This is the actual great battle, expected 90 nobles (players) from at least 8 different realms. Nemean's perspective of course as that's the character I play there. Enjoy!
The First Great Battle
Filed in neat rows and all squared up the banners of four realms presided over a grand army of the north. The crests of over fifty Noble houses proudly displayed. All eager for the glory that was sure to come. Across the field was the camp of the South. Rows upon rows stood nearly motionless. He didn't know their banners, only those of the most prestigious Nobles and even then, only vaguely.
It felt strange to him as the archers marched first. Well ahead of his own horsemen and even the infantry. In crisp order they all advanced. Those that were fastest came last, as such, he had a great view of the unfolding battle. Every muscle in his body was tense and his mouth refused to remain hydrated no matter how often he drank from his waterskin.
At the trudge of his horse Nemean had plenty of time to look left and right of him. There he saw the magnificent warriors of House Blint, Ka Habb and Castillo but also one of Caligus, by lead of the great Rand of House Gardarr. Each of them had over eighty riders, every single one more impressive than even his own best. Nemean looked down at the dirt in front of him. More pressure to achieve. Resolutely he lifted his head as the horn sounded. The signal to ride.
The sky ahead was darkened with shafts. They rained like an autumn storm upon the Southern ranks. He could hear their screams. Did his eyes deceive him? He squinted. Dozens if not hundreds of Southern soldiers stood stoically as wave after wave of arrows slammed into them. One particular ''soldier'' stood out to him. At least two dozen arrows had struck the figure but yet, it remained standing.
Now he was riding past the friendly infantry. They cheered them on. Raised their weapons in salute and were happy to see the horsemen race along. It fueled Nemean's desire to do well. It reinforced his beliefs that he, as a Noble had to set a good example. It were the Nobles that gave great displays of bravery for the common born to draw strength from. The archers ceased their barrage for a moment. Creating a window.
His eyes informed him of the enemy moving. There were so few moving. Why were there so few moving? ''Visors!'' came the call from the captain and without giving it more thought, he lowered his. As lances lowered, he braced himself for the inevitable impact. Reminded himself where his sword hung and to drop the shaft of the lance once it broke or didn't come loose.
The riders all around him, mostly those of other Nobles began to howl their war-cry. Not nemean, he tried to focus. The landscape around him like a dark dream with flashes of light as they sped past the slit of his visor. The horses fell into a great gallop, his heart thumbed in his chest. The war-cry of the men around rose and morphed into a bestial roar. Then, there was the crash of metal, grunting and horses screaming. Like a great mailed fist the armoured riders charges into and through the Southern ranks. Bunching his shoulders together and searching for a target Nemean couldn't find any. Where were they?! The hedgehogs of men didn't bleed. They simply stood there with arrows sticking out of them. Not a single one moved.
''Wheel! Double back!'' The order came and Nemean did as ordered. ''Enemy in the rear!'' The tone informed him that the captain started to panic. With good reason, no enemy should ever get behind the cavalry. How was it possible?
Getting frustrated Nemean ripped off his helmet with his shield arm, letting it bob against his backplate. The world was rich and beautiful at once again. The bright sunlight bathed the world in color and the wind liberated him of the stuffy feeling he'd been trapped with inside the cocoon of his helmet. All about he saw scarecrows. Straw men with only the barest of equipment. ''Curses!'' He uttered in sheer frustration. Robbed of Glory and more importantly, a chance to prove himself.
''Damn them!'' His lips pulled back and his white teeth glittered in the morning sun. ''Bastards!'' In his youthful rage he gave his mount his spurs. A thing not benign to the creature and a sign of a lesser horseman but Nemean didn't care. There were still a handful of Southern Lambs on the field of battle and he wanted them.
As so often happens though, youthful desire was denied. He rode back and forth from the battlefield and his lance didn't touch a single enemy. In frustration and fully drenched in sweat Nemean exited the battlefield. He didn't even consider the fortunate fact that this also meant that none of his men had died. Yet, that didn't even cross his mind.
