Open Chronicles WFC: The Bloody Narrows

[Rafael]

Cortell - The Cove of Fein

War was a fantastic thing for mercenaries. It all but ensured a steady supply of work, but trouble was you generally had to choose a side. No mercenary worth his salt would trade themselves between suitors, not if they wanted to build any sort of trust anyway. In Kortell the choices had been presented in threes, though Raf had thrown one out almost instantly. Kortes, by general rule, wanted to burn people like him at the stake and thus hadn't been much of a choice at all.

Thus he'd ended up needing to pick between the other two, Tychos or Feiara. It was a choice that had ultimately been settled for him by the beautiful serenading of a Tychen mermaid whose lips and brea-well, she'd really been all around fantastic, and the promises she'd made had been even more so.

Trouble was; that mermaid wasn't with him anymore.

Hell, she hadn't even been anywhere nearby when the fucking Feiaran's had sprung their trap on the small section of the Tychen fleet that had made it's way up the Cove of Kortell. Her memories hadn't been much help when their trebuchet launched urns filled with Dwarven Fire, and the promises she'd made meant very fucking little when the bastards had sent the three scout ships to the bottom of the cove.

"Curse that wonderful siren." Rafael said to himself as he trudged up and onto the beach, clutching his dog Tulio in his arms.

All around him the other survivors of the attack crawled out of the sea besides him. Most had managed to save their heavy shields, though none of the long pikes they were famed seemed to have been salvaged. One of them, a Captain of one of the ships Rafael thought, called out to the others. "Come on! We have to move! They'll sweep down here soon!"

He called, urging the remaining mercenaries and Tychen soldiers on the beach. Knowing the Feiaran Cavalry was only minutes away.

Rafael let out a curse, putting Tulio down and motioning him towards the hearty cliffs which stood on the opposite side of the beach. "Come on, you heard the man."

A loud bork echoed out as the hound shook off the water from it's fur, his armor clattering against itself as he happily tapped through the sands moments later. Rafael and the others following on his heel.

This was going to be a long fucking day.

 

[Garik Talindor]

Burning heavens... Garik was beginning to truly detest these islands more and more. Worse still was the distant way in which the Dreadlord taskmasters utilized their lowly initiates. Valuable as they were, they were also lowly enough to still be somewhat expendable. None more so than Garik, who was something of a leach.

With barely a shred of magical talent and far less indoctrinated, he had joined in his early teens instead of as a child, he used the system to keep his remaining family alive. It was likely the only reason he did not use his relatively cut off position to flee their ranks. He was not loyal through upbringing, but through need. So when he was inserted as a mercenary for the city of Tychos, he threw himself at the duty.

Just as he has been truly getting his sea legs he was thrust back onto the shores by the Feiaran ships. He only absently wondered if some other initiate was on the attacking ships, unknowingly attacking their countryman. They probably did not care to wonder on such things. Many initiates were too loyal to look beyond their orders. At least, that was what Garik felt as he trudged up the shores.

The slosh of water in his boots grated at him. He was familiar with lacking comfort. It characterized his childhood. But wet boots. Insufferable. When coupled with his already heavy clothes sucked to his body... Garik was positively miserable.

Then again, on this shore, who was not?

The dog, a lovely creature he pitied for being in a warzone, looked surprisingly pleased as it tramped through the sands. Some other soldiers did seem less dour. Perhaps life at sea made such conditions more tolerable. Garik certainly understood that.

It would indeed be a poor day. At least he had his glaive still should the poor bastards on the other side choose to assail them on this dreadful battleground.

 

[Selzurius]

Even the old sorcerer had to admit, he'd not expected fucking trebuchets getting the drop on their small section of the Tychen fleet. With a little warning he might have done something to deflect or defuse the urns of zealous fire that fell upon the three scout ships, or perhaps he lacked such power to begin with. Either way, he ended up in the water like everyone else. As did Trask, as did Stannig - though perhaps to her good fortune Krelsha Beardripper had already met her Gods long ago before this disaster.

Trask was doomed almost from the beginning, being brave or stupid enough to have continued wearing his trademark black platemail while aboard a ship at sea. Of him there was no sign as Sel pulled himself up onto the sands of Cortell. Fortunately Sel was able to see that Stannig was nearby and also alive, after peeling seaweed from his head and face so that seeing was possible. The clarion sounds of a battle just beginning drummed out in every direction except behind him, where the sinking ruins of the ships had all but fallen beneath the otherwise idyllic waves. It was hard to appreciate the beauty of the Cortellian shoreline with trebuchets continuing to rain fire from the clifftops above and the harrowing thrums of Feiaran cavalry horns growing quickly louder both from the left and right flanks.

"Fucking dogshit boats!" the Half-nose roared and coughed, heaving air into his lungs only to continue "fucking idiots in the crow's nest!" the dwarf wailed, lugging himself and his trademark repeating crossbow onto shore, looking at it with a sort of hate and shock as seawater trickled out of the barrel-shaped magazine of his beautiful weapon.

Though barely done absorbing the scene, Sel was already leaned into a full run (as much as one can on sandy shores) sparing only a brief look back at the dwarf and his pitifully wet crossbow before yelling his command, "run you fool! Get to cover!"

The dwarf obliged almost out of instinct, and good for him that he did, for the trebuchets were not the only kind of death leering down on them from the cliffs above. Feiaran archers had taken to the edges of the cliff's prominence in a scraggly single file line, leaning over as much as they dared to take aim and fire down upon the crash-landed Tychen sailors and men at arms.

The sorcerer and the dwarf were among those who made it into the relative safety of the shadow of the cliffs, tossing themselves against the sandy rockface as if it were a soft warm blanket on a cold night. The old man glanced over oddly at what seemed to be a fellow mercenary and his armored dog, his queer expression at this strangeness unhidden, as if it mattered amidst the danger of their present situation.

"Ok you old bastard, this is the part where you magick us out of here!" Stannig yelled at Sel, though the din of battle had not grown so loud just yet that he needed to.

The man just rolled his eyes, wordlessly looking away from the armored dog and its master to look towards the Tychen captain that had been shouting orders only moments earlier. Magic or not, much of what happened next would depend on how many survived from the ships to begin with, how well the captain was responding to the situation, and how well the men were obeying him. Selzurius intended to put his support where it belonged - behind the officer in command, until that man was dead or said something stupid.

 

[Rafael]

Raf rushed up to the edge of the cliff-side as quickly as he could. Tulio followed swiftly, pressing himself against the werebats legs and holding firm there as the Feieran archers began to rain down arrows onto the beach.

A few of the sailors who had been lucky enough to make it off the ships quickly saw their luck run out as steel pierced their flesh.

The Tychen Captain cursed as he too reached the cliffs, slamming hard against the wall as he came to a stop. A dozen of his own marines quickly followed suit, their armor jostling as they came to a fulls top beneath the small rock outcropping.

For a moment the Captain looked over his men, mercenaries included, and then he began to bark orders. "We need to get off this beach!"

Raf offered no argument, his lips thinning as he began to search for any path that would see them out of the narrows they were now stuck in.

"They'll ride us down if we stay." With none of their pikes, the Feieran's famed cavalry would make short work of those who had survived the initial burning of the ships. A fact that all of them would likely be sure of. Raf's eyes flickered, and then he motioned further up the beach.

"There!" He said, pointing to the entrance of a cavern. "No idea where it goes, but it'll slow them down."

If it wasn't part of the trap anyway, but right now they had little other choice.

The Captain glanced at where the werebat pointed, scowled for a second, and then nodded. "Alright, go, those of you who can provide cover, do so."

He said, looking specifically at the mages and those with bows.

 

[Garik Talindor]

Garik slipped on the wet rock as sand transitioned to stone. It was a fortuitous turn as an arrow grazed deeply along his shoulder instead of finding a home in his torso. It stung horribly but he would take it over the alternative.

Luckily, a return volley gave Garik a moment to push himself off and ran towards the cavern. The slick stone threatened to send him sprawling repeatedly, but he kept his footing. A true miracle with his boots also wanting to slide around on his feat.

The pounding of hooves on sand then stone jolted Garik out of his frustrated ascent. He turned in time to see a cavalryman pushing ahead of the rest of his unit, right towards him. With a groan, he ducked the sword and swung his glaive at the ankles of the horse, cleaving through them. Fire burned in his shoulder from the arrow wound.

His stomach felt anguished at the horses pained screams while it sprawled forward on severed legs, sending it rider to the ground. Garik felt for the beast. It did not deserve this. No animal deserved to be thrust into battle to die at the hands of its owners. He would hear it's screams for many nights.

No time to think on it now though, he darted to the swordsman. His shoulder burned angrily, but not enough to slow his curved sword from arcing down through the man's chest. He did not hesitate to turn and send his blade deep into the horse's skull. It's screams ended, at least here.

He whispered a prayer as another arrow pelted the ground nearby, bouncing off the stones. It was enough to spur him forward into the cavernous maw where many were already gathering.

The cool dark gave him a moments respite but as he moved to look deeper, he felt and heard a sucking sound from his boot pulling from the floor. Looking down, Garik saw a remarkably large animal dropping. He did not have time to worry what was deep in the cave though, the rest of the cavalry was starting to dismount and approach the cave mouth.

 

[Selzurius]

Close enough to benefit from easily hearing Rafael call out the cavern further up the beach, Selzurius and Stannig were among the early arrivals just behind the man with the dog. As others straggled towards the mouth of the cave, the old man saw another of the mercenaries, Garik, cutting down the swiftest of the Feiaran riders, but also saw there were many more behind that lead horse.

Some of the Tychen company fell to arrows, and others were simply too slow to beat the cavalry to the entrance. Perhaps he should have been thankful that the trebuchets did not have an angle to fire upon the bottom of the cliffs, though even then several balls of fire streaked mercilessly across the sky towards the ruins of the already-sinking ships in the distance.

Sel picked a spot in the middle of the tunnel but a fair twenty foot back from the entrance, and began waving people past him, making sure they got in deep enough for what came next. Stannig, despite an urge from Sel to proceed deeper, instead took up a stubborn stance beside his companion.

Today there would be a simple difference between the quick and the dead.

Taking a strange and shrunken skull from his belt loop, one of a pair, the old sorcerer placed the rune-traced remains gingerly and upright on the cavern floor and spread his hands, palms turned upright and eyes closed, beginning a chant that was at first quiet but eventually echoed with a sound deeper and louder than his natural voice had any right to be. As he grumbled in this alien tongue, the lines and markings on the skull began to glow with a ruddy red light, at first humble and then searingly bright.

"Keep moving! Come on now! Get the hells inside!" Stannig bellowed, not knowing the details but knowing his friend and those cursed little skulls well enough that nothing nice was happening next in that direction at the end of the chant.

Then, the red glow flashed over and a thunderclap blasted through the cavern and out of the mouth of the cave as Selzurius brought his bootheel down on the skull and sundered it into half a hundred shards. In that moment the stone beneath his foot cracked, and the fault spread forward along the floor of the tunnel in an arm-thick jagged line. Halfway to the opening where stone met sky, the fault split almost perfectly in opposed directions and circled up to the ceiling, and even as the last of the lucky Tychen marines and their mercenaries dashed passed the sorcerer and the dwarf, the mouth of the cave collapsed.

Not all were lucky, of course. Some were slowed by arrow wounds, or armor, or fear, or else were caught grappling with the first wave of the now dismounted Feiaran cavalry that had caught upon them in the last moments of hope. These stragglers fell beneath boulders of rock and shards of piercing stone, Tychen and Feiaran alike, and their howls of pain were cut ominously short by the sheer weight of the cave-in.

The stone rumbled and thundered for a few moments longer, before settling, and soon only dust and darkness remained - and a ringing in the ears alongside the husky breathing of the men who had made it into the cave in time.

"Aye, that'll do I s'pose.." Stannig grunted wryly.

 

[Rafael]

Arf. A dog's bark echoed through the darkness of the cave, Rafael and Tulio having made a mad dash across the beach and through the staggered cavalry behind some of the other soldiers. Unlike the brave Initiate or the cunning mage, the werebat had elected not to fight any of their oncoming foes.

He had known himself, and the small rapier that sat on his hip. The Cavalry would have cut him down, and he preferred not ending up bloodied, bruised, and half dead on the beach only to be finished off by some Feiaran's cutlass.

So he'd done what any sane man would have. Loosed a bolt or two with his crossbow, and then made a break for it.

Now he stood within the darkness, dust and debris from the cave-in still kicked into the air as the straggling survivors took just a moments respite. "Yes yes, I know, very scary."

Rafael commented to his beloved hound, squatting down and patting the armored dog on the head. He saw perfectly well through the dark of course, though it was not a fact that he would well advertise. He counted their number quietly to himself; just eleven left all told.

Not many, not compared to the hundred or so they had been in their departure.

"Kress." The Captain's voice echoed out. "Who all made it?"

One by one the soldiers sounded off, some calling out names, others just stating they were still alive. Rafael supposed it didn't much matter who they were. "Guess our only choice is getting to wherever this leads. Anyone got a light?"

 

[Selzurius]

(OOC: @ Garik you alive? )

 

[Callius Vox Mauricus]

Callius' thoughts were about what you would expect for the situations that had come about; Why was he in the sea, when he had been dry on a boat, why was he being chased by both arrows, bolts and bloodthirsty horsemen and why had someone he should have deemed an ally just try and crush him with several hundred tons of stone?

"Why did I join this bloody war...?" The man murmured beneath his breath, brushing himself and his cloak off from rock dust and debris as he heaved himself from the floor, given he had just about made it inside before the fall. Looking back towards the cave-in entrance, he wondered if the Feierans would attempt to dig their way in using magic and tools, or if they figured a handful of surviving soldiers and mercenaries were probably not their concern any longer.

With the scouting fleet sunk and most of the men bleeding out on the beaches, what could they possibly do to affect the outcome now? Callius dared them to wonder as he uncapped a wineskin and took a long drink, before lifting a finger when someone mentioned a light.

"Ah now that, that is something I can help with." He declared, as though the act would fix all of their problems. Dipping his fingers into an enchanted sealed pouch on his belt, he expertly created a semi-transparent four-part glimmering glyph above his head with blue-stained fingers, which then tapped each section once. A bright white light erupted above his head, only to die down into the more ethereal blue glow of four mage lights, little humming pulsing orbs that drifted around the party.

"Fuck." Callius grunted, rubbing the white spots from his vision with the back of a hand and smudging blue mage paint across his grubby features. He took one look around the group and sat heavily on a nearby rock, yanking off a boot and letting a comically large amount of water and a bit of seaweed splash to the floor. "Just so we're on the same page of this frankly disastrous little adventure if there's anything..." Another boot full of water hit the floor, before he shoved it back on, "... Anything at all resembling a giant spider in this cave, you're all on your own."​

___
Rafael | Garik Talindor | Selzurius