Hey there, a long Rp this time. With a bit of mixed feelings. Its grim, it a bit dark but very real. Its a night attack on the city of Giask. It holds special meaning to Aldrakar because that city used to belong to his wife, the mother of his two children, sons. I also want to dedicate it to the Realm of Asylon. If this is truly an end I hope it did them justice. Even though I think they will reemerge in the not so far away future. Enjoy.
A City of Shadows
Nights lasted an age and never yielded much to the sun. The land was blanketed once more in darkness as the last light of the world was beset upon once more by the minions of the moon. Her stars crept up to claim their places in the heavens high above and left only sparing rays to shine down onto the world of mortal men. Winter had ushered in the Sable Season.
The high walls of Giask stood lined with torches and black banners making striking sounds as the wind's gale tried to tear them from their posts. Indomitable and ancient they lay as mountains around one of the greatest cities in Dwilight. Inside were the men and women of Asylon, defending their last bastion. They knew what waited, what sprang on them like a panther with ivory white teeth.
On the other side of those massive walls in the fields surrounding the mighty city, waited a huge host of Lurian born, of Asylonian Born, of Niselurian born, the blood of many nations united under Lurian banners. Aldrakar marched with his men, his eyes always returning to the ever darkening silhouette of the City of his late wife, Lucini Talratheon Renodin. ''I'll.. I..'' He shook his head, no oath should be made he felt and his face hardened he set his mind to the task ahead.
A huge swarm, a legion, a fire touched snake of men and beasts and machines bore down on the City. Ladders, catapults, portable shields of heavy wicker and more. A town's worth of servants and a small realm's worth of combatants stood ready to fight. Atop the battlements stood the Asylonians, they looked back behind them at times. Down to the warriors waiting in the streets of Giask, ready to repel the attackers that might spill over or through the walls.
As the last of the sun's presence vanished from the world so the horns blasted. Boots stamped the soil into a paste. The light of stars glimmered off the naked weapons held in hands, a spectral legion of faceless murderers. The only white visible their teeth and the hot plumes of respiration that exited their helms.
Shouts rose from the walls and weapons were banged against shields, bells rang as the defenders roared their defiance! A rumbling reply roiled against the high walls like a crashing wave of rage. Compassion was shed and fear filled men's hearts and warred with anger, with love. The Angels of Death took flight upon the arrows of men and cut the air with their wails and soon they were followed with the agonizing screams of the dying.
Like the first droplets foreboding a storm did the first Asylonian soldiers tumble from the walls. Their armor shimmering in the torch- and moonlight as they smashed onto the ground far below. A fair number transforming into bloody abominations of flesh and metal like the stuff of nightmares. The bite of arrows found sir Velden Calanar whom was fortunate to have been pulled back by his most courageous captain. Sparing him from a moral wound that now only had found his shoulder. Not far from that position, more eager than most person was Sir Perotin Dmitros. His wild cries like a demon upon the battlements daring his foes to come close. The might of the wind carried his voice and made him seem superhuman.
His frightful image brought him arrows, arrows that marked him and caught him in the gut. Probably caught by his armor but his image was now removed from the walls. Sir Zaxer Melinco however was less brazen. His efforts at coordination garnered him the attention of Chosen men. Men who took their time and picked their targets. Zaxer was unlucky to come into their sights. In a daring display he leaned out for but a second to point out a strategic target but in that split moment was showered in arrows. If not for his armor he would've likely died but good armor saves life. Even his face was touched by an arrow, resulting in a gash.
The siege had entered its first phase and the sky was frightful and beautiful at the same time. Silver, glimmering rain fell horizontally before it descended onto the earth. Screaming and screeching instead of tapping gently, arrows. Aldrakar swallowed hard as he gave orders to his men. He would not be among those to storm the walls and he felt regret mounting, that was his calling, to stand face to face with sword in hand. The thick of it. With his sword he indicated sections of the wall to pepper in missile fire and his Armored Skirmishers did as he instructed them.
Siege ladders and even 2 towers made their way to the Walls of Giask but not without resistance. Not without a hundred hundred arrows pelting them and for those approaching the walls with their shields raised above their heads. Them awaited falling rocks and worse. Liquid fire.
Hooked spears, halberds and axes were ready as those above awaited those below. Huge ladders rose against the walls and men climbed them. In full armor and some even from the reverse side. Climbing the rungs hanging from them. While this provided some cover it was not enough for many. Before his eyes Aldrakar saw an entire siege ladder get engulfed in orange and red and bright yellow as a pot of boiling soon burning oil was poured over them. Flaming men danced their last steps before they fell to the ground in death.
The Asylonian defenders fought valiantly and managed to crush their foes with boulders, with axes and with fierce headbutts. Smashing noses, hacking at hands and crushing heads and helmets. It proved not enough. The Lurian men at arms were gaining a foothold on the walls and the Asylonians archers were loosing the ranged battle. Velden Calanar had returned to the fore and stood, shouted probably to encourage his men. He was battling for what he was worth like a true Knight. His already pieced body suffered another wound. A quarrel from a crossbow found him somewhere close to his spleen. This time he had to retire. His men pulled at him and he tried to stop them but his body was too weak.
Sir Min Garwyn was directing his veterans but caught the eye of Sir Jericho Barrons and it was his hand that pointed. Arrows followed the motions and struck down Sir Min. An arrow to the thigh and several men died to save him. Aldrakar saw it happen and tried to act in time but not in time to spare Sir Min the wounds. His Armored Skirmishers found their Mark however and Sir Jericho found himself under heavy fire. Trying to duck away he was just too slow and several small arrows found his person. Most logging in his armor but some did more than superficial damage.
The Lurian forces pressed the attack and the Walls were slowly taken. Kings of Luria had their banners fly high in the dark sky and were only lit by what torches and braziers could illuminate. In a storm of Iron and of Steel where voices drowned in the howling wind did men die with screams gone mute. Swords flashed like silvery shadows and the ring of armor only reached those directly around. The deadly play made even more difficult as the wind tried to nudge everyone off the wall. Cloaks and Capes came alive and a morbid theater was played out for all to see.
With the walls being taken by the Lurians did Sir Zaxer Melinco make another heroic appearance. His singular action took down 3 Lurian warriors but in his reckless abandon and with the swing of his weapon in mid air did more Rendorian missiles find him. It pushed him aside and his armored arm saved him as he shielded himself. Pulled away by his cape with hands belonging to most trusted companions. The fight now took to the streets.
A booming sound heralded the opening of the Gates. Lurian fighters surged forwards and a sea of steel forced itself through the otherwise immense gates of Giask. First among them were the chargers of Ronan Maelodor. His horsemen were the tip of the spear and spears they met. Brave Ronan was dehorsed by a militiaman. The spear wicked and well forged. It sought his heart but the man could not place it better than his gut. Ronan was seen shouting in pain or fury or both. Then his image vanished in the sea of steel.
Sir Jericho Barrons had clambered down the steps, fighting all the way. The Kings of Luria were monsters in battle and tore everything to shreds when unleashing their inner Deamons. Jericho saw the mass of warriors in the streets of Giask. The plaza before the Great Gate was a slaughterhouse. Desperate men and women fought desperate men and women, there was no getting out. He joined the fray and his sword sang a tune from death's lyrics. Shintuk II's men found him though. In a tight formation had they moved through the crammed battle and now fell upon Jericho with unbridled fury. Cuts and slashes forced Jericho back and perhaps even to the ground. Life giving blood spilling from his body.
The streets were being lost, the fight was taken to the inner city, to the docks..
The Kings of Luria led the charge and over their heads there was a never ending cloud of arrows raining down on the Asylonians. Windows had been boarded up, doors locked and it seemed a stampede. Spears and swords for Horns and scared men trying to run for their lives or making final stands. The beast gored them, but not without sustaining injury. 2 Kings of Luria, Kamron and Idesbald took wounds. Both in melee and both were outwitted for a moment. A brief pause where their guard was circumvented and where steel met flesh.
Near the end or perhaps just before the end, hooves found a Royal body. The Chargers of Ronan, perhaps with him among their number found King Willhelm Buffalkill. He fought but was overcome as the Horsemen crashed into his men. Forcing space to be gone and for the weaker of the two to go down. A man is never as strong as a horse and neither was Willhelm. With a great display of martial prowess that yet proves too little, his flesh was marked by the sword and by the hoof.
Those that could, hid in the dark alleys. Some slithered away, more hid in taverns or in inns. Several managed to reach boats but most died. The battle for Giask never seemed much of a battle on paper perhaps but it were death-throes for those that were there.
Aldrakar walked the streets of the city of his lost Beloved and cried. Weeping without shame and he led the images of Lucini flood his mind. All around him soldiers were running with weapons still in hand. Seeking fleeing Asylonians or other more sinister opportunities, not Aldrakar though. He cried for her, to let her go from his heart and allowed space in it, for another. So ended yet another dark night for Giask, the Sun would reveal the horrors of men come morning.
