tent, on a small wooden structure. The slave pointed towards it, then quickly scurried off, like it had forgotten his place. It made Sparhawk cringe, to think he could've been in that same position if it weren't for his old Master, Jerik. What a terrible world we live in. He thought to himself.
As they entered, they found themselves in a very well furnished tent, complete with two small beds, along with bed-side cabinets, a space to put their clothes, and a large, central table, most likely for if they had more heavy equipment, or had to lay out a map for the rest of their trip. He put down his heavy bag onto his bed, unloading it as he talked to Alistair;
"I know you're curious to why I have a relation to Gerra. The College told me that I could not tell a soul for as long as I taught there. If everything goes well, I'll tell you everything." He shot Alistair a smile.
"I recommend we go to bed. We should be fresh for the early morning then. Hopefully the battle won't take place for a few days." He said, a hopeful tone to his voice. Gerra was not one to delay, but surely not this soon. As he readied himself for bed, he kept on his light shirt, despite the heat, not wanting to show the litter of red and black scars that painted Sparhawk's body.
He laid his staff down by his bed, and slumped his body into the warm, yet aerated cloths of the bed. He slowly closed his eyes, thinking of home, and thinking of the mead he'd have at that bar they'd visit.
That reminds me, how is Gerra even planning to win this battle?
He'd have to have something really special up his sleeve to combat the numbers, with well-trained soldiers like the Shah's.
Along with the thatched, flammable roofs, it would take more than fire-tipped arrows to take down the entire city.
To light up an area that wide, you'd need something tantamount to a Dragon for Christ's sake.
A Dragon.
A Dragon.
A DRAGON?!
"A DRAGON?!" Sparhawk shot up, shouting to himself. Alistair sat beside him in his own bed, startled by Sparhawk's scream. It was very late into the night, the tent pitch-black, and the area silent, except for the beating of the wind on the tent, and the sound of the sand soaring through the air-waves.
"Alistair! Gerra, he has a-" He was interrupted by a terrifying sound. The sound of trumpets from far, far away, echoing across the skies. Along with this, came the clanging of metal from a shorter distance away, with shouting and angry noises. A battle ensuing. Now? Oh, of course now.
"Alistair, grab your things, now! We have to leave!"
"We're doomed to die if we stay."
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As the slave offered to take Alistair and Maho to their room, Alistair suppressed the anger he felt towards the man's plight. He was not used to being in a part of the world where slavery was still practiced and had to swallow his tolerance of Amol-Kalit's ways. Brow creased, he waved slightly to Djana, but not without blushing and walked beside Maho as the slave took them to their rooms.
As they walked, Maho offered to take him to a bar just north of the camp, to which the young mage smiled. He had never been out to a bar, at least not with his friends at the college and thought he might like to if Maho was willing to take him.
"I'd like that, Professor," he nodded bashfully.
Hands clasped in front of him, Alistair walked behind the slave, who lead Maho and himself to a tent built on a small wooden structure. Ducking, Alistair held back the opening and walked inside. He sat on his bed and started to unpack his things, while Maho continued to talk to him. He liked Sparhawk, he was definitely his favourite teacher, and he felt that he could confide in him in a way that he couldn't with his other teachers. He also taught him types of magic which were useful when out and about, not just theory.
Unpacking his spellbooks, Alistair lay them on a pile on the table and undid his belt, sash and put them aside. He then took off the outer layers of his robes and folded them up, wearing the light layer underneath. There were a few decorated fans, one of which he picked up and used to cool himself with. He lay on his bed, went over his studies and fanned himself while listening to Maho speak.
The older sorcerer mentioned that the details regarding his relationship with Gerra was a secret, one which the college had ordered him not to reveal to anybody. Eyes shifting, Alistair creased his brow and beheld Maho apprehensively.
Saying nothing, Alistair nodded.
"I'll tell you everything," the words weighed on his mind. Should everything go well, Maho would reveal the truth about his relations to Gerra, be they good or bad.
Alistair had been quiet for most of the trip, as opposed to his usual bright and happy self. There was something lingering beneath the surface of their mission that he wasn't aware of, but it must have been to do with Maho and Gerra. Sitting up, he undid the ties of the under layers of his robes and dressed down to his smock, then took off his boots and hose.
"Yes, Master, I hope you sleep well tonight," Alistair said, brow creased in concern. As the sun sunk behind the sand dunes, he lay down, pulled the covers over and closed his eyes.
Around midnight, Alistair was wrenched from his sleep by Maho's screams. At first, Alistair had thought he had another nightmare and groaned, pulling himself up. He sat up in bed and listened to the wind outside, eyes darting as Maho explained what was happening. A dragon? Here? Were they being attacked? His suspicions were confirmed when a trumpet sounded far over the dunes. Gerra had sounded the horns of war.
"I thought they weren't going to attack for days?!" Alistair cried, leaping to his feet.
Quickly, he washed his face, refreshed and dressed, then started to pack his things. As he was midway through packing up his books, he turned to face Maho, who appeared more frightened than Alistair, "Professor, if Gerra is attacking now, shouldn't we stay and aid in the fight? I'll need to heal the soldiers," he asked, an eyebrow raised.
As they walked, Maho offered to take him to a bar just north of the camp, to which the young mage smiled. He had never been out to a bar, at least not with his friends at the college and thought he might like to if Maho was willing to take him.
"I'd like that, Professor," he nodded bashfully.
Hands clasped in front of him, Alistair walked behind the slave, who lead Maho and himself to a tent built on a small wooden structure. Ducking, Alistair held back the opening and walked inside. He sat on his bed and started to unpack his things, while Maho continued to talk to him. He liked Sparhawk, he was definitely his favourite teacher, and he felt that he could confide in him in a way that he couldn't with his other teachers. He also taught him types of magic which were useful when out and about, not just theory.
Unpacking his spellbooks, Alistair lay them on a pile on the table and undid his belt, sash and put them aside. He then took off the outer layers of his robes and folded them up, wearing the light layer underneath. There were a few decorated fans, one of which he picked up and used to cool himself with. He lay on his bed, went over his studies and fanned himself while listening to Maho speak.
The older sorcerer mentioned that the details regarding his relationship with Gerra was a secret, one which the college had ordered him not to reveal to anybody. Eyes shifting, Alistair creased his brow and beheld Maho apprehensively.
Saying nothing, Alistair nodded.
"I'll tell you everything," the words weighed on his mind. Should everything go well, Maho would reveal the truth about his relations to Gerra, be they good or bad.
Alistair had been quiet for most of the trip, as opposed to his usual bright and happy self. There was something lingering beneath the surface of their mission that he wasn't aware of, but it must have been to do with Maho and Gerra. Sitting up, he undid the ties of the under layers of his robes and dressed down to his smock, then took off his boots and hose.
"Yes, Master, I hope you sleep well tonight," Alistair said, brow creased in concern. As the sun sunk behind the sand dunes, he lay down, pulled the covers over and closed his eyes.
Around midnight, Alistair was wrenched from his sleep by Maho's screams. At first, Alistair had thought he had another nightmare and groaned, pulling himself up. He sat up in bed and listened to the wind outside, eyes darting as Maho explained what was happening. A dragon? Here? Were they being attacked? His suspicions were confirmed when a trumpet sounded far over the dunes. Gerra had sounded the horns of war.
"I thought they weren't going to attack for days?!" Alistair cried, leaping to his feet.
Quickly, he washed his face, refreshed and dressed, then started to pack his things. As he was midway through packing up his books, he turned to face Maho, who appeared more frightened than Alistair, "Professor, if Gerra is attacking now, shouldn't we stay and aid in the fight? I'll need to heal the soldiers," he asked, an eyebrow raised.
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"Hey you!"
Willis overheard a raspy, haggard voice yelling at a soldier. It was a typical occurrence in a military camp. Some very bored, drunk soldier who drank too much of the alcohol they hid from their superiors tends to muster up fools courage and think they can take on anyone. The young mercenary paid no mind to it focusing on his cold ale that lay before him. The froth began to bubble and pour out from the edge of the metal jug. Willis' mouth salivated his eyes gazing at the beverage it felt as though Willis had found buried treasure or a portal stone. Spending hours in the scorching heat will make anyone thirsty.
Willis sighed adjusting himself on the metal stool, Is your name Robert son of Robert?!" The drunk man continued to shout at the poor soul who was cowering in front of him. Willis sighed, it wasn't a situation that involved him besides he had an alcoholic beverage to drink and a invitation to attend later. The solider Willis was playing dice with craned his head towards the drunk patron, his eyes filling with worry. "Adam has been pissing his britches since yesterday." He said taking the dice and placing It inside the wooden cup. "The lad has never tasted battle before."
Willis frowned. "I miss the part where I should care," he grumbled. "His ass should be focused on the battlefield, when you have exhausted, angry people and inject them with copious amounts of alcohol then no shit it can turn to chaos. Aren't soldiers supposed to maintain discipline? At the very least get drunk and angry when engaging with the enemy."
The young man joined a sellsword band with called the Surging Swordsman. It was lead by Willis' old friend or rather acquaintance Jerry Abramov. Nicknamed: The Soldier of Fortune, Jerry was noted for his size, skill and incredible luck. There were stories where he and his mercenaries were sole survivors of ambushes or there was an instance where he was part of the Vanguard attacking a group of Dark Elves at Spine. The Elves unleashed a volley of arrows destroying the Vanguard but Jerry remained unschathed and killed the Elven archers or that's what he claimed.
Willis and Jerry did team up together on occasion whenever a noble or city demanded mercenaries for war. Jerry embraced it though Willis wasn't particularly fond of large scale battles as strange as it sounds. He's seen some fucked up shit but it paled in comparison to war and Willis had witnessed perfectly good and upstanding soldiers turned into raging monsters that he fought as a Monster Hunter. Willis once saw a soldier he diced with the night before repeatedly a dead Elf woman during a bloody battle in the rain.
Jerry scoffed at Willis' hesitance stating that fighting in war it's no different from killing monsters. He was right about in war everyone is a monster. Perhaps the organization should shift their priorities. "So you gonna shut and dice?" Willis asked seeing the man roll and land a snake eyes. "Aye," he responded. "I just hate all the waiting it makes me nervous."
"I know what you mean," Willis said examining his next move.
Trahaearn had moved into the tent city, he and his small band making camp near to the edge of the gathering. It had always been his opinion for flexibility to remain outside the main gathering of armies in case of surprise attack. The pair of tents went up and the other men began cooking. The limited supplies now replaced by charity from the main encampment that they had allied with.
Trahaearn had sketched the area in a journal, making note of any landmarks around them and taking in the sights and sounds of the area while doing his best to ignore the inquiries of the soldiers already here. Drunken babbling about someone being Roberts son drew his attention away from his sketch as he spied a men that seemed sorely out of place compared to the rest of the army.
He approached cautiously, his men keeping an eye on their interim leader. The scorpion balista sat checked and prepared, waiting for its time of purpose to appear.
"Passing the time with dice? Checked your gear already I guess then." Trahaearn ask the man quietly.
Trahaearn had sketched the area in a journal, making note of any landmarks around them and taking in the sights and sounds of the area while doing his best to ignore the inquiries of the soldiers already here. Drunken babbling about someone being Roberts son drew his attention away from his sketch as he spied a men that seemed sorely out of place compared to the rest of the army.
He approached cautiously, his men keeping an eye on their interim leader. The scorpion balista sat checked and prepared, waiting for its time of purpose to appear.
"Passing the time with dice? Checked your gear already I guess then." Trahaearn ask the man quietly.
Aqra The Scorpion's Army
Her conversation with the Professor of Elbion had not gone as far as she would have liked, the obstruction of a student and the limits of time having cut her time short. It was a shame.
The Great Lord had only one or two holds within the College, and another would have been a boon. Still, she had accomplished her mission with the Scorpion. This was a attested to by the fact that she now stood within the abominations command tent.
Most would have felt discomfort at the...man's presence, but for Djana he was simply another monster.
There were a dozen like him and worse on two legs, so what difference did it make that he skittered around on six?
For Djana men were men, it hardly mattered if they were half insect. The Great Lord would take all into his service, and she worked only at the behest of his call. Emerald eyes glittered over the different generals in the command tent.
Reports of attack had already begun. Most were centered around the Shah, but Aqra's own troops had already seen harassment. "My lord."
She bowed deeply to the Scorpion, his eyes folding on hers.
"I appeal to you. Keep your forces back. Hold and allow the Shah to take the brunt of this Dragon's fire." She kept her eyes down. "Let his men burn and only fall upon the enemy when they attack his weakened forces."
For a moment there was silence.
She considered a lattice, touching the Scorpion King's mind, but after a moment a guttural voice rang out within the tent.
"Very Well..."
It made her skin crawl, but Aqra agreed. He would not act like the others, but instead keep his forces back and strike at Gerra when the time was ripe.
Good.
Her conversation with the Professor of Elbion had not gone as far as she would have liked, the obstruction of a student and the limits of time having cut her time short. It was a shame.
The Great Lord had only one or two holds within the College, and another would have been a boon. Still, she had accomplished her mission with the Scorpion. This was a attested to by the fact that she now stood within the abominations command tent.
Most would have felt discomfort at the...man's presence, but for Djana he was simply another monster.
There were a dozen like him and worse on two legs, so what difference did it make that he skittered around on six?
For Djana men were men, it hardly mattered if they were half insect. The Great Lord would take all into his service, and she worked only at the behest of his call. Emerald eyes glittered over the different generals in the command tent.
Reports of attack had already begun. Most were centered around the Shah, but Aqra's own troops had already seen harassment. "My lord."
She bowed deeply to the Scorpion, his eyes folding on hers.
"I appeal to you. Keep your forces back. Hold and allow the Shah to take the brunt of this Dragon's fire." She kept her eyes down. "Let his men burn and only fall upon the enemy when they attack his weakened forces."
For a moment there was silence.
She considered a lattice, touching the Scorpion King's mind, but after a moment a guttural voice rang out within the tent.
"Very Well..."
It made her skin crawl, but Aqra agreed. He would not act like the others, but instead keep his forces back and strike at Gerra when the time was ripe.
Good.
The call was made, and Telenar knew the battle was already going to start. It was no matter, they could start the spell now, and it's effects were likely to be even more effective here in the dark, where the true chaos was about to be unleashed.
Telenar knew of this place, he had studied it while on his journey back to Lord Gerra. The land itself was special in a way, but hidden, unless you knew what to look for. After his transformation, he could see things, his mind had peeled away the veil, and he could not even begin to describe what it was his eyes could behold. For this instance, he could see the twisting, undulating shapes that filled this space, Haunting it's every nook and cranny.
"How is it you could be so mighty, Lord Gerra, but not even comprehend that which resides in the great beyond? Maybe in time you'll see, or maybe in time..." He turned away the thought, it would not do to have his concentration interrupted by such petty things such as ambition. For now there were more important things to put his attention on, such as tapping into the ancient magics that had seeped into the ground for countless years.
So many lives lost, so many flames snuffed out forever, all in the name of furthering the agendas of men and women who would never know the turmoil of the people they happily sent to their dooms. All this energy was ripe for the taking, and so he took it, his left hand drawing small circles in the sand, five in all, then plunging his fingers into them. Cold sand greeted his scarred flesh, turning warm as he began to siphon the energy of all the lost souls in this venerated battleground. Did they realize this, or has the trappings of mundane life preoccupied them from ever truly understanding? Perhaps, and for their ignorance, they will know the cruel taste of death.
In his enlightened state, he began to see the lines form, an intricate web of power being cast by the others. Hidden from sight by magic, the Shadow Hands drew power from the place, and the spell started to take shape. The temperature began to drop, and his breath frosted, but still he whispered the ancient words, confident the enemy would never notice what was coming for them as the dragon started to scorch the earth before it.
Telenar knew of this place, he had studied it while on his journey back to Lord Gerra. The land itself was special in a way, but hidden, unless you knew what to look for. After his transformation, he could see things, his mind had peeled away the veil, and he could not even begin to describe what it was his eyes could behold. For this instance, he could see the twisting, undulating shapes that filled this space, Haunting it's every nook and cranny.
"How is it you could be so mighty, Lord Gerra, but not even comprehend that which resides in the great beyond? Maybe in time you'll see, or maybe in time..." He turned away the thought, it would not do to have his concentration interrupted by such petty things such as ambition. For now there were more important things to put his attention on, such as tapping into the ancient magics that had seeped into the ground for countless years.
So many lives lost, so many flames snuffed out forever, all in the name of furthering the agendas of men and women who would never know the turmoil of the people they happily sent to their dooms. All this energy was ripe for the taking, and so he took it, his left hand drawing small circles in the sand, five in all, then plunging his fingers into them. Cold sand greeted his scarred flesh, turning warm as he began to siphon the energy of all the lost souls in this venerated battleground. Did they realize this, or has the trappings of mundane life preoccupied them from ever truly understanding? Perhaps, and for their ignorance, they will know the cruel taste of death.
In his enlightened state, he began to see the lines form, an intricate web of power being cast by the others. Hidden from sight by magic, the Shadow Hands drew power from the place, and the spell started to take shape. The temperature began to drop, and his breath frosted, but still he whispered the ancient words, confident the enemy would never notice what was coming for them as the dragon started to scorch the earth before it.
Before the signal to attack
_______
Uvogin retired to his tent as the night went on, with no signs of any event of significance unfolding. He stripped himself of his armor and padded tunic and laid on a small cot that he barely fit in. His eyes shut, and his consciousness left him._______
His rest was momentary. It felt as if the moment his eyes closed and his thoughts ceased, his cot violently shook. The mercenary sharply rose, the rasp of a dagger slicing through the silence in the tent as it was drawn. What stood above the mercenary and past the tip of his dagger was a heavy-set, blue-skinned Orc.
He did not say a word and lowered the dainty weapon.
"Gather yourself," Grozkalla ordered and looked down on the unmasked mercenary. Uvogin could not detect what emotions or thoughts rested behind those small eyes. The Third Talon swiftly turned and exited the tent.
Uvogin ran his free hand down the top of his shaved head, over his forehead, and down his face. As the palm of his hand brushed over his lips, he lightly slapped his cheek. The sudden shock of pain stimulated his senses and brought him out of the daze that he had awoken to. To the side of his cot was a wooden armor stand.
Presently
_______
_______
Uvogin stood among many other Bronze Claw mercenaries. The Order split up among the Talons, with each Talon taking their own small company of mercenaries. In front of Uvogin stood Grozkalla.
In his left hand was a simple, self-made bow. It would be discarded immediately once his arrows were spent, or sooner if the situation demanded. He watched the Third Talon's large back, even as the horns sounded.
He was not prepared for the firey hellscape soon to be witnessed by all participants of the battlefield.
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And so it begins...
Tag: Way too many people, I ain't listing them all, dragon don't got time for that
The quiet before the storm.Tag: Way too many people, I ain't listing them all, dragon don't got time for that
Rashid wasn't the greatest of warriors -- a young man from one of the outlying villages. Strong, but inexperienced. Then again, it wasn't like there was too much to firing a bow. Knock, draw, raise, release, repeat. The beastmen were certainly better with their bows; stronger, more accurate. Rashid was simply an archer, one among the many cadres of the Shah's men. This would be his first real battle. With all the reinforcements from the other cities, though, he wouldn't be surprised if the enemy turned and ran. He'd never seen a force like this in all his life.
So, it was a surprise when he heard the trumpets in the distance. Not soon after, signals went off in the Shah's camp -- the battle was starting now. Rashid wasn't ready for combat. Honestly, he'd been getting ready for bed. But if the lieutenant caught him in his nightgown, he'd be screwed, so the young man quickly began to dress himself and don his armor.
He was quick enough, and soon he was running with the other archers of his group. Part of him wondered why they were bothering to fight them in the field, anyways. Wouldn't it be better to defend from the walls of the city? Didn't much matter what he thought, though. He wasn't the one giving the orders.
The Shah's horn sounded again as Rashid got into position with his cadre. The archers stood at the ready, even as the Ngoya lions, rhinoceros riders, sorcerers and soldiers of all stripes prepared themselves in front of him. Surely he would not be needed in this battle.
Even so, the sound of the Abtati riders howling on their way towards the city sent shivers down his spine. In the middle of the night, it was so difficult to see.
I wish there was a little bit of light.
Rashid regretted the thought as soon as he'd thought it.
There was a moment before the lieutenant began giving orders, that short moment of silence after the horns and trumpets and signals had stopped, when Rashid had believed that this all might end without fire and blood.
Let's start with the fire.
There was no roar, no warning, just a pitch-black creature barreling through the sky. Out of the corner of his eye, Rashid saw the beast, saw the glint of its teeth as it opened its mouth...
And hell itself poured out of its maw.
Purple flames crashed into the men below, illuminating the behemoth further. The titanic dragon soared above, bathing the Shah's forces in fire. The flames were unnatural, the deep purple pushing back all those nearby. Rashid was nowhere near the screaming fire, but he was knocked into the dirt simply from the force of the dragon's breath.
He didn't know what happened next, really. He blacked out for a moment. Or maybe it was a minute. Or an hour. When he rolled over and looked back up again, he saw the same thing. A creature of the night, of nightmares, screaming through the night sky, basking the battle in a purple glow. The flames raged, the screams rang out.
Poor Rashid could only imagine what the dragon was feeling right now.
It was a most satisfying type of joy.
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The attack was to commence soon. Dawn would approach.
And Traecon was already at the forefronts. Directing squads of cavalry to the sides, he simply pointed out weakspots and chinks in the defenses. His own blade would be drawn at first light, while the man himself oberved the chaos from a hidden dune. Squads of light cavalry were behind him, a fraction of the hordes still at their base camp. The rest would be used when the main battle commenced.
When fire rained from dragon's maw and machine, only then would Dreamsbane be drawn, and Traecon himself take to the field at his full strength.
"Skirt around the edges of the camps, and pick off the stragglers running away from the dragon." He directed. "Your purpose is harassment, not outright offense. Leave the main attack to the Bronze Claws."
The squads were divided in six, five riders with a leader each. Sent out in threes, he sent them around to the sides of the city to pick off any stragglers running away from the enemy base, away from the dragon breathing hellfire.
Let Gerra handle the main event. He would make sure the giant had his show... uninterrupted.
With a wave of his bound arm, the next three groups rode into the chaos, their steps all but silent before the cries and screams in flame. He glanced at the remaining groups. Mayhaps he brought too much. "Return to the camp with your comrades." He ordered.
He let a glint of silver from his bounds escape, for further emphasis. And as the remaining scouts retreated to the main formation, Traecon slipped out his own dagger, his face a mask of cold stone.
"A red sun shall rise this day." He murmured, observing the madness still, eying the area for any targets of priority.
And Traecon was already at the forefronts. Directing squads of cavalry to the sides, he simply pointed out weakspots and chinks in the defenses. His own blade would be drawn at first light, while the man himself oberved the chaos from a hidden dune. Squads of light cavalry were behind him, a fraction of the hordes still at their base camp. The rest would be used when the main battle commenced.
When fire rained from dragon's maw and machine, only then would Dreamsbane be drawn, and Traecon himself take to the field at his full strength.
"Skirt around the edges of the camps, and pick off the stragglers running away from the dragon." He directed. "Your purpose is harassment, not outright offense. Leave the main attack to the Bronze Claws."
The squads were divided in six, five riders with a leader each. Sent out in threes, he sent them around to the sides of the city to pick off any stragglers running away from the enemy base, away from the dragon breathing hellfire.
Let Gerra handle the main event. He would make sure the giant had his show... uninterrupted.
With a wave of his bound arm, the next three groups rode into the chaos, their steps all but silent before the cries and screams in flame. He glanced at the remaining groups. Mayhaps he brought too much. "Return to the camp with your comrades." He ordered.
He let a glint of silver from his bounds escape, for further emphasis. And as the remaining scouts retreated to the main formation, Traecon slipped out his own dagger, his face a mask of cold stone.
"A red sun shall rise this day." He murmured, observing the madness still, eying the area for any targets of priority.
- Messages
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What is it now? Willis sighed craning his head seeing who was speaking to him. He didn't like being disturbed when dicing. There was one in Alliria time a man got too close to Willis during an intense game of dice, the man was being loose with his tongue so Willis nearly lopped it off of him. For a brief time, Willis was known as The Silencer, a hollow name considering he lost a lot of coin that day at least it didn't last. The young man examined the person talking to him. He was a tall around Willis' height and his stark black armor did little to hide the fact that he had broad shoulders.
He also had pale skin, blue eyes and a closely shaved red head. The roaring sounds of Trebuchets were heard from he distance. Boulders flying high in the air and hitting their intended target. "So who might you be friend?" Willis asked. "As you can see we are in the middle of a game?"
He also had pale skin, blue eyes and a closely shaved red head. The roaring sounds of Trebuchets were heard from he distance. Boulders flying high in the air and hitting their intended target. "So who might you be friend?" Willis asked. "As you can see we are in the middle of a game?"
Trahaearn had no sooner spoken the words when horns began to sound. Ranks began to form quickly in the Shah's camp as he guessed that the enemy had begun their attack. Wathing the chaos, he barely noticed the men move around him as his gaze was thrown skyward. He spotted the great beast as it opened it's mouth and belched fire onto the field below.
"Apologies for disturbing your game. Perhaps we shall speak after all of this." He spoke quickly, eyes never leaving the dragon that had presented itself. He broke away and without ordering them, his own men had ripped the tarp from the cart and assembled the balista.
He moved with practiced ease, reaching beneath the cart to a blunt log and loaded the weapon.
"Remember, get its attention. Scatter and keep me in sight if possible. We have one shot most likely. Do not attempt to kill it or I will kill you regardless of your success." Trahaearn spoke to his group, the balista whipping around and waited for the dragon to swoop low once more. They all nodded before setting about their task as they grabbed supplies for their plan along with their weapons.
Trahaearn broke away, keeping the modified hay hook and rope on his hip from catching in the moving crowds. On the other hip was his sword breaking dagger and axe having stolen a proper look at the enemy that was likely to be upon them shortly.
He had broken away when he heard the harsh thump of the balista firing. The blunt log made a whistling sound as it traveled, channels having been carved into the thing before the battle to make as much noise as it could.
The smile that crossed his face as it flew was almost maniacal. His men cleared the cart and broke off into five pairs. One in each pair carrying a hefty length of rope with a weight they could throw readily once.
The shot would smack the dragon in the neck, the one that fired the shot now catching up to Trahaearn and completing the fifth pairing as he cleared his hands and watched the dragon to make sure it would move as he predicted.
"Apologies for disturbing your game. Perhaps we shall speak after all of this." He spoke quickly, eyes never leaving the dragon that had presented itself. He broke away and without ordering them, his own men had ripped the tarp from the cart and assembled the balista.
He moved with practiced ease, reaching beneath the cart to a blunt log and loaded the weapon.
"Remember, get its attention. Scatter and keep me in sight if possible. We have one shot most likely. Do not attempt to kill it or I will kill you regardless of your success." Trahaearn spoke to his group, the balista whipping around and waited for the dragon to swoop low once more. They all nodded before setting about their task as they grabbed supplies for their plan along with their weapons.
Trahaearn broke away, keeping the modified hay hook and rope on his hip from catching in the moving crowds. On the other hip was his sword breaking dagger and axe having stolen a proper look at the enemy that was likely to be upon them shortly.
He had broken away when he heard the harsh thump of the balista firing. The blunt log made a whistling sound as it traveled, channels having been carved into the thing before the battle to make as much noise as it could.
The smile that crossed his face as it flew was almost maniacal. His men cleared the cart and broke off into five pairs. One in each pair carrying a hefty length of rope with a weight they could throw readily once.
The shot would smack the dragon in the neck, the one that fired the shot now catching up to Trahaearn and completing the fifth pairing as he cleared his hands and watched the dragon to make sure it would move as he predicted.
- Messages
- 398
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He was far too late.
It was only now, in this sheer moment of terror, that Sparhawk realised what those Dwarves felt at Belgrath; Alistair's words reached nothing, as Maho's eyes were focused on the Violet flames that Scorched the Sky. He wished he hadn't looked towards the direction of the army, as the sounds of battle were replaced with the sound of screams, and then those screams rang silent, replaced by fear. A black cremator with wings, relentless in it's assault.
"Professor?"
He couldn't move.
He could barely think.
All the screams he'd hoped had left his mind returned in one, terrifying barrage. He could feel the blood, once again, dripping from his hands, as he saw soldier-after-soldier run back towards the main camp. He could feel his sins burdening him. He could feel the pain. And what could stand against such power? Nothing.
He'd seen the Dragons before. Their hide like the hardest iron, their flame burning hotter than the core of the sun, and their claws ripping through flesh like water. In the entire age of Chronicles, no army had ever taken a Dragon down.
We're going to die...
Alistair is going to die if we stay here.
Sparhawk grabbed Alistair by the shoulders, as Sparhawk's eyes pierced his, riddled with fear.
"Alistair! Listen to me! If we stay here, WE. WILL. DIE. If we make it to the Stables now, we may still find a horse..." He half-shouted, panic in his voice. His priority was keeping Alistair alive. He couldn't let another boy die on his watch. Not another.
He madly packed his bags, slumping his robes over his shoulder, and picking up his staff.
Not again... not again...
- Messages
- 359
- Character Biography
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Perhaps it was sometimes beneficial to be deemed a zealot, tents wedged into the outskirts where one were the first to face attack. This time it paid off instead.
The Swallow could try as he might, he could not sleep when he knew what enemy they were against. Certainly, there would be some foil in the night. And indeed it was, as expected.
It first began with a large black mass darkening the starry night above.
As the dragon fires illuminated the bulk of the city of tents and chaos raged within, some places remained composed still.
The discipline of the Sayyiduna's forces began to shine at such a time.
At the first sight of attack, he, along many roused their men who donned their armour and saddled their horses. It was some time before the whole chaos of the situation became clear to the entire army. By that time all men were accounted for and many cataphracti stood in unison.
Zakariyya rode towards the fires to meet with the ruling bodies, leaving behind at the organising troop Yelhix'w on his russet horse whom stroked his mustacke lightly. He was probably cursing over Nariman under his breath.
The Swallow could try as he might, he could not sleep when he knew what enemy they were against. Certainly, there would be some foil in the night. And indeed it was, as expected.
It first began with a large black mass darkening the starry night above.
As the dragon fires illuminated the bulk of the city of tents and chaos raged within, some places remained composed still.
The discipline of the Sayyiduna's forces began to shine at such a time.
At the first sight of attack, he, along many roused their men who donned their armour and saddled their horses. It was some time before the whole chaos of the situation became clear to the entire army. By that time all men were accounted for and many cataphracti stood in unison.
Zakariyya rode towards the fires to meet with the ruling bodies, leaving behind at the organising troop Yelhix'w on his russet horse whom stroked his mustacke lightly. He was probably cursing over Nariman under his breath.
- Messages
- 48
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T'suris sat with the other leaders of the Komodi mercenary camp around one of the few remaining burning camp fires. The rest had been put out at nightfall, and the other Komodi had gone to rest. No messenger had come from the great Shah, no instructions, no battle plans, and the leaders were annoyed.
"How are we to co-ordinate our efforts if they will not include us in their battle plans?" A blue Komodi demanded, the unspoken And how will we get paid our due? ringing silently around the smouldering fire.
T'suris crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to make the argument that they had dealt with worst in the past, but with the size of the approaching army, and the lack of communication and co-ordination, it wasn't true. He sighed.
"We hang back," he replied instead, "Let the Shah's and the other mercenary bands take the brunt of the initial attack. When the enemy grows tired and weary with battle-" he gestured with this head towards the opposing armies lines, "-then we atta-"
But he never got to finish.
All five of the Komodi leaders turned towards the sound of the horns. An orange Komodo cursed under her breath.
T'suris stood, gaze flickering over both armies.
"He does not even wait until morning?" The orange Komodo tisked, stepping up beside T'suris.
"It would seem not-" T'suris began, only to be int interrupted yet again.
"The enemy has a dragon," drawled a purple Komodo, stepping up to T'suris's other side.
"Of course he does," T'suris drawled in reply. There was stirring in the camp behind him as the Komodi woke from the sound of the horn. "Stick to the plan. We wait until the enemy tires, then we strike, hitting the weakest edges of the enemy first. We will not dishonour Grandfather by throwing our lives away to his fire. Let the rest of the camp know." The purple and orange Komodi nodded to him and dispersed into the camp.
"One of our scouts has returned," the blue Komodi leader from earlier panted, spraying sand in his rush to reach T'suris, "There is a party - gasp - a human group - gasp - that intends to take down Grandfather."
"What?" T'suris demanded.
"One of our scouts - gasp - overheard them."
T'suris looked to the last Komodi leader - a strong, lean green Komodi.
"Will you go with me to take down these humans who would dare to threaten our great Sire, even though our Sire aligns with the enemy?" The green Komodo nodded, dark eyes flashing fiercely. T'suris looked to the blue Komodo. "Which way did they go?" The blue Komodo took them back to the scout who gave them all the information he had. T'suris looked to the green Komodo. She nodded once.
Bracing on all fours, they rushed through the sands towards the human party that dared to attack a great dragon.
((Trahaearn ))
"How are we to co-ordinate our efforts if they will not include us in their battle plans?" A blue Komodi demanded, the unspoken And how will we get paid our due? ringing silently around the smouldering fire.
T'suris crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to make the argument that they had dealt with worst in the past, but with the size of the approaching army, and the lack of communication and co-ordination, it wasn't true. He sighed.
"We hang back," he replied instead, "Let the Shah's and the other mercenary bands take the brunt of the initial attack. When the enemy grows tired and weary with battle-" he gestured with this head towards the opposing armies lines, "-then we atta-"
But he never got to finish.
All five of the Komodi leaders turned towards the sound of the horns. An orange Komodo cursed under her breath.
T'suris stood, gaze flickering over both armies.
"He does not even wait until morning?" The orange Komodo tisked, stepping up beside T'suris.
"It would seem not-" T'suris began, only to be int interrupted yet again.
"The enemy has a dragon," drawled a purple Komodo, stepping up to T'suris's other side.
"Of course he does," T'suris drawled in reply. There was stirring in the camp behind him as the Komodi woke from the sound of the horn. "Stick to the plan. We wait until the enemy tires, then we strike, hitting the weakest edges of the enemy first. We will not dishonour Grandfather by throwing our lives away to his fire. Let the rest of the camp know." The purple and orange Komodi nodded to him and dispersed into the camp.
"One of our scouts has returned," the blue Komodi leader from earlier panted, spraying sand in his rush to reach T'suris, "There is a party - gasp - a human group - gasp - that intends to take down Grandfather."
"What?" T'suris demanded.
"One of our scouts - gasp - overheard them."
T'suris looked to the last Komodi leader - a strong, lean green Komodi.
"Will you go with me to take down these humans who would dare to threaten our great Sire, even though our Sire aligns with the enemy?" The green Komodo nodded, dark eyes flashing fiercely. T'suris looked to the blue Komodo. "Which way did they go?" The blue Komodo took them back to the scout who gave them all the information he had. T'suris looked to the green Komodo. She nodded once.
Bracing on all fours, they rushed through the sands towards the human party that dared to attack a great dragon.
((Trahaearn ))
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- Messages
- 1,036
- Character Biography
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Just then roar was heard sending the soldiers in a panic. Willis immediately sat up drawing his rapier, a sudden chill ran down the young man's spine. "Was that?" Willis said to himself as he saw the red headed man immediately run off to the Balistae mounted around the camp.
Willis looked up at the sky and saw purple flames unleashing to the ground. The silhouette revealed little, but Willis could see easily that thing was a Dragon. "Fuck!" he yelled heading towards cover. Dragons.... Willis first heard of them as a child living in the Allirian docks. He overheard Bards speak of their majestic power, how a single Dragon can raze a Kingdom to the ground. Blazar the Dread, Slyvanis the Trickster Dragon their stories were told countless times throughout Arethril
As a child Willis always dreamt of seeing a Dragon, to him they were beautiful but at the same time dangerous. At the very least he wanted to brag to a tavern that he came face to face with a Dragon. It was likely the reason why he chose to becom a Monster Hunter not just to explore more but to possibly find a Dragon. Sadly, Dragons were rare now and days with Grandmasters claiming that they are a danger to die out.
"Well if there's one thing about Dragons," Willis said dodging soldiers and following the red headed man. "It's that if they're going to die out at least they're doing it in fucking style."
Men and women cried out in terror as the Dragon continued to press on the attack. One soldier running past yelled that a Prophecy Writer had foretold this event to her. "THAT THE SINS OF HUMANITY WILL BE LAID BARE AND WILL BE DOUSED WITH THE FLAME OF THE DRAGON!" She cried out tripping over a piece of rock and landing on her head knocking her out.
"Prophecy is a tricky thing sweetheart," Willis muttered to her as he reached to the red headed. "HEY!" Willis shouted. "What's the plan on taking him out?! I'm a Monster Hunter! I've been trained for shit like this."
Willis has faced powerful monsters, but none of them got the adrenaline flowing like this Dragon. It was times like this Willis lived for. He felt alive.
Trahaearn
Willis looked up at the sky and saw purple flames unleashing to the ground. The silhouette revealed little, but Willis could see easily that thing was a Dragon. "Fuck!" he yelled heading towards cover. Dragons.... Willis first heard of them as a child living in the Allirian docks. He overheard Bards speak of their majestic power, how a single Dragon can raze a Kingdom to the ground. Blazar the Dread, Slyvanis the Trickster Dragon their stories were told countless times throughout Arethril
As a child Willis always dreamt of seeing a Dragon, to him they were beautiful but at the same time dangerous. At the very least he wanted to brag to a tavern that he came face to face with a Dragon. It was likely the reason why he chose to becom a Monster Hunter not just to explore more but to possibly find a Dragon. Sadly, Dragons were rare now and days with Grandmasters claiming that they are a danger to die out.
"Well if there's one thing about Dragons," Willis said dodging soldiers and following the red headed man. "It's that if they're going to die out at least they're doing it in fucking style."
Men and women cried out in terror as the Dragon continued to press on the attack. One soldier running past yelled that a Prophecy Writer had foretold this event to her. "THAT THE SINS OF HUMANITY WILL BE LAID BARE AND WILL BE DOUSED WITH THE FLAME OF THE DRAGON!" She cried out tripping over a piece of rock and landing on her head knocking her out.
"Prophecy is a tricky thing sweetheart," Willis muttered to her as he reached to the red headed. "HEY!" Willis shouted. "What's the plan on taking him out?! I'm a Monster Hunter! I've been trained for shit like this."
Willis has faced powerful monsters, but none of them got the adrenaline flowing like this Dragon. It was times like this Willis lived for. He felt alive.
Trahaearn
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Wood and taut sinew groaned as dozens of mangonels loosed jars of burning naptha. They arced high before falling down upon the Shah’s camp, like flaming tears in the night. Gerra watched their distant impact as small red-orange explosions lit up the enemy lines, whilst purple dragonfire poured from the dragon’s maw to sweep away those in its path with incinerating heat. Even at this distance, he could hear the screams and cries of alarm, and the panicked trumpeting of the elephants, huge shapes moving in the light of the fires that now burned throughout the Shah’s camp.
The Djinn strode forward, chain mail rattling, a hammer bouncing from his belt, and stepped into an enormous chariot pulled by four well muscled war horses of jet black. They snorted and stamped as he stepped into the carriage and the wheels sank low with the weight of him. A basket stood in one corner, holding a number of javelins. Gerra took one up, then glanced at his charioteer.
“Mitu, was it?”
A human and by the way he looked at Gerra, he feared him.
“Yes, great Sultan.”
Another salvo of burning naphtha arced over them, hurtling through the night.
“They say you won the Whip of Kings in the seven laps of the Dead Gates.”
“I did.” Pride in his tone. Good.
“Show me.”
Mitu’s eyes came alive with a passion. A spirit that yearned for the race, just as the horses stamped and strained against their harnesses.
Turning, Gerra raised up the javelin over his head and the charioteers of Annuakat all about them gave up a shout.
“MARYA OF ANNUAKAT,” he roared, “SHOW ME NOW YOUR FAMED STEEDS OF GOLD! SHOW ME YOUR CHARIOTS FLASHING LIKE SUNS! SHOW ME HOW WE WILL THRESH THE ENEMY LIKE WHEAT BENEATH YOUR SCYTHES! SHOW ME!”
Their roars shook the sky even as another barrage of naptha jars hurtled forth.
As one, the charioteers snapped their whips above the heads of the horses and with snorting and neighs, the chariots lurched forward, wheels churning the flat plain of the Jamal flat beneath them, the long scythes that jutted from the spokes humming as they spun, eager for blood.
Behind the chariots, the infantry charged: powerful Sereti ogres in lamellar armor wielding immense two-handed swords; mercenaries from as far as Cerak; conscripts from Annuakat, armed only with wicker shields and spears besides their cotton shirts; and Naftalite Grenadiers from the Kemist Corps. Their hate for one another momentarily put aside as they united to put down a common foe. For who did not despise the Thakathi sorcerers for their excess of wealth, or Tel-Madu for its cruelty, or Ragash for its long rivalry with Annuakat?
The chariot rumbled beneath Gerra and he hefted his javelin as the wheels ate up the distance between his own lines and the glowing inferno of the Shah’s camp. By the light of the fires, he could see the shapes of infantry amassing, preparing to advance against him, and beyond them more immense forms in the darkness. The smell of smoke grew thick and acrid in his nostrils. The wind tore at him and he held the front of the chariot to steady himself. Again and again Mitu snapped the whip over the heads of the horses, urging them faster and faster. He heard the angry hum of hissing past him in the darkness and the scream of injured horses and crashing chariots.
The shadowy figures of the enemy infantry grew and grew, backlit by the fires, until he could almost make out their features. Then his chariot crashed into their half-formed line and there was carnage such as he had never seen. The horses struck men and threw them aside, or knocked them down, crushing them beneath their hooves and dragging them beneath the chariot. The scythes upon the spokes, spinning rapidly, sent up geysers of blood as they sliced through leather, skin, and bone with ease, separating legs from bodies, shattering shins, or ripping open torsos. A hand flew off and landed in the bed of the chariot. Gerra grimaced and hurled his javelin into the mass of bodies, skewering a spearman through the chest. He hefted another javelin from the basket, sweeping around them for another target. He saw the lines of the infantry bend, then break, as the infantry of Ragash fled before the chariots and it became a charnel house as chariots mowed fleeing men and women down.
Suddenly, there came strident trumpeting. The ground shuddered. Gerra felt his blood run cold as massive shapes loomed from the burning tents, charging out into the darkness of the plain.
Elephants.
The creatures met the chariot charge head on. Gerra’s eyes widened in shock as an elephant careened into the chariot to his right and with a sweep of its tusks skewered a golden steed at the lead. It lifted the whinnying horse high, dragging with it the other three and the chariot into the air, then slammed them back into the earth. Enormous feet stomped upon the stunned horses, flattening them into the ground. The sound of ribcages breaking sounded like the crack of lightning. The elephant trumpeted into the night in triumph.
Then Gerra’s chariot was past, Mitu jerking on the reins, turning them to side as more of the great behemoths lurched forth. Gerra hurled his javelin at one of the creatures and struck it in the side, but the elephant only gave forth an angry blast of air through its long trunk.
“The legs,” Mitu cried above the noise of trumpeting elephants, screaming horses, and dying men. “Aim for the legs!”
The chariot lurched as the wheels ran over corpses. Sudden forks of crimson criss-crossed the night as magical energy came forth and struck the charging infantry of Annuakat, ripping away lives in an instant as their very life force was sucked away.
“Thakathi,” Gerra muttered. Where were the Lector-Priests?
All around Gerra was chaos as elephants collided into infantry, chariots wheeled around and around, arrows hissed out of the night like deadly rain, and fire and smoke rose in columns. Even the tunnels of Belgrath had not been filled with such horror on such a scale as men died by the hundreds in mere minutes, while a silent terror glided overhead, incinerating entire blocks of troops in an instant.
The Djinn strode forward, chain mail rattling, a hammer bouncing from his belt, and stepped into an enormous chariot pulled by four well muscled war horses of jet black. They snorted and stamped as he stepped into the carriage and the wheels sank low with the weight of him. A basket stood in one corner, holding a number of javelins. Gerra took one up, then glanced at his charioteer.
“Mitu, was it?”
A human and by the way he looked at Gerra, he feared him.
“Yes, great Sultan.”
Another salvo of burning naphtha arced over them, hurtling through the night.
“They say you won the Whip of Kings in the seven laps of the Dead Gates.”
“I did.” Pride in his tone. Good.
“Show me.”
Mitu’s eyes came alive with a passion. A spirit that yearned for the race, just as the horses stamped and strained against their harnesses.
Turning, Gerra raised up the javelin over his head and the charioteers of Annuakat all about them gave up a shout.
“MARYA OF ANNUAKAT,” he roared, “SHOW ME NOW YOUR FAMED STEEDS OF GOLD! SHOW ME YOUR CHARIOTS FLASHING LIKE SUNS! SHOW ME HOW WE WILL THRESH THE ENEMY LIKE WHEAT BENEATH YOUR SCYTHES! SHOW ME!”
Their roars shook the sky even as another barrage of naptha jars hurtled forth.
As one, the charioteers snapped their whips above the heads of the horses and with snorting and neighs, the chariots lurched forward, wheels churning the flat plain of the Jamal flat beneath them, the long scythes that jutted from the spokes humming as they spun, eager for blood.
Behind the chariots, the infantry charged: powerful Sereti ogres in lamellar armor wielding immense two-handed swords; mercenaries from as far as Cerak; conscripts from Annuakat, armed only with wicker shields and spears besides their cotton shirts; and Naftalite Grenadiers from the Kemist Corps. Their hate for one another momentarily put aside as they united to put down a common foe. For who did not despise the Thakathi sorcerers for their excess of wealth, or Tel-Madu for its cruelty, or Ragash for its long rivalry with Annuakat?
The chariot rumbled beneath Gerra and he hefted his javelin as the wheels ate up the distance between his own lines and the glowing inferno of the Shah’s camp. By the light of the fires, he could see the shapes of infantry amassing, preparing to advance against him, and beyond them more immense forms in the darkness. The smell of smoke grew thick and acrid in his nostrils. The wind tore at him and he held the front of the chariot to steady himself. Again and again Mitu snapped the whip over the heads of the horses, urging them faster and faster. He heard the angry hum of hissing past him in the darkness and the scream of injured horses and crashing chariots.
The shadowy figures of the enemy infantry grew and grew, backlit by the fires, until he could almost make out their features. Then his chariot crashed into their half-formed line and there was carnage such as he had never seen. The horses struck men and threw them aside, or knocked them down, crushing them beneath their hooves and dragging them beneath the chariot. The scythes upon the spokes, spinning rapidly, sent up geysers of blood as they sliced through leather, skin, and bone with ease, separating legs from bodies, shattering shins, or ripping open torsos. A hand flew off and landed in the bed of the chariot. Gerra grimaced and hurled his javelin into the mass of bodies, skewering a spearman through the chest. He hefted another javelin from the basket, sweeping around them for another target. He saw the lines of the infantry bend, then break, as the infantry of Ragash fled before the chariots and it became a charnel house as chariots mowed fleeing men and women down.
Suddenly, there came strident trumpeting. The ground shuddered. Gerra felt his blood run cold as massive shapes loomed from the burning tents, charging out into the darkness of the plain.
Elephants.
The creatures met the chariot charge head on. Gerra’s eyes widened in shock as an elephant careened into the chariot to his right and with a sweep of its tusks skewered a golden steed at the lead. It lifted the whinnying horse high, dragging with it the other three and the chariot into the air, then slammed them back into the earth. Enormous feet stomped upon the stunned horses, flattening them into the ground. The sound of ribcages breaking sounded like the crack of lightning. The elephant trumpeted into the night in triumph.
Then Gerra’s chariot was past, Mitu jerking on the reins, turning them to side as more of the great behemoths lurched forth. Gerra hurled his javelin at one of the creatures and struck it in the side, but the elephant only gave forth an angry blast of air through its long trunk.
“The legs,” Mitu cried above the noise of trumpeting elephants, screaming horses, and dying men. “Aim for the legs!”
The chariot lurched as the wheels ran over corpses. Sudden forks of crimson criss-crossed the night as magical energy came forth and struck the charging infantry of Annuakat, ripping away lives in an instant as their very life force was sucked away.
“Thakathi,” Gerra muttered. Where were the Lector-Priests?
All around Gerra was chaos as elephants collided into infantry, chariots wheeled around and around, arrows hissed out of the night like deadly rain, and fire and smoke rose in columns. Even the tunnels of Belgrath had not been filled with such horror on such a scale as men died by the hundreds in mere minutes, while a silent terror glided overhead, incinerating entire blocks of troops in an instant.
Power...power is a fickle thing...so if you ever get a chance to obtain it, then you must take it, and never let go.
Dragons, elephants, men and monsters alike, they will all stand witness to what was coming. Moments passed, and it was becoming clear the element of surprise could only garner so much of an advantage. There was no telling how long the dragon could last in its ruinous powers, and there was no doubt in his mind the enemy will be working tirelessly to bring it down. That was why his Lord needed something more, something to bring down the final strike that would bring about the destruction of his enemies, and reveal upon the world a new host of magic long since thought lost to time.
Every nerve ending was on fire, burning with the power he was taking from this place of bloodshed. Magical energy crackled in the air, and the barometric pressure was dropping significantly. Thunder boomed in the distance, a Herald of the devastation, of the chaos about to be unleashed into the world on this day. The final words of power were spoken, each member of the group had accomplished their goal, and the night was now ablaze with the beacons of dark black magic, columns of inky oblivion, transforming the elf and his compatriots to further echelons of power.
When next he opened his eyes, Telenar could perceive himself and bore witness to the marvel of his Arcane mastery. Mortal flesh was replaced with something more, something new and strange. It appeared as if his body was now made of the night sky itself, formless, infinite and glowing faintly from an uncountable amount of stars that had made their home within him. Understanding came, and so it was that the small troop of warriors descended upon the battlefield, and in their wake, death followed.
The enemy, in their mortal ignorance, believed the celestial warriors still vulnerable to their meager weapons of steel. Telenar felt nothing when a soldier attempted to thrust his sword into him, the metal passing harmlessly into infinite space, and so he decided to return the favor, and found his own weapon had better results. His body became a conflagration of eldritch power, his screams echoing outwards in such horror, one was unsure if even the soul could survive such a death. Before the others could react, Telenar struck, and the slaughter had only just begun for the enemy's of Lord Gerra.
Two of the Shadow Hands were sprinting towards one of the elephants, their endurance as endless as the void which composed their forms. A beast of lower intellect knew them to be far beyond their power, and bucked in fear, but it was too late by now. In one fell swoop, they leaped into the air, slashing with their unknowable weapons upon the animal's hide. Striking true, the mighty elephant roared in pain, before being consumed in an inferno of dark black flames. It, along with its riders, were gone, consumed by the ebony embers, and never to be seen again. All that was left of it, were the pained screams still echoing in the distance.
This is when hope dies for the enemy...
Dragons, elephants, men and monsters alike, they will all stand witness to what was coming. Moments passed, and it was becoming clear the element of surprise could only garner so much of an advantage. There was no telling how long the dragon could last in its ruinous powers, and there was no doubt in his mind the enemy will be working tirelessly to bring it down. That was why his Lord needed something more, something to bring down the final strike that would bring about the destruction of his enemies, and reveal upon the world a new host of magic long since thought lost to time.
Every nerve ending was on fire, burning with the power he was taking from this place of bloodshed. Magical energy crackled in the air, and the barometric pressure was dropping significantly. Thunder boomed in the distance, a Herald of the devastation, of the chaos about to be unleashed into the world on this day. The final words of power were spoken, each member of the group had accomplished their goal, and the night was now ablaze with the beacons of dark black magic, columns of inky oblivion, transforming the elf and his compatriots to further echelons of power.
When next he opened his eyes, Telenar could perceive himself and bore witness to the marvel of his Arcane mastery. Mortal flesh was replaced with something more, something new and strange. It appeared as if his body was now made of the night sky itself, formless, infinite and glowing faintly from an uncountable amount of stars that had made their home within him. Understanding came, and so it was that the small troop of warriors descended upon the battlefield, and in their wake, death followed.
The enemy, in their mortal ignorance, believed the celestial warriors still vulnerable to their meager weapons of steel. Telenar felt nothing when a soldier attempted to thrust his sword into him, the metal passing harmlessly into infinite space, and so he decided to return the favor, and found his own weapon had better results. His body became a conflagration of eldritch power, his screams echoing outwards in such horror, one was unsure if even the soul could survive such a death. Before the others could react, Telenar struck, and the slaughter had only just begun for the enemy's of Lord Gerra.
Two of the Shadow Hands were sprinting towards one of the elephants, their endurance as endless as the void which composed their forms. A beast of lower intellect knew them to be far beyond their power, and bucked in fear, but it was too late by now. In one fell swoop, they leaped into the air, slashing with their unknowable weapons upon the animal's hide. Striking true, the mighty elephant roared in pain, before being consumed in an inferno of dark black flames. It, along with its riders, were gone, consumed by the ebony embers, and never to be seen again. All that was left of it, were the pained screams still echoing in the distance.
This is when hope dies for the enemy...
Aqra The Scorpion's Army
The monster was beginning to grow impatient now.
He had pulled his forces back so that neither Dragon nor Gerra's soldiers would be able to touch them, but as the distant battle raged on it became more and more clear that Aqra was burning to join the fray.
Djana wanted to scowl.
She had no great command of battlefield tactics, but even she knew that rushing in to what was an obvious trap would only lead to defeat. She could simply not believe that the enemy commander would be foolish enough to simply blindly charge into battle.
There was something more to this.
"Please your greatness, I urge you." She took a step forward, a hand gently caressing the arm of the Aqra's human torso.
He was a twisted thing, half man and half scorpion. His body was the work of some magics that Djana knew not. Yet he was still a man, and men were easy enough to twist once you knew how.
This time she dared to weave a lattice. "Wait. Until it happens."
She did not know what 'it' would be, but she knew that it would come.
Aqra glanced at her, a low growl in his throat, his only answer a nod. He would not want to hold off for much longer, but Djana knew that it was not yet time to enter the fray.
The monster was beginning to grow impatient now.
He had pulled his forces back so that neither Dragon nor Gerra's soldiers would be able to touch them, but as the distant battle raged on it became more and more clear that Aqra was burning to join the fray.
Djana wanted to scowl.
She had no great command of battlefield tactics, but even she knew that rushing in to what was an obvious trap would only lead to defeat. She could simply not believe that the enemy commander would be foolish enough to simply blindly charge into battle.
There was something more to this.
"Please your greatness, I urge you." She took a step forward, a hand gently caressing the arm of the Aqra's human torso.
He was a twisted thing, half man and half scorpion. His body was the work of some magics that Djana knew not. Yet he was still a man, and men were easy enough to twist once you knew how.
This time she dared to weave a lattice. "Wait. Until it happens."
She did not know what 'it' would be, but she knew that it would come.
Aqra glanced at her, a low growl in his throat, his only answer a nod. He would not want to hold off for much longer, but Djana knew that it was not yet time to enter the fray.
Achates had for some reason remained around Gerra. It was rare for her to remain in one place for as long as she did here. What kept her here? It was a question that continued to flow through her mind. She was always curious and Gerra was the most curious of them all. His ideals sparked interest in her and that something else was hiding beneath his surface.
Shaking the Sultan from her mind, the elven girl checked her weapons over and reassured herself that everything was in order. The more she thought to herself, she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to fight her typical way. Digging in her closet, she pulled out a pack that was soon stuffed with weapons and clothing. The pack was strapped to her leg. Achates stripped down and exhaled. Changing was never something easy, but at times it was necessary.
Once more, she exhaled and felt the primal hunger that she kept at bay. The sounds of joints breaking and reforming echoed. The girl did her best to remain quiet as her face elongated forming a snout. Fur grew rapidly covering her lightly tanned skin. A thud echoed in the room as her hands curled into large paws against the floor of the room.
As much as she wanted to remain quiet, the primitive and animalistic nature overcame her and a loud howl echoed carried by the wind. Once the transformation finished and the girl was no longer there, the large black wolf moved towards the open window and bound out.
Sprinting, the wolf dipped through the crowd with one goal in mind. She needed to find Gerra and not leave his side, something told her that’s where she belonged.
Gerra Traecon Maxwell Infernal
Shaking the Sultan from her mind, the elven girl checked her weapons over and reassured herself that everything was in order. The more she thought to herself, she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to fight her typical way. Digging in her closet, she pulled out a pack that was soon stuffed with weapons and clothing. The pack was strapped to her leg. Achates stripped down and exhaled. Changing was never something easy, but at times it was necessary.
Once more, she exhaled and felt the primal hunger that she kept at bay. The sounds of joints breaking and reforming echoed. The girl did her best to remain quiet as her face elongated forming a snout. Fur grew rapidly covering her lightly tanned skin. A thud echoed in the room as her hands curled into large paws against the floor of the room.
As much as she wanted to remain quiet, the primitive and animalistic nature overcame her and a loud howl echoed carried by the wind. Once the transformation finished and the girl was no longer there, the large black wolf moved towards the open window and bound out.
Sprinting, the wolf dipped through the crowd with one goal in mind. She needed to find Gerra and not leave his side, something told her that’s where she belonged.
Gerra Traecon Maxwell Infernal
- Messages
- 15
- Character Biography
- Link
Elephants and infantry clashed, mingling with the sound of screaming dragonfire above to form the perfect cacophony. It was a chaotic orchestra, timed perfectly to every swing of the sword, every bowstring pulled tight, and, perhaps most of all, each and every last bloodcurdling scream. Cries for mercy issued forth from both sides, and along this line of carnage walked the most peculiar figure.
Dark robes drew heat from the ambivalent air, contrasting to the man's alabaster mask and gauntlets. His hands stayed clasped across his belly, capping off his uncomfortably lanky arms as he waltzed around to the harsh, all-encompassing melody of life and death. VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! had made a bet-- Or rather, he had formed a quid pro quo. A stunning dark elf had settled down to watch the fighting from afar, and she had offered him a pretty penny to go in and throw down the metaphorical gauntlet. So he went, and he wandered, and most of all, he listened. Listened to the orchestra, to the screams.
On one occasion, a particularly moving cry for help reached his ears. The necromancer danced his way through the clashing of armies, finding his way to a forgotten body that lied broken and bleeding on the ground. Vreilar knelt down, resting a moment as he took the young man's head in his white, bony hands. Words were muttered, exchanged; They were quiet and utterly foreign words to the Ragashi boy Vreilar had found, but their implications were loud-- Comforting, even. His fight was over, and he had lead a valiant conclusion to his days.
Vreilar sat and spoke with the boy until he was little more than a corpse, knowing that the young man's soul had moved on to someplace better than that chaotic battlefield surrounding them. The necromancer could feel the soul departing, as was his gift; A tiny pinprick of power, simultaneously lingering and leaving all at once.
A darkness washed over the land.
Not the trimonthly darkness of an eclipse, nor the daily dark of night. It was an awful shadow, tinged with a power that the masked man knew all too well. VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! felt his breath grow heavy as the little light of the boy's soul was swallowed whole; Taken. Changed. Bastardized. Devoured!
He pushed the corpse away in his hurry to stand, for it was now little more than an empty vessel. A vessel whose sole inhabitant had been erased forever. VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! scanned the field, only narrowly noticing as an arrow ripped its way past his head. There it was - An entity, celestial yet corporeal, tearing its way through the forces of the Sha.
VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! approached Telenar on long, rapid strides, stooping once en-route to take a handful of the ground that had been stomped ceaselessly underfoot. He whipped the handful of hard-packed sand straight towards the mage's face, shouting all the while. "YOU THERE! CRETIN! FOOL!" His voice managed to ring out over the discord of the battle, high and shrill and terrible. "KNOW YOU NOT THE WAY OF THINGS?!"
Infernal
Dark robes drew heat from the ambivalent air, contrasting to the man's alabaster mask and gauntlets. His hands stayed clasped across his belly, capping off his uncomfortably lanky arms as he waltzed around to the harsh, all-encompassing melody of life and death. VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! had made a bet-- Or rather, he had formed a quid pro quo. A stunning dark elf had settled down to watch the fighting from afar, and she had offered him a pretty penny to go in and throw down the metaphorical gauntlet. So he went, and he wandered, and most of all, he listened. Listened to the orchestra, to the screams.
On one occasion, a particularly moving cry for help reached his ears. The necromancer danced his way through the clashing of armies, finding his way to a forgotten body that lied broken and bleeding on the ground. Vreilar knelt down, resting a moment as he took the young man's head in his white, bony hands. Words were muttered, exchanged; They were quiet and utterly foreign words to the Ragashi boy Vreilar had found, but their implications were loud-- Comforting, even. His fight was over, and he had lead a valiant conclusion to his days.
Vreilar sat and spoke with the boy until he was little more than a corpse, knowing that the young man's soul had moved on to someplace better than that chaotic battlefield surrounding them. The necromancer could feel the soul departing, as was his gift; A tiny pinprick of power, simultaneously lingering and leaving all at once.
A darkness washed over the land.
Not the trimonthly darkness of an eclipse, nor the daily dark of night. It was an awful shadow, tinged with a power that the masked man knew all too well. VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! felt his breath grow heavy as the little light of the boy's soul was swallowed whole; Taken. Changed. Bastardized. Devoured!
He pushed the corpse away in his hurry to stand, for it was now little more than an empty vessel. A vessel whose sole inhabitant had been erased forever. VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! scanned the field, only narrowly noticing as an arrow ripped its way past his head. There it was - An entity, celestial yet corporeal, tearing its way through the forces of the Sha.
VREILAR, THE NECROMANCER! approached Telenar on long, rapid strides, stooping once en-route to take a handful of the ground that had been stomped ceaselessly underfoot. He whipped the handful of hard-packed sand straight towards the mage's face, shouting all the while. "YOU THERE! CRETIN! FOOL!" His voice managed to ring out over the discord of the battle, high and shrill and terrible. "KNOW YOU NOT THE WAY OF THINGS?!"
Infernal
"Mighty Shah, I beg of you, do not do this. Our armies can yet prevail."
The Shah silenced his advisor with an imperious sweep of the hand and kneeled on a cushion before the chanting circle of his royal magi.
"They have a dragon. The armies of five cities and yet we are undone by a single serpent. I will not let this desert Djinn and his horde of ravenous elves descend upon Ragash. Complete the summoning. So I have spoken, so let it be done."
The chanting of the magi grew to a sudden crescendo and then there came a horrid flash of light in the royal pavilion.
Zelx the Dreamer
The Shah silenced his advisor with an imperious sweep of the hand and kneeled on a cushion before the chanting circle of his royal magi.
"They have a dragon. The armies of five cities and yet we are undone by a single serpent. I will not let this desert Djinn and his horde of ravenous elves descend upon Ragash. Complete the summoning. So I have spoken, so let it be done."
The chanting of the magi grew to a sudden crescendo and then there came a horrid flash of light in the royal pavilion.
Zelx the Dreamer
Rhiannon
Member
- Messages
- 66
Altheao walked up with his horse as the battle was about to be taking place. It seemed as though somebody was going to be attacking a city. Al ran his fingers through his hair, “Why can they all just give up in their ideals and settle down somewhere with a family and like minded and try not to impose their own on others.” He’d say a bit sadly looking at the elephants and rhinos, but also at the city in the distance. He would take a coin out of his pocket and would flip it, it landed on heads. He needed some action after this long journey that was far from action packed.
The fates seemed to have a way of messing with him as usual it would seem. Al hops onto his horse and it runs over towards the battle.
Along the way, Al takes off his gloves he wore and shoves them into a back pocket. Letting his diamond emended hand glow as the moonlight touched them. A few small flames would lick from them as he and his horse neared the elephants. “Pyro xniksq, pyro hiksq, pyro xunr, pyro fright, k'aoza zota o pyro xunr ozz riksq. O pyro aem awih. Mhoza aem demons arise mnaez ya raeyirdh oth qota l'toda,” He would whisper while positioning himself on his horse’s back. From its side he wouldslap the horse’s ass making it veer away. Jumping from his horse he’d land on the elephant’s back. The soilders on it yelled as he’d finish his spell with his hand out, ducking from one of their attempts to cut him with their sword, “ir o qnua maenz.”
White and violet fire erupts from his hand covering the soilders in fire as well as the elephant’s head. Causing it to go into a panic. His other hand’s fire went onto the next closest elephant, burning it severely, the cables and people on it burning to crisps. He’d jump over to the next elephant he could get to and say the spell with his left hand holding a sword.
The fates seemed to have a way of messing with him as usual it would seem. Al hops onto his horse and it runs over towards the battle.
Along the way, Al takes off his gloves he wore and shoves them into a back pocket. Letting his diamond emended hand glow as the moonlight touched them. A few small flames would lick from them as he and his horse neared the elephants. “Pyro xniksq, pyro hiksq, pyro xunr, pyro fright, k'aoza zota o pyro xunr ozz riksq. O pyro aem awih. Mhoza aem demons arise mnaez ya raeyirdh oth qota l'toda,” He would whisper while positioning himself on his horse’s back. From its side he wouldslap the horse’s ass making it veer away. Jumping from his horse he’d land on the elephant’s back. The soilders on it yelled as he’d finish his spell with his hand out, ducking from one of their attempts to cut him with their sword, “ir o qnua maenz.”
White and violet fire erupts from his hand covering the soilders in fire as well as the elephant’s head. Causing it to go into a panic. His other hand’s fire went onto the next closest elephant, burning it severely, the cables and people on it burning to crisps. He’d jump over to the next elephant he could get to and say the spell with his left hand holding a sword.
- Messages
- 182
- Character Biography
- Link
Sparhawk's fear was palpable.
As Alistair was midway through buckling his belt around his robes, the older mage grabbed him by the shoulders and stared deep into his eye, warning him that they didn't stand a chance if they stayed. Flinching, Alistair stared back, not about to let the Shah's camp fall to Gerra if he had anything to do with it, but Maho was insistent, and frightened for both his life and the life of the young man who depended on him.
Shoving back Maho's hand, Alistair scoffed, "you're scared!" He looked him in the eye, the dragon's purple flames glistening in his dark blue irises.
Plumes of violet rose around the Shah's camp, incinerating tents and men. From where he stood, Alistair could hear the cries of the dying and the clash of infantry. Staring Maho down, he shook a little, unprepared for facing a true battle, but he knew he couldn't run. The Shah would need all the help he could get to combat Gerra's forces, and Alistair would have to heal soldiers. Wrapping his belt around his waist, he buckled it and continued to pack his things.
Sparhawk then assailed him with another dire warning. Throwing down a book he was in the middle of packing, Alistair stood at his full height and confronted him.
"Hey, calm down," hands spread against the air, he silently siphoned Maho's fear to induce a calming effect.
Tendrils of blue seeped from the older mage's form as Alistair pulled the fear from him. He plucked it from the air, withdrawing it into his own body. Alistair's heartbeat began to rise, and he suddenly felt afraid, having transferred Maho's fear to himself. He held his breath, released and relaxed his shoulders, mopping up a layer of sweat on the back of his neck with his sleeve.
Hands held against the air, he gripped Maho's shoulders, "listen, Gerra has the camp surrounded, so we have just as much chance of surviving if we try to run, we'll wait it out in the stables, and I'll heal any soldiers who need it," he spoke assuredly, like a professor far beyond his years.
As Alistair was midway through buckling his belt around his robes, the older mage grabbed him by the shoulders and stared deep into his eye, warning him that they didn't stand a chance if they stayed. Flinching, Alistair stared back, not about to let the Shah's camp fall to Gerra if he had anything to do with it, but Maho was insistent, and frightened for both his life and the life of the young man who depended on him.
Shoving back Maho's hand, Alistair scoffed, "you're scared!" He looked him in the eye, the dragon's purple flames glistening in his dark blue irises.
Plumes of violet rose around the Shah's camp, incinerating tents and men. From where he stood, Alistair could hear the cries of the dying and the clash of infantry. Staring Maho down, he shook a little, unprepared for facing a true battle, but he knew he couldn't run. The Shah would need all the help he could get to combat Gerra's forces, and Alistair would have to heal soldiers. Wrapping his belt around his waist, he buckled it and continued to pack his things.
Sparhawk then assailed him with another dire warning. Throwing down a book he was in the middle of packing, Alistair stood at his full height and confronted him.
"Hey, calm down," hands spread against the air, he silently siphoned Maho's fear to induce a calming effect.
Tendrils of blue seeped from the older mage's form as Alistair pulled the fear from him. He plucked it from the air, withdrawing it into his own body. Alistair's heartbeat began to rise, and he suddenly felt afraid, having transferred Maho's fear to himself. He held his breath, released and relaxed his shoulders, mopping up a layer of sweat on the back of his neck with his sleeve.
Hands held against the air, he gripped Maho's shoulders, "listen, Gerra has the camp surrounded, so we have just as much chance of surviving if we try to run, we'll wait it out in the stables, and I'll heal any soldiers who need it," he spoke assuredly, like a professor far beyond his years.
He heard the one previously playing dice holler at him, sparing a glance backwards to see the man following them now. Trahaearn's partner glanced back as well but continued forward. Trahaearn slowed enough to not have to yell to the man.
"I plan on taking it out of the fight but not killing it. Dragons are a rare and dying kind, and I will not have its blood spilled tonight." Trahaearn hissed, his warning coming shortly after. "Any who attempt to kill it will not live to morning."
Not caring for the chaos towards the front lines, he swept through the churning mass of infantry that were arming and moving towards the bloodshed. His goal still flew overhead, lighting the ground with fire promising death and he waited to the time to make his move.
"I plan on taking it out of the fight but not killing it. Dragons are a rare and dying kind, and I will not have its blood spilled tonight." Trahaearn hissed, his warning coming shortly after. "Any who attempt to kill it will not live to morning."
Not caring for the chaos towards the front lines, he swept through the churning mass of infantry that were arming and moving towards the bloodshed. His goal still flew overhead, lighting the ground with fire promising death and he waited to the time to make his move.