Hey there! Battle RP incoming. Its about a defense the Southern Alliance executed of the border region of Bescanon. Next to the City of Perdan. Enjoy!
The Charge of Asher
Betrayal lay fresh among the memories, overshadowed only by the abdication of King Marcus of House Gottfried of Perdan. Tearing his eyes off the image that represented King Robb of Alara he beheld the fields before them all. Soon they would house the dead bodies of men and women rather than the sea of grain it did now. Standing among hundreds of Vixen, Perdanese, Alaran and even a handful of Highmarchian warriors, Asher could see the enemy in the distance.
Across from the burning and smouldering fields the armies of the north stood ready. In their haste to deny the enemy the benefit of looting grain, the Southern forces had attempted to set ablaze their fields. Time was not on their side. The fire burned haphazardly and flicked around wherever the wind deigned to blow. Straining his eyes he tried to make out the design on the single banner from Highmarch. Red and black with some sort of horse in Alabaster upon it. Nothing he recognized and it irritated him.
Lines of the enemy host began to ripple. Movement among their ranks. Smoke rose and fell from the fields. Blocking from view like a whimsical actress in a theatre with a scarf that which all wished to see. Formations arrayed themselves and began to advance. The Banners of Sirion prominent and Imperial among their lesser, Asher mused. The colours of Redhaven were present in force as were those of Nivemus and Shadowdale. What seemed like trickery became a surprise borne of efficiency. The northern armies congealed and created a broad front of intermixing infantry and archer companies of every size and shape. Just behind followed a small contingent laggards it almost felt like. Nothing distinguished them from the massed line in front. Except perhaps the massive retinue of the Master of Shadowdale, Lindow the Shadow King himself.
Armoured boots crunched the fire kissed stalks of grain. Stamping them into fine dust and ash. Cinders danced upwards with the commotion and created a twirling aura that looked as if the northern armies guided the flames themselves. Ever pressing on and leaving fire in their wake.
The southern army enjoyed its advantage clean. Having stationed itself along the fortification of Bescanon. Calls went up and master archers gave their best indications of range to their superiors. Asher glanced to the right and his eyes found Lord Smiddich. The Lord of Bescanon. That made him smile briefly. For as long as it took him to turn his gaze back to the oncoming enemies.
Arrows took flight. Defying the heavens in their soaring height. Plunging through the dark of airborne ash and soot they struck without warning. Pain crept into his eyes as Asher saw men soundlessly contort in agony. Arms flailing about or simply with mouths agape, absent words. Not that words would’ve been what he’d imagined though. Screams, horrible anguished screams. He saw them die. Slammed to the flame wreathed dirt, lifeless.
The North did not just receive. Their bowmen sang in kind and screeching arrows landed on the defenders. Without warning a young noble from Vix Tiramora was knocked off his horse. An arrow had found his shoulder and burrowed itself deep within the youth’s flesh. Leaning forwards in the saddle Asher’s focus redoubled. ‘’Where are you?..’’ The words under his breath.
‘’There!’’ Asher exclaimed as he spotted the Ink raven on Carmine of House Kinsey. His arm and hand pointing unbidden. Down went the man. A hail of arrows barraged the entire company of men that had stood under the raven banner. Its master, the Talon of former Xavax, Lionel, did not rise again that battle.
Companion Cavalry looked at their leader. Anxious to give their own charge but Asher held firm, waiting patiently. The walls held and the enemy was expending themselves mightily trying to overcome it. The fighting grew worse and more intense. The forces breathed together like mighty lungs. Flooding in and pushing out. The Kronogos of Nivemus fell. The target of black feathered arrows. Many more Nobles gained wounds and then, Asher saw his opening.
Looking back over his shoulder he raised his arm imperiously. ‘’On me!’’ His visor went down. ‘’Ride and leave none standing before us!’’ Heels kicked into the side of his steed. ‘’Ha! Go!’’. A stream of horseflesh among the ranks of marksmen and servants carrying baskets of munitions to sate ever hungry hands.
The Northern forces had sent their last retinues made up of infantry. They were scaling the walls or nearing enough to try and attempt the feat. ‘’Open the Gate!’’ Asher’s voice rang out. ‘’Open it!’’ the command boomed. Steady hands obeyed the words as eyes realized the game. Clods of dirt took flight as the Companion Cavalry followed Asher through the gate. Fanning out to give body to their formation. ‘’There!’’ Asher pointed his light lance at the Golden Bird of House ka Habb.
The formation veered to the right with the fluidity of the water contained in a gentle mountain brook. A huff of wind caused the earth to cough a cloud of ember ridden smoke. The riders darted through with absolute abandon. On the other side, the men of Godric, the men of Torrenhall felt rather than knew the danger. In a moment that collected an age and condensed into a single heartbeat Asher leapt from the dark embrace of the cloud of ashes. His golden hair streaming with blackening soot. Eyes red and tearing up. Burrowing deep, the light lance of Asher impaled one of the Tórrarin. Lifting the big man off his feet and slamming him into another. The weight became unbearable and Asher released his grip on the weapon. His hand was without weapon for shorter than it takes to read these words. A fine and menacing blade replaced it. Drawn from its scabbard at the hip.
More ghostly Riders dove through the black cloud and brought otherworldly death with them. His eyes shot around. A tear ran down his cheek. Asher saw his old mentor. ‘’Godric! Godric!.. Godric!’’ The name intoned became a cry of war. ‘’Godric Fallen!’’ Hooves propelled Asher towards the middle aged man. ‘’Godric! Lesser borne!’’ The blade rose along with the hand. ‘’Godric! Unworthy of his name!’’ The blade flashed red as the fires drove the colour of blood through the air and it shone brightly off of the steel. Light was replaced with liquid, sticky and warm and the older man fell.
Seeing the servant of Tor fall among the rubble, Thomas of House Foxglove, Prime Minister of Sirion rushed to the rescue. The Scarlet Sentinels moved at his command. The ruler himself barred Asher from a second blow upon the prone Godric. Throwing his body in between. He caught the blow and blood was demanded from a second Noble victim. That was all the time fate would grant Asher as the world turned from very slow to very fast once more. ‘’My Prince! We must fall back!’’ The captain was right. The Companion Cavalry were being chewed up piece by piece. The few Lions beset by numerous dogs. Asher led out an audible growl. His eyes locked on Godric’s and he pointed the bloody sword at him. ‘’As you are on your back, you are below me. His name I claim now.’’ A fat clod of blood slid off of the tip of the blade and fell among the ashen soil.
With no small feat of horsemanship Asher turned his horse on the spot and rode back towards the fortifications. Arrows harried them all the way and none of his men escaped unharmed. The prince himself taking an arrow in the lower arm during the retreat.
The battle lasted until the sun gave up its duty to provide light and the archers could find targets no more. It was a victory for the south and the north never breached the walls. Not truly.
