Otto Von Lanstien
Recruit
Raggedyman LMAO 
!
Very, Very funny
.
! Very, Very funny
.
Spin your yarn here! Tales of Valor and...errr...Courage!
- Thread starter Kiwisdofly
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Recruit
Myself, two heroes and a handful of knights and some random bandits I'd picked up intersected with a very large group of dark hunters who were intercepting our caravan.
52 enemies total to our 11.
Myself and both of my retainers are tacticians which helped to even the fight somewhat, but it was still pretty bad.
As the first encounter started, I quickly scanned for a nice hill with a clear line of sight for my missile troops, and gave the order to 'Hold Here.' I immediately rode to interdict the incoming swarm of mounted troops.
My initial tactic was to cut down horses, to help eliminate the mobility advantage and try to spread out the enemy so my own men would have a local numerical advantage. This worked well, the first time and we ground the enemy down quickly with only minor casualties.
I finally gave the order to charge, and the remaining remnants were eliminated.
The second wave was another story however. When the encounter started, I found myself in terrible terrain, next to a river that i knew would be the death of my cavalry if I remained there. I gave the order to follow me, and we rode across the river to try to break to clear ground.
The enemy had the advantage, however and was riding down on us as we assembled after crossnig and hit us full on. A crazy melee ensued, outnumbered 2 to 1. I rode around the fight hacking horses and heads with my two handed axe, trying to aid my troops and avoid getting hung up.
In the distance I saw my first retainer get hung up on an enemy, surrounded and downed - even as my second retainer was losing his horse from under him.
We had taken heavy casualties, but the enemy was blunted. Most of their horses were down, and we still had mobility. Just as I was thinking that the situation was under control, my horse was shot out from under me by a crossbow bolt.
I swore and pulled out my axe and shield, and backed towards the river, with blows raining down on me. If I stood on open ground I was just going to get speared to death and quickly. I gave the order to the remaining handful of men to follow me, as I retreated.
The fight that followed was a mad wreck of dying horses and flying weapons. I was in the river surrounded by my remaining troops, with 10 or more enemies coming on, half on horse. I was desperately hacking away trying to unhorse the enemies and grab a mount...
I spotted one of my own knights get knocked out leaving his horse, and I rushed over to the spot, with my shield up while axes and swords flew all around me.
I mounted up and rode out of the river, drawing my lance and heading to clear ground giving my men the order to follow me.
Almost down from my wounds myself, I focused on cutting down the remaining horses, to give me some breathing room. I was badly outnumbered still, but now I had mobility and range. I rode over to our stash, and pulled out my bow to soften up the remaining enemies.
Finally, it was down to two enemies and me. An unhorsed dark knight, and a dark hunter. The hunter killed my horse at the same moment I let an arrow go into his head, he and my horse fell at the same time.
Now it was just me, and a dark knight. My axe and shield against his two handed. "There's nothing I hate worse than a fair fight" I muttered, closing the distance while letting arrows off to soften him up.
We met, and traded blows for what seemed like an eternity. His shield broke, and shortly afterwards mine did as well. I switched to two handed axe, and he to greatsword.
Somehow we ended up in the river, swinging and blocking and fighting as the rain fell.
And then it was over. An accidental feint by me caused him to block to the side and I threw an overhand blow that chopped his skull and down he went, under the water.
The scene was one of total carnage. Bodies of men and horses carpeting the ground, many with arrows and javelins protruding from them. A feast for crows.
A Feast for Crows is the upcoming title in the Game of Thrones series by George R.R. Martin. Read them if you haven't.
52 enemies total to our 11.
Myself and both of my retainers are tacticians which helped to even the fight somewhat, but it was still pretty bad.
As the first encounter started, I quickly scanned for a nice hill with a clear line of sight for my missile troops, and gave the order to 'Hold Here.' I immediately rode to interdict the incoming swarm of mounted troops.
My initial tactic was to cut down horses, to help eliminate the mobility advantage and try to spread out the enemy so my own men would have a local numerical advantage. This worked well, the first time and we ground the enemy down quickly with only minor casualties.
I finally gave the order to charge, and the remaining remnants were eliminated.
The second wave was another story however. When the encounter started, I found myself in terrible terrain, next to a river that i knew would be the death of my cavalry if I remained there. I gave the order to follow me, and we rode across the river to try to break to clear ground.
The enemy had the advantage, however and was riding down on us as we assembled after crossnig and hit us full on. A crazy melee ensued, outnumbered 2 to 1. I rode around the fight hacking horses and heads with my two handed axe, trying to aid my troops and avoid getting hung up.
In the distance I saw my first retainer get hung up on an enemy, surrounded and downed - even as my second retainer was losing his horse from under him.
We had taken heavy casualties, but the enemy was blunted. Most of their horses were down, and we still had mobility. Just as I was thinking that the situation was under control, my horse was shot out from under me by a crossbow bolt.
I swore and pulled out my axe and shield, and backed towards the river, with blows raining down on me. If I stood on open ground I was just going to get speared to death and quickly. I gave the order to the remaining handful of men to follow me, as I retreated.
The fight that followed was a mad wreck of dying horses and flying weapons. I was in the river surrounded by my remaining troops, with 10 or more enemies coming on, half on horse. I was desperately hacking away trying to unhorse the enemies and grab a mount...
I spotted one of my own knights get knocked out leaving his horse, and I rushed over to the spot, with my shield up while axes and swords flew all around me.
I mounted up and rode out of the river, drawing my lance and heading to clear ground giving my men the order to follow me.
Almost down from my wounds myself, I focused on cutting down the remaining horses, to give me some breathing room. I was badly outnumbered still, but now I had mobility and range. I rode over to our stash, and pulled out my bow to soften up the remaining enemies.
Finally, it was down to two enemies and me. An unhorsed dark knight, and a dark hunter. The hunter killed my horse at the same moment I let an arrow go into his head, he and my horse fell at the same time.
Now it was just me, and a dark knight. My axe and shield against his two handed. "There's nothing I hate worse than a fair fight" I muttered, closing the distance while letting arrows off to soften him up.
We met, and traded blows for what seemed like an eternity. His shield broke, and shortly afterwards mine did as well. I switched to two handed axe, and he to greatsword.
Somehow we ended up in the river, swinging and blocking and fighting as the rain fell.
And then it was over. An accidental feint by me caused him to block to the side and I threw an overhand blow that chopped his skull and down he went, under the water.
The scene was one of total carnage. Bodies of men and horses carpeting the ground, many with arrows and javelins protruding from them. A feast for crows.
A Feast for Crows is the upcoming title in the Game of Thrones series by George R.R. Martin. Read them if you haven't.
Dvd
Regular
My character is an Axe-Knight. What does that mean? He fights on foot, with throwing axes, a two-handed axe, and a one-handed axe. Wearing full chain and black armor an Axe-Knight can cut through armies like a hot knife through butter...
It twas Monday, the day the war party would come. I scouted the hills above Zendar and waited. At twelve and a half I saw the banners and ranks of men and mounted warriors marching towards the peaceful town. I readied my self with armor, and got my horse ready for the long battle ahead. I looked around, just me against an army. From my eyes I could see 200 men and more coming out of the fog every second.
Tightening my armor's leather latches I unbuckled my great axe and charged down the hill. "Hiyaa!" I shouted and with the swipe of my blade 3 Swadian veterans were felled. Several minutes later and the battlefield was covered in a mass of bodies with an assortment of wounds, arrows, and axes stuck into them.
I got my last throwing axe ready. It was me and him. The commander. The Knight. Versus each other. I spurred my horse forward and as he came by me I through my axe as hard as I could. It caught his horse in the head, the beast was felled and he was thrown to the ground. I got my axe out and charged.
As I closed the gap between us I jumped off my horse, landing right next to him. Slash. He fell dead, the axe sticking in his head. With a many a grunting I went around the battlefield pulling arrows, javelins, jarids, and axes out of men. The army was defeated by a single man... Lord Arathen.
-Dvd
It twas Monday, the day the war party would come. I scouted the hills above Zendar and waited. At twelve and a half I saw the banners and ranks of men and mounted warriors marching towards the peaceful town. I readied my self with armor, and got my horse ready for the long battle ahead. I looked around, just me against an army. From my eyes I could see 200 men and more coming out of the fog every second.
Tightening my armor's leather latches I unbuckled my great axe and charged down the hill. "Hiyaa!" I shouted and with the swipe of my blade 3 Swadian veterans were felled. Several minutes later and the battlefield was covered in a mass of bodies with an assortment of wounds, arrows, and axes stuck into them.
I got my last throwing axe ready. It was me and him. The commander. The Knight. Versus each other. I spurred my horse forward and as he came by me I through my axe as hard as I could. It caught his horse in the head, the beast was felled and he was thrown to the ground. I got my axe out and charged.
As I closed the gap between us I jumped off my horse, landing right next to him. Slash. He fell dead, the axe sticking in his head. With a many a grunting I went around the battlefield pulling arrows, javelins, jarids, and axes out of men. The army was defeated by a single man... Lord Arathen.
-Dvd
I took on a Viegir war party, 117 men, with just me, marnid and borcha.
Heres the story
Out on the battle field, me and me mates could see the cursed enemy gallopin toward us, bloody heathens, ill show em, so i says to me mates "you two go straight for them while i run around and pounce em with them arrers o mine" And they says to me "okay, yer the boss, uh boss"
So Marnid and borcha bravly sacrificed thier consiousness for my sake, and i circled around em, i got about 10 of em before i ran outta arrers, so i unslung me great sword of war, and rode around then in a counter clockwise oval, an oval so's when they comes by, i hack at them, they didnt last that long
Then the second bout, it was just me, borcha was still out of it and marnid barel awake but pissed imself, so its just me and me ole charger horse named, uh, oh yea, 'is name is Charger, named him meself, so i went with ole charger and rode around, pelten them with arrers, when i ran outta those, i grabbed me handt big sword, and started doin the oval trick, i call it the walnut, seems like a good name for a tactic, dont ask cuz i dont know the answer meself
Well anyway, i did that reapeatly and by the time i was finished, i hade 23/87 health, i wasny feeling so good so i took a nap, and then when i awoke i saw marnid and borcha gathered up the loot, boy it was a glorious day, excpet i broke mt left arm ye see
Well there ye have it, me tale of bravery and willingness to sacrifice other for the cause of victory, now im gonna go to the tavern and drink meself drunk
Heres the story
Out on the battle field, me and me mates could see the cursed enemy gallopin toward us, bloody heathens, ill show em, so i says to me mates "you two go straight for them while i run around and pounce em with them arrers o mine" And they says to me "okay, yer the boss, uh boss"
So Marnid and borcha bravly sacrificed thier consiousness for my sake, and i circled around em, i got about 10 of em before i ran outta arrers, so i unslung me great sword of war, and rode around then in a counter clockwise oval, an oval so's when they comes by, i hack at them, they didnt last that long
Then the second bout, it was just me, borcha was still out of it and marnid barel awake but pissed imself, so its just me and me ole charger horse named, uh, oh yea, 'is name is Charger, named him meself, so i went with ole charger and rode around, pelten them with arrers, when i ran outta those, i grabbed me handt big sword, and started doin the oval trick, i call it the walnut, seems like a good name for a tactic, dont ask cuz i dont know the answer meself
Well anyway, i did that reapeatly and by the time i was finished, i hade 23/87 health, i wasny feeling so good so i took a nap, and then when i awoke i saw marnid and borcha gathered up the loot, boy it was a glorious day, excpet i broke mt left arm ye see
Well there ye have it, me tale of bravery and willingness to sacrifice other for the cause of victory, now im gonna go to the tavern and drink meself drunk
Once I spawned on the edge of an extremely steep and extremely high cliff. I slowly try to walk away from the edge, but my horse just slides off and dies in a crumpled mess at the bottom of the river. I notice that I'm in one of those really long river canyons with unclimbable sides... and approaching me from downriver are 15 dark knights! Knowing that it will take my force of knights a while before they can navigate around the map and reach me, I realise that I have to fight off all these dark knights without a horse and in an enclosed space until my reinforcements arrive. It was like a scene straight from a movie. As the knights approached I had to make every arrow count, but I only managed to shoot down two of them before they were on me. I took out my great axe and started chopping away at their legs and horses, but there were too many of them and I had forgetten to wear my helmet that day! It was only when my health was in the single digits did my band of knights ride up behind me to turn the battle and drive off the dark knights, ending one of the best gaming moments I have ever had.
Ararita
Recruit
I was but a wee slip of a lad, fresh into this land in the port of Zendar. Finding the lands beyond the city walls too daunting to face alone, and being too poor to aford the services of the militia, i tryed my hand earning a days wage in the arena. After some initial succes fighting from hourse back, i became somewhat arogant. But then one day, to my infanite suprise the arena master handed me great two-handed tourny sword as opposed to my customary lance and shield. Only slightly taken aback, i took to the field.
I was confronted by a team of two, a lancer and an archer. with hast my comrade on horseback spead after the lancer and so i resigned myself of pursuing the archer.
After two rather embaresing hits and alot of dodging, the fool was within my range. I began to beat him back- just niping him with my sword tip, when i became awear of hoof beats behind me. Fear took hold; my comrade was unconsious and now the wounded but still very much mobile lancer was aproching fast behind me. I dear not let the archer escape me, so i launched one last furious assult; bringing my sword down in one last mighty stroke to the vilains shoulder in the very instant he let his last arow fly.
Time slowed; i saw conciousness fade from the archer's being.
I felt the rush of the arrow pass just left of my temple, and then the dull thud of the padded end of the tourny arrow hitting home.
i turned, blade ready to face the lancers onslaught, only to see his limp form rowling back out of the saddle.
later that day as i faced the Arena Master to collect my winnings, all he said as he handed me a purse of twohundered dinars was "Young, arogant, lucky bastard". To which i replyed, with a grin, "Your damn right I am!"
I was confronted by a team of two, a lancer and an archer. with hast my comrade on horseback spead after the lancer and so i resigned myself of pursuing the archer.
After two rather embaresing hits and alot of dodging, the fool was within my range. I began to beat him back- just niping him with my sword tip, when i became awear of hoof beats behind me. Fear took hold; my comrade was unconsious and now the wounded but still very much mobile lancer was aproching fast behind me. I dear not let the archer escape me, so i launched one last furious assult; bringing my sword down in one last mighty stroke to the vilains shoulder in the very instant he let his last arow fly.
Time slowed; i saw conciousness fade from the archer's being.
I felt the rush of the arrow pass just left of my temple, and then the dull thud of the padded end of the tourny arrow hitting home.
i turned, blade ready to face the lancers onslaught, only to see his limp form rowling back out of the saddle.
later that day as i faced the Arena Master to collect my winnings, all he said as he handed me a purse of twohundered dinars was "Young, arogant, lucky bastard". To which i replyed, with a grin, "Your damn right I am!"
slavetrader
Recruit
just had the fight of my life with some khergits. i had 10 or so refugees and the khergits were at about 35-40 strong. i was armed with lance and shield and one pundle of arrows.
the refugees all died in the first wave, i got some nice headshots (one shot was 11.2), but the second wave changed my luck. with the few arrows i had left i unmounted couple of raiders but then some coward pierced my trusty charger from behind. i was on foot wearing heavy armor and facing 15 or so mounted opponents and the remnants of the first wave. i managed to nick a horse twice but neither of them survived long in the rain of arrows the raiders were hurling at me. so i was on foot again and desperate when i realized that my only hope lied in the baggage, shiny new glaive i had bought just before the battle from Tulga, and some arrows. The problem was i had no idea where the baggage was. with the shield almost broken and the lance practically useless against the enemy coming from all directions, i made slow progress along the edges of the battleground. i finally spotted my baggage in a rather deep canyon. once i got to it i was surprised by weird phenomenon, it was raining khergits. some unlucky bad guys had ridden too close to the cliffs and were sliding down to me. their horses were crippled and they were easy kills for me now that i had my glaive. i knew that the only thing keeping me alive would be my arrows and bowskill of 289. i had to make every shot count, there were still about 10 - 13 raiders on horseback. instead of aiming for the riders I shot the horses instead. i had too much confidence on my close combat skills and almost got knocked out. ''new enemies have arrived''. i had enough time to ready myself and look for higher ground, i knew that there couldn't be many left. the riverbanks were covered in bodies of horses and men. And sure enough, only three raiders were galloping up my hill. i had 4 arrows left and decided to give it a try. three headshots in a row, and one arrow to spare.
this battle taught me that lancers best friends are good shield and a fast horse.
the refugees all died in the first wave, i got some nice headshots (one shot was 11.2), but the second wave changed my luck. with the few arrows i had left i unmounted couple of raiders but then some coward pierced my trusty charger from behind. i was on foot wearing heavy armor and facing 15 or so mounted opponents and the remnants of the first wave. i managed to nick a horse twice but neither of them survived long in the rain of arrows the raiders were hurling at me. so i was on foot again and desperate when i realized that my only hope lied in the baggage, shiny new glaive i had bought just before the battle from Tulga, and some arrows. The problem was i had no idea where the baggage was. with the shield almost broken and the lance practically useless against the enemy coming from all directions, i made slow progress along the edges of the battleground. i finally spotted my baggage in a rather deep canyon. once i got to it i was surprised by weird phenomenon, it was raining khergits. some unlucky bad guys had ridden too close to the cliffs and were sliding down to me. their horses were crippled and they were easy kills for me now that i had my glaive. i knew that the only thing keeping me alive would be my arrows and bowskill of 289. i had to make every shot count, there were still about 10 - 13 raiders on horseback. instead of aiming for the riders I shot the horses instead. i had too much confidence on my close combat skills and almost got knocked out. ''new enemies have arrived''. i had enough time to ready myself and look for higher ground, i knew that there couldn't be many left. the riverbanks were covered in bodies of horses and men. And sure enough, only three raiders were galloping up my hill. i had 4 arrows left and decided to give it a try. three headshots in a row, and one arrow to spare.
this battle taught me that lancers best friends are good shield and a fast horse.
Arathiel
Veteran
The panicked sound of Dranden's voice woke Conen with a start.
"M'lord, Veagir Warparty approaching from the south!"
Wonderful.
"Calm down Dranden, how many are there exactly?"
Dranden paused to collect himself.
"I can't say for certain, M'Lord. At least five score, possibly six or seven."
One hundred and twenty men against Conen's party of 6, most of whom were still asleep. Dranden, having drawn the morning watch, was wearing his armor. That gave Conen one able fighter to start with. Making a decision, he roused Xerina, laying next to him. Beautiful, deadly Xerina.
"Love, we've got trouble. War party, coming from the south. Wake the others and suit up. When you're ready, meet Dranden and I at the river crossing, due south. We'll hold them off untill you arrive."
Dranden looked at him, shocked.
"But... lord! Your armor! It will take time to-"
"Never mind my armor Drandon. If we're going to stall them, we have to do it now."
With that, he gave Xerina a short, passionate kiss, slipped into his leather boots, grabbed his sword of war, and strode out of the tent, wearing nothing else but his night-pants.
"Come, Dranden! You've always wanted a chance to prove yourself, this is it!"
As the two of them ran to meet the incoming enemy, Xerina woke up the others... Kradus, Marnid, and Borcha all began the difficult and long process of getting into their complex suits of armor.
--------------------------
Down at the river, the enemy were almost upon them. The gound was shaking from the thunder of hooves that was bearing down upon Conen and Dranden. But they stood shoulder to shoulder, not wavering, waiting for the tide of vaegir to break upon them. They did not have to wait long.
Six Horsemen and Knights crested the hill directly in front of them, and charged towards the pair. This was good, thought Conen. In their desire to get the bounty on Conen's head (last time conen had checked, it had just broken one hundred thousand denars), the warparty had lost all cohesiveness, and had degenerated into a race to see who could get to the prize first. He would make them regret that decision.
As the first horse thundered towards Conen, he sidestepped it, ducked the knight's clumsy attack, and cut all four of its legs off with a mighty swing. The knight crashed to the ground, stunned. With no time to ready an attack at the second horseman, he dove out of the way. The horse plowed into Dranden, smashing him to the ground.
Conen started to run over to help his friend, but two more knights blocked his way. He killed the first with a huge overhand blow, and then cut the second's horse from underneath him, tossing him face-first to the ground. Less than a second after he had landed, Conen drove the point of his sword into the base of his skull with such fury that it sunk a foot into the hard ground beneath the fallen knight. He looked up to see that Dranden had dispatched his foe, as well as the first knight that Conen had unhorsed. Good man.
Then the vaegir footmen arrived.
-----------------------------------------------------
Conen wiped the blood and sweet out his eyes, as he watched the 3 footmen trying to encircle him. He stood over the unconscious body of Drandon, who had succumbed to his many wounds. He had given a good account for himself, though... at least 15 dead or dying vaegir were strewn in a rough circle around him. These last 3 were trying to finish him off. Conen had been separated, but managed to fight his way back to Dranden's side just as he had fallen... and there was no way these vaegir scum were going to touch him.
Two of the vaegirs leapt forward in a coordinated attack. Parrying their blows in a whirlwind of motion, Conen looked for an opening. He feinted an overhand attack at one of them... when the soldier raised his blade to block it, he drove his sword into the man's eye, and then ripped it out, spraying the other vaeiger with brain and bone. In horror, the other man stumbled and let down his guard, at which point Conen separated his torso from his legs.
But he had lost track of the third man. Even as he braced for blow that he knew was about to fall from behind, he spun to look death in the eyes.
*whiiiizzzz.....thunk*
The third vaegir sunk to his knees with a confused expression on his face. Well, as confused as one can look with an arrow protruding from one's eye.
Xerina.
Xerina and the rest of the men ran down to Conen. As they embraced, Xerina whispered to Conen,
"You looked like you could use a little help..."
He laughed, and kissed her quickly.
"Allow me to thank you properly once we finish off these bastards..."
She eyed the forty or so dead and dying vaegir soldiers strewn accross the battlefield, and pursed her lips critically.
"It looks like you got a head start... that's not very fair. I'll have to catch up."
---------------------------------------------------
Conen and Xerina fought, and their devotion to each other and their friends giving them superhuman strength. The others had all fallen.
Kradus had jumped into a huge crowd of footmen, crushing armor and bone with his huge axe, until a squad of pikemen had managed to take him down.
Marnid was surrounded by a group of knights, knocked down by a powerful mace blow, and trampled into unconsciousness. Borcha ran over to protect his good friend, killing the knights in his fury. But as he bent to tend to Marnid, he took an arrow to the back, and collapsed next to his friend.
Now, bleeding from dozens of wounds, Conen and Xerina fought with a fury born of desperation. No one could stand before them, they fell before her bow and his sword like ants. The ground was soaked red with blood, yet still the enemy came, waves and waves of them. Until finally, in the distance, a horn blew. The remaining vaegir disengaged and pulled back for one final, overwhelming assault. By now, Conen was so exhausted he could barely lift his sword. If he had been burdened by his armor, he would have been dead long ago. But he knew this coming attack would most likely finish him.
The attack never came. In the distance, Conen saw the remaining vaegir, about 30 of them, but they were heading away from them, not charging. One man turned back, towards Conen and Xerina. It may have been a trick of the light, but Conen would always swear that the man had thrown them a formal salute before taking his place at the head of the vaegir column, and riding away.
"M'lord, Veagir Warparty approaching from the south!"
Wonderful.
"Calm down Dranden, how many are there exactly?"
Dranden paused to collect himself.
"I can't say for certain, M'Lord. At least five score, possibly six or seven."
One hundred and twenty men against Conen's party of 6, most of whom were still asleep. Dranden, having drawn the morning watch, was wearing his armor. That gave Conen one able fighter to start with. Making a decision, he roused Xerina, laying next to him. Beautiful, deadly Xerina.
"Love, we've got trouble. War party, coming from the south. Wake the others and suit up. When you're ready, meet Dranden and I at the river crossing, due south. We'll hold them off untill you arrive."
Dranden looked at him, shocked.
"But... lord! Your armor! It will take time to-"
"Never mind my armor Drandon. If we're going to stall them, we have to do it now."
With that, he gave Xerina a short, passionate kiss, slipped into his leather boots, grabbed his sword of war, and strode out of the tent, wearing nothing else but his night-pants.
"Come, Dranden! You've always wanted a chance to prove yourself, this is it!"
As the two of them ran to meet the incoming enemy, Xerina woke up the others... Kradus, Marnid, and Borcha all began the difficult and long process of getting into their complex suits of armor.
--------------------------
Down at the river, the enemy were almost upon them. The gound was shaking from the thunder of hooves that was bearing down upon Conen and Dranden. But they stood shoulder to shoulder, not wavering, waiting for the tide of vaegir to break upon them. They did not have to wait long.
Six Horsemen and Knights crested the hill directly in front of them, and charged towards the pair. This was good, thought Conen. In their desire to get the bounty on Conen's head (last time conen had checked, it had just broken one hundred thousand denars), the warparty had lost all cohesiveness, and had degenerated into a race to see who could get to the prize first. He would make them regret that decision.
As the first horse thundered towards Conen, he sidestepped it, ducked the knight's clumsy attack, and cut all four of its legs off with a mighty swing. The knight crashed to the ground, stunned. With no time to ready an attack at the second horseman, he dove out of the way. The horse plowed into Dranden, smashing him to the ground.
Conen started to run over to help his friend, but two more knights blocked his way. He killed the first with a huge overhand blow, and then cut the second's horse from underneath him, tossing him face-first to the ground. Less than a second after he had landed, Conen drove the point of his sword into the base of his skull with such fury that it sunk a foot into the hard ground beneath the fallen knight. He looked up to see that Dranden had dispatched his foe, as well as the first knight that Conen had unhorsed. Good man.
Then the vaegir footmen arrived.
-----------------------------------------------------
Conen wiped the blood and sweet out his eyes, as he watched the 3 footmen trying to encircle him. He stood over the unconscious body of Drandon, who had succumbed to his many wounds. He had given a good account for himself, though... at least 15 dead or dying vaegir were strewn in a rough circle around him. These last 3 were trying to finish him off. Conen had been separated, but managed to fight his way back to Dranden's side just as he had fallen... and there was no way these vaegir scum were going to touch him.
Two of the vaegirs leapt forward in a coordinated attack. Parrying their blows in a whirlwind of motion, Conen looked for an opening. He feinted an overhand attack at one of them... when the soldier raised his blade to block it, he drove his sword into the man's eye, and then ripped it out, spraying the other vaeiger with brain and bone. In horror, the other man stumbled and let down his guard, at which point Conen separated his torso from his legs.
But he had lost track of the third man. Even as he braced for blow that he knew was about to fall from behind, he spun to look death in the eyes.
*whiiiizzzz.....thunk*
The third vaegir sunk to his knees with a confused expression on his face. Well, as confused as one can look with an arrow protruding from one's eye.
Xerina.
Xerina and the rest of the men ran down to Conen. As they embraced, Xerina whispered to Conen,
"You looked like you could use a little help..."
He laughed, and kissed her quickly.
"Allow me to thank you properly once we finish off these bastards..."
She eyed the forty or so dead and dying vaegir soldiers strewn accross the battlefield, and pursed her lips critically.
"It looks like you got a head start... that's not very fair. I'll have to catch up."
---------------------------------------------------
Conen and Xerina fought, and their devotion to each other and their friends giving them superhuman strength. The others had all fallen.
Kradus had jumped into a huge crowd of footmen, crushing armor and bone with his huge axe, until a squad of pikemen had managed to take him down.
Marnid was surrounded by a group of knights, knocked down by a powerful mace blow, and trampled into unconsciousness. Borcha ran over to protect his good friend, killing the knights in his fury. But as he bent to tend to Marnid, he took an arrow to the back, and collapsed next to his friend.
Now, bleeding from dozens of wounds, Conen and Xerina fought with a fury born of desperation. No one could stand before them, they fell before her bow and his sword like ants. The ground was soaked red with blood, yet still the enemy came, waves and waves of them. Until finally, in the distance, a horn blew. The remaining vaegir disengaged and pulled back for one final, overwhelming assault. By now, Conen was so exhausted he could barely lift his sword. If he had been burdened by his armor, he would have been dead long ago. But he knew this coming attack would most likely finish him.
The attack never came. In the distance, Conen saw the remaining vaegir, about 30 of them, but they were heading away from them, not charging. One man turned back, towards Conen and Xerina. It may have been a trick of the light, but Conen would always swear that the man had thrown them a formal salute before taking his place at the head of the vaegir column, and riding away.
Maksha
Recruit
Best time ever was when I deicded to be a big man and solo some Dark Hunters. I was riding around and I saw a group of 3 peasants being attacked by a group of 20ish Dark Hunters. I engaged, it was my second time against Hunters so I was confident. I had a fast horse, a watered-steel nomad sabre, a 710 shield, a crossbow and 20 normal bolts. Perfect for hit and run.
As I began I made my way up a small hill to get a view of the surroundings. There was a river between me and the Hunters, steep hills on the right and the edge of the map on the left. The Hunters were already crossing the river, and the 3 peasants were quickly cut down or knocked out. I fired several bolts, but the shields of the Hunters rendered them useless. They were getting close now, so with my last loaded bolt I managed to headshot the nearest Hunter as he came in to charge. I drew my sabre and got out my shield, mounting my horse very fast. I rode back to their side of the river to buy myself some time, and I found a small, flat plain and so I started circling. The Hunters, unaware of my plan, circled also, and when one passed me by I would slash out and attack. This continued for quite some time, until I got down to just the Hunters who I had un-horsed. I killed all but 3, and then the terrible message turn up.
"New enemies have arrived."
And what do I see? More Hunters, about 20 more, coming from the Hunter spawn area. Great. I finish off the last 3 foot-soldiers and move in to attack the new arrivals. About halfway through, the same message appears.
"New enemies have arrived."
Only 10 this time, but my horse was getting weaker from the odd attack that hit it. Fortunately my faster horse was able to out-manuvere them, so these days I stick to speed rather than armor on horses. Anyways, as I was getting bored a bit by now, I stopeed paying attention and I crashed into a rock. My horse reared up and I was unable to move for a few critical seconds. In came a lancer. Whoopty-doo. My horse died, but as the lancer tried to spear me I cut him down, and his horse. Some foot-soldiers are advancing now, and the Hunters on horseback still keep knocking me down. I wait for an open gap in the stream of attacks and then I popped up with my crossbow and got another Hunter. Stealing his horse, I resumed my old tactic of circling and soon got rid of the others.
And thats how I solo'd 50-odd Hunters Hope you enjoyed!
Heres a pic of the about half the battlefield:
The reason I haven't lost too much health is that I kept getting knocked down, and that does very little damage.
As I began I made my way up a small hill to get a view of the surroundings. There was a river between me and the Hunters, steep hills on the right and the edge of the map on the left. The Hunters were already crossing the river, and the 3 peasants were quickly cut down or knocked out. I fired several bolts, but the shields of the Hunters rendered them useless. They were getting close now, so with my last loaded bolt I managed to headshot the nearest Hunter as he came in to charge. I drew my sabre and got out my shield, mounting my horse very fast. I rode back to their side of the river to buy myself some time, and I found a small, flat plain and so I started circling. The Hunters, unaware of my plan, circled also, and when one passed me by I would slash out and attack. This continued for quite some time, until I got down to just the Hunters who I had un-horsed. I killed all but 3, and then the terrible message turn up.
"New enemies have arrived."
And what do I see? More Hunters, about 20 more, coming from the Hunter spawn area. Great. I finish off the last 3 foot-soldiers and move in to attack the new arrivals. About halfway through, the same message appears.
"New enemies have arrived."
Only 10 this time, but my horse was getting weaker from the odd attack that hit it. Fortunately my faster horse was able to out-manuvere them, so these days I stick to speed rather than armor on horses. Anyways, as I was getting bored a bit by now, I stopeed paying attention and I crashed into a rock. My horse reared up and I was unable to move for a few critical seconds. In came a lancer. Whoopty-doo. My horse died, but as the lancer tried to spear me I cut him down, and his horse. Some foot-soldiers are advancing now, and the Hunters on horseback still keep knocking me down. I wait for an open gap in the stream of attacks and then I popped up with my crossbow and got another Hunter. Stealing his horse, I resumed my old tactic of circling and soon got rid of the others.
And thats how I solo'd 50-odd Hunters
Hope you enjoyed!Heres a pic of the about half the battlefield:
The reason I haven't lost too much health is that I kept getting knocked down, and that does very little damage.
Sir Saladin
Count
That was a fine two-fisted tale of adventure Maksha.
Temujin
Banned
Brave Sir christian was on his way to suno with some furs he wanted to sell there, as suddenly a band of deserters ambushed him near the woods.
"hand over thy denars!" they shouted to our brave knight.
Outnumbered 11 to 1 by strong veterans manny a man would decide to flee. but not the noble Sir christian; he drew his large sword and replied: "you are men without honour who prey on the weak! I shall put an end to your evil ways with my trusted blade!"
and so the battle started, about 5 of the cowardly deserters where on horseback, and Christian decided that they had to be the first to be send to eternal damnation. he rode around slicing their throats with allmost godlike precission whilst avoiding the ennemies on foot.
when the last of the mounted scoundrels had been taken care of, Sir Christian decided that there was no honour in slaying mere infantrymen from his horse and decided to unmount for an honourable battle. And so our brave hero waited with his blade firmly in his hands for his ennemies to come to him. a fierce battle occured since those deserters have no honour they didn't care for 1 on 1 duels and tried to encircle our hero. Sir Christian started swinging his blade and with every swing blood flowed freely and screams of dying men where heared untill all sounds went silent.
as our hero looked around him he noticed that all deserters had been slain
"hand over thy denars!" they shouted to our brave knight.
Outnumbered 11 to 1 by strong veterans manny a man would decide to flee. but not the noble Sir christian; he drew his large sword and replied: "you are men without honour who prey on the weak! I shall put an end to your evil ways with my trusted blade!"
and so the battle started, about 5 of the cowardly deserters where on horseback, and Christian decided that they had to be the first to be send to eternal damnation. he rode around slicing their throats with allmost godlike precission whilst avoiding the ennemies on foot.
when the last of the mounted scoundrels had been taken care of, Sir Christian decided that there was no honour in slaying mere infantrymen from his horse and decided to unmount for an honourable battle. And so our brave hero waited with his blade firmly in his hands for his ennemies to come to him. a fierce battle occured since those deserters have no honour they didn't care for 1 on 1 duels and tried to encircle our hero. Sir Christian started swinging his blade and with every swing blood flowed freely and screams of dying men where heared untill all sounds went silent.
as our hero looked around him he noticed that all deserters had been slain
Vaerraent
Sergeant
Not a true story, but I'm bored... ah well... here we go;
Aethyc Donovan shifted his grip on his wooden sabre and adjusted his handhold on the buckler - this was the first time he had used a weapon in years, but he was enthusiastic and ready to return to his old sport of arena combat.
This was just training, though. The other man was dressed the same way and holding a staff, just some ruffian off of the streets but the man could still be dangerous to the out-of-practice Aethyc. Suddenly the man lunged at him, using the stick like a spear.
Aethyc simply danced aside easily, using his buckler to knock the staff away and sending a shock up his opponent's arm. The other man almost fell backwards, dropping the staff with his front hand and Aethyc stepped in, attacking quickly and mercilessly. The other person tried to fist Aethyc in the stomach but already Aethyc was getting back into the spirit of the arena, his sword hacking in an ungraceful dance of pain.
Pain for the other man, anyway. Aethyc stepped back as his opponent simply fell backwards, sliding down the wall he had been pressed into. It took a while to approach the end of retraining, but he managed it. Soon enough he was facing two real opponents, one tall horseman with a wooden lance and a fine gelding wearing plate-mail and another with a wooden greataxe and wearing full plate without a helmet. His only companion was a short fellow with a wooden longsword and shield who looked like he had only just started shaving yesterday - he also wore full plate armor apart from the helmet.
Aethyc stood in the arena, wearing some light chainmail and holding a wooden-bladed broadsword. More like a bloody oar, the weight of it was starting to pull on his arms. He blocked out the cheer of the croud in his mind and attempted to focus on what he was doing, running towards the man on horseback. This was not a very good idea as the man on horseback was running towards him, but his attention was taken as the greataxe-wielding person and the young fellow engaged in melee combat. He was surprised to say the least as the lance was at just the right angle that it hooked him under his shoulderblade and held him in the air. He cursed himself for a fool as the man on the horse galloped to a wall, laughing.
Aethyc didn't have time to finish the curse as the air was driven out of him, being slammed into a wall in such a way. He felt one of his ribs crack. The croud were cheering a lot more now the excitement had built up - they loved it when serious injuries and fatalities happened. Some people were groaning, people who had bet on him most likely. If he lost it would be possible that one of the higher-up nobles may hire some sellswords to rough him up a little, perhaps take a little of his cash in compensation on the way. He did not want to let that happen.
He blinked until his eyes completely opened, then stood up. An "ooooo" came from the crowd as he grabbed his broadsword and rushed the man on the horse. Some people screamed warnings but they were too late, his 'oar' of a sword hit the man in the back of his flat-topped helmet and all he had time for was a stranged yell and a surprised expression to form on his face as he keeled over on the horse. The horse was well trained, of course, so did not bolt. It simply stood there as the rider slid off the back of the horse to fall onto the ground, limply. The horse continued to do something very humiliating to the unconcious man, something that will not be detailed here. Only then did the crowd start screaming appreciation, stomping in seats and jumping up and down.
With a laugh at the horse, Aethyc mounted and patted the gelding for a job well done. He finally took a look at the remaining two man, now circling each other. None even glanced in Aethyc's direction. The axeman saw an opening and stepped in and suddenly it was all a blur of wood, fists and feet. This was too good an opportunity to miss, Aethyc thought as he kicked the horse into a gallop.
He had never been good with a lance so he had left it behind him, in a corner of the arena. He held his broadsword at the side of his horse at the moment, closing in on the two fighters who had not glanced at him. Still closing... approaching... now! His broadsword slash came at exactly the same moment that the axeman ducked, it hit the side of his allys head. His teammate was still falling when the other man was bending down. Not a good position for his opponent to be in, it seemed, as the horse reared and caught the axeman inbetween the legs going up.
He wondered why the man did not rise and winced when he saw the reason - a dent in the armor at perhaps the most painful spot possible. Red blood started to trickle between the plates and the man fainted. Aethyc quickly signalled for the field surgeons but first he was greeted by some noble or other who held his fist in the air, yelling to the arena that Aethyc had won. Just another day's arena work, but it brought up the illusions again.
The illusions had bothered Aethyc for a while now, they were becoming less frequent but he was still shocked when suddenly, after a battle, his vision would be obscured by what looked like some kind of giant book. But oddly enough a little arrowhead-shape moved on the book-that-was-not-a-book, seeming to interact with it in some way. Then it would just dissapear, and not come back for a while. He was starting to worry about his health.
So the final illusion came, but it was different from the others. He could not read the runes that apppeared - they seemed to be runes - but it had a box with runes somewhat like, "YOV HAVE ACHIEVED LEVEL 6, PLEASE REGISTER TO PLAY THE FVLL GAME - IT IS EASY AND ONLY TAKES TEN MINUTES" or somesuch. Then life just winked out, he dissapeared. The universe ended. Nothing was in existance any longer.
Aethyc looked around, trying to shake off the feeling that he had done this before. For the first time in years he had returned to the arena - just retraining for now, but...
Humor for ever
Aethyc Donovan shifted his grip on his wooden sabre and adjusted his handhold on the buckler - this was the first time he had used a weapon in years, but he was enthusiastic and ready to return to his old sport of arena combat.
This was just training, though. The other man was dressed the same way and holding a staff, just some ruffian off of the streets but the man could still be dangerous to the out-of-practice Aethyc. Suddenly the man lunged at him, using the stick like a spear.
Aethyc simply danced aside easily, using his buckler to knock the staff away and sending a shock up his opponent's arm. The other man almost fell backwards, dropping the staff with his front hand and Aethyc stepped in, attacking quickly and mercilessly. The other person tried to fist Aethyc in the stomach but already Aethyc was getting back into the spirit of the arena, his sword hacking in an ungraceful dance of pain.
Pain for the other man, anyway. Aethyc stepped back as his opponent simply fell backwards, sliding down the wall he had been pressed into. It took a while to approach the end of retraining, but he managed it. Soon enough he was facing two real opponents, one tall horseman with a wooden lance and a fine gelding wearing plate-mail and another with a wooden greataxe and wearing full plate without a helmet. His only companion was a short fellow with a wooden longsword and shield who looked like he had only just started shaving yesterday - he also wore full plate armor apart from the helmet.
Aethyc stood in the arena, wearing some light chainmail and holding a wooden-bladed broadsword. More like a bloody oar, the weight of it was starting to pull on his arms. He blocked out the cheer of the croud in his mind and attempted to focus on what he was doing, running towards the man on horseback. This was not a very good idea as the man on horseback was running towards him, but his attention was taken as the greataxe-wielding person and the young fellow engaged in melee combat. He was surprised to say the least as the lance was at just the right angle that it hooked him under his shoulderblade and held him in the air. He cursed himself for a fool as the man on the horse galloped to a wall, laughing.
Aethyc didn't have time to finish the curse as the air was driven out of him, being slammed into a wall in such a way. He felt one of his ribs crack. The croud were cheering a lot more now the excitement had built up - they loved it when serious injuries and fatalities happened. Some people were groaning, people who had bet on him most likely. If he lost it would be possible that one of the higher-up nobles may hire some sellswords to rough him up a little, perhaps take a little of his cash in compensation on the way. He did not want to let that happen.
He blinked until his eyes completely opened, then stood up. An "ooooo" came from the crowd as he grabbed his broadsword and rushed the man on the horse. Some people screamed warnings but they were too late, his 'oar' of a sword hit the man in the back of his flat-topped helmet and all he had time for was a stranged yell and a surprised expression to form on his face as he keeled over on the horse. The horse was well trained, of course, so did not bolt. It simply stood there as the rider slid off the back of the horse to fall onto the ground, limply. The horse continued to do something very humiliating to the unconcious man, something that will not be detailed here. Only then did the crowd start screaming appreciation, stomping in seats and jumping up and down.
With a laugh at the horse, Aethyc mounted and patted the gelding for a job well done. He finally took a look at the remaining two man, now circling each other. None even glanced in Aethyc's direction. The axeman saw an opening and stepped in and suddenly it was all a blur of wood, fists and feet. This was too good an opportunity to miss, Aethyc thought as he kicked the horse into a gallop.
He had never been good with a lance so he had left it behind him, in a corner of the arena. He held his broadsword at the side of his horse at the moment, closing in on the two fighters who had not glanced at him. Still closing... approaching... now! His broadsword slash came at exactly the same moment that the axeman ducked, it hit the side of his allys head. His teammate was still falling when the other man was bending down. Not a good position for his opponent to be in, it seemed, as the horse reared and caught the axeman inbetween the legs going up.
He wondered why the man did not rise and winced when he saw the reason - a dent in the armor at perhaps the most painful spot possible. Red blood started to trickle between the plates and the man fainted. Aethyc quickly signalled for the field surgeons but first he was greeted by some noble or other who held his fist in the air, yelling to the arena that Aethyc had won. Just another day's arena work, but it brought up the illusions again.
The illusions had bothered Aethyc for a while now, they were becoming less frequent but he was still shocked when suddenly, after a battle, his vision would be obscured by what looked like some kind of giant book. But oddly enough a little arrowhead-shape moved on the book-that-was-not-a-book, seeming to interact with it in some way. Then it would just dissapear, and not come back for a while. He was starting to worry about his health.
So the final illusion came, but it was different from the others. He could not read the runes that apppeared - they seemed to be runes - but it had a box with runes somewhat like, "YOV HAVE ACHIEVED LEVEL 6, PLEASE REGISTER TO PLAY THE FVLL GAME - IT IS EASY AND ONLY TAKES TEN MINUTES" or somesuch. Then life just winked out, he dissapeared. The universe ended. Nothing was in existance any longer.
Aethyc looked around, trying to shake off the feeling that he had done this before. For the first time in years he had returned to the arena - just retraining for now, but...
Humor for ever
Elia
Recruit
Elia Murumetsa was his name. A mighty man from lands far and unknown. Stronger then an ox, but dumber then a hammer.
Elia listened to his second, a thin blonde dandy of a man thought Elia, for his heart seemed more in jousting with milkmaid's behind barns then in the noble art of combat.
"Raiders?" asked Elia with a hint of interest. These vile men reminded Elia of the once terrible Tugar army he had with his own hand helped smite from the world. His body ached with the wounds of so many battles with these cowardly foes, now so very long ago. But to look at him you might imagine he was not fourty if a day yet Elia was far older.
"What was it they where doing?" Elia questioned his second.
"Why... That is what I wished to tell you. They are in talks with what would appear to be a most incapable group of peasant folk. Flithy looking beggars they may be, but hopelessly outmached if those raiders seek what little they may have!"
Elia frowned. Long before he had become a warrior, he himself had been a peasant. One lower then others, for he had been born with useless legs and spent his days not in a field with at least hard work to give him some honor, but in a chair so he might greet passers by and yern for one young lass that had captured his heart, and his crippled body while she would wash clothes with her mother in a fountain he was able to see from the window.
"Then we shall meet them on the fields of honor!" cried Elia, his already famous temper showing itself.
"Really sir, I know you to have a soft spot for these 'types', but there is more. If our band were to ride to the place our scout reported, we would find ourselves outnumbered at least two to one. And these are no river pirates! They all have horses, and you command but archers. I do not think I must remind you that we are ill equiped to attack or even defend against such a foe..."
"If you will not go, and our men will not go, I will go!" louder still Elia cried!
The second sighed deeply. "We go at your command sir."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Elia stood on the back of his humble sumpter horse and scanned the valley below. They where almost too late it seemed. Many peasants lie dead already, and talks had ceased it seemed. Elia thought this strange for a moment, considering most peasants would gladly give all they had to live. But then it hit him as an arrow between the eyes. These raiders wanted not gold, but something far more important to the peasants. Their own bodies, to be sold into slavery!
Elia's teeth began to grind, for had it not been once but twice that his only love had been captured by Tugars? Held for years she had been, his own son almost never learning who his father was, or that he still lived.
Without more thought on the matter, Elia called down in a great booming voice to the battlefield. The archers under his command all in a line at the crest of the hill, the sight would have been imposing if these had been simple bandits.
The raider commander looked up and saw this, his mind reeling with but one single thought. More slaves for market. He called back in responce. "Who greats us this fine day, warrior?"
"I am Elia Murumetsa! Warrior from Koldova! Once wielder of mighty Invincor's sword. I have, with ease, once bested a wind demon, and killed a thrice headed dragon. It is I whom saw to it the leader of the entire Tugar nation, at his cry for mercy, was stuffed in a bag to be taken to my lord! And I will best you this day vile one!" boomed Elia, for some time in a less them dramatic fashion.
The raider's commander looked up during all this, the peasants slowly moving away from the seemingly distracted warriors whom not a moment before had been knocking many senseless and killing others. His expression changed from curious, to confused and lastly to amused. Per chance, he wondered, had he been visited by a madman with bodyguards?
Elia's second rolled his eyes during the announcement, partly because he had already requested they mearly join the battle in hopes of suprising these raiders, and mostly because he had heard it many times before. Elia's firm reply involved something about son's of misery and the second still wasn't sure whom the insult had been directed at.
The raider commander at last worked over in his head a fitting reply, and with as much bravado and machismo stated firmly, "Nuts!"
Elia was, not suprisingly, outraged.
He gave out a loud unintelligable battle cry, and the combined cries of at least tweleve of the archers followed, far less energetic or enraged. They too where impossible to understand.
It was on then, for Elia on his brave little horse charged down the face of the cliff, the archers quickly following for at the very least, they where not cowards. With a mighty snap, the two front legs of the already overtasked horse bent the wrong way as the decline came to a sudden stop at the bottom and the towering Elia landed in a lump on the ground no less worse for wear. The archers quickly caught up to their leader and the second helped him to his feet, biting hard upon his lip so as not to let out a chortle at the sight.
Elia was, if imaginable, even more enraged. "Son of a Tugar!" he let slip, and pulling from the horse's now quite dead body his sword, shield, bow and quiver and with practiced ease, he equipped himself.
There was little time, they all knew, for the raider commander would have left only a token few of his men to subdue what was left of the peasants, and the rest would soon be coming over the top of yonder hill.
"The hill," cried Elia "We shall make our stand there!"
And so they moved, slowly. Still it was not far. As they began the less then steep climb, they could hear hooves slowly grinding against earth. The bandits had the same idea!
At the top with sword at the ready, Elia swung mightily into the body of a steppe horse just coming to meet him. And so his sword first tasted blood. The horse fell backwards and the warrior upon it's back slipped off and landed upon his back, while the horse continued it's fall into three more oncoming raiders.
The archers now topped the hill and the first shots rang out, some hitting shield, others armor but even more still horse and man flesh. The charge over the hill had failed, for while not one raider was yet dead, many in the front had been wounded and the rest where turning to round the hill in hopes of a outflanking these well positioned bowmen.
Elia was in his element. At first he considered charging into the calvary ranks, but knew the risk of his falling was too great even for a man as strong and large as himself. Instead he opted to join his troops. Taking out his bow, and stringing an arrow he took aim. His eyes had grown dull and his hands quivered a bit now, unlike his younger days but he was still a danger to any man who tried to close the distance. He ignored the raiders who moved off, pulling their own bows out now, and focused instead on the ones who planned to try to storm this earthen fortification.
With a snap of the sinew string one arrow went out, hitting a nearby tree instead of the horseman Elia had been leading. A mistake. The first rarely was good for Elia. It took him time to remember training he had recieved long ago, and the memory of it came slow these days.
A few more missed shots passed, and then he felt it coming back when he saw the blur of the feathered arrow pass through air to stop in the brain of a not far off raider. He almost let out a cry, but was given pause by the sound of another. His second was screaming now, a cry not unlike a old woman thought Elia.
Turning his back he saw that a few of the more ambitious raiders had managed to survive the constant barage of arrow and bolt, and where even now bringing scimitar to skull on men Elia had trained himself. On the ground lay one already, and another was falling.
Without thought, save that it was a tricky shot, Elia let slip another arrow at the nearest of the riders. It was true, suprisingly but did little damage save to give the man a limp if he where to survive this conflict, lodging in his upper thigh and the saddle resting beneath.
"I will have you coward!" cried Elia, eliciting little responce from the raider. He quickly dropped the bow and pulling free his sword he charged. With a slash left to right, he chopped at the raider's horse, catching it on the back leg nearest him. Down it fell the raider letting out a yelp of pain as the saddle shifted under him, pulling the arrow in it and his leg at an uncomfortable angle, until it snapped in two.
His face pale with pain, he looked up in time to see a blur of blue steel speeding to his face, the last sight he was gifted upon this mortal plane.
Elia heard the crunch as the man below him died soundlessly. But little time was allowed him to contemplate yet another man's death at his own hand, when a feeling of impact blasted across his back, rending flesh. Another of the raiders was upon him, and had already landed a cowardly blow to his back. Elia bit back the pain and turning, swung blindly at his opponent in haste. The blow by chance struck one of the legs of this new raider, and his arms failed to complete the blow that very well might have ended Elia's life.
But Elia was not one to be addled by such things, and cooly he thrust his sword at the belly of the raider, who still unprepaired felt it strike deep within him. A twist of the blade and his life too was snuffed out.
Now the battle was in full rage. All of the raiders left were still at the foot of the hill, the others who had managed the climb lay dead or knocked senseless, while those not trying to scale charged around the base of the hill full tilt, their strange bows shooting in reply. All this Elia expected and welcomed, for at the moment he and his men had the advantage, firing from a stable position.
However, one thing troubled him. Where was the leader? Not knowing quite exactly what he looked like, Elia pondered if the man had fallen already, but he felt this not to be the case somehow.
After a few minutes, the archers ran dry of arrows and instead pulled out each one's own weapon. Some carried spears, others short blades or even swords. Elia had saved some of his arrows, for he had lost the chance to make a sure hit now that many of the enemy had moved out of his personal range.
The battle continued, Elia's men still holding the advantage, for the raider's too soon ran out of missles and the rest present had to charge the hill. To unburden the attackers of their mounts was an easy task, for they could only but slowly move up the hill, exposing the horse's head and front legs to an easy hit. A pair or more of blows sent them down, and the riders who where not killed or knocked unawares by such a dismount had now to face an enemy who had a seeming advantage in height.
With the sitution in hand Elia felt the lust for victory upon him and working with his men his sword made many a killing blow. The fellows who worked by his side now seeing wisdom in the old man's ways, felt their confidence bolster.
When there was but one or two of the now less then confident looking raiders coming slowly to their own deaths, Elia could almost taste the thrill of a well won battle upon his lips. Then it happened.
NEW ENEMIES HAVE ARRIVED!
"Son of a Tugar!"
Elia listened to his second, a thin blonde dandy of a man thought Elia, for his heart seemed more in jousting with milkmaid's behind barns then in the noble art of combat.
"Raiders?" asked Elia with a hint of interest. These vile men reminded Elia of the once terrible Tugar army he had with his own hand helped smite from the world. His body ached with the wounds of so many battles with these cowardly foes, now so very long ago. But to look at him you might imagine he was not fourty if a day yet Elia was far older.
"What was it they where doing?" Elia questioned his second.
"Why... That is what I wished to tell you. They are in talks with what would appear to be a most incapable group of peasant folk. Flithy looking beggars they may be, but hopelessly outmached if those raiders seek what little they may have!"
Elia frowned. Long before he had become a warrior, he himself had been a peasant. One lower then others, for he had been born with useless legs and spent his days not in a field with at least hard work to give him some honor, but in a chair so he might greet passers by and yern for one young lass that had captured his heart, and his crippled body while she would wash clothes with her mother in a fountain he was able to see from the window.
"Then we shall meet them on the fields of honor!" cried Elia, his already famous temper showing itself.
"Really sir, I know you to have a soft spot for these 'types', but there is more. If our band were to ride to the place our scout reported, we would find ourselves outnumbered at least two to one. And these are no river pirates! They all have horses, and you command but archers. I do not think I must remind you that we are ill equiped to attack or even defend against such a foe..."
"If you will not go, and our men will not go, I will go!" louder still Elia cried!
The second sighed deeply. "We go at your command sir."
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Elia stood on the back of his humble sumpter horse and scanned the valley below. They where almost too late it seemed. Many peasants lie dead already, and talks had ceased it seemed. Elia thought this strange for a moment, considering most peasants would gladly give all they had to live. But then it hit him as an arrow between the eyes. These raiders wanted not gold, but something far more important to the peasants. Their own bodies, to be sold into slavery!
Elia's teeth began to grind, for had it not been once but twice that his only love had been captured by Tugars? Held for years she had been, his own son almost never learning who his father was, or that he still lived.
Without more thought on the matter, Elia called down in a great booming voice to the battlefield. The archers under his command all in a line at the crest of the hill, the sight would have been imposing if these had been simple bandits.
The raider commander looked up and saw this, his mind reeling with but one single thought. More slaves for market. He called back in responce. "Who greats us this fine day, warrior?"
"I am Elia Murumetsa! Warrior from Koldova! Once wielder of mighty Invincor's sword. I have, with ease, once bested a wind demon, and killed a thrice headed dragon. It is I whom saw to it the leader of the entire Tugar nation, at his cry for mercy, was stuffed in a bag to be taken to my lord! And I will best you this day vile one!" boomed Elia, for some time in a less them dramatic fashion.
The raider's commander looked up during all this, the peasants slowly moving away from the seemingly distracted warriors whom not a moment before had been knocking many senseless and killing others. His expression changed from curious, to confused and lastly to amused. Per chance, he wondered, had he been visited by a madman with bodyguards?
Elia's second rolled his eyes during the announcement, partly because he had already requested they mearly join the battle in hopes of suprising these raiders, and mostly because he had heard it many times before. Elia's firm reply involved something about son's of misery and the second still wasn't sure whom the insult had been directed at.
The raider commander at last worked over in his head a fitting reply, and with as much bravado and machismo stated firmly, "Nuts!"
Elia was, not suprisingly, outraged.
He gave out a loud unintelligable battle cry, and the combined cries of at least tweleve of the archers followed, far less energetic or enraged. They too where impossible to understand.
It was on then, for Elia on his brave little horse charged down the face of the cliff, the archers quickly following for at the very least, they where not cowards. With a mighty snap, the two front legs of the already overtasked horse bent the wrong way as the decline came to a sudden stop at the bottom and the towering Elia landed in a lump on the ground no less worse for wear. The archers quickly caught up to their leader and the second helped him to his feet, biting hard upon his lip so as not to let out a chortle at the sight.
Elia was, if imaginable, even more enraged. "Son of a Tugar!" he let slip, and pulling from the horse's now quite dead body his sword, shield, bow and quiver and with practiced ease, he equipped himself.
There was little time, they all knew, for the raider commander would have left only a token few of his men to subdue what was left of the peasants, and the rest would soon be coming over the top of yonder hill.
"The hill," cried Elia "We shall make our stand there!"
And so they moved, slowly. Still it was not far. As they began the less then steep climb, they could hear hooves slowly grinding against earth. The bandits had the same idea!
At the top with sword at the ready, Elia swung mightily into the body of a steppe horse just coming to meet him. And so his sword first tasted blood. The horse fell backwards and the warrior upon it's back slipped off and landed upon his back, while the horse continued it's fall into three more oncoming raiders.
The archers now topped the hill and the first shots rang out, some hitting shield, others armor but even more still horse and man flesh. The charge over the hill had failed, for while not one raider was yet dead, many in the front had been wounded and the rest where turning to round the hill in hopes of a outflanking these well positioned bowmen.
Elia was in his element. At first he considered charging into the calvary ranks, but knew the risk of his falling was too great even for a man as strong and large as himself. Instead he opted to join his troops. Taking out his bow, and stringing an arrow he took aim. His eyes had grown dull and his hands quivered a bit now, unlike his younger days but he was still a danger to any man who tried to close the distance. He ignored the raiders who moved off, pulling their own bows out now, and focused instead on the ones who planned to try to storm this earthen fortification.
With a snap of the sinew string one arrow went out, hitting a nearby tree instead of the horseman Elia had been leading. A mistake. The first rarely was good for Elia. It took him time to remember training he had recieved long ago, and the memory of it came slow these days.
A few more missed shots passed, and then he felt it coming back when he saw the blur of the feathered arrow pass through air to stop in the brain of a not far off raider. He almost let out a cry, but was given pause by the sound of another. His second was screaming now, a cry not unlike a old woman thought Elia.
Turning his back he saw that a few of the more ambitious raiders had managed to survive the constant barage of arrow and bolt, and where even now bringing scimitar to skull on men Elia had trained himself. On the ground lay one already, and another was falling.
Without thought, save that it was a tricky shot, Elia let slip another arrow at the nearest of the riders. It was true, suprisingly but did little damage save to give the man a limp if he where to survive this conflict, lodging in his upper thigh and the saddle resting beneath.
"I will have you coward!" cried Elia, eliciting little responce from the raider. He quickly dropped the bow and pulling free his sword he charged. With a slash left to right, he chopped at the raider's horse, catching it on the back leg nearest him. Down it fell the raider letting out a yelp of pain as the saddle shifted under him, pulling the arrow in it and his leg at an uncomfortable angle, until it snapped in two.
His face pale with pain, he looked up in time to see a blur of blue steel speeding to his face, the last sight he was gifted upon this mortal plane.
Elia heard the crunch as the man below him died soundlessly. But little time was allowed him to contemplate yet another man's death at his own hand, when a feeling of impact blasted across his back, rending flesh. Another of the raiders was upon him, and had already landed a cowardly blow to his back. Elia bit back the pain and turning, swung blindly at his opponent in haste. The blow by chance struck one of the legs of this new raider, and his arms failed to complete the blow that very well might have ended Elia's life.
But Elia was not one to be addled by such things, and cooly he thrust his sword at the belly of the raider, who still unprepaired felt it strike deep within him. A twist of the blade and his life too was snuffed out.
Now the battle was in full rage. All of the raiders left were still at the foot of the hill, the others who had managed the climb lay dead or knocked senseless, while those not trying to scale charged around the base of the hill full tilt, their strange bows shooting in reply. All this Elia expected and welcomed, for at the moment he and his men had the advantage, firing from a stable position.
However, one thing troubled him. Where was the leader? Not knowing quite exactly what he looked like, Elia pondered if the man had fallen already, but he felt this not to be the case somehow.
After a few minutes, the archers ran dry of arrows and instead pulled out each one's own weapon. Some carried spears, others short blades or even swords. Elia had saved some of his arrows, for he had lost the chance to make a sure hit now that many of the enemy had moved out of his personal range.
The battle continued, Elia's men still holding the advantage, for the raider's too soon ran out of missles and the rest present had to charge the hill. To unburden the attackers of their mounts was an easy task, for they could only but slowly move up the hill, exposing the horse's head and front legs to an easy hit. A pair or more of blows sent them down, and the riders who where not killed or knocked unawares by such a dismount had now to face an enemy who had a seeming advantage in height.
With the sitution in hand Elia felt the lust for victory upon him and working with his men his sword made many a killing blow. The fellows who worked by his side now seeing wisdom in the old man's ways, felt their confidence bolster.
When there was but one or two of the now less then confident looking raiders coming slowly to their own deaths, Elia could almost taste the thrill of a well won battle upon his lips. Then it happened.
NEW ENEMIES HAVE ARRIVED!
"Son of a Tugar!"
They came across the hills like a swarm of locusts, yelling as they brandished their weapons. Knights and horsemen charged forward, lances brandished and swords outs, screaming their warcries as the footmen and militia surged after them.
"Loose!" The sergeant called out, and a feathered storm reached out, smashing shields and unhorsing men. Quickly, the crossbowmen bent to recharge their weapons, while a handful of Varghir Guards strode forth purposefully in the mail heuberks, axes at the ready.
She led them from the front, an amazon that seemed to have sprung from yore, wielding an enourmous greatsword and clad in almost nothing but the barest of leathers. Screeching her warcry, she darted forward, and nimbly avoided the lances that threathened to spit her, dodging the massive warhorses as they rode by.
She swung mightily, and in a single blow, struck down the horse, sending its rider tumbling to the floor and into the midst of her male bodyguard, who promptly rendered him into a bloody corpse. Ignoring the crossbow bolts sizzling past her, she began her dance of death, nimbly avoiding horse after horse while using the long reach of her sword to pluck riders from their seats.
Suddenly befret of riders to kill, she mounted an armored charger, its saddle slippery with blood. Kicking it roughly into obedience, she sent it crashing into the oncoming footmen and scattered them, coming round twice and killing two Swadians with swings of her sword.
Alone, she dismounted and charged, the swadian footmen carefully placed between herself and the crossbowmen still on the hill. Dashing back and forth, she smashed aside shields to cleave their owners, always strivng to be just one step ahead of their riposte
The crossbowmen were unceasing in their rain of death, taking down one after another of the bewildered enemy as they moved back and forth, some pursuing the near-naked women, others engaging the Guardsmen, while still more tried to charge up the hill to engage the crossbowmen themselves. Diluting their sheer mass of numbers, they were unable to bring to bear the devestating attack that would have crippled the pitifully small party facing them, and the reinforcements, slowly trickling in, were eliminated in that same methological fashion.
Like a killing machine, the slaughter continued, as more Knights charged across the field, and peasent levies joined the battle. Up and down the greatsword went, and horses tumbled to the ground, men shuddered and died, and the rivers turned a bloody crimson.
At last, it was over, the battle won, with only three walking survivors, and over a dozen prisoners. The amazon, covered in gore and blood, raised her sword in triumph over a field of dead, and then made all possible haste to the nearest tavern for a bed and some rest.
1 Hero
6 Varghir Guards
10 Varghir Sharpshooters
vs
10 Swadian Knights
12 Swadian Men At Arms
12 Swadian Footmen
12 Swadian Militia
10 Swadian Crossbowmen
"Loose!" The sergeant called out, and a feathered storm reached out, smashing shields and unhorsing men. Quickly, the crossbowmen bent to recharge their weapons, while a handful of Varghir Guards strode forth purposefully in the mail heuberks, axes at the ready.
She led them from the front, an amazon that seemed to have sprung from yore, wielding an enourmous greatsword and clad in almost nothing but the barest of leathers. Screeching her warcry, she darted forward, and nimbly avoided the lances that threathened to spit her, dodging the massive warhorses as they rode by.
She swung mightily, and in a single blow, struck down the horse, sending its rider tumbling to the floor and into the midst of her male bodyguard, who promptly rendered him into a bloody corpse. Ignoring the crossbow bolts sizzling past her, she began her dance of death, nimbly avoiding horse after horse while using the long reach of her sword to pluck riders from their seats.
Suddenly befret of riders to kill, she mounted an armored charger, its saddle slippery with blood. Kicking it roughly into obedience, she sent it crashing into the oncoming footmen and scattered them, coming round twice and killing two Swadians with swings of her sword.
Alone, she dismounted and charged, the swadian footmen carefully placed between herself and the crossbowmen still on the hill. Dashing back and forth, she smashed aside shields to cleave their owners, always strivng to be just one step ahead of their riposte
The crossbowmen were unceasing in their rain of death, taking down one after another of the bewildered enemy as they moved back and forth, some pursuing the near-naked women, others engaging the Guardsmen, while still more tried to charge up the hill to engage the crossbowmen themselves. Diluting their sheer mass of numbers, they were unable to bring to bear the devestating attack that would have crippled the pitifully small party facing them, and the reinforcements, slowly trickling in, were eliminated in that same methological fashion.
Like a killing machine, the slaughter continued, as more Knights charged across the field, and peasent levies joined the battle. Up and down the greatsword went, and horses tumbled to the ground, men shuddered and died, and the rivers turned a bloody crimson.
At last, it was over, the battle won, with only three walking survivors, and over a dozen prisoners. The amazon, covered in gore and blood, raised her sword in triumph over a field of dead, and then made all possible haste to the nearest tavern for a bed and some rest.
1 Hero
6 Varghir Guards
10 Varghir Sharpshooters
vs
10 Swadian Knights
12 Swadian Men At Arms
12 Swadian Footmen
12 Swadian Militia
10 Swadian Crossbowmen
