Arcaea/Dining Hall Late 08-09/A Day Trip to Larmebsi
A calm summer breeze shuffled the air. The night was quiet, almost too quiet. Thalathafn had settled in to his tent for the night. A shifting shadow alerted him to another presence. Thalathafn scrambled for his dagger on the makeshift nightstand. He rolled from his bed as the attacker lunged. Thalathafn swung his dagger nicking the infiltrator on the shoulder. He parried two advances from the attacker, and while the attacker was off balance, Thalathafn pulled him close drove his own dagger into the infiltrator's stomach. In a desperate struggle the mans forehead met Thalathafn's face throwing him back as the infiltrator stumbled off. The dagger glistened of blood in the flickering fire light. Satisfied, Thalathafn lay panting on his straw mattress. He could taste the blood on his lip. Moments later the guards dragged the man back into the generals tent. "Have the healers bandage him up and send him off to the dungeons. The Imperial Magistrate will deal with him." Thalathafn's words stern as a seasoned soldier. He spat the blood from his mouth as he ducked under the flaps of his tent. Sleep would elude him tonight.
Sir Thalathafn Urominiel High Marshal of Arcaea
As Jenred stood, holding position with the army as the Greater Aenilian forces approached, words began drifting through his mind, from a song long forgotten...But...They seem suddenly appropriate...And he started chanting them softly...
Axes flash, broadswords swing Shining armors’ piercing ring Horses run with polished shield Fight those bastards 'TIL THEY YIELD!
His shouted words caught the attention of those nearby, and his old friend Aerywyn, recognizing the tune and song, rode forward...
Midnight mare, blood red roan Fight to keep this land your own Sound the horn and call the cry How many of them can WE MAKE DIE?
Aerywyn joined him on the last words, and the rest of the army picked up the tune...
Follow orders as you’re told Make their yellow blood run cold Fight until you die or drop A force like ours is hard to stop
Close your mind to stress and pain Fight ‘til you’re no longer sane Let not one damn cur pass by How many of them can we make die?
Guard your women and children well Send these bastards back to Hell We’ll teach them the ways of war And they won’t come here anymore
Use your shield and use your head Fight ‘til everyone is dead Raise the flag up to the sky How many of them can we make die?
Dawn has broke, the time has come Move your feet to the marching drum We’ll win the war and pay the toll Fight as one in heart and soul
Midnight mare and blood red roan Fight to keep this land your own Sound the horn and call the cry How many of them can we make die?
Axes flash, broadswords swing Shining armors’ piercing ring Horses run with polished shield Fight those bastards ‘til they yield
Midnight mare and blood red roan Fight to keep this land your own Sound the horn and call the cry How many of them can we make die? How many of them can we make die? How many of them can we make die?
Sir Jenred Bedwyr King of Arcaea
The Duke of Idapur guided his horse back and forth across the ranks of his infantry, who had assembled to do battle once again.
"The last battle was well fought, but we can do better! Our combined infantry forces now number close to double that of the enemy! At the moment, their only strength lies in their deep ranks of archers, who will crumble in seconds when their protective shields have been breached!
"Once the bright sun has fully crested the horizon, we fight again, brave men of the Legion! As the largest remaining force on the field, we will be leading the charge! We will be the spear tip which pierces the foe's defenses! We will cut their infantry in half and allow our friends to run past us and attack directly at their heart!
"With the glorious wind behind our backs, we will run like cavalry, we will lift our shields high to deflect their arrows, and we will cut through their front ranks as does a knife through butter!
"My valiant Legion! With the rising of the sun will also rise our swords and our hearts!"
Xarnelf paused now at the middle of the ranks, facing his mount towards his men. He turned his head slowly from left to right, in silence, to regard all the faces before him. Many of them were young and might not make it through this next battle. But if all went well, the enemy would be routed.
And then, the sun finished its ascension over the horizon, shedding light across the field. The time had come. The Duke drew his blade from his side and raised it high.
"To victory!!!"
He turned his mount around to face the Arcaeans and then urged him into a trot, leading the charge. Cheering as one, the Lightstar Legion pumped their right fists against their chests and began a rapidly accelerating advance towards triumph, or death.
Sir Xarnelf Lightstar Duke of Idapur
Armando paced before the remains of his unit, the forty or so men that were unwounded standing erect as they were facing the Arcaean side of the field. "You did well in the last battle, all of you!" He started, still pacing in front of them. "You were the first into the fray, and you've all taken down your share of Arcaeans. You've stood your ground against a superior force and were the last infantry unit to leave the field."
He stopped walking to and fro and faced them directly as his smiling face turned to a slight frown. "But it was not good enough! Their archers remain unscathed still, Larmebsi is still under threat by these greedy bastards, and that snake Euran is still out there! I'll offer two gold for HIS capture."
Armando put his hands in his sides and adressed his troops in a less formal tone then they were used to. "Those Arcaeans grieved my once when they took beloved Talex for their own personal gain, They grieved me again when they proceeded to attack the region most dear to me. I will DIE before I let them complete their conquest here!
A roar of approval came from the troops as the sun carefully edged over the horizon. "It is time!" Armando yelled. "Let's drive these bastards out of our lands in a way they won't forget! For Aenilla! For Larmebsi!"
With that final cry he turned and motioned for his soldiers to attack, running along in the front ranks to bring the fight to Arcaea.
Armando Moraden Earl of Larmebsi
Crispen walked through the healer's tent, his usual frivolousness gone. Eleven dead, ten wounded being tended to by the medical man who hustled from one bed to the next. Four or five of the men might be able to hold steady enough in the saddle for one more fight, but it was unlikely they would survive it.
It was unlikely he would survive it.
A sense of peace came over him. His destiny was soon to be fulfilled.
"Take a few of the buggers with me, wot?" he thought, and stepped out into the cool night.
Crispen Namtrah (Knight of Remton)
Blackness faded to grey. Grey faded to blurs surrounded by light. Blurs came slowly into focus as Tenal blinked himself to consciousness. "He's coming to," said a soft voice, "Get his Captain, and Her Magistrate Madelena."
"...where...men..?", Tenal struggled to say. "...where...beloved?" His strength spent, he lapsed back into sleep.
Sir Tenal Quasath Count of Orbeh
Part of his prediction was correct. His men - the three that had managed to line up with him for battle - were dead. Tomy in a hail of arrows; Asaahi pulled down from his horse when it had been unable to break through an infantry wall; Dram's death he had not seen, had only spotted the bloody corpse while fighting his way back to the Aracean lines after his own mount had been cut down.
There was a moment when he thought he would be captured. Remnants of four large infantry units had come charging forward; cavalry had dashed after him while he struggled in his heavy armor.
Then, darkening the sky like a million black birds, the rain of arrow fire that had decimated the Aenilian troops and won the day.
He made his way to the healer's tent, shook his head to the man; there would be no one else following him today.
"We fight again at sundown," he said solemnly to the six wounded who lay there. "Who can join me?"
Crispen Namtrah (Knight of Remton)
The King is dead!
The words rippled through the Arcaean camp and started a mass retreat. Both Marshals out of action, no word from the SICs...confusion and terror reigned supreme. Later reports that the King was only wounded were too late to restore order among the ranks.
All except in one. Crispen visited the healer's tent yet again. The good doctor was packing his supplies, scurrying about giving sharp orders to his nurses.
"We have started the retreat?" he asked when Crispen entered.
"Retreat?" Crispen asked. "No retreat, wot?"
He looked at the few remaining men who had given so much in the last days.
"King is wounded, wot?" he explained. "Asking for volunteers to hold the Arcaean banner, wot? Until he can be taken to safety, wot?"
He looked at the bandaged men steadily.
"Those who are up to it, meet outside his tent hour before sunrise, wot? Last stand, I should think, wot?"
He turned and left the tent.
-
Crispen Namtrah (Knight of Remton)
"Sir Crispen?" the messenger asked, breathing heavily. "Her Grace the Duchess Edara requests that you withdraw your men. Larmebsi cannot be held."
Crispen stared at him stoically.
"His Majesty is wounded, wot? Cannot withdraw, wot?" he said. "My duty is to protect the King, wot?"
"But...but m'lord, you will never be able to hold them ..."
Crispen looked resigned.
"Better death or imprisonment, wot?" he said, "than a life of dishonor, wot?"
Crispen Namtrah (Knight of Remton)
