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Roleplaying / Through Night and Blood - the epic of Amyclas Lacedaemon
« on: November 06, 2013, 10:32:48 PM »
Siege at Port Nebel
"The Arms of Luria will from henceforth be known as the Promachoi. For we will be the first to die." I groaned at a random boy from atop my litter as 4 of them dragged me away...
The red sun sank behind us as a cold wind whistled through the stones of the Citadel. I stood atop our walls, with Luria's Men at Arms spread in a thin line at the foremost ranks, a hard outer shell around the dense infantry formations behind them. Their kite shields emblazoned in the motiffs of Sun, Moon and Earth in a wall of solid steel.
The enemy stood arrayed in their thousands. A riot of banners, Fissoa, Barca, D'Hara, spread in their proud challenge. My mouth went dry at the sight. Plans and speeches forgotten in the moment. As my tongue failed me, then silence must suffice. I unsheathed 4 feet of tempered Askileon Steel, finished and etched with the purest gold. I felt the deft weight of its three and a half pounds, and grinned inside at the thought of the destruction it would sweep through the battlefield. Holding it close to my shoulder in vom Tag I lowered the beaked visor of my Hounskull bascinet and closed my thoughts to all else but the fight.
Thick volleys of arrows were exchanged on both sides. But many of the enemy's fail short of our high walls. A few reached up and found their marks. The Arms of Luria shouldered the preliminary rains with stoic resolve as arrows lashed and bit at gaps in armour. No man flinched. We stared into the jaws of the belfries as they prepared to spew their loads at our faces. Shields held high, swords gleaming in the moonlight, all pointing front.
Then it started raining men, praise the Bloodstars. They ran screaming into our swords as we surged to meet them. The Arms of Luria bashed into the first wave like an armoured fist, as thick columns of Emberborn and city militia threw their weight behind them. The enemy flailed like angry children against our heavy armour as we cut them down like grass. I saw the battlements in a red haze. With each stroke I drew blood, guts and brains. There were no tactics nor thoughts of maneuvering with the sword. I simply hewed into their dense formations which burst open like sacks of the sweetest wine.
A Barcan Noble in his heavy plate, surrounded by similarly armed men cut down a group of city militia in another section of the walls. I raised the Arms of Luria to block his advance. Armoured men clashed against each other in a storm of swords. But Luria had the stronger Arm, and threw down the Barcan and his men from her walls. I tore through a cluster of mail and flesh and stood to face the noble. I swung at him in a wild frenzy and he brought his blade down hard to meet me as was his best option. In the bind, I took the middle of my blade in my gauntlet, pivoted around his midsection and blundgeoned the gorget of his throat with my pommel in a barstard's cross. Disengaging, I raked the edge of my sword along the dented section to open it further. The Barcan fell to his knees in a torrent of arterial blood as I hacked at his helmet through his weakening attempts to block.
Satisfied the enemy warrior would not rise again, I surveyed the field and saw the attackers were thrown back along all other sections of the wall.I leapt off the battlements and sallied forth down the enemy's own siege engines and charged the heels of the fleeing foe. Then the main drawbridge lowered and Sif's Mounted Death rode forward. They slammed into the forward ranks of archers and were promtly shot to pieces by those behind.
Charging forward with Kamron's Emberborn and the remains of the city infantry, we met the enemy archers. I aimed myself at the Barcan unit with the most colorful banners. Cutting them down like monsters squashing sheep, 6 of their banners fell and the unit was routed.
Only Kamron and myself remained on the field, with our men behind us. Unprotected by high walls the rear ranks of D'Haran and Fissoan archers poured volley after volley into us as we attempted to advance into them. Most of my men had survived the melee, but were finally succumbing to torrents of arrow fire. Then I took an arrow to the knee, and could advance no further. I lay prone on the field amongst my men, most of whom had immobilizing wounds, but were well protected behind their armour. We watched the remaining archers duel each other as we sang laconic songs of praise to the Bloodstars and Lurian gods for our good fortune at being alive and mostly having fallen at the same spot.
When the healers came to drag us away, they cursed at the weight of our armour and the maddening lack of carts. I made a note to my scribe to have the name of the unit changed to commemorate our deeds on the field.
"The Arms of Luria will from henceforth be known as the Promachoi. For we will be the first to die." I groaned at a random boy from atop my litter as 4 of them dragged me away...
The red sun sank behind us as a cold wind whistled through the stones of the Citadel. I stood atop our walls, with Luria's Men at Arms spread in a thin line at the foremost ranks, a hard outer shell around the dense infantry formations behind them. Their kite shields emblazoned in the motiffs of Sun, Moon and Earth in a wall of solid steel.
The enemy stood arrayed in their thousands. A riot of banners, Fissoa, Barca, D'Hara, spread in their proud challenge. My mouth went dry at the sight. Plans and speeches forgotten in the moment. As my tongue failed me, then silence must suffice. I unsheathed 4 feet of tempered Askileon Steel, finished and etched with the purest gold. I felt the deft weight of its three and a half pounds, and grinned inside at the thought of the destruction it would sweep through the battlefield. Holding it close to my shoulder in vom Tag I lowered the beaked visor of my Hounskull bascinet and closed my thoughts to all else but the fight.
Thick volleys of arrows were exchanged on both sides. But many of the enemy's fail short of our high walls. A few reached up and found their marks. The Arms of Luria shouldered the preliminary rains with stoic resolve as arrows lashed and bit at gaps in armour. No man flinched. We stared into the jaws of the belfries as they prepared to spew their loads at our faces. Shields held high, swords gleaming in the moonlight, all pointing front.
Then it started raining men, praise the Bloodstars. They ran screaming into our swords as we surged to meet them. The Arms of Luria bashed into the first wave like an armoured fist, as thick columns of Emberborn and city militia threw their weight behind them. The enemy flailed like angry children against our heavy armour as we cut them down like grass. I saw the battlements in a red haze. With each stroke I drew blood, guts and brains. There were no tactics nor thoughts of maneuvering with the sword. I simply hewed into their dense formations which burst open like sacks of the sweetest wine.
A Barcan Noble in his heavy plate, surrounded by similarly armed men cut down a group of city militia in another section of the walls. I raised the Arms of Luria to block his advance. Armoured men clashed against each other in a storm of swords. But Luria had the stronger Arm, and threw down the Barcan and his men from her walls. I tore through a cluster of mail and flesh and stood to face the noble. I swung at him in a wild frenzy and he brought his blade down hard to meet me as was his best option. In the bind, I took the middle of my blade in my gauntlet, pivoted around his midsection and blundgeoned the gorget of his throat with my pommel in a barstard's cross. Disengaging, I raked the edge of my sword along the dented section to open it further. The Barcan fell to his knees in a torrent of arterial blood as I hacked at his helmet through his weakening attempts to block.
Satisfied the enemy warrior would not rise again, I surveyed the field and saw the attackers were thrown back along all other sections of the wall.I leapt off the battlements and sallied forth down the enemy's own siege engines and charged the heels of the fleeing foe. Then the main drawbridge lowered and Sif's Mounted Death rode forward. They slammed into the forward ranks of archers and were promtly shot to pieces by those behind.
Charging forward with Kamron's Emberborn and the remains of the city infantry, we met the enemy archers. I aimed myself at the Barcan unit with the most colorful banners. Cutting them down like monsters squashing sheep, 6 of their banners fell and the unit was routed.
Only Kamron and myself remained on the field, with our men behind us. Unprotected by high walls the rear ranks of D'Haran and Fissoan archers poured volley after volley into us as we attempted to advance into them. Most of my men had survived the melee, but were finally succumbing to torrents of arrow fire. Then I took an arrow to the knee, and could advance no further. I lay prone on the field amongst my men, most of whom had immobilizing wounds, but were well protected behind their armour. We watched the remaining archers duel each other as we sang laconic songs of praise to the Bloodstars and Lurian gods for our good fortune at being alive and mostly having fallen at the same spot.
When the healers came to drag us away, they cursed at the weight of our armour and the maddening lack of carts. I made a note to my scribe to have the name of the unit changed to commemorate our deeds on the field.