tigershark
Sergeant at Arms
this is just a quick story of what I decided would be the final battle of my brave Eirish mercenary force.
Draco stood in front of his men, being a man who fought on foot, saw the enemy face to face, battled like a man. The wind blew his chainmail, making a soft tingling sound. After over 100 days of fighting in foreign lands, slaughtering the pathetic remnants of the Roman Empire They had finally returned to Eirish soil, only to find that country was in turmoil, and that his people, the Geals were at war with both the other petty states in Eireland. And one of their vast armies now blocked the way for him and his few men to return back home.
Sighing he leant down and ran a finger along the grass "Were home laddies..." he turned to look at his paltry force of 34 men, all that had survived the campaigns out of the 100 he'd taken with him, but each and every one of them were now grizzled veterans, ready to take anything that the children of Garn could throw at them. "And it looks like our people are already at war again..." he said in a sad voice, his Eirish accent still strong despite the long campaign abroad. At that point the leader of the force, captain Gurn approached flanked by two mean looking Eirish Galloglas "If you surrender now O'brian you will be treated honourably as a prisoner of war. If not we shall slaughter you to the last man for the crimes your people have committed against ours!" Draco looked the man square in the eyes "They are not our crimes." he said simply "We will not surrender, we merely want free passage." Gran laughed out loud "HAH! You have 30 starved and injured men here O'brian, I have 100! You have until dawn tomorrow to surrender, or prepare yourselves and pray to our gods." and then turned around his guards walking backwards flanking him, watching Draco's men closely.
Draco turned to his men, his voice heavy with sorrow "And once again dear friends... I must ask you to fight against impossible odds." he laid his hand upon the hilt of his celtic sword he had torn from the body of a pictish chieftain, its golden handle glimmering in the light of the dying sun and looked around his men"We shall attack at nightfall... that is the only way we have a chance of victory against his forces..." he sighed and paced a little "Those of you who do not wish to take this risk, are at full liberty to take yer' loot and leave" he waited for anyone to make a move, not a soul did, all was quiet but for the tinkling of chain mail. "Then rest for a few hours, and make peace with our gods... for it may be yer last sunset upon this earth..."
Draco spent these hours in quiet contemplation, sitting in the green grass of his country, silently believing, knowing, that this was to be his last battle one way or another, and thanking the gods for allowing him to see his homeland one final time, to allow him to be laid to rest to here for a final time. Even if they were cruel enough to let these wars happen. He slowly strode to a pool of water, taking off his helmet and dunking his head in the water, his long ginger hair sticking to his face as he pulled it out and looked at his reflection in the water, distorted though it was you could see a man who was covered in scars, old and new, who may have once been handsome, and could now merely be called rugged. Sighing he stood, looking at the darkened sky... it was time.
He quietly gathered together his men, who stood in sombre silence "Just like back in Cornwall... We'll get them while there getting to bed..." he said quietly, pulling out his blade, and advancing, quietly, his men following behind. The darkness was oppressive, the moonlight barely allowing them to see their hands in front of their faces. However the enemy camp was easily visible, shown up by men carrying torches, camp fires... They weren't expecting an attack. It took them many long painful minutes to get close, each second giving them a chance of the alarm being raised. Then they saw a group of men having was he presumed was roll call... Taking a deep breath he roared out a battle cry "luchtaíonn sibh;" (Charge i think) his voice peircing the night and causing the guards to turn around in shock as he men charged forward, their blades cutting through the confused Children of Garn their blood spray across the grass and Draco's men as they fell to the floor twitching in agony or in silence.
Now the entire army was advancing on their location "ON ME!" Draco roared as one of his veteran footmen was cut down by an arrow through the throat. His men ran to him, forming a solid wall of shields, before Draco could say another thing the enemy were upon them, the sounds of battle were brutal as shields were destroyed, men cried out in pain as a blade slashed into their side or neck but all Draco could see or hear was the man in front of him, an Irish footman, not particularly well armoured. Draco Blocked a spear thrust with his shield and then brought his sword arcing down upon the lads head, splitting the helmet and reasing a torrent of blood as Draco tore the sword away from the howling youth and turned to his next opponent, a galloglas. Draco quickly stepped back raising his shield as the man aimed a blow at his head, the sword rebounding of the shield causing a resounding cracking sound and making it fall from Draco's grip. Draco side stepped and parried the next slash at his side, thrusting his shorter sword at the man's unprotected chest causing him to cry out and stumble, the mail however preventing it from being a clean kill. Enraged the Galloglas charged Draco quickly ducking to one side and slashing across his chest, blood spraying across the ground as the galloglas stumbled, crashing to the floor. Draco stopped for a moment to recover, but had not realised the disaster that happened, his men lay dead around, some moaning in agony others lying still, his comrades... the sight of their mutilated forms brought a fire out in Draco.
"Surrender! NOW!" Gurn's voice pierced the night as he stood between a wall of men. Draco looked the man in the eye, standing to his tallest height "These men..." he said, his eye filled with a single tear, and his voice strained with emotion "Fought across Britain for EIRELAND! they fought for all of us!... and ... you've killed them in some... petty struggle with the Geals!" his eyes flashed with anger, and his voice was soon filled with it "NO! THEY WILL NOT HAVE DIED IN VAIN!" he roared and rushed at Gurn who stumbled backwards in fright, his men closing ranks as Draco ran upon a spear, piercing through his belly, causing his blade to fly from his hand and clatter to the ground by him, which was becoming increasing soaked in blood. Draco looked up the man who had stabbed him, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he felt a racking cough shudder through his body, causing him to choke and a splatter of blood to fall across the grass in front of him. Draco fell to his knee's and the man with the spear roughly wrenched it from him having to place a foot upon Draco's chest to manage it. Causing him to cry out again as another lance of pain shot through his body. He fell limply to the side, almost in slow motion. "so... this is how it ends" he muttered quietly, lying in a quickly deepening pool of his own blood "slaughtered by my own countrymen..." he laughed bitterly "At least the gods saw fit...to let me die...at home..." a death rattle was heard in his throat, and he fell silent to the cheers of his foes, as Eireland fell into the clutches of yet another civil war...
Well, a short story of the death of my favourite character on this mod so far, criticism/praise welcome, and I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to post your own ones here
Draco stood in front of his men, being a man who fought on foot, saw the enemy face to face, battled like a man. The wind blew his chainmail, making a soft tingling sound. After over 100 days of fighting in foreign lands, slaughtering the pathetic remnants of the Roman Empire They had finally returned to Eirish soil, only to find that country was in turmoil, and that his people, the Geals were at war with both the other petty states in Eireland. And one of their vast armies now blocked the way for him and his few men to return back home.
Sighing he leant down and ran a finger along the grass "Were home laddies..." he turned to look at his paltry force of 34 men, all that had survived the campaigns out of the 100 he'd taken with him, but each and every one of them were now grizzled veterans, ready to take anything that the children of Garn could throw at them. "And it looks like our people are already at war again..." he said in a sad voice, his Eirish accent still strong despite the long campaign abroad. At that point the leader of the force, captain Gurn approached flanked by two mean looking Eirish Galloglas "If you surrender now O'brian you will be treated honourably as a prisoner of war. If not we shall slaughter you to the last man for the crimes your people have committed against ours!" Draco looked the man square in the eyes "They are not our crimes." he said simply "We will not surrender, we merely want free passage." Gran laughed out loud "HAH! You have 30 starved and injured men here O'brian, I have 100! You have until dawn tomorrow to surrender, or prepare yourselves and pray to our gods." and then turned around his guards walking backwards flanking him, watching Draco's men closely.
Draco turned to his men, his voice heavy with sorrow "And once again dear friends... I must ask you to fight against impossible odds." he laid his hand upon the hilt of his celtic sword he had torn from the body of a pictish chieftain, its golden handle glimmering in the light of the dying sun and looked around his men"We shall attack at nightfall... that is the only way we have a chance of victory against his forces..." he sighed and paced a little "Those of you who do not wish to take this risk, are at full liberty to take yer' loot and leave" he waited for anyone to make a move, not a soul did, all was quiet but for the tinkling of chain mail. "Then rest for a few hours, and make peace with our gods... for it may be yer last sunset upon this earth..."
Draco spent these hours in quiet contemplation, sitting in the green grass of his country, silently believing, knowing, that this was to be his last battle one way or another, and thanking the gods for allowing him to see his homeland one final time, to allow him to be laid to rest to here for a final time. Even if they were cruel enough to let these wars happen. He slowly strode to a pool of water, taking off his helmet and dunking his head in the water, his long ginger hair sticking to his face as he pulled it out and looked at his reflection in the water, distorted though it was you could see a man who was covered in scars, old and new, who may have once been handsome, and could now merely be called rugged. Sighing he stood, looking at the darkened sky... it was time.
He quietly gathered together his men, who stood in sombre silence "Just like back in Cornwall... We'll get them while there getting to bed..." he said quietly, pulling out his blade, and advancing, quietly, his men following behind. The darkness was oppressive, the moonlight barely allowing them to see their hands in front of their faces. However the enemy camp was easily visible, shown up by men carrying torches, camp fires... They weren't expecting an attack. It took them many long painful minutes to get close, each second giving them a chance of the alarm being raised. Then they saw a group of men having was he presumed was roll call... Taking a deep breath he roared out a battle cry "luchtaíonn sibh;" (Charge i think) his voice peircing the night and causing the guards to turn around in shock as he men charged forward, their blades cutting through the confused Children of Garn their blood spray across the grass and Draco's men as they fell to the floor twitching in agony or in silence.
Now the entire army was advancing on their location "ON ME!" Draco roared as one of his veteran footmen was cut down by an arrow through the throat. His men ran to him, forming a solid wall of shields, before Draco could say another thing the enemy were upon them, the sounds of battle were brutal as shields were destroyed, men cried out in pain as a blade slashed into their side or neck but all Draco could see or hear was the man in front of him, an Irish footman, not particularly well armoured. Draco Blocked a spear thrust with his shield and then brought his sword arcing down upon the lads head, splitting the helmet and reasing a torrent of blood as Draco tore the sword away from the howling youth and turned to his next opponent, a galloglas. Draco quickly stepped back raising his shield as the man aimed a blow at his head, the sword rebounding of the shield causing a resounding cracking sound and making it fall from Draco's grip. Draco side stepped and parried the next slash at his side, thrusting his shorter sword at the man's unprotected chest causing him to cry out and stumble, the mail however preventing it from being a clean kill. Enraged the Galloglas charged Draco quickly ducking to one side and slashing across his chest, blood spraying across the ground as the galloglas stumbled, crashing to the floor. Draco stopped for a moment to recover, but had not realised the disaster that happened, his men lay dead around, some moaning in agony others lying still, his comrades... the sight of their mutilated forms brought a fire out in Draco.
"Surrender! NOW!" Gurn's voice pierced the night as he stood between a wall of men. Draco looked the man in the eye, standing to his tallest height "These men..." he said, his eye filled with a single tear, and his voice strained with emotion "Fought across Britain for EIRELAND! they fought for all of us!... and ... you've killed them in some... petty struggle with the Geals!" his eyes flashed with anger, and his voice was soon filled with it "NO! THEY WILL NOT HAVE DIED IN VAIN!" he roared and rushed at Gurn who stumbled backwards in fright, his men closing ranks as Draco ran upon a spear, piercing through his belly, causing his blade to fly from his hand and clatter to the ground by him, which was becoming increasing soaked in blood. Draco looked up the man who had stabbed him, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he felt a racking cough shudder through his body, causing him to choke and a splatter of blood to fall across the grass in front of him. Draco fell to his knee's and the man with the spear roughly wrenched it from him having to place a foot upon Draco's chest to manage it. Causing him to cry out again as another lance of pain shot through his body. He fell limply to the side, almost in slow motion. "so... this is how it ends" he muttered quietly, lying in a quickly deepening pool of his own blood "slaughtered by my own countrymen..." he laughed bitterly "At least the gods saw fit...to let me die...at home..." a death rattle was heard in his throat, and he fell silent to the cheers of his foes, as Eireland fell into the clutches of yet another civil war...
Well, a short story of the death of my favourite character on this mod so far, criticism/praise welcome, and I hope you enjoyed it, feel free to post your own ones here
