Summer Day -- Nascot
Servants kept running back and forth, towels gathered, parfume secured to scent the room and a new dress for the Queen was brought into the room. Within the hour a pidgeon returned to the castle to inform them that Lady Brigdha had been informed.
Contractions had started, but it would still be several hours before they would become rapid enough. Slowly some form of rest was coming into the room, untill a guard entered the room and moved to Reinhart to whisper something in his ear. "My Queen, there seems to be some visitors who wish to see you, I will inform them to wait a day and will then return again your grace," he said as he smiled towards Glory. "Don't stay away too long Reinhart," she replied.
With those words he left the room and as soon as he had made some distance he turned to the guard who had come in "What do you mean an enemy army?" and the guard led him to the ballistrades "Milord, look in the distance," and so Reinhart did. Fires could be seen in the distance, and banners although unclear to whom they belonged. "Perhaps they are friendly milord?" the guard then continued but Reinhart interrupted him "From the south-east? No, they are not friendly. Prepare the defenses of the castle. Leave the walls of Meuse, but guard the castle and the Queen at all costs, and nobody is to inform her do you understand me? I will kill the first one who tells the Queen, she cannot be scared in the middle of labor!"
Quickly barricades were set up, doors were blocked, big rocks were placed behind them, oil and pitch placed near the windows above. They had to survive for some hours more.
Summer Night -- Meuse
Brigdha threaded her way cautiously through the thick undergrowth, stepping from shadow to shadow with ne'er a pause nor a stumble as she passed beyond the faerie march into the deep wildwood. All about her she could feel the slumbering coils of the Dragon slithering against each other as he dreamt his alien dreams and the weft of the world warped to accommodate them, that ancient serpent's power spreading further south as the fortunes of the Elven Lords waxed ever stronger.
Still these Perdanese lands were heavy with their own ghosts and as Brigdha drew closer to the castle the wildwood slowly gave way to signs of civilisation: a cottage here, smoke ascending erratically from its chimney; an ox wagon there, lumbering along a winding track with its cargo of ale; a group of iron-shod soldiers moving with swift discipline on some appointed task. None saw Brigdha's approach, wrapped as she was in the Black Coat and shrouded in glamour, allowing the Balancewalker to reach the castle gates without further incident.
Throwing aside her disguise she approached the outer gate and struck it a firm, echoing blow with her staff.
Summer Night -- Meuse
Zolan sat atop his horse, side by side with temporary captain, while Amalia was away on business.
Behind him was a rather battered and bruised cavalry unit, but as loyal as they come.
Zolan and the captain sat in silence, observing the archers fire arrow after arrow, as the infantry moved up to make a stand.
The opposing infantry clash in the centre, with the sound of metal on metal being carried across the battlefield,
Shortly followed came the screams, agonizing shouts and pleas to their Gods. He sees men begin to flee, some in an orderly fashion, backing off as a group and maintain a shield wall, others in pure terror, throwing their weapons to the ground and sprinting off to safety.
Imperator Tsingu is seen pacing up and down in order to get a good view of the battlefield. He notices a gap in the melee, and seizes the opportunity. He raises his right arm and gestures the cavalry to charge.
"Yarrghh!" Zolan exclaims, shortly followed by his captain and his men reciprocating, and beginning the charge.
They charge straight down toward the gap in the melee, but as they get closer, the screams get louder, the clash of steal rings through their ears, and the piles of bodies become more and more visible.
"Please! Help!" Zolan hears, and begins to look for their source. He notices a wounded soldier on the ground, reaching out to him. As a group of Northern footman close in on him. Zolan swerves his horse, leaving the rest of his unit to go on without him.
The Northerners hadn't noticed him yet. As they reach the wounded man, one raises their sword to slash down at him. Before he lands his blow, he's knocked to the floor by Zolan's horse. One of the other soldiers, startled, quickly lunges his sword straight into the horses throat. The horse collapses to the ground, landing on the fallen Northern man and throwing Zolan a few feet. Winded, his ears ringing and his head pounding, Zolan prepares to defend himself from the ground.
The soldiers charge at the fallen Zolan, and he turns and jabs his sword straight through the centre man’s abdomen. The second man swipes at him, hitting his chest armour and cutting across the shoulder of his sword arm. Zolan winces in pain and turns to one side grabbing his shoulder with his off hand. The 3 remaining men begin to take up positions around him. The man under the horse was trying to get himself up, and the one with an open stomach crying of agony in a pool of his blood.
"This is the end..." Zolan thought to himself.
The first of the three men step in to attack him, Zolan swipes it off quickly, but the second man slashes the back of his left leg, and he falls down to one knee. The third man lunges to stab him but is dodged, just, by a roll.
Climbing back to his feet, his sword arm injured, and unable to put weight on his left leg, it did not look good. The three men step toward him once more for another round. The third man, with a large over the shoulder swing yells "Argghhhhhhh!" from the bottom of lungs. Zolan drops down to his knee to dodge it, then launches himself back up, forcing his sword straight up through the man’s jaw and into his skull.
The first man, noticing Zolan is distracted, goes in to stab him in the back. Zolan's armour protected him, but not completely. The sword glides off his back and straight through his offhand shoulder. Zolan screams in agony, and stumbles forward.
Two men left, and Zolan in desperate need of medical attention, he'd needs God's intervention to survive this.
"Ánradh give me strength." he muttered under his breath and then stepped forward to go on the offensive against the first northerner. Zolan swings his sword wide to slash at the man’s stomach, but he dodges, and goes to lunge at Zolan's throat. He manages to smack it away, disarming him. The soldier charges him to tackle him to the ground. The two tumble to the floor, both clinging to Zolan's sword.
The other soldier stands above the two, unwilling to strike out of risk of hitting his ally. The two fight and struggle for control of the sword, but with Zolan's injury he is no match. The man rips the sword out of his hand and falls backwards, leaving Zolan uncovered, unarmed, and on his back.
He was done... He dropped his head back against the floor and relaxed his arms.
"Do it..." He said. The remaining stood northerner walks over to him and holds his sword to Zolan's throat. He spits down at Zolan, leaving a droplet of blood covered phlegm on his chest piece. Zolan looks up at the man and sees blood drooling down his face, and then he drops to the floor, revealing the injured soldier he had come to help stood there. Zolan quickly sits up, looking over to the man who took his sword.
The remaining man climbs to his feet, throwing the sword to the ground and turns and darts off toward his side.
"Leave him..." Zolan exhaled.
The soldier extends an arm to Zolan to help him and the two stand face to face.
"Thank you, soldier… I fear you may have denied the Gods a soul today." Zolan says, checking his quite badly wounded shoulder.
"No, sir! That-" he stops as he falls forward into Zolan's arms. Further back, the man from under the horse stands
"F*cking bastard!" Zolan screams. Ripping the throwing axe out of his now dead friends back and charging at the man. The man doesn't even flinch just opens his arms and laughs manically.
Striking instantly at the man, Zolan takes his arm clean off with an unbalanced swing, his arm hits the floor with a thud. Losing his balance due to his injuries, he tumbles into the man, forcing both to the ground. With the pommel of the axe Zolan bashes at the guy’s head, striking his helmet repeatedly. The man is still laughing. He seems to feel no pain, and does not say nor scream a word. Zolan threw the axe to one side, then forces his hand under the man's chin, then pries his helmet off his head, catching the man's ear in the side of the helmet, and rips it half off. With two handed over head strikes from the full mount position, he begins bashing his face with the helmet.
Strike, His nose breaks, landing almost flat across his face and the bone protruding through his skin.
Strike, his eye drops as his lower eye socket is shattered, revealing the inner socket of his eye.
Strike, the cheekbone is crushed, warping most of this face.
Strike, most of his cheek is ripped open, revealing the broken, smashed up bone beneath it.
But still, he laughs. Furious, Zolan does not relent.
Strike, a visible dent in the man’s forehead is quite clear, and the man's laughs become staggered and more of a gargle than a laugh.
"Sir!" A familiar voice is heard, but ignored. The man continues his attempt to laugh.
Strike, his fallen eye is crushed, exploding a mess of blood over the side of his face, flowing like a river down a cliff edge.
Strike, the man's head is split open, gushing blood everywhere and spurting all up across Zolan's chest and face.
Strike, but Zolan did not see the damage, he is pulled backwards off of the man, and onto the floor on his back. It was his Captain.
Walking up to the mess of a man on the floor, with his face caved in and barely even resembling a human being anymore, he looks disgusted. He slides his sword through the man's chest to put him out of his misery, and then looks toward Zolan, who just collapses his blood covered limbs and head back.
Zolan passes out.