An RP I wrote after a major battle between Thalmarkin+Old Grehk against Sint. The first assault on Keffa city. I love writing RP's after battles. People really appreciate being mentioned in them I've found so far and it creates real history for everyone. Enjoy!
The Battle of Keffa prt. 1
A giant of a man, clad in menacing armor and draped in a magnificent cape of pristine bear fur stood at the font of the Thalmarkin war host. His voice clear and easily carrying over the first rank, past the second and well beyond the third line of warriors of the north. Heaving his sword and axe high in the sky his spoken message was mute already for his symbolism was radiant towards all that beheld it. War, battle and glorious combat awaited! General Marlboro gave the signal to attack, the strong winds that blew past the city of Keffa seemed to flow at his direction and with a new surge of wind so did the lines of Thalmarkian warriors towards the City.
The horde of the North fell upon the walls of Keffa like an avalanche, the deafening rumble of their battle cries, the chaos of their charge and the fearlessness of the overconfident. In the thick of it one man stood among many. His dark beard as wild as his eyes, flailing in the wind. A mad gleam in his eyes and with arming axe held high above his head Gomrin charged with the throng.
Down the lazy hill and towards the grey and steadfast walls of Keffa. Several of Gomrin's men close by their leader as they all merged into the same euphoric battle frenzy. The only fracture of their external impetus the fleeting glances they gave one another to check if their brethren still charged towards uncertainty. The warriors of Sint waited patiently upon their high walls, with pikes in hand and with bows ready to rain death upon the foolish.
The first casualties were of course Thalmarkin. The hundreds of little, iron angels of death flew from the bows of Sint towards the oncoming horde of human flesh and unbridled rage. The screeching arrows matched the roars of battle hardened men that soon turned to screams of agony as the screeching of the arrows abruptly ended. Gomrin saw a man slammed to the ground as an arrow violently tore off the arm of a man that stood just in front of him. The half moon shaped arrow heads were able to cut off limbs like axes and the severed limbs were tossed into the air and often against comrades.
The spray of warm blood washed over Gomrin's features as he tried to dive through the fountain of blood that erupted all around him as arrows cascaded from the heavens above. ''Raise shields!'' ''Get down!'' ''Hold formation you bastard!'' and more such could be heard all around from the throats of seasoned veterans. Fear lanced through Gomrin as he saw a handful of his men get cut down by a descending cloud of arrows. To combat this feeling that festered in the pit of his stomach he screamed hell and fire as loud as he could and tried to feed of any drop of anger he could muster.
The arrows came down on the Thalmarkins like the steady waves of a calm ocean upon the beach. Taking men back with them into the depths of death. The walls of Keffa grew in size and hight as the men from Thalmarkin got closer to them, some looked uncertain, some displayed fear but more than enough showed bravery and pushed on. Among their ranks the towering form of General Red. The Giant of a man already peppered with arrows sticking out of his shield, his chest armor and even his thigh. Nothing seemed to slow him down, perhaps his armor was just that good.
Barreling through the ranks Gomrin pushed aside men left and right, to prove his strength to himself mostly, he slammed his shield into the sides of men too slow to move aside in time. His own men followed suit but with far more caution that himself. They loathed to leave their master alone but they put a high price on their own lives and as such, were slower.
Sint did not wait idly by, arrows weren't the only weapons they had ready for the invaders. Rows of pikemen, spearmen and arms-men were ready as they poured from the gates. Some stood, formed up and ready below the walls and some few waited on the walls. They now in turn advanced, they would deliver battle to the Thalmarkinian warriors on equal terms.
It wasn't long before the first Sintian warriors met death as they also received the kisses of iron borne of wooden shafts as the Thalmarkinian archers fired on them. Gomrin saw his chance and roared towards his men ''Let them have it! Kill those filthy Dragon Nuggers!''. His men, the collected bastards of Thalmarkin. The vagabond warriors none else would hire answered their master with a ragged cheer.
Axes flew from their hands and bit into shields, into shoulders and dug deeply into the chests of men as they sought beating hearts. Battle raged as the lines met and swords crashed together until sparks danced in the air. Shield splintered and the smell of sawdust competed with the stench of blood, guts, bowls and death, it never won. The fighting as always was terrible. Men begged for their lives, they screamed the names of loved ones and shat their pants as courage fled them. Death took them all, never caring to which king they had sworn allegiance.
A grey spearhead shot out towards his face, time seemed to slow down as his brain realized the incoming danger. His hand moved to intercept the seeking iron head and got cut in the process. His hand gripped the shaft just behind the spearhead and with all his might he pushed to the side. Gomrin watched as the man wielding the spear fall forwards as he became unbalanced. The man, a Sintian crashed against Gomrin and their chests banged together as did their heads.
The spearman recovered first and attempted to draw a knife from his belt. Gomrin's fought to clear his groggy head, the sensation of danger contained in the recesses of his mind. Sound flooded his ears as his wits returned. He saw the mud and blood stained spearmen ready to punch the knife into his gut. The hand already withdrawn backwards. Desperation set in as no solution presented itself. With a feral howl he threw himself towards the spearmen. A blooming pain spread across his belly but he tried to ignore it as fury mingled into his
outcry. His arms flung around the spearmen and Gomrin could smell the sweat on the man, holding on with all the strength his arms could provide him with. He tasted salt and then iron, it filled his mouth. Gurgling sounds erupted just beside his right ear. The spearmen was drowning in his own blood.
Wiggling the piece of flesh around in his mouth Gomrin tried to spit it out. His eyes taking in the grim wound he had inflicted upon the man with his savage bite to the neck. Managing to eject the lump of human flesh with his tongue he looked around him. The battle was going badly. He sat in a field of death where the mounds were made of corpses and the blades of grass from arrows. The rivers of !@#$ and blood.
He tried to get up but a sharp pain in his side stopped him. He looked down and saw a grinning slash through his armor. ''Damn it! Damned Knife!'' Gomrin shouted at the dying spearman who was holding on to vital breath but failing. In anger Gomrin kicked him in the ribs as he crawled to stand up. The moment he did so he felt a pang of regret. He may be brutish but he wasn't a monster. The man expired.
Gomrin fled the battle. Thalmarkin was whipped and the walls of Keffa still stood. Her grey stone now black with a cover of blood turned to obsidian with the fall of night.
