Author Topic: The Carefree Adventures of Asher Renodin  (Read 9847 times)

Renodin

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Hey again! Today another Battle RP. It is once more rather long but I get a sneaking suspicion you don't really mind. If you do, let me know. This is again an unedited version and I simply wrote it for fun and didn't proof read it much if at all. Sorry for the inconvenience should you experience any. Then again, let's call all those instances moments for personal interpretation. Add to the story rather than feel dissuaded from it eh?  :-*


Into the Fray called Ejarr Puutl

The gods laughed this day and their voices manifested themselves in wind. Men make plans and think they rule the world but little do they truly know. Young men in particular. That most arrogant and dashing among their broad spectrum. We’ll get it done and throwing caution in the wind. Like none else can do but a man too young to have the advantage of experience.

Riding through the camp Asher was fully prepared this time around. The enemy, the bandits of Minas Nova had come to stop the Take Over Xavas was conducting of the rich region of Ejarr Puutl. That was if you believed the Scribes, historians and the songs. Sung in the taverns of days long past. So long in fact that you’d have to take the lyrics with a grain of salt and a sceptical eye. The land was devoid of the lush fields worked by steady hands. The towns weren’t bustling with activity and there certainly weren’t many carts on the roads hauling logs and woodcrafts. No sir, empty buildings lined the streets and the forests reclaimed the land where lumberjack previously prevailed. Years of good stewardship perhaps could restore the squalor of Ejarr Puutl but today did not mark that beginning.

The Xavax war camp was situated between a small thicket and a tiny lake with snaking brooks escaping from said thicket. Disgorging their meagre amounts of water into the body of water that beckoned all manner of animal life to it. Birds in particular loved the brooks. They bathed to their heart’s content and sang their praise for all to hear. The trees full of their expertly constructed nests.

Scouts had long ago informed the warriors of Xavax that the Novans were coming. They came straight at us. Asher could see them just beyond the narrow plain upon which the two forces would class. Narrow because trees crowded either side of the field and it had to be this particular field because it was the only one able to host all the combatants at once. That wasn’t even really true. Asher’s eye discerned that the field would function as a funnel. The bandits of Minas Nova would be safe from the full brunt of the Xavax host. They simply wouldn’t all fit through it. It would be a staged assault then, Asher thought to himself. His horse made an appreciative noise which surprised Asher, could the Noble Creature read his thoughts? It simply continued to munch on a fresh mouthful of grass it had just tripped from the earth in front of it.

The captain of Asher’s men formed them up in a simple formation. Two ranks deep with ten horsemen in each rank. Noticing that the captain began to order the men to set up behind the main Xavax line Asher rode up to the men. ‘’Halt! Go over there!’’ He indicated just to the left of the center of the main Xavax battle line. ‘’Sir? Yes Sir!’’ The captain quickly caught himself and executed the order. ‘’You heard the man, ride!’’ And promptly the freshly recruited cavalrymen repositioned themselves in among the frontline just off center. Receiving some strange looks but just as many approving ones. The last battle all manner of units were mixed in together as well and that battle was won. Why think this was strange? Besides, as infantry, it’s nice not having to be the first to make contact with the enemy. Let the horsemen do it if they want to.

To the far left of the frontline Asher spotted the banner of the Vice-Marshal Godric of House ka Habb, his mentor. The man’s letter snugly tucked away in the breast-pocket of his shirt. It should be safe enough under the layers of leather and mail that covered it. ‘’If this battle goes well I might loot enough to afford a new lance. I mean, look at this piece of crap. See that crack along the tip? It’ll be a miracle if that even pierces raw cowhide!’’ One of the cavalrymen under his command commented to a fellow soldier whom simply grinned back at the man.

Feeling uncertainly flush over his cheeks, red, Asher locked eyes with his captain whom understood. Bless the man Asher thought. ‘’Quiet in the ranks!’’ The berating roar came. ‘’Worry about staying alive you bunch of mangy pony riders. Plenty of time to talk about loot when you’re knee deep in it. That’s what you’ll be if we win. Now shut it!’’ The words conjuring a spell of greed that put some iron in the backs of the men and anyone within earshot really. Men are simple like that. Their minds distracted from carnage and death by simple material greed.

Before he was even ready Asher heard the horn. It’s blast clear and it carried over the army like a wave. Head turning upwards and bodies rigid as the sound reached them. The enemy, the Novans had fielded almost no infantry and only nominally more cavalry than they had infantry. From what Asher could tell there was only a single banner being carried among the enemy Cavalry. Thinking on that fact made him shudder as he realized that there had to be one impressive commander over there if he or she could lead so many horsemen. Nearly a hundred.

A second blast from the horn came and the Host came alive. ‘’Forwards! Ride with me!’’ Asher shouted as he felt fear battle with excitement. There would be very few spearmen or pikemen. Archers meant easy pickings once they reached them. Once they reached them being the key term of course. The thoughts shooting through his mind and he glanced to his sides. ‘’Ride Hard! We have to reach them before they fire their second volley!’’ He called out as confidently as he could. A voice that carried no further than the men right next to him. The noise of hundreds of men marching drowning his voice out. Fortunately the voice of his captain carried much further.

Bending low and all but hugging his horse’s neck Asher thanked all the gods above that he couldn’t afford a proper breastplate. It would’ve made impossible to do what he was doing right now. His eyes keenly informing him of the cloud of arrows that rapidly flew towards him. Under it, under it, go straight under it, they will overshoot. The words repeated in his mind.

In the periphery of his vision Asher noticed how the mass of Xavaxian warriors started to meld away. Open field replaced it. Suddenly from the left he saw a large group of horsemen catch up with him. He risked a glance. They were the men of the Vice-Marshal. Godric, that devil of a man had also ignored the Marshal’s orders to deploy his cavalry in the rear. Now they both rode well ahead of the Xavaxan host and together formed the tip of the spear. The first to make contact with the enemy. Clods of dirt flying in their wake. Flowing manes and horsetails along with rippling capes in the wind and sheer willpower urging the horses to go faster. A few of the men let out cheers as they noticed Godric’s men come in along side them. Furtive nods and grins were exchanged. A strange sort of confidence and reassurance flooded Asher. A fierce happiness blossomed from deep within in. He wanted to get stuck in. A thin and wicked smile appeared on his lips.

Then they started to land. They may have avoided the main cloud of arrows, riding straight under it but some they could not avoid. A horse behind Asher screamed. He looked. An arrow had buried itself into the beast’s rump. About a finger’s length of the haft still showed and the feathering. In pain but not disabled the creature charged on.

Looking front Asher roared out his battle cry. ‘’ For Xavax! Xaaaaavaax!’’ The latter part of his cry taken up by his men as they lowered their lances and urged their beasts on for a final burst of speed. His young and higher pitched voice like a key note before it is overwhelmed in the heavy timber of his men. A mass of lances some forty across from left to right. Vice- Marshal Godric’s men alongside Asher’s. The Novian frontline buckled, men with bows in hand dropped them and tried to retreat into their own lines. Pushing, flailing with their arms. Desperately trying to get away from the incoming hammer that would break them.

Plunging like a heavy rock into water. A massive splash, sound deafening your ears and a hole quickly filled with even more horsemen. Asher saw his men stream past him as he himself had knocked over three archers and finally had planted his lance in the face of a fourth like he was claiming a plot of land. His luck betraying him once more as the lance was trapped in the man’s skull. Annoyance flashing over his features he was quick enough in accepting his fate and relinquishing the lance to the faceless man.

He drew his sword as he tried to manoeuvre his horse with his knees and a single hand. One of the fallen archers looked up at him from his prone position. Asher guided his horse to trample the man, almost instinctively. Without thought the beast responded fluidly and a single hoof and the beast’s weight crushed the man’s chest as it kicked him. Condemning the archer to a death by suffocation.

Looking around him Asher saw how his men were laying about them with abandon. Like they were children in a very grim and bloody candy-store. Their attire quickly becoming drenched in blood and all around them fountains of blood as the blood of their enemies arched high into the sky. Some of the archers were defending themselves but they didn’t stand a chance. Their daggers too short to really do anything. That changed when they began to recover from their initial shock and began to haul men from their horses and stabbing them en mass.

Flashing his sword left and then right, Asher cut a man’s hand off and then hacking into another man’s shoulder. The teaching he had been receiving for years since childhood flowing through him like a steady stream. Lesser men died around him especially since they were so woefully unequipped to deal with him. Horse and man wrought havoc upon the Novan warriors.

A howl and a scream pulled Asher from his murderous trance. His hands and arms covered in little nicks and bruises, not to mention his legs. He looked up and towards the source of the howl. The Vice-Marshal’s men were pulling Godric’s horse away from the fighting. Atop it a wounded man. The Vice Marshal himself. Several arrows sticking out of him but refused to bend his back. One in his shoulder, another in his thigh and a third sticking out the side of his boot. Wham! A fourth striking the man in the lower back. Right before his eyes, Asher saw it happen. Godric’s captain turned about and charged back into the fray like a daimon. His men forming around their Lord as they retreated from the fighting. Asher noticed how half of Godric’s men lay dead in area.

Almost at the same time Asher took in how the Cavalry of Minas Nova delivered an anvil blow to the Xavax infantry. The near one hundred cavalry belonging to Lord Walsh of House Adam, High Justice of Minas Nova, charged head on into the Xavaxian lines. Destroying formations and reaping more souls than the local graveyard could house. In their action they were slaughtered to a man. In but moments the Novan cavalry was obliterated in their one glorious charge. A sobering thought as Asher turned back to the Novan Archers and rushed to the aid of his nearest soldier. A man laughing manically as he fought three men with daggers. Too afraid to really get within his reach.

Dancing around upon his horse Asher moves like contortionist bending and stretching and bending yet again. Dodging blows, lunging his attacks and striking out at anything that came within reach. He and ten of his men did this for what felt like an eternity. Alone in a sea of enemies. Horses kicking out with blood covered hooves. Breaking teeth, hopes and definitely shattering dreams. They were like lions among goats, not even sheep.

What they didn’t notice or rather didn’t have time to notice as they fought for their lives were the rains of arrows that washed over the Novan formation. Miraculous really, that neither Asher nor any of his men were hit by friendly fire. Perhaps they were but none could tell. The arrows fell from the sky without end. It tripped men as they stumbled over them, trying to shield themselves with the bodies of the fallen. Crimson spectres of death standing proudly among them. The Rendorian Companion Cavalry. Exacting their dark toll upon the living.

A man flew past his vision. It didn’t register. Then another, in slow motion. Asher turned around and saw the magnificent sight of Dame Viktoria of House Von Striga and Xerarch Selenia of House JeVondair charge in with their cavalry. Utterly wrecking the already weakened Novan line. The Queen herself had chosen to support him. He smiled through the blood and gore that covered his body. His hair matted to his skull with the blood of his enemies. Pearly white teeth, those of a young man shining through. Fuelled by exhilaration he called out ‘’The eyes of the Xerarch are upon you! Show her why we are here!’’ A ragged but fierce growl responded. You could see it more in their eyes than hear it from their voices. The men swelled with pride. Their arms willed on for a final burst of energy. Minds trying to push aside the exhaustion they all felt.

Right behind the Xerach’s charge followed the Xavaxian infantry. The men and woman of Minas Nova knew their end had come. They stood no chance. The remaining archers dropped bows and drew daggers, readied cudgels and tried their best to resist the oncoming wall of steel. They never stood a chance. They were massacred and that was the end of it. Asher saw it happen and called out these words ‘’Dead men fight no battles!’’ He paused. ‘’Retreat, leave them to the infantry!’’ And his men heard him. Sadly two of his men were found by seeking and vengeful arrows as they obeyed his command to retreat.

That day would be with him for his entire life. The day he rode ahead of the army and charged the enemy lines. Causing mayhem the entire time. The faces of the dead, the pride he felt at the Xerarch’s presence and the bruises and pain he would feel for at least a solid week after.