Open Chronicles Valor

[Heike Eisen]

THE THIRD AND FINAL BATTLE​

"Lads," Captain Grunni said to those Marines about him on the southern ramparts, "know that, whatever happens, we've done our mission. And there's nothing the enemy can do which can take that from us."

Both he and they were looking out through the wooden battlements.

The very hills themselves appeared to be moving, so covered in descending orcs were they.

* * * * *​

When the call of ORCS! had come, Heike felt a familiar chill shiver down her spine. The same as she had felt when she joined her first battle, then as a younger Knight-Gallant not so far removed from her Accolade, and her initiation into the Order behind that. In all the years since she had thought that particular fear had been blunted to nothing, yet here it was again, sharp as ever. Not blunted. Merely dormant, waiting for the right moment.

Remember the words of Herr Dieter: Fear is the cornerstone of courage. But you must not let it consume you.

And it was all she could do to shove it down, that bright ember of fear, and let it smolder away in some deep recess of her heart. She donned her helm once more, hearing the intimate patter of rain atop the metal. She made to go toward the southern rampart, took a step.

When Dal caught her attention. She listened intently to his words, taking in everything. As a comrade-in-arms she trusted his judgment and would wager her life upon it, so was her devotion, and likewise so had he proven himself. And as it so happened, it was a matter of lives.

"I swear to you, Dal, that I shall not make myself a martyr here." And she shot a quick glance over to Erën then. "For I have promised you, Erën, those words, and will share them in Belgrath."

The Arragoth Marines and 1st Army soldiers were all hustling up to man each of the four walls, all of them preparing their ranged weaponry, runecrafters going down the lines and etching quick (but meager) runes for last minute enhancements to armor, bolts, axes, shields, and the walls themselves.

Gil had finished his prayer, Dal had assured Heike that he had her back, Kiros came out of a deep contemplation, and Erën drew his sword and said for them to move together. And so they did.

Heike drew her own sword and hurried toward the southern ramparts. And as she climbed up the ramp, another familiar feeling came roaring back. That camaraderie, the antithesis of the terrible loneliness she'd endured as a vampire, with each of them as they followed. That same camaraderie which had come at Ungbarroud, which had come during The Second Battle, during the confrontation with Cauldwin, and now here. It smothered that ember of fear, at least in that moment of rising up to the ramparts. Never did she feel so alive as in moments like these, whether she had ranks of Golden Blades at her sides or adventurers of pristine character. The hopelessness of the situation withered in the glow of the radiant company around her.

Then, in the next moment, she reached the top of the ramparts. There beyond the battlements, the sea of orcs, coming to break upon the fort.

She stood stunned for a second. "Regel..." The word had simply escaped her lips, the invocation of the name of Regel, God of Jura, the old religion of Reikhurst. She was not even especially religious, and yet the sight of the massive force arrayed against them had prompted her so. All the dwarves within the fort numbered only a few hundred...but the Blights were fielding several thousands by the look of it. The prediction of being overrun had proven terribly true, and it was all she, Dal, Kiros, Gil, Erën, and each and every dwarf could do to delay that as long as possible. It would be a great blessing to survive long enough for the Portal Stone to become active once more, and an unquestioned miracle to survive for it to become active twice more--Heike could not imagine anything more than that.

The orcs were maneuvering their forces into position well out of range, and Heike observed as they did. Details slowly became available for notice: the south, east, and west walls of the fort were all going to be hit simultaneously, none apparently were circling all the way around to the north wall; masses of infantry formed the core of each directional attack, but each were going to employ a different strategy.

Lining up to strike at the South Wall, massive siege towers pushed and pulled by beasts of burden would threaten to allow scores of orcs to assault the ramparts all at once. And curiously, wheeled rams were behind the towers, as if a backup to punch through the walls if the towers failed.

Lining up to strike at the East Wall, fire giants as tall as the walls themselves stood among the orcish infantry. And behind them, corrupted elephants and subjugated feral trolls were surely ready to spill into the fort if the giants successfully created a breach.

Lining up to strike at the West Wall, primarily elite heavy infantry, accompanied by a large host of Purgers to cover them against magic. An array of tall, sturdy ladders they carried on their shoulders, and were primed to scale the walls the old, time-tested way.

A baleful horn sounded, and then all at once the earthshaking, united roar of thousands upon thousands of orcs broke through the storming air, and the orcs all began their charge at the walls.

Heike, after surveying, said to Dal, "With me, to the West Wall! There we can do the most good!"

And then to Gil, Kiros, and Erën, glances each. She spoke quickly, "You know what you are capable of. In your judgment I place my trust."

They each knew their own magical capacities--far better than Heike did. Now was the time for flexibility, for they had the fleeting luxury of being able to apply their talents where they could be most useful, be it at the South, East, or West Wall. Maybe they would deem it more appropriate to save their arcane reserves for later, resorting for now to steel and staff alone, and in this Heike trusted as well. Once the battle was joined, the tactical situation developed, and necessities arose, then she could formulate orders accordingly, if such were needed.

Heike hurried along the southern rampart, running around to the western, as the dwarves let loose their first volley of crossbow bolts into the oncoming wave of Blights.

Dal Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Portal Stone is currently inoperable.​

 

[Dal]

The motion of armoured boots on wood sounded out staccato creaks and thuds as soldiers moved into positions on the ramparts, the hefting of siege of equipment gave out groans as it greeted the walls with heavy placement, the roar of orcs offered itself to the rain filled skies and all those who stood ready to defend the palisades. In these sounds Dal found himself immersed as he moved behind Heike, and such a din greeted him as a familiar and welcome friend.

A siege with such a surge of violence was not unknown to him. But too often had he experienced the contrary. Sieges where starvation was the weapon that cut deepest. Sieges where horses were cooked, devoured and sorely missed by their soldiers. Sieges where terms had been given, received and accepted by the defenders, they bartered with their death and found themselves to profit with their lives.

No such quarter to be found here, Dal thought, and I am glad of it, even if it brings about such overwhelming odds. Better that I have strength to kill, free from thoughts of lacking meals to power my effort, free from diplomatic measures that would keep my weapon sheathed. Better that I can kill my way out of this.

Our way out of this, he corrected himself.

As fatal as that this path is to those who fight beside me, dwarven or otherwise, it's our lot. It is accepted. We embrace it and become ourselves in battle. So it was. So it is. We soldiers who knew what it was to carry a sword, to take up this dwarven cause was an action we knew would lead to such overwhelming violence. And now we carry out our task, each armed, each prepared, each with their own agreement with death. So too do I.

The war horn sounded, the assaulting army surged, and Heike gave her order. Dal advanced in step with her, each step sure and diligent to keep close distance with her as they passed dwarves who went about their duty. He knew that it was his task to fight beside her, to ensure that they left this field of combat together.

They made their way to the western wall, and as they did, Dal's eyes received the vast numbers that spilled over themselves below him.

It was a thick forest to him; he discerned no face or individual, but simply acknowledged it as a bracing fact, a feature crudely and hurriedly sketched by his mental cartography. 'Here be thy impending foe', Dal wrote on his map of the battlefield within his mind, as if marking some unknowable monster.

He moved up to the walls, weapon in his hands, the wish to bring about violence brimming and overflowing within him. The adrenaline was flowing now, the exhilaration of a fight soon to transition from imagination to reality galvanizing his nerve. Heavy ladders leaned threateningly on and above the palisade so it was above Dal's head. Dal knew he could not kick such a thing down. It was too heavy a thing, too laden with bodies.

Instead, he placed himself into the sword stance of boar's tooth, the pommel of his blade beside his right hip, the blade pointed as a tusk of a boar might before goring and piecing some poor hunter in a wood.

Volleys were already flying into those below, ladders occupied with troops scaled steadily up, dwarven battle cries now being heard by greenskins as they ascended. Dal's eyes were fixed to the ladder in front of him. Dwarves were about them, shooting or bearing melee weapons to those who would rise. Dal began to offer a prayer in his mind.

To the God of Death do I-

The prayer became interrupted.

Orc eyes met half-orc eyes.

Fierce red greeted pale green.

A roar from one.

Silence from the other.

Then violence.

The dwarven rune upon the longsword levied against the orc exploded into blue flame, the weapon ejected upwards towards the face of the orc trooper, who with a roar in his throat, axe within his hand and hate in his heart was assaulted with all the precision that Dal's years granted him.

Red eyes found steel between them. Perfectly horizonal. Lethal. A cut delivered as easily as one might insert a long key into a door.

And then twisted.

And then wrenched free.

The body fell as the sword was returned into position, and another orc below clambered up to replace the fallen, one of countless. Dal stood ready for the next with cold hate in his heart and finished his prayer as another pair of eyes rose to his gaze.

-give you everything I have to kill and kill again.

And so it was that Dal went about his bloody work on the western wall.



Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Heike Eisen

 

[Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest]

Gil made his way to the east wall, this is where he needed to be. This where the All Father wanted him to be. The dwarves kept their distance from him as he stood in the center of the ramparts, he realized now that his sword would be of no use here. He placed his sword in his sheath on his back and he stood there. The dwarves along the east wall shot volley after volley of arrows against the giants. They did nothing but anger them further. The giants roared out ferociously. The dwarves braced them selves now abandoning all hope of stopping the giant they turned their arrows to the trolls, infantry and the elephants.

The sound of dying orcs and trolls the sound of dying elephant trumpeting, it only enraged the giants as they continued their marc toward the wall. Still Gil stood there. The dwarves next to him looked at him with distain.” Aren’t ya gonna do something Elf? “ one called out to him. They were weary that Gil might once again turn into that titan of light. Sure he would be able to wipe the wall clean but would he not destroy the wall itself transforming. “Don’t jus stand there pointy ears, do something, anything!”

Gil just stood there. Closer the fire giant drew, closer death surely came. Each footfall of the giants an echoing reminder that life was finite. Each step an announcement that death was coming. To Gil though each step was a challenge to his God, each step a spoken blasphemy. He would do something, oh yes he would something.

As the first giant neared the wall Gil reached behind himself, from a disk of light he pulled a great spear with a broad head, he flung it as hard as he could. The spear traveled swiftly and with great force and found its tip met with the eye socket of the fire giant. It ripped its way like a hot knife through butter as it continued out of the back of the fire giants head spraying blood and other bio matter into the face and eyes of a giant next to him. This dazed the giant. A third giant stunned for a brief moment looked to see the giant fall. As the giants head turned to see its fallen kin, a spear of light same as the first ripped through one of their temples right through the other. The second giant wiped the blood from it eyes, no sooner than it did before it saw a bright light and then nothing as the spears tip landed right between its eyes ripping through its skull. The bodies of the giants fell backwards onto the elephants and troops behind them.

Dal Heike Eisen Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Itra]

Waiting was easy. While mortals might whine and complain at the prospect of even slight delay, such a time span was akin to an instant for the eternal lunar goddess She was. After all, what cause was there to rush? She had done what She needed, and Her plot was ready to be put into motion.

Unbeknown to Her priest, She had taken the opportunity prayer afforded to weave and enchantment over him. A necessary measure, and requirement for the deliverance of the information She’d planned to provide. She couldn't simply establish contact with him upon whim. Were either he or someone in proximity to utter Her holy name as the War-Father had, She’d be able; such a circumstance held naught chance of occurrence currently. Thus, She’d defined two circumstances of Her own to serve as trigger for the enchantment’s effect.

Savan Shade’s scrying had been the key to it. He may scan Arethil all he’d like through the eyes of his projected crow above the battle and beneath Her heavens. Doing so would reveal Her priest and his allies, but She watched on unseen from the Astral Valley. The fact that he had commanded such a magical effect that close to Her priest was more than enough to meet the conditions She'd woven into the enchantment. And if such was the key, the activation of the portal stone was the motion that turned it. Once rendered unusable, all conditions had now been met.

…And brace yourself for imminent attack,
From those undead risen by ancient lord,
Wielding the power of great artifact.

It’s not for the boy that they shall arrive,
They know he's neither special nor unique,
It is you they wish to slaughter and rive;
The spilled blood of mortals is what they seek!

To fill The Bloodstone's malicious power,
And reduce all alive to undead state.
Many shall die throughout the encounter;
So ensure that you join them not in fate!​

...Well the war-chief still stood and the hordes weren't quite undead servants of Savan yet. Frankly, She'd expected him to have made a bit more progress before drawing close enough to trigger the predetermined warning. No matter; Kiros would come to understand eventually. He ought be grateful for any granted aid, yet She knew better than to expect that by now.

As She had concluded Her warning, She could see the look of fear and dread on the face of Her priest. And quite the delightful sight it was! She doubted a simple smiting would’ve taught him the requisite lesson; if it didn’t work after Farreach, it surely wouldn’t work here. Fear of the impending battle however had a clear and visible effect on him – one that She hoped would actually stick. May the trauma inflicted in the battle to come rid him of such future notions.

While he'd been given warning of Savan Shade, Kiros had still not been warned of the demonic lord in his company. Not out of negligence. She'd purposely made sure to omit any mention of that – She was well aware that the demonic truly terrified him. He couldn't access the portal stone, but She didn't doubt his proclivity to do something stupid once he'd given into panic; he'd done so already during an earlier given quest. She well remembered how instruction and guidance become lost upon him in such circumstance, Her priest given entirely to whatever imbecilic impulses sparked within his menial mortal mind.

If he wouldn't handle the news well, he certainly didn't need to hear it.

Kiros promptly sprang into action along with those who had also undertaken the task he had made foolish agreement to. He moved alongside two elves there, opting to keep company with them as the fort burst into a flurry of activity.

That might do him some good. He'd kept company with an elf during his holy quest in service of Seneschal, and it certainly seemed to help. Xzaar Vixneel had been the first of his companions She could actually honestly claim to approve of. That elf attacked Her enemies and had done as She demanded. Best of all – and quite unlike Her priest – he didn't question Her! Unwaveringly obedient and aptly fearful; he had truly been a model mortal.

There was no War-Father to best Her. Her priest was now sweating and without any means of escape, filled with deserved fret. Thus far, all was unfolding quite well.

For Her.

 

[Savan Shade]

Each orc felled, each giant toppled, each troll and each elephant killed must have felt like a small triumph, they were winning. They could do it, they would be triumphant. However what they did not know was that each life they took was a blessing to Savan, each life taken another soldier for his army. Each drop of blood spilt was more blood for The Bloodwell. Fuel for magic, fuel for his army.

Savan could feel something watching him, he did not know what it was but he could feel it's hate for him, it dispised him. This made him smile, he revealed in it, in the malice.

The crow circled high above the fort watching as thing unfolded, he waited in the north. He wanted not to squash the hope of just he heroes but also the hopes of the arrogant Warlord. So he would wait to deal his hand, and when hope of victory was ensured, he would cast waves of endless doubt.

Heike Eisen Kiros Rahnel Dal Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Gil’Tyrnin and Erën, Kiros imagined, gained fervor and determination from belief in their own gods. Itra, on the other hand, was provider of anything but. His hopes had been far higher before She sent into an immediate plummet upon Her revealed presence. Oh, how he envied those and the solace he imagined their divine service must provide, even if he couldn’t consider their respective religious beliefs correct. Still, at least they followed their gods of their own volition.

Of the elves, Erën was by far the quieter of the two, and had shown he was not inclined to speak up on matters of faith or religion. He was a worshipper of the Celestial gods, much like the majority of Arethil’s residents outside of Amol-Kalit. Kiros couldn’t help but feel that the target of his worship was misguided; unlike Gil, he’d dare not speak such a thing. To him, Celestialist deities were considered entirely fictitious. He’d no evidence for their existence aside from that of legends spoken by the easterners. Itra certainly gave them no reverence, having even made explicit denial of their existence on more than one occasion.

Gil maintained his claim of a singular ‘true’ god, which was enough for Kiros to discard the newly encountered theology as entirely valueless. At least atheists were consistent with their foolish denial of the divine. Monotheists had hardly any excuse by his reasoning, as they clearly understood the concept of divinity and ought be aware of more than one. Such ignorance was ever more grating when it was so willful.

Kiros made his way to the nearest and most suitable vantage point in a hurry, allowing him a view of the insurmountable number of orcs organized around the fort. For every dwarven defender within the fort’s walls, it seemed there was no less than ten lined up beyond them. The interpretation he’d made of Grunni’s foreboding tone prior had been disturbingly accurate.

“[We’re going to die here.]” he uttered aloud in native Kaliti tongue, purely to himself. Having believed that She was unaware of the great danger and unwinnable nature of the battle to come, Her given warning assured him that She well was. It now seemed more likely that She simply didn’t care. Perhaps that was what the purpose of this holy quest truly was – Her intended solution to ensure She’d not be bothered by the unwanted presence of other gods again. He couldn’t imagine that She expected any sort of victory here. Were there any remaining doubt, the horrifying sight before his eyes banished it from mind; against such a quantity of amassed forces, defeat would be inevitable.

To the west were orcs in heavy armour and high numbers, with battle-axes in hand and ladders carried on their shoulders. The enchantment imbued within his quarterstaff stirred from the presence of what he could only assume were casters among their ranks. Kiros imagined that these mages must be either purgers or necromancers; but given the warning received by Itra, he jumped to the conclusion that they were likely the latter – though the possibility that they could be both was not discounted. The ladders carried with them were of further note, and made explicit their intended means of beaching the fortification’s walls. It was perhaps the riskiest of the three strategies he could observe the orcs employing, but the masses joined together in the attempt would allow them eventual success and egress past the walls.

To the east was a mass of orcs, and among their ranks stood towering giants, their heads topped by fiery locks akin to fire. Never before had Kiros seen beings of such likeness, taller than even the trolls they also held within their ranks. They appeared prepared to break down their defences through sheer attrition of force, and would surely do so should they manage to close the distance. They would, however, need to survive arrow, javelin, and sword in order to do so. Doubtless that they eventually would, but it was further doubtful that it would happen promptly.

And to the south there were siege towers, with wheeled battering rams in tow behind them and the hordes lined for battle.

"You know what you are capable of. In your judgment I place my trust."

The elite heavy infantry making approach from the west seemed easiest to deal with. Unlike those using siege towers these unsheltered ladders would leave the orcs exposed to whatever injurious materials the dwarves would drop on them, provided that the ladders themselves remained intact and climbable in the first place. Further, if those casters in their company were necromancers, Kiros would be better to engage the undead they would raise; were they purgers, he would be best to keep himself and his magic beyond a range at which they could interrupt it.

The fire giants would demolish the walls if given the chance, but as before, that would take time. They would further have to press their way past the dwarves to do so – who would surely lay down their lives to delay them. They remained a great threat, Kiros held no doubt about that; but much like the elite infantry, they would be vulnerable to attack and made no utilization of cover. They would become attractors of slung projectile and dwarven attention; while the threat was great, others seemed better able to handle them.

Thus, Kiros determined that of the three threats presently faced, it seemed that the siege towers to the south threatened to breach the fort first. They could be wheeled right up to the wall, and the tower walls would shield the occupants from attack. The towers could not simply be knocked down either, and should the orcs manage to push one to the fortress wall they would be able to pour inside and overrun them from within. However, were that to happen, his luminant curtain would prove obstacle to their egress. With his actions and purpose planned, Kiros made headway to the south wall.

There he would find dwarven defenders in midst of heated discussion, while crossbow bolts flew into the advancing orcish hordes. The siege towers made steady progress, and already there were three that threatened to reach the fort’s walls.

“We’ve not the numbers to hold back every tower!”

“Then allow them to deploy one.”

“…What?”

“Let them reach the walls with one of-”

“I know what you said! It’s just stupid as -”

“They will likely cease advancement of the other towers, once one finds purchase here-”

“Well of course, because they’ll already have their breaching point!

…Do you want to die?” The dwarf asked of Kiros, head tilted up with an incredulous expression matching the pointed statement he’d made.

“No. I wish to kill. And I suspect they will all rush into the first tower deployed in hopes of-”

“Of course they will!” Repeated the dwarf.

“And then you’ll do that wall o’ light wizardry again?” Added another whose interest the conversation had evidently caught, to which Kiros gave a nod. While the first dward seemed ill-apt to listen to Kiros, he shifted his expression with revelation at the commentary of his kind.

“Oh. Oh! And then we could get them all at once with the boiling oil!”

“It’ll only work once though. Orcs are stupid but they aren’t that daft.”

“Then we shall need another plan after. Presently, we sorely require time; which I hope this provides us. Once they reach the top, I shall seal off their passage through the curtain; such that they can make no interference while we deploy the oil.”

The two dwarves shared a look with each other before giving a subtle nod. The plan carried risk – but so did the situation itself. There appeared to be no victory-granting decisions – only ones that could postpone inevitable defeat.

Kiros truly hoped the delay would be sufficient.

Heike Eisen Dal Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Gathered there together, in the company of those he'd deemed righteous in at least some ways if not many, Erën felt a familiarity. Though is was far different than what he knew with those of the collective, the presence was there. Indeed, they were all far different from one another, but above all else in what had come to face them did they share a common goal. And in this, they fought as one, these few. These few he needed to be able to depend on, and he'd found throughout the duration of their journey together that had led them to this time, that he could.

While some of them had fussed about magic, others about gods, Erën, as ever in times like these, thought in more tactile terms... for the most part. Where were their strengths? Where where their weaknesses? Joined with the collective and fighting alongside them was simpler. You just knew. But in times like these, it was not so easy, and Erën had learned it was better to watch than it was to speak.

Gil'Tyrnin had proven to be quite benevolent, and determined in what he believed. This alone was enough to give trust that he would do his part, but he'd also proven to do it quite well. Dal, though Erën was relunctant to admit, was as stalwart a warrior he could think of. Naturally Erën had kept a close eye on the half orc for a good duration of their journey, but after fighting alongside him to recover Sandrun, and the subsequent battle - where Dal even rescued him, Erën was certain he could trust in him also, especially when it came to ensuring his objective's survival. As for Kiros, he too had proven to be one quite set in their beliefs, which of course he thought was as fitting for a priest as it was for a paladin, and equally as trustworthy - to an extent. He did not fully understand Kiros' views as he did Gil'Tyrnin, as Gil was far more vocal about who and what they believed. Though, even still, he'd chosen to defend Sandrun quite admirably, and stand and fight with them again.

Priest or no, this day, Erën regarded him as Warrior.

And Heike. She'd shown she had the potential to be a great leader, but he was all too familiar with the gnawing guilt he saw in her. It would take time, perhaps even too much. But even still she was as tenacious in combat as ever, even moreso now than he remembered. But it was not as though she reveled in combat as some did, but he knew rather she strove past it. She had said it herself...

---

"...I strive to restore Reikhurst from ruin such that I might be judged by a trial of my peers for my actions and my failures, and be sentenced to my rightful punishment."​

---

He found that the title of Knight quite suited her.

So it was then that they moved forward, up onto the ramparts, and saw then the barren reality that was bitterly laid before them. A host whose number was well beyond contest had come for them. From where he stood, Erën gazed out at the writhing sea of violence with disdain.

Heike gave orders, and then hurried with Dal to the western wall. Then Gil to the east. Finally Kiros headed south.

The towers. They were their biggest threat, Erën believed. The ladders were dated in comparison, and giants, though powerful, were easy targets.

So Erën remained at the southern wall, and waited. He would refrain from using his magic for now, and instead stay ready for the inevitable melee that was about to take place.

---

Heike Eisen | Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest |
Dal | Kiros Rahnel ​

 

[Heike Eisen]

A great orcish sea lay before the southern, western, and eastern walls of the Arragoth fort. The ground itself was scarcely visible beneath that fearsome tide. Eyes consumed with a lust for battle, or with a fear prompting a bravado portraying of the same, glared up hungrily at the dwarves and scant few adventurers manning the walls. Menalus had declared that the Arragoth be crushed, and so, by axe and fist and beast's maw and shamanic power, it would be done.

* * * * *​

At the eastern wall, three of the giants fell dead, and the infantry, tightly packed as they were, could not all escape the tumbling of their colossal allies and died--instantly or shortly thereafter. Those elephants caught in the shadow of the falling giants, strong and hardy beasts, their resolve augmented by the beastmasters riding atop them, mostly pushed through, save one that buckled as a fallen giant's entire weight landed squarely on it.

The rest of the giants and elephants kept coming, weathering the storm crossbow fire. Captain Grunni, standing close by Gil shouted, "Brace!" And then the giants and beasts slammed into the wall with a rumbling WHUMP on impact, rocking the wall severely enough that many of its defenders lost their footing and stumbled. Yet the wall stood, this made so by the graces of the runecrafters' efforts in strengthening the wood which otherwise would have splintered and shattered immediately. Even so, Purgers were being ordered over from the southern and western walls. They would seek to break the magical powers of the runes, to hasten the eastern wall's destruction.

* * * * *​

At the southern wall, Major Angrumm watched the approach of the siege towers and lamented that he'd not any proper dwarven made artillery to blast the towers apart before they could even reach his defenses. But alas. What they did have was this human priest (and a right tall one too, innihe?) and this magic that some of the Marines mentioned. The Major hadn't been at the Second Battle himself to see it (and so likewise knew not of Erën's capabilities just yet), but, from what the Marine said, a certain "wall o'light" that the priest could conjure sounded to be well enough a suitable anvil, and the Marines and his soldiers could be the hammer. Namely, dropping a variety of hammers on top of the trapped orcs' heads.

Major Angrumm said to Kiros, "Right then. Use your magic, priest, we'll have the oil and--"

A barrage of rocks flew over the walls, these large stones striking some of the dwarves, cratering their helms and caving in their skulls if they were hit directly, and from this several fell dead on the ramparts. Orcish slingers, whose natural strength enabled them to hurl bigger stones with more force than human or even dwarven counterparts, were below among the advancing towers, providing cover fire.

Major Angrumm swore in dwarvish, and then said in Common, "Keep your heads down, lads!"

The towers rolled closer, closer, closer still.

And they reached the southern wall, their ramps slamming down, the troops inside ready and eager to deploy.

* * * * *​

At the western wall, the hulking, heavily-armored elite infantry were attempting to gain their initial foothold on the ramparts. And were slowly succeeding. These were behemoths, juggernauts clad head-to-toe in orcish wrought metal, the largest and strongest of their fellow Blights. One such juggernaut reached the top of the ladder, a human adventurer auxiliary tried to bash him back with his shield, and the juggernaut simply slammed into him with his shoulder, sending the auxiliary off of his feet and hurtling down off of the rampart and thirty feet below to the badland ground, several bones breaking upon impact and this evidenced by his tortured cries.

Heike wished mightily that she had a reach weapon for this. The longsword was a versatile weapon, a staple of pitched warfare and easy to travel with, but here? Against foes such as these? How her hands longed for the power of a poleaxe! Even more versatile, with the addition of its hammerhead for a straightforward answer to defeating armor, and with added reach, it would have been perfect for defending against the orcs on the cusp of finishing their climb up the docked ladders. But she had to make do.

Heike held her sword inverted, gripping the blade, and used the pommel itself as a blunt weapon--the rather uncouth name of "murder-stroke" being the widely accepted name for the half-swording technique. As Dal cleaved into the juggernauts with his rune-enhanced sword, Heike struck at juggernauts as their helmeted heads crested over the battlements of the walls. One fell from the ladder with a single well-placed stroke of her pommel, but the next didn't go down so easily; she struck, the juggernaut roared and pushed her back with a powerful shove, Heike heels dangled precariously over the edge of the rampart, she balanced herself, and then hurried back to the wall and delivered the next three strokes that detached the juggernaut from the ladder and sent him likewise plummeting.

Next to Heike, an adventurer auxiliary, a female mage. She was conjuring fireball after fireball and then a stream of flame to try and burn the ladders and the troops. But the mage was targeted by a Purger below. As the mage was preparing another fiery spell, the Purger got line of sight of her and counterspelled. Dark purple energy eclipsed the mage's hands, her spell backfired on her, her hands caught fire and blackened instantly, and she screamed. Then a juggernaut, freshly planting his feet on the ramparts, grabbed the mage by her head and flung her over the wall and outside of the fort, down into the bloodthirsty crowd of awaiting infantry below and she disappeared among the mass that set upon her. Heike saw only a glimpse of it, and the horror of the fleeting sight, the sound of the mage's smothered scream, stilled the blood in her veins.

Then Heike felt something around her throat.

As it turned out, not all of the things the heavy infantry had carried to the western wall were ladders. Some of the devices...were mancatchers. Team-operated weapons, they were poles long enough to reach the top of the walls and with nooses on their ends that could be cinched tight, grasping their victims about their bodies, their necks, their arms, maybe even their legs if an unfortunate and unaware step was taken.

A score of mancatcher nooses flopped over the wall in unison, close to half of them ensnaring dwarves and dragging them over the top of the walls and down to suffer the fate the mage had suffered. Some of their comrades lunged to try and grab hold of them, some succeeding, some only just missing, their friends slipping through their fingers to certain death below.

Heike, as well, had been caught by one of the mancatchers.

Her back hit one of the battlements, and she was bent painfully over it, the top half of her body being pulled by the neck, her feet hooked under the body of a fallen Marine that kept her from spilling completely over the wall. She dropped her longsword onto the rampart. Straining and choking, one hand was on the cinched noose, trying desperately to purchase some slack, while the other was grasping for her dagger.

A juggernaut, the very same who'd thrown the mage, saw Heike pinned there.

And raised his enormous battleaxe.

Dal Kiros Rahnel Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Portal Stone is currently inoperable.​

 

[Dal]

Death, the manifestation of it, the pervasive presence of it, the assured promise of it, the acrid smell of it, death surrounded Dal and beset him on all sides, as did all who stood with him in this struggle. All expressions of that primal force plagued those prepared, experienced and ready for it. The evidence of the manifestation of death changed in a snap of the eye as new elements of the pressured combat revealed itself.

Dal's eyes refused to blink as it regarded each aspect. One moment death mocked his insistence on living as a dwarven comrade was torn asunder and driven into a corner, to be ended by a crushing blow that marked the walls with grim internals. The next moment, Dal's answering swordstroke slaughtered the towering armoured foe with wreathed blue fire about the crossguard of his sword, his salvation and reliance in this combat now, and at this transient moment of death dealing, the primal force of murder seemed to applaud his efforts with a grim smile that mocked his fallen foe. The blade's magic seem invigorated by the odds before them, it cracked armour of the greenskin to access the flesh inside, and Dal was now properly educated by his kills to wield it with all the brutality that was required to end the greenskin.

No blinking from Dal, no shirking from what was to be enacted, instead mechanical movements and ruthless sword strokes were the motions made as Dal found himself immersed in the phenomenon he pledged his prayers to. This was it. This was what he served his time in preparation for. This was the answer to his prayers. Death and death again. The scent of singed flesh from rebellious mage fire greeted his nostrils, it mixed with the smell of copper from spilled blood, and the burnt ozone scent of his own weapon wreathed in blue flame washed over him. The smell braced him and readied him for his own terrible deeds. Placed him firmly in the mindset of killing, to return what he saw with his own offering.

Dal's eyes were fierce and uncompromising, unyielding and determined, and refused to be clouded by any fear despite the overwhelming odds that tore about them from each cardinal direction. To survive, he knew, he must act relentlessly, instantly, to cut and cut again, to strive against the odds, to buy enough time to satisfy their own blood thirst for the enemy, to escape via the portal when the time was right.

Not alone, Dal stated within his mind. His thoughts were curt, puncturing words in his brain like a chisel to stone, carving imprints, chipping away at himself with each stubbed thought.

He turned to look at his comrades. There were many who he fought beside. But only one he was truly fighting for right now, beside himself and his own refusal to die in this place.

His eyes witnessed Heike's predicament and again, Dal refused to blink. Refused to let the dread take hold. Refused to let another visage of death surprise him. Instead of the divisions of fractions of seconds into further degrees of time being spent in fear, hesitation, belligerence or complaint, there was action and a single word.

“Heike!”

The word was married to a sword thrust out to meet the axe blow as Dal made an leaping step to stand in the stead of Heike's attacker, who wore heavier armour than Dal, brutal spikes about it's armour, who had greater height than Dal, who had surges of his own violent intent as the two blades bit into one another and let out great sparks as Dal's thrust successfully met the attack with his own parry. The blue fire of Dal's steel did nothing to sunder the axe as the sword thrust ground against the axe edge, and Dal was educated further on the method of the dwarven magic in this moment. It would affect armour that defended orcish flesh, but not the weapon one carried. Dal's education on the magic of his blade was now complete, perhaps all too late.

Looming, menacing and self assured, the orc shock trooper leaned his power into the two interlocked weapon and forced Dal to kick out a leg to support his motion as his arms gave way by two inches.

The orc breathed in as it prepared to overwhelm Dal. And then a word in the orc tongue, braying, dark and gutteral, drawn out and stinking, was bellowed out. It saw the dwarven rune magic. It smelled the orc within Dal. The word was understood by Dal as the armoured brute brought a knee upwards to Dal's exposed chest, Dal's arms high above him to prevent the axe from descending further.

“Traitor!”

Dal received the jab of the knee, driven by blight orc muscle and hate, and the half-orc felt the stab of metal against his chest as the orc's right armoured knee crunching into his own breastplate, causing it to cave inwards from merit of the jagged and spiked armour the orc wore. So forceful was the rising knee that it threatened to steal the breath out of the half-orc, but his own armour did much to prevent this was happening.

Yet, Dal refused to blink. He simply grimaced as he gave out his own reply as his eyes became aflame with hate.

“Weakling,” Dal replied in orcish.

Unlike the shock trooper who relied upon brute strength, simple violence and physical domination, the warrior Dal used low cunning, mechanical advantage and his own cold expression of precise carnage in service to the god of death. And so it was that he acted swiftly despite reaching such a blow. Because of such a blow.

With his right hand, he kept grip of his longsword which was still embraced by the enemy's axe, and turned it so that the axe would slide to his right and away, arcing his weapon so that the force behind the weapon was still in play. It would soon meet the crossguard. As this happened, his left hand reached for his rondel, and with an ice pick grip did stab sideways at the armoured plate of the knee that was still within his chest.

The rondel stabbed at the knee joint from the side and underneath. Pierced where there was no armour. This sudden movement was met with a quicker one as the axe bit into the crossguard. As the knee returned to stand as the orc did had the self preservation to feel pain from his own leg, it removed pressure from his longsword as the orc began to gave a guttural scream that promised more violence. The axe reared up, and Dal exploded into action once again, rondel in the left hand, longsword in the right hand, hate in his heart and all of death's colours in his vision.

Dal's outstretched leg sprung forward to step nearer as Dal balanced himself with practiced motion and up close into the beast's inner circle of defense. He was close now. Close enough to smell the fetid breath of this thing. To hear the rumble in it's chest. The rondel was held aloft, the longsword turned to pierce. The axe descended and was met once against by the longsword's edge, only this time, it did not bite, Dal had simple smacked the axe to one side with reverberations that ran up his arm. But the rondel was left to do it's work. The helmet that the shock trooper wore did not protect the chin, and from that point of exposure Dal did stab.

The rondel punctured three times. Blood gushed. The axe crashed into the crossguard and then was shrugged off.

Dal gave his own kick to push the shock trooper away and to one side as it's own momentum was used against it from it's attack with the axe. The blight orc smashed into the rampants and lay motionless, defeated, undone, murdered by a half breed.

Dal fell to a knee, and struggled for breath.

There's no fucking time for this, Dal thought and pushed himself up by the tip of his longsword on the ground, his vision darkening already.

He turned to look at Heike again, and saw how she was being dragged down.

Dal pushed on, rondel in hand, crushed armour at his chest, his breath shortened by the imprint of his own metal armour, yet his eyes refused to blink as he reached forward with the rondel as he saw Heike struggle.

All Dal saw was another death. A death he had to prevent. Yet his own efforts to deal death had left his wanting for time. Was there enough of it to reach her and assist her?


Kiros Rahnel Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Heike Eisen

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

The sound of stone striking steel was superseded by the sickening crack of the skull beneath, ending thought and life of the dwarf who’d donned it. There was no scream, no cry, no sound aside from that of broken bone beneath flesh; the marine simply dropped dead with sign of life evermore quelled. Others too, had their lives cut short by the impact of slung stone and fell dead where they stood. The remainder, quite wisely and deftly, ducked down for cover from the volley and those that followed after. Kiros ducked down for his own protection as well; the notably tall Kaliti needed to duck far lower than his dwarven companions.

The defensive posture saved the lot of them from suffering further casualties, yet hindered their ability to observe or respond to their foes. Kiros and the two dwarves he had just spoken to shared a look among each other. Volley upon volley of sling-tossed stones soared overhead, at a rate consistent enough to require all to remain with heads down. While the original plan had entailed hindering the progress of all towers but one, the current situation scarcely allowed for much reprisal from the Marines. The siege towers continued in their approach, their position hinted at only by the sound of wheels grinding over ground.

“...I don't think we're gonna be able to hold many of them back.” Remarked one of the dwarves. Kiros wore a look of grim contemplation. The unrelenting barrage of lethal rock would render any attempt at preparation fruitless, and the opportunity Kiros hoped to provide through his Luminant Curtain could not be counted on. Further, for so long as they sought refuge beneath cover, the enemy would advance and in short order they would be overwhelmed. To remain idle did little more than to exchange death by stone for death by blade.

“...I think that original plan is a wash.” Remarked the other.

“No shit, Begnir.”

Kiros had intended to wait until a siege tower had reached the wall before invoking his curtain, but that was reliant upon condition that one of the towers would complete its approach first. Presently, all towers threatened to reach the wall with the same timing. If his magic could not provide an opportunity for attack, it could serve as an obstacle to impede the movement of at least one tower, and further provide to cover from the hail of stone.

It would also reveal the incantation to the enemy orcs and reduce the likelihood that they would fall for such a trap. The likelihood that they could spring the trap was currently naught, and so that factor no longer mattered.

“I might still stall the arrival of one tower.” Kiros announced.

“Well do it then!”

“Do not expect much; the effect is twelve seconds. If the purgers do not disable it.”

“Oi..”

That his foes were not yet familiar with the details of the spell was still a situation that could prove advantageous. The curtain was brief in its effect but would give no sign of this until it suddenly expired in a blinking flash of light. Laying the curtain to impede a tower with its edge might cause them to steer the tower around it – or at least prepare to during the brief moment of time it'd be active for. Invoking the curtain dead centre before the tower offered little advantage, and further might encourage the orcs pushing the tower to hold fast and wait for arrival of one of the purgers to the west to dispel it. Regardless, the presence of arcane effect seemed likely to encourage their arrival anyhow.

Kiros uttered the spoken prayer and made the requisite motion with his staff to invoke the spell before briefly glancing over the cover to place it, rocks flying overhead. From above, a line of glowing light descended until it struck the ground some distance to the east and beside the intended target. It then immediately expanded in opposite directions to form a shimmering curtain, and did so just enough to obstruct the approaching siege tower with its edge. The curtain further obstructed the relentless slung stones that had assaulted them, temporarily stopping the barrage.

“We have cover!” Announced one of the dwarves, before the rest rushed into what activity they could during the brief cover provided.

The orcish crew with the siege tower was hauling it in reverse now, likely to make room to swerve around the edge of the luminescent obstacle before it. In another moment, the curtain expired and the absence of its glow notified those orcs with the tower; it began to gradually slow before, reversing direction to advance on the fort again.

Kiros was on the eastern side of the southern wall, though not quite at the corner of the fort. There was one further siege tower further to the east, with the remainder to his west. All but the one that the curtain had stalled made their landing at once, and orcs clambered up the structures to pour out atop the wall on both sides. Repeating the same spoken prayer as before, Kiros invoked his Luminant Curtain once more. The spell’s effect unfolded to the westward side, angled such that it both posed temporary obstacle to those masses of orcs emerging from the numerous towers beyond it, while providing some further cover from the hail of stone that promptly resumed with the first curtain's expiry.

The last remaining siege tower drew continually closer while those orcs from the unobstructed east rushed towards them with war-cries bellowed out and steel brandished in hand. In lack of further useful magic to weave, Kiros held his staff in a battle-ready position and steeled himself to fight. He had done what he could for now; once the curtain expired and the masses held back were able to charge, he knew not what he might do. The battle had begun only moments ago, and they were already on the verge of being overrun.

Curse Pneria.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Heike Eisen Dal Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Tucked behind the wall, Erën knelt and avoided the onslaught of stone. The orcs were harsh in their brutality, with strength that was well enough to make every strike fatal. Even still, it was here in these conditions where Erën was at his finest. His breath was even and calm, and though the sword in his hand was eager to strike, there was patience.

Its time would come.

Kiros' plan had been good in theory, but the reality was that the orcs were far too determined. Still, there was some merit in what had been done, but it was clear very quickly that it seemed no matter what effort they could collectively put forth, it would do only so much. In this, Erën resigned to accept. They could not stop them. He could not stop them either. But he fully intended to slow them down.

Almost simultaneously the towers soon arrived, and gates slammed down to allow the orcs to make their way out. Erën wasted no time. As soon as the tower closest him was open, he sprang forth. With unwavering confidence he leapt into the air, brandished his sword, and fell upon the orcs just beginning to emerge. He struck them with a flash of light and a crackling in the air. The burst of energy knocked even the largest of them either back down into the tower or off its edge into the frenzy below. He stepped in, and swung his sword in what likely looked like an erratic display. The tight quarters heading in made it difficult, but even still his actions were done with precision, and out of sight of the others there were now several dismembered orcs left to bleed.

And then again, as in the previous battle, a light fell from heaven.

With only a moment needed to prepare, granted to him after ending the lives of those foes closest to him, he unleashed his Celestial Strike. It struck the tower he himself was in, causing destruction and flame, but he channeled the strike through his sword which was directed at another tower just adjacent him. The strike hit it at its mid-point, and blew a hole straight through one of its quarter supports. For a moment it teetered precariously, and then the other quarter on its damaged side collapsed. This caused the tower to fall on its side, and in doing so it struck the tower Erën was still inside, and caused that one to also collapse now onto the first.

And there a great heap of fire and debris remained, bloodied with the corpses of many orcs.

And perhaps, also an elf.

---

Heike Eisen | Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest
Dal | Kiros Rahnel​

 

[Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest]

As the giants and the elephants made their way towards the walls they began to batter against them. A giant placed his hand on the top og the wall slamming it down on two Dwarven marines turning them both into a a fine red mist. The Giant attempted to pull the stone right from the wall leaning back hard digging its heels into the earth.

Gil ran to the position that the giant was at and swung his mighty sword in one swift motion, it ripped wildly from its sheath and was encased in light doubling its already massive size. The blade cut through the giants forearms just below the wrist with an downward cut. Gil ran forward still leaping the first hand and cutting the other forearm as he stopped running using the force of his sprint and the weight of his greatsword to unleashing a devastating upward slice the took the other hand of the fire giant. The Giant screamed in agony falling to it knees looking at the severed stubs of where it's hands once we're. A look of horror on its face as the realization that it would never use its hands again, a horror short lived as the world tilted and then spun then turned black as its head hit the battlefield below. The kneeling giants head was level with the wall, it made an easy target as the blade of light cut through.

Gil had no time to think or look to the others, he hurled spears of light towards the beast masters riding the elephants as they grew closer to the wall. If he could kill them he would be able to frighten the elephants, if he could get them to charge back into the orcish sea he might just be able to defend this portion of the wall.

Dal Heike Eisen Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Heike Eisen]

Warlord Krashogg watched from among the masses of infantry at the southern wall. Saw the magic being invoked against his siege towers, the Luminant Curtain and the Celestial Strike. Flashy displays. Effective...for now. Yet he would not let his orcish tide be denied. This magic would not save them, this fort would not save them, those paltry runes on the walls would not save them--he would have his troops chop their way through the walls if (and apparently when) it so came to it. Every dead dwarven body would be a trophy to the might of Molthal. And to get those trophies, as many of them as he could, his horde needed to get through those walls before they escaped through the Stone.

Where was that damned necromancer and his shambling dead, anyway? No matter. If the dead proved too slow to join the battle in time, their loss. Krashogg thought he might as well make a move to address that contingency.

He looked back to his battering ram crews. Shouted an order for one of them to circle around via the western side toward the gate at the north, and for the rest to continue advancing on the southern wall. Oh, what a perfect day if both created breaches simultaneously, and at last the true melee could be joined.

One last thing on his mind. Krashogg looked to the flaming wreck of a siege tower, and he directed a hulking Champion to investigate it. If there were any surviving dwarves inside, or even one of their auxiliary mages if he was lucky, then they ought be swiftly put to the axe.

* * * * *​

Heike distantly heard her name being called, but all she could see was the dark sky through her helm's visor. She felt the noose of the mancatcher pulling down on the metal of her gorget, felt the edge of the battlement pressing into the small of her back, as if crushing her with her own armor. She pulled her dagger from its sheath and started sawing frantically at the rope at her neck. Her feet were coming loose from the bodies of the dwarves. Gods no, her feet were coming loose!

And they did.

She toppled over the edge of the wall.

Her dagger sliced through the rope only too late.

The world she saw was upside-down as she spun and her feet were over her head and the roars and cheers of anticipation and bloodlust from below echoed within her helm and her ankle struck something and, in a flash of wordless realization in her mind that it had been wood and that it was one of the ladders, she reached her arms and flailed for purchase, grasping, grasping, fear threatening to erupt and spill over across the whole of her heart like magma bursting through bedrock, still spinning, her head over her feet now, her hand lightly touching something, another something, swinging her hand forward, that hand smacking against rungs of a ladder, and in a last ditch attempt to save herself she clamped the fingers of that hand down hard.

And caught hold of the backside of the ladder, dangling precariously above the mass of heavy infantry below, her feet only just removed by a small matter of a couple meters.

A juggernaut on the ladder below her was climbing up. And he, shocked in some amused way by the predicament that Heike was in, stared for just a moment. Heike threw her dagger at him and it bounced off of his helm and only bought her an extra second of time. She swung herself around to the frontside of the ladder. The juggernaut reached up to try and seize one of her ankles, but she lifted her feet from the ladder for a moment and climbed up two rungs with only her hands--the exhausting nature of it muted beneath the pumping drive of adrenaline in her veins. Heike, like a madwoman fixated one some object of fanatic desire that lay at the top of the ladder, climbed and climbed until she made it back up to the wall, and once there she spilled over the battlements and fell to her back on the rampart, just breathing for a moment.

For the love of home and hearth...she had faced death many times. Many times. She welcomed and accepted it, for it was a part of being a knight, of living by the sword in general. And yet, that manner of death in which she had only just narrowly avoided was utterly terrifying in a way that paralyzed her in that moment. An uncomfortable cold chill interrupted the heat of adrenaline, washing over her entire body and sprouting goosebumps across her flesh, and then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. By Regel...those poor Marines who'd been dragged over the wall! All she could do was hope that they would find some solace with their ancestors in their afterlife, as was their belief.

As she lay there, she saw Dal enter her thin field of vision. And at the sight of him came the prompting: she couldn't stay down like this.

Heike willed herself to sit up, to stand. She saw her longsword where she had dropped it on the rampart and collected it. Then she cast quick glances toward the east, toward the south. Gil was doing well over on the eastern wall, the flashes of light from his divine magic brilliant in the night. Kiros was among the dwarves at the southern wall, poised to receive the charge from the infantry that had disembarked from one of the towers; only one, the others seemingly gone, bright orange lights of a fire beyond the southern wall, and Erën nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she'd missed him in her quick scan?

Then there was their own wall, Dal's and hers. The weight of the orcish numbers was slowly but surely bearing down on the dwarven defenders. It was as if it did not matter how many they killed; another orc, fresh and eager to fight, was right behind each felled foe. They were securing the landings on the ramparts by their ladders, defending them so that more juggernauts could get onto the ramparts uncontested--which in turn helped them push back the dwarves to secure more landings around their ladders, which meant more orcs arriving uncontested atop the ramparts, and soon on.

Heike turned to Dal. She clapped a hand to his arm to grab his attention and shouted over the clamor of battle, "This side won't hold much longer!"

How much more time did they have? She couldn't say. But she knew one thing.

"We cannot allow the Blights to take control of the Portal Stone!"

That, above all else, was paramount. Perhaps it was the right call to stay for a while longer on the western wall, perhaps it was the right call to fall back to the chokepoint of the western ramp leading down to the ground and try to hold them there (surely the orcs wouldn't risk broken bones and death by jumping off the ramparts to try and get past them there?), or perhaps it was best to retreat to the Portal Stone now before they got bogged down. The situation was so dire that Heike could not say with certainty. In her way she was asking Dal for his own tactical input--listening was often as important as directing.

And, not so long after Heike had spoken, a juggernaut (the same who'd tried to grab her ankle) was cresting the ladder next to her and Dal.

Dal Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

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The Portal Stone is currently inoperable.​

 

[Dal]

Dal was chilled to see the nefarious method of ensnaring a foe that Heike had fallen victim to, both from the concept of the practice and the execution of it that he had been forced to witness. He had never seen such a thing before despite his experience with sieges.

His thoughts were blackened by the sight of Heike being pulled over the ramparts, and his attitude went immediately to one of self preservation. His hands clenched and unclenched the longsword in his right hand, he struggled to breathe deeply from the impacted breastplate about him, and he tried to collect himself as best he could. His eyes remained locked upon where he had seen the knight be removed from battle.

Heike was surely lost to the horde below, Dal thought, and I am not some elf that can carve my way through such a swarm of foes. The commander of us auxiliaries has just been wrenched from the fight before my eyes while I was standing here with a rondel in my hands, useless, too damn slow to assist! All because I was lost in another fight, all because I wasn't quick enough! Damnation and ruin. What now...survival, Dal, as always Dal, survival, Dal thought's ran.

And then, in spite of his grim outlook and fatalism as to her fate, Heike entered Dal's view once again, frantically clambering from the ladder and onto the rampart.

“How in the,” Dal began, gobsmacked. He shook his head, scoffed at his own disbelief and firmed his jaw. He saw how Heike retrieved her weapon, grabbed his arm and asked for a combat assessment. How she acted as a leader without falling prey to being mesmerised by her act of cheating certain death; Dal felt bolstered by the display, he felt that he truly was working with fellow career fighters of wars.

Professional, cool, undeterred. So this is the training of a knight in action, Dal thought.

Dal gave swift response, his voice certain, yet urgent.

“We withdraw. Get closer to the portal stone. Fight closer to it, secure our escape from this place! The next chokepoint, we fight there!” Dal declared, his previous thoughts of self preservation driving his voice to purpose despite his own disbelief. He clenched his weapon with surety.

The juggernaut crested the height of the ladder and it alighted with menace.

“Go!” Dal declared, his sword raised, “Withdraw and fight! I'll waylay this one!”

Dal looked to the ramp leading down and fixed the mental picture of it in his mind. He intended to fight while stepping backwards towards their goal.

The juggernaut brayed and stepped towards Dal and Heike, carving two cuts in the air as it did so with a heavy sword blade that would cut a horse in two if it connected with flesh.

Steady, Dal thought, this requires precision. A ragged breath from the half-orc, his eyes firmed to the task ahead. His muscles were warm, the adrenaline pumped through him once again from the prospect of dealing with such a intimidating foe. And then, thoughts of a plan. Mechanical advantage. Pivoting. Ejection. He placed himself on the furthest left of the ramp as it lead downwards. He began to walk backwards, his feet placed carefully, his plan already in motion.

“Take my right, keep back,” Dal said to Heike as they moved down, “stay out of the way, this one is mine. Trust me.”

Dal gave a small growl in his throat which rose to declare words in orcish at the foe.

“Come at me, if you call yourself an orc, come at me with all you have, maggot!” Dal roared, the words sounding like grinding flint upon stone.

The juggernaut shoulders tremored with what Dal could only assume was laughter at his declaration. And then the surge of movement as the juggernaut, clad in thick brutish blackened steel, began to charge towards Dal, heavy shod boots pounding the ground with tremors.

Good, Dal thought, I provoked the titan with my baiting.

And then an invasive thought.

You fool Dal. You've baited someone bigger than you, stronger than you, you're going to be cut apart, struck down, smashed to pieces!

Dal's mind defended his course of action with a response as he prepared his body for what was required.

But someone heavier, with poorer balance, Dal retorted to his thoughts. His doubts were silenced by his confidence.

What happened next was performed with expert timing. It was as if Dal was a matador, his blade waving before him, luring his foe in, waiting for the right moment to pivot and allow his foe to swung by without effect. The juggernaut charged, with blade arcing towards Dal and the drop below, and Dal propelled himself out of the way, his footwork serving expertly in this moment.

And just as his mind had retorted, he gave physicality to his enterprise in one sure strike.

Dal lunged out of the way, and jumped back towards the foe, kicking off the wall that Heike was closest towards on their way down to the lower battlefield, and with both legs outstretched kicked out to strike the juggernaut as it propelled itself forward. The full weight of Dal was behind him in such a desperate motion.

A cry of effort was produced by the half-orc as he delivered the motion to the side of the juggernaut, who's sword stroke had cut nothing but air, yet such an attack granted Dal the shifting weight and momentum in his foe that he needed. Combined with the charge the juggernaut had made, Dal's kick landed with both boots striking the breastplate's side, and was sufficiently powerful and weighted as to send the juggernaut to lose it's footing as it rushed forward and away over the edge of the ramp.

It hurtled to the side down below.

Someone else's problem now, Dal thought as he crashed to the ground from performing the kick, barely keeping on the ramp they were descending, and he felt the thud of pain from performing such an action. Brutal strength, precisely applied, Dal considered as he got back up, will win over such poorly balanced warriors.

Dal wheezed and drew himself up straight. The damage to his breastplate was making breathing difficult and was draining his will to fight.

More warriors were coming from the ramparts and were now coming down the ramp.

“To the chokepoint! We fight!” Dal declared, and brought his longsword to his left shoulder, ready to cut as they withdrew further. The fight was on, and he had no time to check on the progress of his companions. He just hoped that they all had the sense to prioritise survival over killing the foe.

The dwarves can die here, Dal thought, we do not. We do not!


Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Kiros Rahnel Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Heike Eisen

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Two towers fell, broken and alight with flame. The third found purchase, and like the others its gates now opened wide for the onslaught to commence. And though one departed, the remaining battering rams continued forward, rounding to either side of the wreckage. And there was one of the enemy's number who brought others, and drew closer to the fallen towers to investigate.

They were a mess of timber and fire, splintered and strewn. There was little likelihood of any survivors at first glance, but within, there was one who still lived.

Erën summoned the shield that was the Pillar of Tychan. Though it was once a power that was limited to a certain confine, he had learned to manipulate it to a deeper degree. Around him was formed an orb of light, moving like water in the likeness of broken glass. Within it, he focused, struggling to maintain the protection which kept the broken tower from collapsing on him, until the time came when he knew he could no longer.

A burst of light shot up and out of the fallen towers, closer to the western end, from the top of the second tower. Debris hurled aimlessly up and out into the masses of orcs nearby, striking many, some even fatally. And standing there from where the light had came, Erën quickly determined the precarious position he now found himself in. He had been successful in destroying the majority of their towers, but now stood on fragile footing with not only a horde of orcs set ahead of him, but a particularly dangerous one at the forefront.

The orcs had left space between the fallen towers and they, moving to either side instead. This gave Erën some moments of reprieve, as they were not immediately upon him.

A quick scan, and then he moved.

Though the prospect of slaying their champion before their very eyes provoked Erën, he knew it would lead him into an even worse position. He instead leapt across the wreckage, and toward the last remaining tower. It was his best chance of getting back above the wall.

As he came near the edge of the wreckage, he leapt from it's elevation, high. Stones were hurled toward him, and his escape was narrow. Another volley may break his streak. Feet on the ground, and in a burst of energy and light he was propelled forward, covering many meters. He tore his sword again from its sheath, and yet another burst of light shone out, this one brighter and more abrupt. It was blinding and disorienting for those nearby, though only momentarily. But it was enough time granted to him to cut down those orcs foremost in filing into the tower, and for him to enter in himself.

---

Heike Eisen | Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest
Dal | Kiros Rahnel​

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

The dwarves were lined up and ready to face the foes erupting from the towers. Kiros was among them in the rear rank, prepared to battle the assaulting orcs with his staff held forward in spear-like grip. But before even a single one stepped off, Erën leapt ahead of all to land directly into the opened gates of the closest tower. In a flash of light, all were knocked back; none able to escape the charge, with not a single orc managing to disembark it.

Another remained beyond the tower Erën had entered, and from it a flood of orcish warriors poured out to clash against the dwarven Marine’s front lines. With the threat of enemy from the nearest negated, the dwarven line split into two. One moved forward to meet those orcs rushing towards them from the tower ahead, while Kiros remained behind with the remainder caught and held back by the Luminant Curtain he had invoked. Concern for what was concurring to the rear remained high in mind – the curtain was not a perfect barrier. Once the orcs discovered that they could only cross one at a time however, interest in breaching it appeared to be lost

Doubtless the orcs were familiar enough with it now to know that it was better to wait it out, than to feed themselves one by one to the dwarven steel of the Marines. They remained behind the curtain, the menacing visage of all illuminated by its glow. Two more brilliant flashes of light followed that outshone even that; the first from the sky above tower Erën had charged into, and the second from the rearward tower torn apart by the fury of his channelled Celestial Strike. Wreckage from it toppled back over and crashed into that which held Erën, with the aftermath out of sight. Erën’s condition remained unknown to Kiros, who continued to gaze his direction as if it may grant answer.

“Won’t he just recover as the other elf did?” Remarked Begnir, who had noted Kiros’ concerned expression.

“I know not, and I neither trust his outcome to chance.” Kiros added, gaze never averting from the direction he’d last seen Erën. The curtain remained for a moment more, running diagonally across the battlement from its exterior side to a farther point on the interior. The orcs were held back in such a way that their formation formed a wedge, with the narrow point along the exterior towards them and the Marines. Without further warriors from the rear siege tower to fill out their ranks, the orcs found themselves in an incomplete formation that didn’t quite cover the width of the battlement. By the time they realized it was too late, and they were in the midst of hasty reorganization once the curtain vanished from existence.

This unforeseen circumstance provided an advantage for the Marines, one swiftly seized to surround the orcs from the interior side. The dwarves began the fight with immediate aggression, charging forth with axes swung in fury to press the orcs against the edge of the platform. Begnir was among them, pushing forth to the forward line as the battle unfolded. All seemed under control for the moment thanks to Erën’s decisive act. Such could not become sacrifice; having seen no further sign of the elf, Kiros' anxiety over his condition only grew.

He moved to the battlement’s outer edge in attempt to discover what had became of Erën - but before the vantage point could be reached, he found himself intercepted by a charging orc who’d managed to break past the dwarven line. With insufficient time for arcane intervention, Kiros brought his quarterstaff up horizontal in a swift motion to guard against the overhead swing of his foe. The staff clashed against the pole of the axe, but was caught within the hook of its bill. A forceful downward pull wrenched it from Kiros’ grip, rendering him without a weapon to face his newly discovered threat.

The sizable orc then took a forward step over the staff clattering atop the floor, cutting off any hope that Kiros might retrieve it. He instead hopped back with haste, putting distance between himself and the warrior – it was enough to ensure he was able to dodge the swing that followed. The blade of the axe swung around from the orc’s exterior side in a menacing, but ultimately harmless trajectory a foot from his head, with Kiros leaping laterally back to avoid it.

“I need cover!” Kiros shouted, but his words found no purchase amidst the chaos and cacophony of ongoing battle.

“You need death.” the orc growled in deep guttural tone, his green face contorted into a hideous and malicious sneer. Kiros had barely managed to catch his footing when the warrior spung the massive axe overhead to make another lateral strike from the same direction – brutish strength and battle experience enabling expert control of his weapon. With scarcely enough time to properly react, Kiros threw himself back to dodge the sudden oncoming swing. Footing had been lost, but the desperate manoeuvre had been enough to dodge the second attack, the axe’s blade within inches of striking his chest.

“Aid me!” Kiros shouted again in desperation, at the loudest volume his lungs allowed.

“None can, priest.” Snarled the orc, already in position to make yet another swing. His axe moved diagonally downward from the interior side; in opposite direction of his prior two attacks. Death was written upon the edge of it, and Kiros could not easily dodge from his seated position he had toppled over into. But he could seek cover against the parapet, and he reached for the top of it with both hands to pull himself against it. The axe swung down, carving and splintering wood inches from his position upon cleaving into the battlement’s surface. Kiros used the top of the wall to pull himself back to his feet, throwing himself into an immediate sprint away from the orc.

“Die a coward then.” The warrior taunted, giving immediate pursuit. Another flash of light erupted from Erën's position, but Kiros was too distracted to take notice. Whatever meagre head start he had gained was quickly reduced, with the battle-fit orc gaining rapid distance.

There was no escaping his approach – Kiros had merely bought himself a minor amount of time.

His life hinged upon putting it to resourceful use.

The might and experience of his opponent was a disadvantage, but even more dire was that caused by his lack of weapon. The ground ahead of him was now littered with debris from the destroyed tower, and a frantic visual search yielded no immediate candidate for a substitute instrument of warfare. All before him was of shape too ill-fitting to serve as a weapon. One such unwieldy piece was still attached to tattered remnants of the tower’s rope ladder; which might serve as handle to swing it as a flail. A solid cudgel would have been greatly preferable, but the debris-attached rope remained the best option immediately available.

His aggressor was closing in, making his approach from the interior side to keep Kiros from diverging away from the parapet and deadly plummet beyond it. Odds and might were stacked against him, and the orc could doubtless already taste his victory. To steal it from away would require subterfuge; he could not display his intent, lest his foe be warned.

Kiros feigned a stumble; reaching down as if to push off the floor and correct himself, while he swiftly grasped the end of the rope in the same motion. Doing so had cost him speed, and the orcish warrior bounded up beside him with a wind back of his axe. He made sure to swing it from the battlement’s interior side, so as not to repeat the mistake that had granted Kiros cover from his previous attack.

The hefty debris scraped atop the wooden surface as he pulled on the rope, picking up speed before he swung it outward with all his might. The attached weighted wreckage shot out ahead of him, pulling the rope ladder’s remains taught. His momentum necessarily slowed further still as he pivoted his stance, swinging the makeshift flail around to catch the orc in the midst of his axe swing. Rope from the ladder caught the bill of his weapon, while the wooden weight bounced off the orc’s head with a sickening thunk. Though he showed no sign of pain, the force of the blow combined with the timing of his swing managed to throw off the orc's balance.

It afforded an opportunity that could well the last available. Kiros rushed forward without question or hesitation while the orc was distracted in struggle to both right himself and regain control of his entangled weapon – accomplishing neither before Kiros closed distance. A forward step of his outside leg placed his foot between the parapet and the orc, while his lanky arm reached across his foe for leverage. Using every last ounce of desperate strength, Kiros pivoted in place and forced the already off-kilter orc further over his hip, his other hand grasping the top of the wall for additional leverage.

For his efforts, Kiros received a sharp enough elbow strike to the side of his head to fracture his orbital bone – though he too would display no sign of pain from the blow. The adrenaline in his veins and dire situation before him forbade it. The orc steadily picked up momentum as leverage and gravity brought him closer to the edge. Kiros practically threw himself downward to ensure the orc did fall over, his own chest striking the surface of the parapet while the orc was sent into downward plummet. His murderous gaze met that of Kiros for but a moment, before he tumbled over to face the ground– ultimately landing upon it in that position.

His dropped axe landed a moment thereafter, striking the back of his head. No wound was visible, but the grisly deformation of the orc’s helmet implied his skull had taken shape no longer able to support life.

From the wreckage of the tower beside him came a great burst of light that shot up into the sky, clearing away debris to reveal Erën beneath. Begnir had been right; despite the effort undertaken in gaining view of Erën, Kiros was relieved to be wrong. The elven paladin promptly made his way to the third and final tower still standing – he had dispatched the first two, and Kiros was filled with hope that he might dispatch the third as well. To do so would vastly improve their situation, and improvement was sorely needed. Erën needed support, but without his staff at hand Kiros could not weave it through magic. The skirmish with the orc had taken him too far from it, and so Kiros set to providing what aid he could by gathering debris off the ground.

Once he returned to the parapet with projectiles in hand, he hurled them down towards the massive champion in pursuit of Erën below. Two hefty pieces of the destroyed siege tower crashed into the earth beside the warrior; a third made impact ahead and caused him to stumble in step. Hurriedly, Kiros tossed the last two pieces in hand – one deflected off the warrior’s armoured back, but the other found purchase squarely atop his head. It was enough to send the brute falling over onto the ground, but whether it was the result of death, unconsciousness or stun of impact remained uncertain.

Unarmed once more, Kiros could not afford the time to confirm the kill; he could only hope for Erën’s success as he doubled back in his rush to retrieve his staff.

Gil'Tyrnin Solcrest Heike Eisen Dal Eren'thiel Xyrdithas