|| Retribution. || A Short, Illustrated Story ||

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Elenmmare


Years ago, when our youthful, blessed land still whispered of the Nine's touch, a darkness grew upon the distant horizon. The salt-heavy winds that blew from the East carried with them the ominous scent of its coming - the rumbling stormclouds that brewed within distant skies echoed of its power, and scholars, magi and palm-readers alike warned of its arrival. This tide of shadow and blood would later be fittingly dubbed the FaerBlaed, or "Feared Blood", for with the arrival of the near-unstoppable clans of Feron, the southern shores of Asaletheria were soaked ankle-deep in the blood of innocents. But this tale is not of this slaughter... This tale is of the men who stood against such a force - the guardians of peace and valour, and the Founders of Asaleth...


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Retribution


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Dawn had risen swiftly, bringing with it the sweet golden light of the heavens. Dew dripped lazily from water-dampened blades of grass, slowly evaporating beneath the rising, brazen sun. Small creatures of the earth twisted and crawled through the soaked ground, seeking shelter against the day's advance. The smell of fresh flowers and crisp mountain air heralded the beginning of a new day upon the gods' blessed continent. But there are somethings that a new dawn cannot erase.

Aeldmere knelt down, grasping a handful of fresh earth in his hands. Still warm, he mused.
"Admiring the scenery, good knight?" It was Fathmir, the soft merchant lord Aeldmere had met along the coast.
He turned towards the noble. "Look here. This blood is fresh." He pointed to a blotch of blood that stained the soil. The merchant, afraid of dirtying his fingernails, leaned forward to inspect it. He then snorted.

"And?" He asked like a petulant child.
"The beasts are not far from here. If we make haste, we'll catch them before midday."
"Oh goody." The merchant moaned. For some reason, the prospect of another days travel seemed unappealing to him. Aeldmere could care less.

Gripping the saddle of his horse, he slung himself up oncemore. "How are we feeling, Brego?" He nudged the horse playfully. Brego would carry him into battle without a problem. He always did. Picking up his gloves that he'd left slung over the horse's mane, he took stock of his surroundings. To the north, directly ahead of them, the grassy plains continued on till the eye could see. To the east, towering mountains loomed, marking the ancient border between the tribes of the Asalians and the Illori. Snow glistened from their highest peaks, and eagles soared high, resting upon the warm currents of air that drifted over them. In a way, Aeldmere envied them.

Casting his eye south, an involuntary shudder ran down his spine. He could still see the smoke from the far-off village. They had come across it but a day ago, and the charred, butchered remains of its populace. Aeldmere swore he would make whoever responsible for such a crime pay. To the west, lush copses of forests and vales caught his eye, before trailing off into the distance. Even so far inland, he swore he could see the faint outline of Asaleth's coastline- his childhood home. A rush of old memories filled his mind.

But now was not the time for nostalgia. Now was the time for killing. Turning to the fifteen riders behind him, Aeldmere nodded. "We ride."


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It was midday when they came across them. Thundering across the open plains, the Feron warband was a fearsome sight. Even from where he sat astride his warhorse, he could smell the foul scent of them. Not even these barbarians' most potent of shamans could mask the smell of a hundred sweaty, unwashed raiders, he supposed.
Gripping his blade, he sought to calm his nerves. As soon as the battle began, he knew that the icy cold reflexes hammered into him through rigerous training would rush into effect - but for now, he'd have to cope with it. The waiting was always the worst part.

Behind him, his fellow knights where lined up. Similarily dressed, they wore whatever belongings they had. Their crusade against the Feron had left them poor and possessionless - dented, rusted platemail hung from their chests, and tattered heraldy adorned their forms. They had no need for the shining weapons of Asaleth's monarchs - their purpose gave them armour enough.

The Feron were entering the valley - all that stood between them and freedom were Aeldmere and his men. He checked the straps on his horse. They fit tightly. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the stress dissipate as he did. They could do this. They must do this.

The raiders were now less than a mile away. They had spotted Aeldmere and his men and were now converging on them. True to their nature, they stumped across the plains loudly, axes and spears in hand, spread in a large mob. Aeldmere knew that if they were to have victory, their sheer arrogance would be why.

Turning to his men, he nodded. "I'm not one for speeches," A couple of them laughed nervously. The rest kept their eyes firmly on the horizon. "so I'll simply say this. Fight with your country in your heart and fire in your veins." His men clashed their lances upon their shields.

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"Right, let's do this." He whispered, hearing his breathing echoing through his helmet. He kicked his horse into action. Wordlessly, his men followed. The Feron were now but a hundred meters from them. The wind rushed past his ears, and the thundering of his steed filled his mind. He tore across the plains, half cheering, half roaring as he felt the ground hurl past him.


The two forces collided with a deafening crash. His lance punched through the skull of a snarling Feron and his shield smashed another in the face, staggering it.

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His horse rushed on, shoving the beasts to the ground ruthlessly. He spun in his saddle, punching his lance through the leather furs of another foe. In a flash, he saw his men tearing through the enemy ranks. One man slashed at a raider, lobbing off its head. Another went down amidst a sea of green, his screams trailing off suddenly. Even from his position he could hear a sickening crack.

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An axe appeared to his left. He wrenched up his shield, blocking it though it jarred his entire shield arm. A mace struck him on the shoulder, nearly toppling him. He let out a panicked cry, fearing the worst, but then he was free of the tide, with Brego racing through the mob. He dug his knees into the flanks of his horse, urging him to wheel around. Brego snorted but obeyed, thundering onwards oncemore. He couched his lance, picking a roaring, blood-smeared target.

The battle went by in a blur of blood, sweat and fear.
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Flashes of strange clarity broke through the chaos of the moment, before plunging him oncemore into the violent seas of combat. His arm ached from the weight of his seemingy lead-coated lance, and more than once he nearly dropped it. The end of his lance was already cracked from the stress of battle. He dropped it and drew his sword, slashing it through the shoulder of another raider. Wrenching it from the Feron's chest, he spun in his saddle, looking around for another foe - none existed.

Whatever Feron remained were either dead or dying. Pools of blood were sprinkled amongst the plains, slowly seeping into the sun-warmed earth. Not a single enemy stood standing, but he noticed with numb senses that all but four men remained. Two staggered across the battlefields, their steeds dead, looking blankly into the ground. One cradled a shattered arm, his face taut with agony - the other rested the head of his dying horse on his lap, tears filling his eyes.

A wave of darkness threatened to overtake him, and he collapsed to the ground.

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What was this mindless, senseless bloodbath that stained the fields of his land and robbed sons from their fathers? What was this terrible toll that harvested the souls of so many innocents who hungered only for a peaceful life? What was this tax that crippled steeds and slaughtered riders?
"This," he muttered through blood-stained teeth, "is the price of retribution"

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...Just a short story I wrote. Sorry for stealing your format, Glaehron, but I thought I'd make it look orderly :smile:. Apologies about the pictures, I just took them as part of a humorous after-thought :smile:.

 
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