Author Topic: The Deeds of Astros Renodin  (Read 16092 times)

Renodin

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Re: The Deeds of Astros Renodin
« Reply #15: May 04, 2018, 12:34:48 PM »
hey there! While I've written a fair few more RP's I've not actually uploaded them here. Shame on me, I know. Same is true for Aldrakar to be fair. Anyhow. The following RP I wrote because there were 78K undead attacking our 10k defenses. Enjoy!



The Second Undead Army

The first battle had been rough. The men of the Mark had done as the Marshal had commanded. They were happy to stay behind the walls and gleefully swat down any of the undead horrors that tried to scale them. The large two handed weapons proved a boon then. Mauls, halberds and great big axes and swords all hacked and cleaved the unliving until they simply couldn't move  to try again.

The second battle was worse. As far as the eye could see in the dawn's early light. First the shadows and spectres of the trickster grey known as the false dawn but then truly, the hordes were revealed. Unending were their ranks and bony feet crushed all life beneath them. Leaving only a trail of dew infused mud in their wake. Sightless eyes beheld them as they advanced on the walls of Avengmil. The very wooden walls that were shredded in many places during the first battle. Mounts of corpses had created veritable ramps against them, ready to be scaled by the new-coming dead. Fires burned bright as the bubbling, decrepit juices sputtered from many gaping wounds. The Templars had been busy trying to set ablaze as many of the rotting dead as possible. Their number was legion and their flickering, smouldering remains cast the word in an aura of fickle bronze that warred with the all enveloping silver that was the true dawn breaking through the spell of mist that had descended onto the earth.

Behind them and right below the walls Astros could hear them, were the makeshift healer tents. Where the wounded awaited dying. Townspeople had broken their nightly rest in an attempt to offer comfort to those that had protected them. A last straw before merciful release. Much to the surprise of the hulking, bald man, over forty of his men reported for duty that morn. Many of which displayed fresh bandages or sear marks where wounds had been hastily cauterized. He couldn't see them but their collective body heat was unmistakable in the early day chill. As were their noises. They grunted, cleared their noses and weren't able to keep their weapons still. They saw what Astros could not and it struck fear into their hearts. The kind that destroys hope. Defying fate not a day before and emerging victorious, today they were greeted by what seemed twice what they faced yesterday. The big, bull necked head of their commander turned around. His milky spheres gazing at the men while his mouth was unmoving. ''Sire..'' A gruff voice proffered. ''We can't see an end to them.'' The warrior touched the scruff that existed on his chin. ''Undead, as far as the eye can see, in every direction.'' With that the man turned his eyes back to his compatriots of the Mark. Astros merely turned his head back again and faced the oncoming hordes. A single drop of perspiration running down his scalp the only visible response.

The twang of bows sang their chorus. The order had been given. Marshal Boltgan albeit wounded attended the defence and his orders had been like the day before. Man the walls, to the last. In truth Astros had thought the man a fool and had made his own plans for when the walls would've eventually been overrun. A dastardly escape that never was required. Today perhaps, it would be different.

Akin to horizontal tears falling from the wooden clouds of men the arrows ripped into the ranks of the unliving. The dead marched on uncaring. The spitting steel of the archers mere decoration that added a little encumbrance at best. As the hordes drew closer and their numbers truly defied imagination the voices of brave captains rose among the masses. ''Hold firm!'' ''Remember, the Veil is with us!'' ''Under her Gaze!'' ''Stand together and you'll live!'' It annoyed Astros. They were lying, all of them.  Well, maybe not -all- of them but most of them. ''Boys.'' His men looked at him. ''Cut them down. Every, single, rotting, one of them.'' With that he drew his own black handled greatsword. Took a step forwards as to gain a vantage point atop of the walls and steadied himself as the wind teased his balance. The words he had spoken steeled his men somewhat. They knew that their master was a formidable force onto himself but they could see what he could not.

The first of the walkers scampered up the mounts of their fallen. Like a legion of ants they abused one another yet found efficiency in their singular purpose. Arrows were now shot at will and at random. Brave men and women leaning in, letting loose their deadly shot and popping back behind the battlements. ''Look!'' One of Astros's warriors exclaimed as he pointed at one of the burning ramps of corpses. Some of the undead had pushed it and in doing so the mount sagged against the wooden walls like a gutted sack of potatoes spilling its contents. Embers danced and flames licked the precious barrier between the living and the dead. Morale took a hit right there but then a truly horrible spectacle revealed itself. Those very same undead clambered up the ramp made of their burning fallen. Their bodies igniting and busting into flame as the volatile oils and juices of their body caught flame. Creating flaming undead warriors whose skin peeled back with the excruciating heat, making their faces stand taut in awful grins as they hacked at the defenders with their ancient weapons.

There was no time to react for Astros for his ears and the other men surrounding him informed him of more pressing danger. The dead had reached his part of the wall and they were nearly upon them. Grasping bony hands dug into the splintering wood of the walls, teeth sought purchase and men began their desperate defence. Sensing rather than seeing, Astros knew he was in danger. Fear rushing through his body like a thousand, thousand mice running from a flood. His lungs filled and with all his might he roared in defiance. Raising high his inhumanely huge sword and began his reaping. Rending flesh unliving and crushing bone with every blow. If the undead sounded otherworldly the howls and roars of Astros could make one believe the daimons had already begun their next invasion.

Men fell and died. Some gloriously yet many more were not so lucky. Grabbed by the ankle by a seeking and sneaky undead hand. Pulled off balance and tumbled to their death. A speck that vanished in the masses of undead that awaited the human drops like a churning sea at storm. It was there that Vahanian the Grand Templar shone his brightest. Dagger and sword in hand the man knew no dance but the dance of death. Final death in the delivery of his every stroke. Manic rage fuelled Astros and all around him came to ruin but what his eyes could not see was found by Vahanian whom darted in and out of reach as he dispatched the crawling threat to Astros that would've likely felled the huge man. A quick trust of his sword saw the corpse shutter and expire its unnatural life.

Moments stretched to minutes and quickly became hours. When Astros could hear no more voices sprung from the throats of men he again felt that tingle of fear at the base of his spine. His rage subsided as he strained to hear. Nothing. Only the crackling of fleshless bones.  It drew close and he struck it with his mighty blade, covering himself in fresh specks of bonedust and dried up skin. He turned his big head left and right. Again, nothing greeted him that hinted at life. He could only hear more bones bumping into other bones. It sounded as if that was on the walls. A sickly crash deafened the soundscape. Parts of the wall had caved in under the combined weight of far too many bodies, unliving and dead. The fire had done its part and consumed copious amounts of the timber defences. Flee! An inner voice sang to him.

A willing follower, Astros turned around and tried to recall the path off the walls and towards safety. Wherever that might still be. Hacking, struggling and slamming his armored body through the throng of enemies he made it. Somehow he did and Astros of House Renodin survived. His tongue free to taste the air of life and his legs tired beyond reason but it mattered not. He lived! Not a wound marked his body but not a man in his company survived unscathed or at all.