Post by Schmidt on Nov 10, 2014 10:13:09 GMT -8
“Er…. Why does he keep staring at me?”
“I dunno laddie, but I don’t know that I would be starin’ back.”
“He has red eyes… and big pointy teeth… and don’t forget his slimy green skin… I think he wants to eat me; he won’t stop staring. I’m scared Bartholomew.”
“Oi Joseph, jus’ stop starin’.” Bartholomew lectured the young Scout Sniper, Joseph. “He ain’t gonna bite’cha. He’s on our side.”
“I don’t know, I thought we hated trolls and Outlaws? Why ain’t we just stuck this one? Why ain’t he sticking us?” Joseph mumbled to Bartholomew, quite concerned.
“Sometin’s different bout these trolls,” Bartholomew reasoned. “They don’t like these wizards and folks neither. Some big troll named Mythrog came wit a bunch o’ other Outlaws and they plan to ‘elp us stick ol’ black beard Maldrake. I lost a son an a brother to that ‘ol black monster! Anyone who helps stick that wizard, is a friend ‘o mine, Outlaw or no!”
“True… ‘slong as he don’t eat me…” Joseph responded, sympathetic, but not totally convinced.
“Hey you… human.” A deep, raspy voice breathed down Joseph’s neck.
Eyes bulging and knees wobbling, Joseph turned around to see a massive green troll, well over six feet tall, holding a war axe and wearing a crimson red cape with a bronze helmet.
IMG_3834 by SSchmidt--, on Flickr
“That there is Grimglock you’re staring at, and he loves manflesh. And the longer you stare at him, the hungrier he will get. The siege is starting, and if you don’t stop staring at Grimglock, in the middle of the battle he may just forget all about Maldrake’s soldiers in the keep and come for you, you tasty little meatbag...”
“Oi, I’ll stop starin’ right now!!!” Joseph sweating profusely, turned around facing the keep, watching the siege against Maldrake’s fortress begin.
“Heh, smart move laddie,” Bartholomew approved, “smart move.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And with the fling of Trebuchets and whistle of siege engines, the allied forces began their assault of Maldrake’s black, twisted fortress. That grotesque keep was the final refuge for the evil, dark wizard, Maldrake, and the few hundred soldiers he had left.
The allied army was far from a standard faction army.
The Loreesi were unable to commit as many of their knights and pikemen as they would have liked, seeing as how their forces had never fully recovered from the “War of Roawian Succession” and the “War on the magical isles” before the former. Even so, Jarius, with some of his best remaining knights, accompianed the allied army to the fortress.
Garheim, led by the unwavering strength and courage of their Jarl, wasn’t able to commit as many as they would have liked either, having just liberated their own homeland. Still, the Jarl brought along some of his best tribes and clan warriors and militias throughout the frozen north, including the famed war leader Jorn Jakobsen and his fierce soldiers.
Oddly enough, a large force of Outlaw troops, accompanied by the famed troll High General Mythrog and his army, requested to join arms in the battle against Maldrake. Such a force consisted of some quite notable Outlaws, including Wolfgang Von Wolfpack, Gavin of Lockwood, and Captain Claw with his nefarious crew aboard the Obsidian Seawing. The different characters and races brought an unsettled feeling of mixed emotions upon most of the allied army, but once they were warmly welcomed by Chartres and the three faction leaders, they began to be accepted among the ranks.
Finally, the largest portion of the allied army (accounting for over half of all forces present) was manned by Lenfald’s, Highlord Triphian. Triphian, had become extremely passionate in removing Maldrake once and for all. Many questioned him and wondered if he had possible ulterior motives. Some suggested, Triphian wanted to exert himself in front of the young Chartres as a show of power and authority. Others believed he wanted Lenfald to receive the glory for committing the most troops. Still yet others were afraid he would use his large force to not only defeat Maldrake, but enslave the other faction leaders. However, all Lenfels knew none of those were true. Triphian’s unrelenting loyalty to his home and faction, and desire to see justice brought upon Maldrake’s misdeeds were the driving force behind his commitment to the war; precisely why his people, and great Lenfald, adored their leader so much.
Triphian had personally hired one of the most famed mercenaries throughout all of Roawia, Hans Zarkan, and his massive army of dedicated troops. In addition, the famed “Warlord of Lenfald” Sir Caelan Munro along with Sir Haymar Glen, Woric Boldine and the largest group of Scout Snipers ever assembled, accompanied the High Lord. Were it not for Triphian, the allied army would not have the force necessary for such a massive siege.
The Noble Loreesi would commit most of their forces to the western wall, apart from a legion of highly specialized desert elves, who Jarius reserved especially to help scale the southeastern wall (one of the more important parts of the keep).
Great Lenfald, having the largest amount of troops, would commit most of their ranks to bringing down the southern wall, the largest portion of wall on the castle. The Scout Snipers, along with their leaders would scale the south western part, while the mercenaries would help with breaching the gate and the southeastern part of the wall. A small group of Scout Snipers were to scale the eastern cliff with the goal of flanking the courtyard with arrows.
Brave Garheim, personally accompanied by their Jarl would scale the southeastern wall, while their spearmen would break down the small, entrenched, eastern gate.
The hearty Outlaws were to assist in various places throughout the battlefield, with the bulk under Mythrog tasked with breaching the southern walls and breaking down the main gate.
Such a battle plan seemed nigh unstoppable, according to the war generals of the factions. And they would be right, were it not for some unexpected events which would take place on the battlefield.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Sir, we have to pull back!” the cry came from the front of the western Loreesi battle line.
IMG_3826 by SSchmidt--, on Flickr
“Nay lad,” the Loreesi captain responded, “we must scale the western wall! The pincer attack is counting on it! Keep pushing forward!”
“But sir, we don’t have the range on our archers to reach the height of the black walls! None of our men carry longbows. They are picking us off; our whole legion will get slaughtered out here if we stay!”
“We can’t withdraw; we stay here and fight to the last man Davius! We must scale these walls! We still have a few ladders left; give them covering fire so they can get to th…”
TTTHUMP! An arrow landed right in the neck of the captain. As he sputtered blood from his mouth, his horse reared back, dismounting the dead captain before sprinting away in sheer terror. Eyelids still open in death, the shell of the man leading the Loreesi forces against the western wall of Maldrake’s fortress lay devoid of life on the treacherous ground outside of Maldrake’s fortress.
Davius ran to the dead captain, cradling his head in horror at the sight of the cruel, black arrow protruding from his throat.
“Davius! Davius! The attack is breaking, we must retreat!” A terrified soldier cried out, fleeing the battle along with the entire Loreesi line.
Davius broke away from his stupor and cried out, “Fall back! Fall back! Regroup beyond the southern wall! Fall B…”
TTTHUMP!
IMG_3827 by SSchmidt--, on Flickr
Falling to the ground, Davius stared in a bewildered stupor at the arrow protruding from his chest. Turning his head from side to side, the last thing he would see were the Loreesi forces breaking like water against the black, unforgiving walls, of Maldrake the silent. The pincer attack had failed. Even now, the fighting on the southern walls would determine the outcome of this battle.
The archers of Maldrake stationed on the western walls, roared out in approval at the sight of the retreating Loreesi. Boethius the Exiled (one such Outlaw who had found himself in the service of these dragon knights) yelled out in excitement as the knights fled. Still hung over from a long knight of drinking off the taps, he stumbled about the walls surveying the battle. Hearing the crash of the battering ram against the front gate, he ran inside the keep to observe the carnage from a more safer location.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“It seems the battle greatly favors the allied army, my lord Rogell. Our scouts have informed me Maldrake’s army is being beaten off the walls. The Loreesi assault on the western walls has broken, but the southern walls have been scaled with siege towers and ladders, and the front gate has been breached. The allies are pouring into the castle right now. Maldrake will have no choice but to reveal himself.”
The gate falls by JBIronWorks, on Flickr
“Then everything is going according to plan Silas.” Prince Rogell, black wavy hair cascading down his armor, replied. “People speak of the convenience of killing two birds with one stone… I am aim to kill much more than that today.”
“Of course, my prince,” Silas nodded his head in acknowledgement.
“Give the allied army more time. Let them pour into Maldrake’s keep. It is there they will be trapped like rats, and everyone will see the might of Galainir once and for all!”
“What are your orders, my lord?” Silas asked Prince Rogell, the oldest child of Queen Galainir.
“When the army has fully scaled the walls, and Maldrake has revealed himself, we will charge.” Rogell responded. “With the bulk of the allied forces inside the keep, the three leaders of Roawia will have little defense on the outside. You, Silas, shall lead the Cavalry charge with me. Our warbeasts will flank from the north and the blackguard will flank from the south. With our charge, we shall kill Triphian, Eindrik and Jarius in one fell swoop!”
“As you command my lord. And what of the traitor Maldrake?”
“Once the three faction leaders are dead, we will deal with the wizard. Don’t let anyone touch him. Maldrake is mine.” Rogell spat.
“For the Queen.” Silas responded, taking his great helm and approaching his warhorse.
IMG_3828 by SSchmidt--, on Flickr
“For the Queen.” Rogell responded with a devilish grin as Silas walked away, out of earshot, “and for my future kingdom.”
-----------------------------------------------------
TTTHUMP! TTTHUMP! TTTHUMP!
The arrows of Lenfald’s Scout Snipers sailed over the southern walls of Maldrake’s fortress and continued to strike true on their targets. Dozens upon dozens of Maldrake’s soldiers were cut down in the fire. Hans Zarkans’ elite mercenaries had scaled the southern walls with ladders, and aided Mythrog’s trolls in breaking down the front gate. Steel upon steel and sword upon shield clattered the courtyard, as the mercenaries and trolls slowly overcame their enemies.
The siege towers hit the wall by JBIronWorks, on Flickr
High General Mythrog, along with a crew of his most trusted and powerful trolls, scaled the walls with ladders and siege weapons, ripping apart everything in their path.
“High General… Maldrake has yet to show himself,” one of Mythrog’s captains barked out, cutting down a terrified defender in his path.
“Worry not,” Mythrog responded, bringing his war axes on top of the unprotected chest of a disarmed opponent, “the snake will have to show his head soon. Send word to Chartres… he will be needed to scale the walls soon with the sword of Arondor. The crystal glows ever brighter on top of Maldrake’s tower!”
image by SSchmidt--, on Flickr
“As you comma… look High general, Maldrake has come out of the keep!” the troll pointed, noticing Maldrake’s presence.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wordlessly, and with great confidence, Maldrake stepped out of the keep, noticing the slaughter of his men. He looked across the two bridges, leading from the walls to the keep, and noticed Jarius’ elite Loreesi elves had cut their way through the walls defenders, and were now taking the eastern bridge.
“Aha, there is the wizard!” one of the Loreesi elves, cried out, golden armor stained with the blood of Maldrake’s soldiers.
“Let us go, and end this once and for all!” another elf cried out, mustering the dozen or so elves already upon the walls.
The elves ran across the unprotected bridge, headed straight for their target, Maldrake. In spite of being alone, with no one to defend him, Maldrake continued to cross the bridge toward the elves, wielding nothing but his black, cruel staff, moving swiftly and confidently.
Maldrake stopped less than fifteen yards away from the elves, and planted the bottom of his staff upon the bridge, as if daring them to cross it.
The leader of the elves looked around at all the carnage; the siege weapons launching their devilish attacks, the Scout Snipers cutting down the defenders in the courtyard, the trolls and mercenaries slicing their way through every soldier that came in their path.
With a huge smile on his face, the elf leader chuckled out loudly, “Ha! Not so silent now, Maldrake?”
Maldrake lowered his head and looked at the leader of the elves with a deep, soulless, hatred. Unexpectedly, the evil wizard broke an even more evil grin across his face.
The elf leader looked on in deep curiosity, as the body of Maldrake bounced up and down, indicating the wizard’s gleeful laughter. With wonderment, then a sense of dread, he watched Maldrake, chuckling all the while, weaving and waving his staff back and forth in intricate motions. The elf looked up at the massive crystal above the keep, glowing and pulsating with such intense brightness as never seen before.
His smile quickly fading into a grimace, the leader of Jarius’ elves cried out, “Kill him!”
By now, the dozen of elves had grown in number to over twenty. With cat-like speed and heated vengeance, they crossed the bridge toward their black, twisted target, as the wizard Maldrake continued to move his staff, now in a circular motion.
Within a few yards of the wizard, the leader of the Elves jumped high in the air, raising his elven spear, ready to make one final slice and remove the wizards head.
Just before the blade struck true in the neck of Maldrake, the butt of the wizards staff hit the bridge, and an explosion of air unlike anything ever seen in all of Roawia burst forth, causing Maldrake to leviate several feet off the ground. Such an impact from the explosion blew the attacking elves from the bridge completely. Those who weren’t immediately killed were sent spiraling into the courtyard below, plummeting to their death from the massive fall.
Maldrake repelling the Loreesi Red Elves by JBIronWorks, on Flickr
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“By the gods…” Eindrik mumbled out. “What manner of witchcraft is this? We’ve sent Chartres to his death…”
“Jarl Eindrik, we’ve got serious problems!” a young clansman yelled out in sheer panic.
“What is it laddie?” The Jarl slowly asked, unable to neither gather his bearings nor turn his eyes away from the fortress.
Maldrake had revealed himself from the keep, and was now using magic of which the world had never seen; summoning massive fireballs and huge gusts of wind. On one such spell, a massive, deathly green sword measuring over twelve feet long, appeared out of thin air and began slaughtering the allied army with such ease. Maldrake continued his noiseless chuckling, as he wordlessly slaughtered the attackers by the dozens. Maldrake had no need of any army. His magic was more powerful than any army ever assembled.
“Jarl, please hear me!” the clansman begged Eindrik, shaking his arm to get his attention.
“I’m sorry, please… continue.” The Jarl responded, attempting to shake his stupor in order to focus on the news the soldier was bringing.
“Loreos has fled the battlefield; most of their men were cut down in the pincer attack! The high elves have all but been decimated by Maldrake, and now it gets even worse!” the clansman sputtered out his words in terror. “There is a massive counter-attack headed right for the allied army, to the east flank. By our estimations, there are over four hundred cavalry, dozens of warbeasts, a contingent of archers, and the blackguard itself! The Scout Snipers guarding the east flank have already been cut down; this army will be upon us in minutes! What do we do?!?!”
“The wizard is too powerful…” The Jarl whispered, to no one in particular, a great sorrow coming over him. “We’ve led these brave men to their death. What fools we’ve been…”
“Shields up!!! INCOMING FIRE!!!” A Garhim captain screamed after noticing the blot of arrows from the Queen’s archers approaching the Garhim line.
The Jarl broke away from his troubled thoughts, and looked up to see the dark wave of arrows approaching him and his men.
“Cover the Jarl!!!” A clansman bellowed, rushing with a shield to cover their leader.
The clansman was fast but the arrows were faster. A long, cruel arrow struck true on the Jarl, finding exposed flesh between the noseguard and neckguard on his winged helm. The great Garhim leader, stumbled back a few steps, before falling to his knees. With the arrow protruding from his face, he fell in a crumpled heap to the ground.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“This way Chartres, with great speed!”
Chartres, along with a handful of personal bodyguards, navigated the keep of Maldrake’s fortress, heading for the top tower, where Maldrake’s crystal gave off a foreboding, blood red, light. Chartres’ stomach churned; he felt ill. With every few steps he passed over more and more dead bodies in the halls of the evil wizard. He looked down in horror at the faces of the men he had just been encamped with. Men he had grown to love, and appreciate; Roawia’s finest.
He fought back the urge to collapse and mourn the loss of all the brave men he had been commanding. In spite of all the broken, lifeless bodies he passed over, the sounds of fighting could still be heard in some of the farther corridors, as Maldrake’s men were slowly overwhelmed by the allied army. All of this, however, would be for nothing, should the sword of Arondor not pierce the corrupt heart of Maldrake’s crystal. The wizard, somehow empowered by this crystal, was systematically slaughtering the allied army with great joy on the bridges over the courtyard. Over one hundred and fifty men had already fallen by Maldrake alone and his great power. Chartres feared once Maldrake cleared off the battlements, he would make his way down onto the battlefield. Nothing could stop him then.
“Up here Lord Chartres!” the Lenfel knight called for their commanding general, pointing up a stairwell which led to the top of the keep.
A great explosion sounded as the foundation of the keep shook under such force. Dozens of screams and yells of pain were heard. Sounds of hurricane like winds roared as men were blown off the parapets and bridges of Maldrake’s keep.
“Gah, we must hurry!” Chartres encouraged, sprinting up the steps and passing his guards. With each step he took, Chartres’ heart sank even more, as the sounds of magic could be heard outside, the universe literally bending to the will of Maldrake the silent. As Chartres scaled the last straight of steps, he leaped to the top of the tower, only to look upon the battlefield below in utter horror.
The allied army was in shambles. There was no Loreesi presence to be seen, apart from the lifeless bodies of the westen pincer attack and the elves Maldrake had systemically slaughtered. A large force had counterattacked from the east, and the Garhims were being cutdown in the crossfire.
The Queen's cavalry charge by JBIronWorks, on Flickr
Their own pincer attack had been countered with another pincer attack. The blackguard cut through Garhim regulars with ease, as a large cavalry force pummeled the Garhim knights. Massive troll-like war beasts, mounted by soldiers of the Queen, cut through the northern flank of Garhim as if they were shreds of paper. Hans Zarkan’s mercenaries had left the wall to intercept some of the warbeasts, in a desperate attempt to slow down the counterattack.
"Hold the Line!" by JBIronWorks, on Flickr
Some brave trolls, namely High General Mythrog and his personal bodyguard, still pressed on toward Maldrake. The brave knights under Sir Caelan Munro and Sir Haymar Glen pushed forward too, within the walls, all trying to reach the dreaded wizard.
IMG_3829 by SSchmidt--, on Flickr
In these moments Chartres understood what happened. The Queen counterattacked when most of the army was inside the castle walls. Galainir intended to wipe every enemy off the face of Roawia at once. They were trapped.
The banner of Triphian still flew high but Jarl Eindrik’s banner was nowhere to be seen.
The black fortress reeked of uncontrolled death, as the mad wizard blew through wave after wave of attackers with his terrifying magic.
Chartres turned to face this crystal, with nothing short of pure hatred in his eyes. This crystal, this evil, soulless rock, was responsible for the death of thousands of Roawians. Chartres’ eyes burned, as he stared into the very heart of Maldrake the silent; this pulsating red crystal.
Unsheathing the sword of Arondor, Chartres raised the sword and yelled at the top of his lungs, “No more!”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“We have to do something! We must stop this counterattack or we will all be slaughtered on these wretched plains. What do we do Lord Jakobson?!?”
Jorn Jakobson scanned the battlefield around him. The Jarl’s body had been carried off the battlefield and Triphian, in combat himself, was trying desperately to muster the remaining western forces to finish Maldrake. There were no captains or commanders around. The counterattack of the Queen had cut through more than one third of the allied army and was showing no signs of stopping. The Garhim leadership was broken.
Jakobson called out to the Lenfel mercenary, Hans Zarkan, “you there, sellsword!”
Cutting down a straggler of the Queen’s army, Zarkan responded, “what have you Garhim?!”
“Do you wish to die today?” Jakobson questioned, meeting the mercenary side by side and cutting down another soldier.
“Not a chance…” Hans retorted. “All the coin in the world is meaningless if there is no life to enjoy it.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Jakobson agreed. “Let’s end this once and for all. Your skill can take down the warbeasts. My strength can withstand the cavalry. If we fail, Roawia dies! What say you?”
“I aim to please!” Zarkan acknowledged, charging the nearest warbeast. The warbeast had a mercenary in its mouth and one in its hand. With unimaginable fleetness, Zarkan lunged forth and sliced off the hand of the warbeast in one swift blow.
“Rally shieldmen, rally!” Jakobson roared, trying to reform some sort of line amongst the Garhims. “This ends today! We shall withstand the ground of the wizard one final time! Hold off the cavalry!”
The Garhim line bravely reorganized to face the cavalry charge heading right toward them.
“HOLD!!!” Jorn Jakobson bellowed as the horses crashed into the shieldmen.
A few spots had broken under the massive surge, but the Garhim shieldmen held their own against the cavalry, which had now begun to lose momentum.
Prince Rogell himself had been slowed down, and now the battle was on even ground.
A fierce melee was taking place outside the castle walls, as the Garhim footsoldiers furiously stabbed at the mounted dragon knights with their spears.
“Archers, take that wretched monster down!” Jakobson yelled, motioning to Prince Rogell.
The twang of bows could be heard as arrows were shot to the target. One such arrow landed right in the abdomen of the prince. Yelling in pain, Rogell, ripped the arrow out and continued to hack and slice at the Garhim footmen. Another arrow landed in his upper chest as he blindly slashed at the soldiers around him.
“My prince,” Silas yelled, his sword deftly landing in the soft spot of a red-bearded Garhim, “we must withdraw!”
Rogell, severely wounded, looked around and surveyed the battlefield.
“Fall back Queensmen, fall back!” Rogell bellowed out with a disgusted look on his face. "I intend not to die on these plains!"
The Garhims and Lenfel mercenaries roared in approval, as they had the upper ground. Queen Galainir’s army had begun fleeing the battle, but not without a heavy price.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mythrog had cleared a path to Maldrake. The two now sparred, axes against staff. Being an Outlaw, High General Mythrog had unwillingly been exposed to magic time and time again. As the evil sorcerer continued to blow men off the castle walls, he had to deal with Mythrog who continued to evade his magical attacks and spells. Mythrog's strength was immense, as he swung his axes in a huge arc above his head. Maldrake hastily raised his staff as Mythrog brought both axes down upon the weight of the wizard. The staff broke under the power of the axes, forcing Maldrake to his knees. With uncharacteristic quickness, the wizard rolled to the side and evaded the trolls axe, intended for his neck.
Gathering his bearings, Maldrake rose and punched the troll in his mouth. The magic behind such a powerful fist sent Mythrog flying through the air, landing ten feet away across the bridge.
The wizard, smiling evilly, popped his knuckles and rolled his neck. On cue, Maldrake raised his hands high in the air, and brought them down with full force, sending a wave of air onto the back of Mythrog; the troll leader roared in pain under the weight of the magic.
You fool, Maldrake’s voice spoke inside the mind of Mythrog. No mortal being shall afflict me. Your death has come.
A deafening explosion sounded, as everyone looked to the top of the keep to see the red crystal shatter into millions of fragments. Chartres’ sword of Arondor pierced the black heart of the crystal. Both sword and crystal were destroyed. The plan had worked!
Maldrake fell to his knees, and yelled out a gut-wrenching scream, as if in total agony. His body pulsated with a glowing red light, as he continued to scream. His hands and arms bent and twist into contorted shapes. With a sharp jerk, he fell to all fours, gasping for breath as a fish out of water.
Mythrog weakly rose to his feet. He began limping slowly to the wizard. Maldrake, strength all but evaporated, raised his eyes to see the giant troll reach down to get him.
As if he were nothing more than a child, Mythrog grabbed Maldrake at the neck of his robes and raised him a couple of feet off the ground with one hand. In a daze, Maldrake’s eyes looked down at the massive troll who now controlled his fate. He grinned evilly, staring at Mythrog.
“For Lenfald!” Mythrog bellowed as his right fist landed right in the nose of Maldrake, sending the wizard a good four feet.
Mythrog picked him up again and screamed, “for Loreoes!” punching the wizard in the mouth and sending him rolling across the bridge.
A third time he picked him up, raising him into the air and yelled, “for Garheim!” The force of the third punch sent Maldrake rolling to the end of the bridge, near the keep. Maldrake’s mouth sputtered blood onto the walkway as his broken body tried to regain composure, smiling no more.
Mythrog picked up Maldrake one final time, and louder than before, yelled, “for the Outlaws!” The force of his final punch sent Maldrake cascading across the remainder of the bridge and down the steps, right in front of his keep.
Mythrog, with a snarl on his face, reached down and picked up his massive war axe, slowly approaching the broken body of the wizard. Maldrake weakly rose to his knees, looking up at his massive assailant. The troll general stopped right in front of Maldrake and raised his axe high into the air, gripping the handle with both hands.
“Your death has come, Maldrake.” High General Mytrhog softly spoke.
With those words, the war axe of Mythrog deftly severed the head of the Wizard.
The headless body of the wizard collapsed one final time on the stone floor of the black fortress, never to move again.
Mythrog bent down and picked up the severed head of Maldrake by the beard. Casually, he tossed the head off the keep and into the lifeless courtyard below.
“Maldrake the silent…” Mythrog whispered. “Silent, forevermore.”