Open Chronicles The Razing of Grayshore

[Geladryx]

Grayshore
The Allir Reach
Early Morning

The Sayve River had soured. Weeks ago the Dragon had completed a ritual to befoul the waters causing them to run black with decay and necrosis. The Dark Magic instilled in the waters of the sayve caused sickness where it spread, it could kill the weak and make the strong bedridden yet this was not its purpose.

The Waters, befouled and stagnant had been a message. They were coming. Then, as no ritual except the most powerful kind could promote lasting change the waters had cleared and the sayve returned as though nothing was amiss.

---

The Orcs had crossed the Sayve River. Where the Dragon once had scores at his command he now saw hundreds flock to the promise of conquest and a new domain where the realm of man would be pushed back and cut off.

Most of the Orcs had come from the Spine, along the southern reaches where the rocky crags swept into vast and untamed evergreen forests. These Orcs were savage, barbarous in many cases and sought bloodshed and battle. The Dragon promised them all of this and more, this was to be the first battle in the conquest of the Allir Reach.

They came from the south where they'd crossed the sayve and marched north, burning fertile farmland in the process on their way to the village. Farmsteads are put to the torch, farmers and their families taken as slaves.

Oxen and carts were taken from the farmsteads they raided to carry supplies, both brought and stolen.

On foot the Orcs would appear as a stagnant wound upon the rich land of the Reach from above, they roved as an enormous band with an enormous shadow cast over them from overhead occasionally.

When they reached the village of Grayshore it was early in the day, the sun was rising overhead though being a farming community many residents had long since started the work of the day. Across the verdant fields of the Reach the Orcs, marching would loom larger as they came towards the community.

Pikes pointed skyward, wicked looking blades were drawn and rattled.

An enormous shadow coasted over the line of Orcs, casting itself towards the village and the shores of the sayve beyond before banking around and returning to the lines. The Dragon would land somewhere behind the Orcs, surveying what equated to two, maybe three companies strong of warriors thirsty for battle.

After settling, Geladryx rested on his haunches with wings folding against either side of its massive reptilian body while powerful forelimbs held him in a pose with head cocked forward, tail dragging across the fertile earth as it stretched out behind him, back and forth. There was silence and then.

Take the skins you've come for. Kill them!

Its hissing voice slithered over the lines of Orcs, unleashing them. There would be a charge. Grayshore had a Militia, there may be a cohort of the Allirian Guard present and beyond that it was difficult to say. The Dragon had positioned the Orcs so that the Reach spread out behind them, the banks of the River Sayve and the rocky crags of the Spine were what was behind Grayshore.

Khurash

 

[Jason Chronicles]

Thum. Thum. Thumthumthum.

The beat of the drums rolled out across the farmland in a terrible tattoo. Farmers knew those drums. Drums fashioned from the flesh of men, orcs, and dwarves. Skin drums. Bone drums. The drums that promised death.

Thum. Thum. Thumthumthum.

Skin drums at the rising of a blood-drenched sun, its rays bleeding the golden fields of wheat scarlet as it crept skyward along its heavenly track.

Thum. Thum. Thum.

Farmers fled from their fields to their village. Hasty barricades began to pile high along dirt roads into the village.

Khurash the Exile inhaled the air, nostrils flaring. It smelled of their fear. His fingers curled tight around the sweat stained leathers of his paired axe and dagger.

How many would he kill this day? How many more skins could he add to his collection?

Not enough. Never enough. Until his tribe saw his worth again and took him back. Only then would honor be satisfied.



So along with the hundreds of other orcs, Khurash surged toward the hapless village.

 

[Geladryx]

The Dragon watched from the rear as lines of Orcs surged forward, charging towards Grayshore as its defenders hastily erected defenses. Directing the onslaught was a surprisingly relaxed affair as Geladryx had reasoned that it would not take the Orcs long to overcome any defenses if no clear leader was their to oppose his forces.

On his haunches, resting with his tail continuing to swish across the landscape of the plains stretching out behind him the Dragon heard the beat of the drums continuing to pound rhythmically. Letting his head sway to one side he set sickly eyes on an Orc that remained with him as a defender and aide de camp, the pulsating orange of his gaze sending a chill through the warriors spine as he hissed...

Bring me the girl.

The Orc knew the one he meant, she had survived the massacre on the banks of the River Sayve weeks ago when the ritual had been conducted. There had been rumblings as to why the Dragon had permitted the girl to live, surely he had some ulterior motive for doing so and it was not out of a sense of mercy.

When he let his head turn forward again Geladryx watched as arrows took flight from the village, aimed at the line of Orcs. Amongst the Militia of Grayshore there must have been a handful of bows that the men wielding them hoped would stem the tide of Orcs but this was doubtful. What were a handful of arrows against a horde of charging, frenzied Warriors?

The Defenders came outfitted with swords, spears, shields. The arms a professional soldier might use but these men still came from a farming community. They worn the garb of soldiers but they had never made real war, they fought to defend their lives and the lives of their families. Staying behind their barricades they would seek to stab at and skewer the Orc's long enough to hold them back, give their families enough time to retreat to the boats used for fishing and in daily life.

Across his neck, the frills stretching across his neck down to his torso flexed with apparent excitement as Geladryx watched. Grayshore would fall, the Dragon had determined as much as he watched, waiting to see the wave of Orc's crash into the defenses that had been raised.

Khurash

---

Elsewhere, among the camp followers and captives an Orc would come for Palmyra Creze. Using a large meat hook of a hand he would jostle the woman and ensure she was on her feet before directing her in the direction of the Dragon. At a distance, to someone like Palmyra who had been face to face with the creature prior to this moment Geladryx must still seem immense. The Dragon was taller than a house at the shoulder and torso stretched back longer than lesser creatures, dwarfing someone like her without effort.

 

[Geladryx]

The Dragon watched, waiting from its vantage point where it could see the Orcs charge into the Defenders of Grayshore. Geladryx shook his head once, causing the frill lining the sides of its neck to sway monetarily before flexing again then refocused on the opposing forces. Observing suited the Dragon, there was not much in the way of command or organization the needed to be taken into account here.

The Battle was joined insofar as Geladryx could tell. The Orc's smashed into the barricades that the Defenders had hastily erected and it quickly started to devolve into chaos as the bloody business began in close quarters.

From where he was watching Geladryx couldn't tell who was winning. Even to his eyes, the heightened sense of vision he possessed the sheer number of bodies involved made it impossible to see who had the advantage. Regardless the Dragon would have bet on the Orcs, there were so many of them and all Grayshore could conceivably muster was a militia with the potential involvement of some Allirian Guard.

At the observation point he maintained Geladryx thought they all looked like ants, scurrying amongst themselves but the sounds of bloodshed had begun. Steel rang against steel in the distance and the screams of men filled the air as they dealt grievous blows to one another.

There was a moment where the Dragon considered he might participate however he quickly dismissed the ideation, there was no need to unleash himself if there no heroes worth the effort...

Khurash Palmyra Creze

 

[Visha Sofka]

DAYS PRIOR​

"I KNEW IT!"

And before Nicholai knew it, Visha went sprinting off toward the torched farmstead, the two of them having seen it in the distance and been unable to make it out until they'd come closer. A half-hearted, half-finished word of caution escaped his mouth, but what use was it? Hand over heart and swear to Astra, the girl was crazy. No doubt about it.

Visha Sofka. Yeah, that one. The fire-smitten, Sparhawk-worshipper that had been expelled from the College of Elbion. All Nicholai had ever heard were the stories, he'd not met Visha in person while she was still attending the College. Just happened across her while he had been traveling to do some field work out in the Spine for an arcane project. He'd given her the benefit of the doubt at first, simply glad to have the company of someone who was--more or less--in his peer group. But all those stories? They were right. Every single one of them.

No better evidence for it now, as he stood with a flatly dismayed expression, watching Visha cuddle with a blackened support beam of what was once a farmhouse. Staff tossed to the ground, arms wrapped around it, leg hiked up, rubbing her cheek on it, blabbering sweet nothings, smitten expression as if the burnt piece of wood was a long lost friend--for the love of the Six it wasn't even on fire! It looked like it had burned out a couple of days ago at least.

"Visha..." he tried.

"Shh. Don't interrupt. Get your own," Visha replied, not stopping in her foolishness.

"No, Visha, listen--"

"What, what? What? What do you want?"

"Somebody did this--"

"Yes, yes! I see that! And they were thoughtful enough to leave me a present!" She held her embrace and was now lovingly making little circles on the beam with her gloved finger.

"No, that's not what I mean."

"Whatdoyoumean? Then. Huh. Whatdoyoumean?"

Nicholai gave a terse shake of his head. "What I'm saying is that whoever, or whatever, did this..." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "We're don't want to be heading in the same direction as them." Especially not if some of those words of warning in the region, of dragon sightings and other things, were true and relevant.

Visha tore herself away from the standing beam and spun about smartly and thrust both of her hands firmly onto her hips. "You're not. But guess what?"

"What?"

She grinned. "I said guess."

Nicholai's face, the epitome of unamused. "Are we really doing this?"

"Yup. Now guess."

"Vish--"

"I SAID GUESS!" The gouts of flame from her eyebrows and her shoulders flared into existence and curled zealously into the air and then disappeared. Left her grin and her wide, unblinking gaze. That she held until Nicholai, after a long moment, finally resigned to guess.

"...but you are."

"YES! I! AM!" She threw her head back and laughed heartily. "And if I'm la-la-la-lucky?? There will be more where this came from--AND! It'll still be on fire."

"...can't you just set it on fire yoursel--?"

Visha snapped a finger to his lips. "No, no, no, shh! Sometimes, Nicholai, sometimes...the best fires are the ones you don't set."

Then she spun about on her heel. Collected her staff from the ground. Adjusted her travel pack and her satchel. And started off at a brisk march in the direction she, somehow, reckoned to go. Nicholai stood dumbfounded. He wasn't quite sure if this was where he was going to have to part ways with his expelled peer or what.

But it by Astra seemed like it.

* * * * *

GRAYSHORE​

Always too late!

Visha, in her travels in the wake of destruction left by the orcs led by Geladryx, came across (mostly by sheer dumb luck until a clear directional pattern could be discerned) the scorched remains of fields and farmhouses. Which was good enough at first but not good enough now. Ahhhhh! She wanted to see it. The beauty of it! The flames licking the air and engulfing the houses, the distorting shimmer of heat like a heavenly halo around all of that magnificent roiling orange. But she was always too late. And you know what sucked? Being too late! It was fine being late for class but not for this. DON'T ARGUE WITH ME!

So she picked up the pace. She wanted to see these people or these monsters or these whatevers burning everything they came across. See it while it was still burning. She wanted to burn a farmhouse too. She wanted to dedicate the burning of one to Great Maho. All of this had interrupted...whatever it was she was doing with Nicholai and before that. She forgot. Who cared! There were fires to start and fires to watch.

Then, on a particular morning, one in which she uncharacteristically was able to get out of her bedroll before the sun was viciously punching her grumbling eyelids, she finally caught up with them.

Grayshore. A whole lot of orcs. Drums, wow, she liked drums. And a big battle. Going on. Right now. Across the flat fields that lined the perimeter of the town itself. Was it them? WAS IT THEM?? Did those greenskins set all of those fires...aaaaahhhhhAAAAAHHHHHH--NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT TO FIND OUT!

Visha, without much of a plan and without much of a care for her own safety, started to run across the fields and toward Grayshore and indeed toward the pitched battle already in progress there. Her pack bounced on her back, her satchel against her leg, and she gripped her staff in both hands and couldn't wipe the wide grin from her face. A lone figure she was, hurrying along a dirt path between two wheat fields, thinking only of her immediate goal. Getting there. Not even which side would be in her best interest to join.

Because all she really cared about, of course, was watching something burn.

Geladryx Khurash

 

[Geladryx]

From the point where he observed Geladryx thought Orcs were winning the battle of Grayshore. The Militia, composed primarily of humans had done their best to push back the Horde from behind the barricades, hastily erected during the charge of the attackers but it looked to be faltering. The Orcs were simply to many and this was a Village composed of farmers, men and women who might defend their land against bandits but not against the unrelenting savagery of warriors bred in the Spine.

The Dragons interest had started to wane, the battle was proceeding as he'd expected without much of a hitch. Once the Orcs had passed all of the barricades they would put the torch to Grayshore and burn it. Even now where portions of the barricades were being overwhelmed the Orcs had begun to light their torches. At a distance several burning sticks could be seen hurling towards houses on the outskirts, through windows to set ablaze the contents inside various residences.

It had begun in earnest then. The razing of Grayshore.

Auxiliary forces remained in the rear. Drummers continued to beat polished bone against leather stretched taut, playing their instruments rhythmically. The thrum of the drum beats could be heard, booming out across the fields that surrounded Grayshore. Others acted as Guards, these Orcs ensured that the wagons, camp followers and slaves maintained order in the rear.

As the sounds of heated combat continued to rise into the wind, joined by the spark of fire as several houses on the outskirts of Grayshore started to blaze all eyes remained on the battle. Until a lone figure caught the attention of several of the auxiliaries.

When Visha Sofka began to run across the fields towards the battle, towards Grayshore she eventually attracted the attention of some of the Orcs held in the rear. Initially they would debate on her identity, if she was a local or just some traveler drawn to the heat of battle. Even at a distance it was clear she was no Orc. As such curiosity eventually transformed itself into sport.

Notching arrows some of the Orcs bet amongst themselves as to who could land a shot on the lone figure running towards the chaos of the melee. Their Bows were raised, the bowstrings drawn tight and they would loose in her direction. Orcs weren't particularly known for their marksmanship and only a handful of arrows had been fired so the danger remained minimal, it was more likely the arrows might pepper the path ahead of Visha and behind her or the fields to either side of her.

The Dragon had been focused on the battle, watching until its peripheral caught the figure rushing towards Grayshore and the Orcs beginning to fire in its direction. Geladryx turned his head, extending his neck in the process and narrowing his eyes to slits so that he could focus on the lone figure...

Intriguing.

...the dragon has hissed, saliva dripping from the corners of his maw as he did so and pooling on the ground he cast an ominous shadow over. To Geladryx a lone figure was of relatively little importance however that could change. For now the Dragon was content to watch, permitting the Orcs to fire at her in a bit of sport because surely rushing towards the heat of battle her fate was already sealed.

 

[Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr]

Cauldwin had wandered far since his fall, far from his place of birth and the place of his death. A winter ago he had his fellow watchmen attempt to cut him down, and when that failed they cooked him alive in his own armor. Even still, he served Alliria on the fringes cutting down brigands, monsters, and other threats to order across the realm. However, his resurrection by the warfather caused him to be drawn to sources of chaos, of war, of lawlessness... When the Allir started to burn, lawbringers from all over over the realm were drawn like moths to flame, to Grayshore.

With every step through the Allir-Reach he became further and further empowered, perhaps it was due to this being so near to where he had burned or simply his bond with the warfather adding to his strength as he headed towards the epicenter of the chaos. He was not alone is his march either, hundreds of others bound in death to the warfather encroached upon this place their origins, flesh, skills, and blessings varying significantly. Some stood taller than he, wearing tarred furs and sporting dark ritual tatoos and scarring who's meanings he could not begin to surmise. Some were short in stature, wearing dull, mangled plates that doubtless once signified some high rank and notoriety. Others covered their flesh in rags and linens expertly wielding bows and spell craft, and so on.

The rusted behemoth approached some of the burning homes in the reach, the remains of a village, burning along with the woods. Corpses were strewn across the trampled dirt road. He looked down at the remains of a man who had been bisected and then decapitated... his head being impaled on his own greatsword. The man likely tried to defend himself and his village with the blade. These beings, these savage subhumans, had cut down, pillaged, and enslaved village after village, home after home; the land salted so nothing could grow, enslaving who they could take alive and throwing the corpses of those who dare not to lay down and accept their fate in this corrupt and sadistic world into the dirt. There lives were nothing to the monsters that invaded. They were just loot.

Cauldwin knealt down and removed the man's head from the great blade, he then put the sword in his belt next to the scabbard of his own sword. His focus was suddenly pulled east, the warfather's whispers screaming through his mind and sending him unto the breach. He charged forth through the burning wood and houses scattered through the reach on the way to town, occasionally coming across straggling Orcs, wounded or too lost in blood lust to stop hacking at the burning homes and the dead. Alone or in small numbers, they proved no match for the rusted warrior, who would mangle and then impale them on the burning wreckage they left in their wake, allowing them to scream in agony or in stoic silence as they died in ways to kind of their ilk.

He continued on charging through tree and rubble, until the warfather's whispers were replaced with the sound of tribal war drums. He became aware of a dragon circling above, he had met one before The White Death, he had also slain a hydra before so he couldn't fathom it being much of leap to cut down a dragon. Thoughts of glory filled his head, as did it the other lawbringers, warriors of different cuts and hunters eyed the circling creature hungrily from the burning tree line. He and the other lawbringers thoughts were realigned with the roar of the orc berserkers, charging ahead at the town.

***************************************************************​

They were no organized force, but competent combatants in their own right, some of the lawbringers (those that were likely knights and berserkers in their past life) charged the berserking orcs at the side from the woods, those in their ranks who prioritized the defense of the town, had run into the settlement from behind and made their way to it's front, formed a line of shields and pikes, and reddied themselves for the wave of orcs that came their way. All except Cauldwin who stood in front of the line, raised the great blade of the fallen man, proceeded to scream, "FOR ALLIRIA!!!", like a deranged bear, and then charged the charging orc horde, entering the melee. All this walst the lawbringer horde's bowmen, crossbowmen, and warmages peppered the horde and axillary from the tree lines, elemental magics, bolts, and arrows, coming down on them like rain.

Khurash​

Geladryx​

Visha Sofka​

 

[Jason Chronicles]

It was all a blur of blood and fire.

The barricades were too hastily thrown together. The farmers too few, too ill trained, and too fearful.

Khurash vaulted a barricade formed from hastily chopped trees and was in among the woefully under armed farmers. His axe and knife rose and fell like diving falcons, or hungry wolves, ripping in and out of bodies in quick, frenetic strikes.

The bloodlust overtook him as he bathed in the slaughter. An orc fell beside him to a well-placed arrow, but none could bring down him, Khurash the Exile. Khurash the Warrior.

He shouted his own name in exultation as one after another he smote low the defenders before his blades.

The path cleared, he ran further into the town, followed by a cadre of warriors, only to encounter a cluster of well-armed soldiers. Men with pikes and shields.

Khurash slapped his chest, smearing it with gore, and let out a blood curdling scream.

“Come out and face me, men of Alliria. Come forward and die. Send out your strongest, so that I may nail him to the windmill facing west, so that he may watch his world burn.”

 

[Visha Sofka]

It was them, it was them, it was them!

The glittering orange of the fires ahead reflected in the whites of her wide open eyes. This was it! That was them, the somebodies Nicholai had been "warning" her about, they were the ones who had been blazing a path of burning destruction northward from the Sayve. So what if a few people's houses got burned down. They could build new ones...andthosecouldgetburneddowntoo.

(An arrow landed on the path behind her, Visha not noticing.)

Who were they? It was a little hard to tell from the distance, but she was running closer and closer every second. And eventually those little brawling specks in the distance started to gain some clarity and--oh, ho, ho!--what do we have here? Yeah, they were orcs alright, but they weren't like the orcs she'd occasionally see around Elbion or that she'd occasionally play pranks on around the College--dressing up as the "Spirit of Fire" and knocking on their dormitory doors and running away as soon as they answered and as soon as she had went "WoooOoooOooo!" was her favorite. They weren't amused but she thought it was hilarious, come on, how can a spirit, a fire, or a Spirit of Fire knock, it was hilarious! Anyway. Anyway, these orcs were different. They weren't city-goers, that was for sure.

(Another arrow landed on the path, this time in front of Visha, and still she didn't notice.)

And they were winning! The orcs were winning and they were tossing torches into the town proper and winning more by setting all those fires. She had to get closer. To feel the heat against her skin, to hear the crackling roars of the flames up close, to see the heat shimmers rippling the air right in front of her face. Fire was all powerful. Fire solved everything. She had to get there. Release all of this tension. The anticipation was killing her.

An arrow zipped by in front of her, close enough for her to hear the curt whistle of its passing, and was lost somewhere in the wheat field to her left.

Visha skidded to a stop. Looked in the direction from which the arrow had come. Noticed, finally, the orcs of the rear detachment, where there were the drummers and the wagons and the followers and the slaves they'd taken. But Visha didn't care about any of that.

In an irritated manner, she called across the field, "HEY! I just need ONE minute. ONE!"

And, whether she was heard or not, she started running toward the battle again. Just a little farther!

But then! There was a problem! More defenders, from inside the town and from the opposite side of town from her, closing in, clashing with the orcs! Ah! She didn't really care if the orcs won or lost, but since they were the ones setting all the fires...the previous statement was probably a lie. That was okay, she lied a lot. Like that time (not naming names, but we'll call her Little Miss Bitch) someone's chair in class was missing an entire leg...suddenly...for no reason at all...whatever could have happened to it? Alright, but enough of that, she knew what side she was going to have to join if she wanted to bathe in glorious fire.

Visha at last arrived at the outskirts of Grayshore, at the far flank of the barricade battle. An orc warrior and a militiaman farmer were locked in combat. Couldn't have that! Visha stopped and planted the butt of her staff on the ground and held out her left hand and snapped her fingers. Between the warrior and the farmer, a small smoldering orb coalesced, grew, pulsed wildly, and then to the farmer's shock exploded in his direction and knocked him to the ground, ash covering his chest and face. The orc warrior, with only a brief glance of bemusement to Visha, seized the opportunity and fell upon the farmer to slay him with his axe. The sight of it didn't bother Visha at all. Never had, funnily enough. Apparently it did for other people--that was weird to her.

"Go fight!" Visha said to the warrior with a wild grin. "You're doing great!"

The warrior, even more puzzled now, nevertheless became somehow satisfied that he wouldn't catch a fireball to the back from the peculiar human, and he hustled into town to go and engage the newly arrived defenders. There, in fighting and conquering them, he would find glory.

Visha touched the head of her staff and pulled with her palm an arc of churning flame from it, this like a fiery rainbow over her head now. She eyed gleefully some of the houses on this outermost edge of town she'd found herself.

"Great Maho...our most magnificent pyromancer who has ever lived...this is for you!" she said as she prepared to set some GLORIOUS FIRES.

Somehow, someway, she'd still failed to notice the dragon Geladryx's presence observing the battle. Wasn't too surprising, though.

Geladryx Khurash Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

 

[Geladryx]

The Orcs, savage and barbarous as they were did not think much of Visha Sofka. At first glance many of the Orcs engrossed in the ongoing melee would see her and dismiss her. She didn't appear to pose a threat and there was little honor to be had in taking the skin of a girl when more obvious opponents presented themselves, especially with the arrival of the Lawbringer's and the ensuing chaos that would cause.

Any Orc's that rushed past her on the way to the epicenter of the chaotic melee would pause only when they saw her create the arc of fire. If Visha was here to help them burn Grayshore, a ponderous development then many of them may have surmised she was also in the service of the Dragon. Either way several large bodies would rush around her, moving past her as another wave of warriors moved towards the front where the Lawbringers had positioned themselves as defenders. Some Orcs in the rear remained to put building to the torch though.

As for the Dragon himself his attention wavered sometime after Visha had made it into the town. An Orc standing nearby would shout...

"Look, defenders! Alliria has come!"

...which prompted the Dragon to look, watching as men charged from nearby woods towards Grayshore. The Village itself, primarily a farming village was surrounded by fields that stretched out a long ways but there were some copses of aspen in the vicinity. When Geladryx saw the charging men he was quick to hiss...

"Those are not Allirians."

...his gaze narrowed the Dragon, his vision tenfold that of a mans he could tell that the figures rushing forward were not regular men. Perhaps it was his connection to the dark art of necromancy that gave Geladryx a specific feel for what he was looking at as well.

An Orc leading the Drummers, beating his own instrument of war would change the rhythm. The other Drummers would follow suit, directing the Horde and its bloodlust so that the bloody business could be done as the lawbringers charged.

Thum. Thum. Thumthumth---

It was the first of the arrows that caught several of the Drummers and other Auxiliaries in the rear, stifling the drum beats. Some Orcs fell dead, others wounded as arrows and spells flew. Certainly the Lawbringers hadn't thought it to any great extent though because Camp Followers, Captives and Slaves would also fall.

Being as large a target as he was several arrows would strike the Dragon, deflecting off the hardened scales that lined his torso but earning his ire.

Maggotkin. You dare attempt to assault me!?

Geladryx was enraged. The Dragon found it insulting that such small creatures would attempt to harm him and at range with arrows. Wings unfolded from either side of him and pressing of his haunches he leapt into the air and took flight.

In the air the Dragon's shadow stretched across the fields, all told he was an enormous creature made more intimidating with a wingspan that stretched out to either side of him while he was in flight. After he was in the air Geladryx flew away from the battle, climbing higher in the sky before banking around in a maneuver that saw him turning back towards Grayshore and the battlefield stretching out ahead of him.

When Geladryx had come around again, having ascended higher he'd then dive towards the treeline where Archers and Warmages had peppered the side of the Orcs. As Geladryx came down, building speed a sound recognizable as a roar would pierce across the landscape accompanied by the curse of....

Know me, gnats! I am your doom!

...before expelling an enormous swath of toxic gas from his mouth as he swept up over the treeline. Chlorine Gasses would bathe the treeline stinging the eyes and burning the skin. It obscured vision, making it difficult to see at best, capable of blinding anyone caught in its embrace as their eyes swelled shut. Inhaling the gasses would be worse, they could cause lungs to rupture and people to drown on their own blood as the gasses filled them. There were other unpleasant side effects too.

The Gas would fill the treeline then expand outwards as it slowly began to disperse but it would take time.

The Dragon would rise higher, into the sky after rising up out of the dive and expelling its breath outwards. Flying skyward as it prepared for another attack.

Khurash | Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr​

 

[Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr]

(OOC: SHHHEEEESH... a lot to explain, to react to, and a lot to reason out without crushing toes. Don't get too pissy with me on this, but in the face of such overwhelming odds the defenders are probably realizing the situation is hopeless and are pulling out all the stops, I don't really know what else a bunch of more-or-less peasants would do in this situation save scorched earth and run in terror, and Dauðadæmdir means Deathmarcher soo...)

The Lawbringers (or Dauðadæmdir to the Tyrant God's devoted), now in the thick of battle, were completely consumed by the gift of the Stríðsfaðir (the Warfather in Wiir). From their orifices and wounds came a black miasmic aura, a sign to the informed that their strength and bloodlust had grown three fold. This allowed them to begin to cut back the initial wave of orc invaders from the town despite their numerous casualties, and being outnumbered six-to-one when they arrived in full.

Cauldwin clashed into the chaotic melee from the first horde of orcs; cleaving, stabbing, and tearing his way into the center of the fray. He dodged a strike from an orc berserker's great axe, kicking it's knee inward causing it to fall to the ground. Its leg destroyed he followed with a crushing blow from the pommel of the great blade, crushing its skull and brain. Another orc charging him in a bid for revenge on his fallen brother, was backhanded by the plates of his damaged arm. The force from the blow snapping its neck.

Looking just ahead, he spotted another Lawbringer, large and stout, carrying an engraved maul. He smacked an orc in the chest sending it careening to the ground and ruining its organs. Shouting something in a tongue he Cauldwin could not recognize, then taking an axe to the chest from an orc in front of him before bringing the maul down on the the things head, sending it into its chest. He shout in that tongue again, making Cauldwin keenly aware that he was counting kills in his native tongue, just as an orc, managing to overwhelm and cut down a neigh bisected Lawbringer, pulled its spear from the fallen Lawbringer's skull, turned, charged, and then impaled the undead berserker in the back.

The undead berserker roared in response, the tar-like acidic bile inside it's body splashing onto the orc, dissolving it's hand and part of its face. The orc did not yield, attempting to leverage the berserker into the ground but took an elbow to the face from the berserker sending the orc warrior to the ground, only to have it's skull curb stomped by Cauldwin as he shouted to his fellow Lawbringer, in a deep, guttural, almost feral voice, "TWELVE!". The undead berserker yelled something in that previously unheard tongue to Cauldwin, continuing by nailing another orc, sending it back into it's near companions, shouting something in an irritated tone.

The path cleared, he ran further into the town, followed by a cadre of warriors, only to encounter a cluster of well-armed soldiers. Men with pikes and shields.

Khurash slapped his chest, smearing it with gore, and let out a blood curdling scream.

“Come out and face me, men of Alliria. Come forward and die. Send out your strongest, so that I may nail him to the windmill facing west, so that he may watch his world burn.”

Through some unknown method, it seemed the minds of the undead defenders were interconnected. For, as soon as the the orc champion had uttered this challenge, EVERY. SINGLE. LAWBRINGER. Began to converge on his location. Something that in the chaos and smoke would likely only be observable from a birds eye view or a position outside the fog of war. However as they begun to converge the indignant monstrous roar of the dragon was heard over the field of battle...

"Maggotkin. You dare attempt to assault me!? Know me, gnats! I am your doom!"

As the beast swooped down expelling chlorine gasses into the treelines, the archers and warmages remained unaffected by the blinding effects of the gasses, as the Dauðadæmdir being undead, their pupils and irises had long since given way to a corpulent milky eye that glowed with an arcane presence of the Warfathers will within them, allowing them to perceive visual information through non biological means. Nor would the pain in their flesh halt them, having lived lives of war and known the agony of death. However contrary to most undead, the majority of their biological functions still remained, including their cardio vascular systems. Which meant that soon, they would die to asphyxiation.

They did not go quietly back into the rusted realms, however. Knowing their borrowed time to walk the realm again was through, they unleashed hell onto the orcs. Hundreds of arrows, bolts, icy spears, crystalline blood shards, poison missiles, balls of flame, and large earthen thorns fell from the sky like rain (the majority of being arrows and bolts of course). Aimed at the advancing orcs, the axillaries, the camp fallowers, the loot, and the slaves, before eventually ceasing into silence. The cloud of gas would linger leaving the woods hazardous, if not outright impassable.

The remaining law bringers, now outnumbered at least twenty to one, let out a viscous feral yell, and began a last berserking charge, heading directly for where they believed the orcs where holding their goods and slaves. The shield wall pushing forwards against the orcs that tried to enter the town. At this point, the women and children from the town were long on the escape, leaving behind no small amount of goods in the village of course. The men of the town that were not on the front lines had started flames in all of the towns stockpiles and homes, before beginning their retreat, as now the burning woods, attacking orc horde, and death gas breathing dragon had them realize all was lost, and unlike the Lawbringers they were not compelled to fight to the last breath by a very angry god of order.

If one was quick their was still plenty of goods in the town, but they would have be quick... and deal with the Lawbrigers.

Khurash​

Geladryx​

Visha Sofka​

 

[Palmyra Creze]

(I am so sorry I am so late, It didn't let me know I was tagged and I had a family priority.)

Palmyra had been hiding. A skill the young woman had nearly mastered. The dragon let her live at what seemed to be his raid prior. Why? She did not know. Would death had been better? Mayhap. Yet this was what the fates intended so she lived, day after day she lived.

She stayed contorted within two crates of Orcish supplies. There was some sort of mildewed sheet upon her which offered her sanctuary. Her knees pressed harshly against her chest causing a stabbing pain but Palm didn't wish to be found. So here she sat waiting for when the mildewed sheet would be cast aside revealing ripping away her moments of peace. Although the sheet reeked it was alike to when she hid from 'monsters' under her quilt as a small child. The only difference was now Palmyra's monsters were real, and all that separates her from the harsh reality of her existence was the disgusting molding sheet.

Perhaps the stench of the sheet would turn off the Dragon in which would prevent his tongue travelling the curves of her body through the linen folds of her clothing. Yet it was doubtful, all that was likely to happen is Palm angering her new master.

Before long Palmyra knew the Dragon would send for her. She needn't know her purpose it seemed just that there was one. She readjusted in what seemed to be silence praying no one would hear her, if anyone was there. Her hiding spot would be of no use should it be discovered.

Sadly someone did hear the small woman. Before long her sheet was ripped away and thrust into the air as a large Orc man grabbed her aggressively throwing her about like a rag doll. Palmyra didn't bother to kick or fight, all she wished to do is appease.

The Dragon was huge, still, she'd figured she would grow use to the mass of such a creature but everytime he amazed her. Despite her situation he had splendor, a magnificence that made her eyes grow wide and her mouth open a tad in awe. She was thrust in front of him like one would a plate of food. Her ankles crossed as she dipped lowly hoping to gain some sorts of joy from the beast in front of her.

(I apologize once again!!)

Khurash
Geladryx
Visha Sofka
Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

 

[Jason Chronicles]

The eyes of our fearless orc warrior widened as every one of the armor-clad foes converged upon him. These were not human farmers. Their armor was thick and they bore weapons forged for war, not the bow of the huntsman or the scythe of the reaper. Khurash’s nostrils flared. Amidst the smoke of burning thatch and the stench of gore and piss, he smelled something else. Something old.

The Exile’s eyes narrowed on the closest foe. What face hid behind that visor? Who were these warriors?

A maul hurtles for the orc’s head. Khurash sidestepped, his stout form moving with the nimbleness of a mountain breeze, and barely avoided being crushed like an overripe melon.

He thrust his dagger at the wrist of his foe, seeking to sever tendons.

Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr

 

[Visha Sofka]

Visha bathed in the heat of the fire consuming the house. She had sprayed the thatch roof, the wattle and daub walls, and now the blaze was roaring all of its own power. Ohhh...in it...IN IT...was the divine. And with the proper wide-eyed, swelled-chest, gleefully-parted mouth of the utterly reverential and utterly enthusiastic did she regard the blaze that she had set.

Somebody used to live here. Not anymore! All of the good memories they had in this house--gone! But guess what? All of the bad ones were gone too! Everything came out the same at the other end of a conflagration: beautiful, blackened ash.

She could've stayed there all day. Standing at one far end of a periphery of Grayshore, the clamor of battle just some vague noise in the background of her trance, yes, standing there transfixed by the rippling sight of the waving flames and basking in the warmth of divinity upon her skin. She could have.

But there was a fucking dragon, holy shit, wow.

Visha finally noticed Geladryx up in the sky, breathing out a torrent of thick gas into some of the trees at the other end of Grayshore. Too bad for Nicholai! He was missing out on all the fun by wussing out. Bet he probably got all high marks on every single one of his tests too. Teacher's pet.

Well, the sight and wonder of the dragon had torn her away from gazing at the glorious fire she had set, and that in turn led her to an actual fluke of situational awareness. Right, right, right, there were those armored defenders fighting the orcs. Well, as they say, the enemy of my frenemy is a son of a bitch. Visha didn't come all this way and finally find these firestarters just to have all her fires put out. It felt good to let loose, to just be who she was and embrace the blaze rather than trying to keep it smothered because "oh, we the people of Elbion don't like fires that aren't tamed on candles or caged inside fireplaces." Did any of them even bother to ask how the fire was feeling, what the fire wanted, huh? She didn't think so.

Long story short: time to go blow up some defenders.

Visha hustled into town. Crept along from corner to corner once she was getting close. There, the front line of orcs fighting with the town's defenders. She didn't need to get all that close, no, no--that was for the big boys with big axes like that orc out in front, Khurash, though she didn't know his name. She was fine just where she was, at the flank of the battle and far enough removed from it down the street to feel nice and cozy, but still be in range.

Visha touched the tip of her staff again and then pulled her hand away, manifesting a growing ball of fire within her palm.

"HEY!" she shouted toward the battle, toward the Lawbringers in particular. "SUMMERTIME!"

And she lobbed the Fireball at a group of them. Hopefully it didn't explode before it actually got there. Or miss. Or flutter away to nothing upon just touching their armor.

Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr Khurash Geladryx Palmyra Creze

 

[Geladryx]

Unfortunately for Palmyra Creze the Dragon had taken flight before she arrived for her audience. The Auxiliary forces were being hit hardest by the forest barrage. Arrows, bolts and magic all struck down an assortment of Orcs, Camp Followwers and Slaves. If these Lawbringers were to coin themselves the saviors of Greyshore they seemed indiscriminate insofar as who was slain in their assault.

The Orc who had come for Palmyra would wrench on her arm commandingly while shouting...

"Don't be afraid girl. You might be food for worms before long and then this terrible dream will be over!"

...the Orc was clearly experienced when it came to combat and was no stranger to killing himself. A Fireball exploding as it hit a nearby wagon would cause smoke and ash to fill the air while loose tinder erupted outwards. Thrown to the ground from the explosion the Orc would have released Palmyra's arm before slowly coming back to his feet. He looked up and he saw the dragons toxic breath as it spread over the woodland where the barrage had been coming from causing him to let out a cheer...

"Death to Graysho---"

...but it was cut off as another arrow lodged itself in his chest. The Gas would dispatch the attackers but like many of the Orcs in the Auxiliary unit they'd learn that the results weren't immediate. These men they faced were an oddity, something beyond the norm and moments would pass where the encampment would remain under attack before it stilled.

The Auxiliaries would have a difficult time preparing to meet the Lawbringer charge that came their way shortly thereafter but they muster some opposition. Camp Followers and slaves like Palmyra would find themselves deep in the chaos of this battle soon.

Erstwhile the Dragon had risen higher after expelling his toxic breath across the woodland. Ascending skyward he flew out, away and over the outskirts of Grayshore and the ensuing battle so that he could bank around. A creature the size of Geladryx couldn't make sharp turns without some difficulty, still the Dragon was smaller then some larger members of the species so his mobility benefited from that.

As the Dragon came around, turning mid air until he was aimed back in the direction of Grayshore his keen eyesight, enhanced beyond the norms of normal men would let him zero in on the melee in the town. Nothing specific but where battle lines and the most combat was occurring. From where he was in the air everything down below looked like ants to Geladryx, faceless dots moving amongst one another in a chaotic dance.

Descending, Geladryx angled himself into a dive letting his wings fold back against himself in the process so he could build speed. A Fireball thrown in the heat of battle caught his attention briefly before he refocused. Plummeting towards the town the Dragon would spread his wings again at a low altitude so that he could cast an impressive shadow as he flew over Grayshore only just above the rooftops.

He'd come down behind the Lawbringer Shield Wall. As he skimmed over the rooftops of the buildings that Dragon let out an ear piercing roar that rattled the senses and threatened to shatter windows. Even flying so low Geladryx remained out of reach of pikes or polearms that might have been used against him. When he passed over the rear of the Lawbringer lines he'd whip his tail forward, down towards the street.

The Tail would be akin to a wrecking ball as the Dragon passed over the Lawbringer lines. If he'd passed over them from the front it would still have the power to smash through the shield wall but likely to a lessened effect but from behind the devastation could be much more pronounced. A sweep of the tail as Geladryx passed over would have the power to throw men aside effortlessly, it could hurl men into the air and send bodies flying in all directions. The Dragons intent was simply to clear a path through the shield wall and break it so that the Orcs below could take advantage but the results could be more devastating than that. After his tail had whipped forward the Dragon snapped it backwards again, catching the side of a small house and causing part of its roof and side wall to be thrown in all directions as debris to rain down over those below.

Once his pass was complete the Dragon would ascend higher again, either to come back around for another pass or to survey the battlefield...

Khurash | Visha Sofka | Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr​

 

[Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr]

The Lawbringer shield wall held as best it could against the orc horde that had climbed the walls, the dead creating a small hill that that the battle continued on (the horde likely being reinforced by one of the two auxiliaries on the battlefield). Still, all might has a limit. The wall had been battered, the warriors enhanced by otherworldly powers though they may be had become exhausted. Worse still, not all the shield bearers were armored or of sufficient stature, being more akin to skirmishers than any real defensive force. Ensuring casualties and severe injuries from both enemy arrows and friendly fire. To add further fuel to the flame (pun intended) not all of the warriors in the ranks of the defenders came baring polearms of their own, having to make due with pitchforks and other improvised polearms that had now become severely degraded or outright destroyed.

The Lawbringers casualties were mounting. What would have been a wall of a little over a hundred had been widled down to about sixty. Even so, against overwhelming odds these warriors only rise by the Stríðsfaðir's will, and his will never yields only expends. In response the forces had naturally shifted position against the horde, those who had their polearms or shields lost or damaged began withdrawing behind the warriors that did not. The wall became a rounded wedge to compensate for the lack of coverage and likely encroaching orc warriors, occasionally opening to allow a few of the orcs that charged against the shield wall through to be torn apart by the warriors behind.

As the clash continued a tall warrior, wearing little else but furs over his groin, hips. thighs, feet, shoulders and spectacle helm, as well as wielding an engraved maul, struck out from the shield wall to engage a particular orc that he deemed worthy of his attention. The orc, who the Lawbringers would never know as Khurash, quickly dodged the strike, answering it with a thrust of his dagger. The maul wielding berserker did not move, allowing the dagger to pierce deep into his guts, before placing Khurash's arm in bind so that he could not evade him as he passed words from one warrior to another. The being roared over noise of battle in a deep, guttural, voice, "Heldurðu að þú sendir mig heim? Við sjáum til!" But before he could ready a strike...

Visha touched the tip of her staff again and then pulled her hand away, manifesting a growing ball of fire within her palm.

"HEY!" she shouted toward the battle, toward the Lawbringers in particular. "SUMMERTIME!"

A fireball came wizzing at the shield wall, with the undead berserker being right in-between its trajectory. He through Khurash back, before swinging his maul that the bit of metal would nail the fireball. It exploded, tearing his arm off by the shoulder and sending him flying back into the muck, as well shattering the shield wall. The force of the blast killing some of the Lawbringers outright, crushing the bones in the arms of some of the shield bearers to splinters, taking others limbs, and finally allowing the orcs to overwhelm the wall.

The Lawbringers in the village who had gone behind the wall of shields quickly moved to meet the orcs in battle, but just as soon as they lined the gap...

He'd come down behind the Lawbringer Shield Wall. As he skimmed over the rooftops of the buildings that Dragon let out an ear piercing roar that rattled the senses and threatened to shatter windows. Even flying so low Geladryx remained out of reach of pikes or polearms that might have been used against him. When he passed over the rear of the Lawbringer lines he'd whip his tail forward, down towards the street.

The dragons tail crushed down against both the law bringers and the orc horde, crushing bodies and sending them flying. What remained of the shield wall now only few scattered and badly mangled Lawbringers. A short man with a spiked tower shield, dressed head-to-tow in tarnished ornate plates, and wielded a barbed paired flail. His legs had been torn away from the impact and he was now holding himself up by his shield and barely fending off what little remained of the orc's first auxiliary and initial charge that would quickly overwhelm him.

A surprisingly agile warrior, in eastern scale and robe wielding a poised spear. He had half of head ripped off and exposing his brain and not even leaving his eyes, as well as missing an arm. The warrior was fighting desperately against the vestiges of the orc attacking force. He was standing on a mountain of the dead and forcing the orcs that came to him to clamber up.

Finally the maul wielding berserker, he gently pushed one of his dead-again brothers in arms off of him with his remaining arm. Not being able to find his maul, he grabbed a broken axe from one of the dead orcs and forced himself up. Revealing his missing jaw, inky black entrails hanging out from his body, and that he was walking on the ankle of his broken right foot. Shambling forwards confidently he still managed to cut down a few of the orcs that charged him, then spotting the orc he had intended to test the mettle of, he raised the axe and pointed it at Khurash. Letting out a gurgling noise, that spewed the black tar that was his blood down the front of him bringing out the determined scowl on his face.

******************************************
​

The berserkers at the front had managed to cut their way through the horde of orcs and broke out in the direction of where they believed the orc camp/caravan to be, the original count of berserkers being around two-hundred had now become half strength. The force also managed to sustain serious injuries, making what remained of the charge much less affective. Both sides had now endured exceptional losses.

The Lawbringer skirmishers overshot where they had been led to think the orcs stockpile would be and instead crashed into the orc hordes auxiliary archers. Of course, being orc *archers* would be more of an addition to infantry, they orcs were more than equipped for a intense skirmish and met the remaining Lawbringers head on in the fire and smoke. Cauldwin's barrowed greatblade had become a shard he would throw like a stiletto knife into the throat of the first contacts of the orc archer auxiliary before switching to his own blade and cleaving into the orcs. Leading what would be a slaughter for both forces.

Khurash​

Geladryx​

Visha Sofka​

Palmyra Creze​

 

[Palmyra Creze]

War. The most disgusting part of advanced civilization, and Palmyra was in the midst of it.

The Orc that brought her yanked on her arm causing her feet to give way, she hung from his grip like a rag doll. He shouted to her, about death and ending. Palmyra chuckled cynically, she knew all about death, yet it seemed her nightmare never ended, just kept coming in different forces and shapes. It was evolving everyday, adapting to fit whatever horror she threw herself into.

Her eyes followed the chaos around her, the Dragon in the air, the masses of bodies on the ground, and a ball of flame. In a weird way it was quite beautiful the way every man's body rippled with well versed movements, and some unplanned movements. They all fought to live, some good, some bad, all for the same missions yet different. Palmyra's eyes remained dull however, as she smelt the death and spilt blood around her, the truth of battle making itself present once again.

The Orc that held her made way to speak again before he was cut off by an arrow that struck his chest, he fell, and Palmyra was dropped. Her small body landed with a meaty thud as she stood on wobbly knees, her side would bruise without doubt. Palm inhaled through her nose and out her mouth as she stumbled close to the mass heaped on the ground.

He could be dead, he could be alive and left for dead, but it was not Palmyra's job to decide who lived and died only to do her best to help those that hung in between the lines. She put a hand on his chest and looked up to the sky, her eyes closing as the sounds of battle faded from her ears. Her petite body hummed with warmth as her thick accent let words drift out into the stiff air around her, the warmth traveled to her hand then left as it went into the Orc male's body. The skin around his arrow wound knitted itself together as the arrow itself festered out slowly, like a giant splinter. Palm did not know if he was dead or not, yet she sat at his feet. If he lived he lived, if not, well she'd wait.

Visha Sofka
Geladryx
Khurash
Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr