Stradia: The Fourth War - Chapter 1 "The North Falls"

[Lumenskir]

Ariosto strode among the battlefield's refuse, the moans of pain around him falling on ears of excellent hearing but meager attention. He stopped above one injured soldier, bits and strings of internal organs breaking their bonds for a taste of fresh air.

"F-f-f-ather Vincent...I need help." He said it so matter of factly that Ariosto was quite taken aback. The former warrior, a grown man to be sure, was bawling, great sobs heaped among his stuttered words. Ari wasn't quite sure if the man was quite aware of his physical outpourings.

"No, I am Ariosto Cantare, lieutenant in the Venurian army. What is your name?"

At the mention of Venuria, the soldier managed to contain himself, mentally at least, and spit at Ariosto's feet. "Die, Venurian!"

"Hmm, one of those 'far thinking' Kenshuran households I suspect, strage name like that. So, Die, this Father Vincent, is he capable of seeing through basic illusions? Is anybody back at Gole capable of such a feat?" The Kenshuran stayed still, quivering through the supressed pain. "Maybe I'm not being clear, and I apologize. You see, I took control of Simon, a nice fellow on your side, and had him send an arrow right into your Father Vincent's chest, but it didn't quite seem to take. To me, that is the work of competent magicks, with a k even, Die. If I wanted to infiltrate Gole, would I be able to safely walk in covered in a glammer, or would certain seers on your side neccesitate that I take you and a few of your friends back to my camp, kill you, and sneak in wearing your clothes?"

The Kenshuran's mouth gaped at this line of questioning. Ariosto pressed onward. "You're right, Die. Better safe than sorry. I'm going to need you to stand up now." Ari made a small flick of his wrist, watching as Die's eyes shimmered purple for a second. The man arose, groaning as a few feet of his insides trickled out between his hands. "I know it probably hurts, but I just need you to keep up. And don't worry about bloodstains, they'll make it look authentic."

Walking forward, Ariosto happened upon the man with the shattered leg and his fellow compatriots. A few motions later and they all stood at attention, the handicapped soldier being supported by Die and a soldier with a sword stuck through his shoulder. Ariosto looked upon the four enemies. "I think this should be enough, don't want to have too much temptation for a larger infiltration unit." The screams and moans finally caught up to the enchanter now that he had no use for the remaining fallen. He pointed at the one not carrying his fellow comrade. "You, walk around and stick a sword in the head of any man making a sound." Ari thought about this command for a second. "Just go ahead and stab any man lying down. The rest of you, follow me."

Ari departed, screams of pain turning into cries of betrayal before settling into the harsh silence of death. He was quite pleased with how his plan had unfolded.

[Loki, The Fallen]

Vincent heard the one following him, and felt humbled. He felt small compared to this man, who had fought valiantly against these odds. Vincent didn’t think he had done nearly as much as those who had fought. Thank you, sir. I’m just so sorry it had to be that painful.

He jumped down to another of the nearby injured. This one not nearly as wounded as the other soldier was, it was a simply laceration in the leg, but it immobilized him.

Stay still sir, He said, May the Light comfort you.

He tried to control his power, channel his energy better then he did previously. He did that in vain. The healing energy rushed out unchecked, causing the soldier to cry out in pain. Vincent cringed at the sound, but quickly finished the task. The soldier was healed, but not the way Vincent would have liked. He looked at the soldier, and bowed his head.

Forgive me, sir.

The soldier didn’t understand, he no longer was injured, and had no more pain in his legs. For what Father?

Vincent didn’t feel he had time to explain. It should not have been that painful, He said, returning to his horse, I’ll explain later.

He rode up to the rest of his allies, hearing the reinforcements and Loki discuss their current situation. As they sat there, Vincent inhaled sharply and grasped his chest, all thoughts now on his injury. I can’t have them worry. He channeled his power into the injury, trying to quickly stabilize himself a little more. One of the soldiers nearby noticed him in obvious discomfort.

Father, are you okay?

Avelia, I don’t want to lie to them, please forgive me.

He said nothing.

Vincent stopped channeling into himself, tried to steady himself, to control his breathing. This will have to do for now. May The Light support me. He turned and smiled at the soldier reassuringly.

He turned back to the battlefield to see an atrocity that had him nearly forget his pain. Men who should not be standing, who should not be walking, should not be even moving, staggering about and executing the injured. Cries erupted at the traitors, people begging for them to stop. They did not. Vince could see no emotion in the men, they had no hesitation. Tears fell. He felt an unfamiliar emotion, one he had done his best to remove throughout his training. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth. Anger? Rage? His breathing quickened. No. Fury.

He gasped, his eyes widened. He caught himself. No! He dropped his head, slumped over in his saddle, clasped his hands together, letting the tears fall. He prayed aloud, although it was quite likely to be drowned out by the nearby discussions. Avelia, forgive me! Again I thought of violence against someone. Again I desired to do unrighteous things to someone. I don’t deserve it, but I beg for The Lights forgiveness! He dug his fingers into his hands, hard enough to draw blood. I’m so sorry!

[Barahad]

Graeme heard the gargoyle's shout of savage triumph almost at the same instant as he felt his horse stumble. There was the crunch of breaking ice as his horse dug its hooves into the slick surface, the steel shoes providing some needed traction. Still, if his horse were to recover, Graeme would have to let go of all control. He deliberately relaxed his grip on the reins, giving the horse as much freedom as it needed to steady itself. The speed of the charge was carrying mount and rider into the Venurian company, and Graeme could see the other knights of the long patrol suffering the same trouble. He prayed their horses were well-shod, but when the first horse fell, he knew the rescue was in trouble. The knight, wearing a bright red tabard, untangled gracefully from her steed as it fell, and she rolled behind it, the momentum carrying both towards the gargoyles.

Graeme had been surprised by the explosion of light, but the unseen author of the spell had had the good sense to warn the riders of the plan. His eyes had been momentarily blurred, but his vision was now clear, and he could see that the gargoyles, as they positioned themselves, were still feeling some of the effects of that burst of bright light. Graeme hoped it would be enough.

Ice cracked around him as his horse strove to steady itself, the shoes digging sharply into the ice. Graeme kept himself in the saddle by holding to the horse's flanks with his legs, a light touch on the rein. After a terribly long moment, his horse's feet found purchase, and the forward slide halted. Unfortunately, the rear hooves did not find the same purchase, and now Graeme was sliding sideways towards the Venurians, his horse scrambling desperately to keep upright. Graeme swayed in his saddle, and then leaned away from the direction of the slide, throwing his weight into the horse's efforts. The gargoyles hooted and hollered as the knights and their horses scrambled on the ice, but every moment they were getting closer, and their speed had not decreased; only their control was lacking.

Finally, Graeme gave up the fight for footing. If his horse kept its feet, he would take that blessing. He would not want to fight a creature half again as tall as he from the ground. The weakest armour was generally about the neck and shoulder joints, and to reach he would likely need to be mounted. He was close now, close enough that two of the gargoyles chose to jab their spears towards him. It was at this point that the slide saved him, for his horse staggered suddenly, throwing him away from the point of a spear which would have otherwise found his heart. The blade left a raw cut on his mount's shoulder, and the horse screamed in pain, but both were alive and on their feet. The second jab Graeme turned aside with his shield, throwing the gargoyle's stance out of position as his horse caromed into it. The force of the impact jarred mount, rider and gargoyle, but succeeded in checking the momentum of the slide. Along the line of gargoyle defenders the rest of the knights met with the spears and halberds of the creatures, the fallen horse actually knocking one of the surprised creatures to the ground as several feet behind the rider dug her blade into the ice to arrest her slide.

The sounds of clashing steel filled the air as the knights and bodyguards met. Graeme moved to quickly regain control of his mount, and having succeeded, he lashed out with his sword. He landed a glancing strike which scored the chain metal protecting the gargoyle's shoulder, but failed to penetrate the tightly woven mail. As he poured his energy into his attacks, he caught sight of a fourth creature staggering away with the captain held protectively in its arms. That was where Graeme needed to be, and he was fortunate that the gargoyle he faced was the only one which stood between himself and his quarry.

He grunted as the spear of his opponent struck heavily against his shield. Graeme turned in his saddle and struck at the shaft, hoping perhaps to break the weapon in twain. There was a splintering of wood, but Graeme had to draw back his sword before the gargoyle pulled it from his grip, leaving the job half done. The two combatants faced each other warily, each seeking a clear opportunity to attack. To his left, two of the knights had engaged a single gargoyle, and were pressing their attack. One had lost his steed and fought on foot, while the other had kept to her saddle, and battered at the gargoyle's head and neck with her heavy blade. Further down the line, the unhorsed knight had sprung upon the fallen gargoyle, but was being slowly forced back from her quarry by the gargoyle's great strength and white-hot fury at having been taken from his feet.

His own opponent had decided to switch strategies. Now, his spear sought out Graeme's steed, hoping to strike a killing blow which would bear the knight to the ground and leave him helpless to a killing blow. Graeme's eyes narrowed as he turned the gargoyle's spear aside with his sword, forcing the point into the ground. He swung savagely at the shaft a second time: more wood splintered, but the creature's weapon did not break. As the gargoyle drew the spear from the ground, Graeme pressed his horse forward, closing near the gargoyle, striking at the right arm with a hard downward cut. The gargoyle's metal armour shrieked in protest, and finally gave way.

Blood blossomed from the wound, and the gargoyle roared in pain, its hands dropping away from its spear. With its other arm, it struck at Graeme, connecting a glancing blow to the knight's helm. His ears rang, and Graeme was sure that the blow had dented his helm. He shook off the momentary daze as the gargoyle seized hold of its spear and struck again, not with the point, but the with the shaft, swinging the weapon like a long club. Graeme let out a sharp 'oof' as the wood struck his stomach and forced the air from his lungs. He gasped in pain and surprise as the gargoyle howled in triumph. It felt that it had won.

Graeme's fury took hold of him, and he slammed his sword down on the shaft of the gargoyle's weapon, directing his whole weight into the swing. The wood did not resist this blow: the sword paused for a moment in its arc, and with sudden violence the gargoyle's spear gave way with a mighty crack. The head of the weapon and a two foot length of the shaft fell away, and the gargoyle's howl of triumph cut short as the knight wheeled his horse away from the battle, seizing with his shield hand the remainder of the broken spear. He pulled, and, by adding the horse's directed strength to his own he succeeded. The gargoyle was pulled from its previously sure footing. Graeme swiftly released the broken shaft and the gargoyle drew it back, scrambling to achieve a strong defensive stance. Turning his horse again, Graeme cut at the suddenly vulnerable creature. His blade cut deep: through armour, flesh, muscle, sinew, and finally ending in the thick bone of the upper arm.

The gargoyle screamed in pain and Graeme pulled with great force on his blade. Steel grated on bone as he drew his sword free and struck again. The wounded creature gave way under his assault. A glancing blow opened a fierce wound on the gargoyle's forehead as the creature lashed out with its uninjured arm, catching Graeme in the side, raising a deep and painful bruise. Graeme struck again, his blade tearing along the thick armour covering the gargoyle's chest. A jagged rent appeared, and Graeme knew this was how the contest would end. As the gargoyle struck again, Graeme turned to accept a glancing blow against his wounded side, and as the gargoyle's fist pulled it close towards him, he stabbed forward and down with his sword, angling the blade so that it would pass through the rent in the creature's armour. The gargoyle's eyes burned into Graeme's, each combatant's face only inches apart, as the blade struck home with jarring force.

The creature's mouth opened in wordless surprise at the mortal wound. As darkness clouded its vision, the last sight it bore from the world were the implacable eyes of its killer: eyes which burned with the fury of a living nightmare.

As the gargoyle staggered back and telescoped into the ground, Graeme pulled the sword free and turned his horse. He had to reach Nord.

[Aieris]

By the time the ice had reached her, Aieris had stopped her horse, and the other archers around her had done the same. Since it seemed that they all looked up to her, she figured she might as well take some sort of command.

"Pick your targets carefully. Try not to hit our own men. Get as close as you need to to ensure good shots. Go. Do your stuff."

It was not a very inspirational speech, but it would do. As the archers slowly began to spread out and prepare to unleash upon the Venurians, Aieris looked at the boy with the staff that had so interested her earlier. She had seen him stumble and flounder, and realized that at this rate he would never reach the gargoyle in white. And since her safety lay mainly in the success of the charge against said gargoyle, she would have to help out the youngling.

Concentrating on the ground in front of him, she quickly warmed a two foot swath in front of him. As the ice melted into slush and then water, she extended that swath all the way to the front of the ice. Now the youngster would have a clear path, although his feet would get wet. Then again, perhaps it was about time for his feet to get wet anyway.

Regardless, this did take effort, so Aieris took the time to close her eyes and breathe momentarily, catching her breath before once more raising her bow and starting her horse out at a slow trot, circling around so she would not hit any of the knights in the back. After all, she would not want to tarnish their oh-so-shiny armour now, would she?

[Jtab]

“Ice?” Bentis thought to himself as he focused so that he may remain upright. A short slide later, he continued with as much speed as he could manage on the slippery terrain. The agility and balance he had perfected over the years helped considerably, but no human could race across this ice without the appropriate footwear. Suddenly the ground beneath his feet became soggy and began yielding to the weight of the lad. Glimpsing downward Bentis noticed a path through the ice forming swiftly before him. Not being one to question a blessing when it comes his way, Bentis doubled his pace to close the distance between himself and the battle.

Noting a lone Kenshurian shield up ahead, Bentis had an idea. Grasping his staff with his left hand positioned near its top, and his right a little higher then the midpoint, the young warrior caught the edge of the shield with his staff as he ran passed. He continued to slide the shield along the ice to his right as he charged the pack of gargoyles. Steel clashed and men fell as Bentis came within meters of the fray. Leaning to his right and applying pressure throughout his staff, the rogue flicked his wrist and fired the wooden buckler airborne into the melee. The buckler continued to spin and glide towards the area targeted, albeit in a rather sloppy path. Soon it found its mark, crashing into the side of one gargoyle’s skull, sending his helmet flying and its owner reeling. A nearby knight became aware of the gargoyle’s vulnerable state, and came down with his blade. The attack missed its mark but still left the gargoyle in agony with a substantial gash across its right arm. In a fit of inhuman rage, the winged beast knocked aside the knight’s sword and took hold of the man’s head. With a frenzied screech, monster smashed the face of the now stunned knight into its knee with a resounding crunch. The gargoyle tossed the human aside and lifted its spear high above the prone soldier. With a thrust the Venurian ended the life of the Long Patrolman. A splash of fresh blood turned the once red tabard of the fallen Kenshurian a dark crimson.

Bentis had reached his objective in time to receive a new splatter of blood on his shirt. He moved quickly to the side of the armored giant, Bentis struck the left knee of the wounded gargoyle. The beast retaliated with a swipe of its spear, though a clumsy one hampered by the damage to its knee. The young man ducked beneath the wild swing of the blooded Venurian soldier then knocked its spear further out of position on the follow-through. The opening to end this battle had now presented itself. Stepping his leg behind the right leg of the stumbling gargoyle, Bentis hooked the waist of his enemy as he returned his staff to a neutral position, causing him to trip over the rogues waiting leg. Without hesitation, Bentis drove the butt end of his faithful shaft into the exposed throat of the prone Venurian, crushing its windpipe.

Sweat dripped down the dirt covered face of the youth as he surveyed the battle after dispatching his newest foe. The Captain was nearby and this battle was not nearly done, but Bentis would surely welcome his cot when the day was over.

[Mintaro]

Penn heard the spear whistle and thud into the ground just behind him. He sighed with relief. Had the horse been taken down he would have lost his life. More likely than not. He was fast approaching the group of survivors. He saw the healer and watched him using healing magic on his chest. He narrowed his eyes at that. He had not actually seen the healer take a hit, but then again, it seemed unavoidable in that fight.

He almost missed the shocked look of horror on Vincents face. Followed by further looks from the others. They stared at something. Turning his head Penn saw what they did. Truly an atrocious sight. Pulling tight on the reigns he made the horse come to a stop then turned and Galloped off towards the soldier slaughtering his injured comrades. The others he saw, further off, were already shambling away. He would deal with them if he could. Pulling an arrow from his quiver he notched it into his bow. "Avelia Forgive my sin." He prayed and loosed the arrow. It stuck straight through the mans heart. The man fell to his knees for a moment, his sword sticking into the ground just short of a mans head. Then, much to Penns further horror. The man began moving again, seeming to refuse to die despite the attack.

There was nothing for it now. Shouldering his bow he unsheathed his sword. Stopping his mount he hopped off. Running over to the man that should be dead he delivered a quick and decisive blow. Taking the mans head from his shoulders. He felt no remorse for that attack. Indeed that blow had been a mercy. Even if he had managed to undo whatever evil had been done, it was unlikely the man was capable of being healed from the arrow wound. Penn looked around him. Only a few men still showed any signs of life.

From the looks on some of the faces, and the marks on their hands, it became evident that the man he just slew was the one that killed them. It was a horrific shame. Such things did happen in war, but they should not. A cold rage gripped Penn then. Wiping his blade on the fallen mans shirt he sheathed it once again. He offered a quick prayer for the soul he had taken, then ran back to his horse. Kicking his mount back into a gallop he made it the rest of the way back to the survivors and reinforcments. He spoke though to only his survivors. "I shall continue this fight, I do not however expect the same from any of you. No one will think you the coward after the onslaught you have survived this day. Who still will ride to take the enemy?"

[TheBlindMime]

Loki said nothing as Penn addressed the group, he stared vacantly at the body on his steed. He was so young, almost to young to have a wife to worry about. He is but a wee child... The tragedy that lay across his saddle was more then enough to dissuade Loki's blood lust. Now he just felt tired and sad, he wanted nothing more then to go home and turn his back to all of this. As if it never happened.

But he couldn't do that now, not like the last time. He had to take this boy to his home and bury him properly for his beloved. When Penn's eyes reached Loki's he must have known his temporary companion would be returning to Gole, no words need to be spoken. Loki turned away still somewhat shamed by the outcome, he watched as blood poured from Vincent's hands. The father seemed to be weeping into his saddle over the loss of life here and that Loki understood.

But he had no tears for the dead.

[Azisien]

The last Knight of the Long Patrol was pinned to the ground through the torso by the massive Venurian spear. She tried to reach her sword in a feeble attempt at defense, but Mithik's bodyguard intervened quickly and stepped on her neck. Protection or not, the massive weight caused a sickening crunch noise, and the knight stopped moving. Out of the gargoyle's sheath came a blade large enough to be considered a greatsword to a human. He held it in one hand at first, but then gripped it in two for extra power and precision. The elite jumped forward at Bentis, ready and eager to cut him in two.

Instantaneously, almost magically, an arrow stuck itself into the beast's half plate. The elite stopped his movement in shock, and a second arrow ripped through the armor beside the first. Hesitant only for a moment, the bodyguard charged Bentis again, regardless of the mortal wound.

Mithik watched as his last defender received two mortal wounds. He looked to the shooter: a Kenshurian woman in a dress, some hundred feet away. "Peculiar dress for battle." Idly, he looked down at his own robes. "Hmph. Now I know your face." Several other Kenshurians were with her, each with bows. They fired off a voley in unison, which Mithik judged from the arc to be headed straight for him. He raised both arms towards the arrows and a pulse of air burst from his hands. The gust spell knocked all of the arrows off their trajectories a second before they turned him into a pincushion. Anger flowed through his veins now; he would not be made a fool of.

His last bodyguard would die soon, which left Sharub carrying the Kenshurian officer. One knight who still had his horse had slain one of the elites and moved to intercept Sharub. As the knight moved forward, gaining on his sergeant every second, Mithik watched the scene fall apart as an arrow pierced the back of Sharub's neck. He knew that had come from the bitch magician, and vowed revenge. For now, he had to deal with the knight.

Mithik's pupils vanished as he made an odd spear motion with both hands, as if he were assuming some kind of prayer position with great haste. The ground underneath Graeme exploded and a six foot long rock javelin burst upwards. The spell missed the knight, but it killed the horse instantly and brought it to a dead stop. Graeme, despite his best efforts, was knocked off the steed and onto the ground, halfway between Mithik and the unconscious Captain Nord. Several more arrows tried to end the gargoyle lieutenant's life, but they too were struck by a magical wind in flight that blew them down or off to the side.

[Jtab]

Bentis had little time to rest as a now unoccupied gargoyle lunged towards him with a massive blade in hand. The beast stopped momentarily as an arrow pierced its armor leaving it stunned. A second arrow managed to find the stationary beast before it resumed its charge towards the Kenshurian champion. The gargoyle slashed downward horizontally, intending to end the fight in his favor quickly. Whether intended or not the fight would end quickly, as Bentis knocked aside Venurian’s blow before stepping in to deliver a kick to the side of the gargoyle’s knee. Before the beast had even hit the ground, Bentis had come down hard with his staff, striking the back of its skull. With one more blow for good measure, the young rogue took off towards his next target, the Venurian mage.

Dashing forward, Bentis met the mage and swung low, attempting to remove the gargoyle’s feet from the ground which they had been firmly planted in.

[Barahad]

As Graeme struck the ground, he allowed his momentum to transfer into a roll. It would, with any luck, reduce the injuries he might otherwise suffer from the fall. The remains of his mount sank slowly down the rock javelin, a sick parody in death of the nobility it had held in life. Gaining his feet, and wincing at the bruises on his body, Graeme assessed his options. The gargoyle carrying Nord had fallen, the fletching of an arrow clearly marking the spot where the fatal blow had fallen. Nord lay sprawled a few feet away, seemingly still unconscious. Graeme suspected some sorcery was keeping the captain from wakefulness: likely the work of the lone surviving gargoyle, the one in the white robes.

The rest of the Venurian company was moving away from the battlefield. It was unlikely that any would return to fetch up the captain. Graeme swept up his blade and raced towards his captain. Every step closed the distance, but he did not feel as though he were moving swiftly enough. As he reached Nord, he slowed dramatically, and adopted a careful guard, in case the Venurian were not dead. All indications pointed to the creature having passed on, and Graeme relaxed. Kneeling next to Nord, he checked his captain for signs of life. His breathing was even, and the blood from his wounds was not flowing as quickly as before. Looking back to where the Venurian magician stood, Graeme noticed a young militiaman had engaged him directly, his stout staff a direct challenge to the magician. Further on, arrows arced in deadly volleys towards the magician. With any good fortune, he would be too preoccupied to deal with Graeme and Nord.

"Captain!" Graeme's hand was on Nord's shoulder, shaking him vigourously. "Captain! Nord! Wake up! We must retreat to our own lines!" Graeme waited, hoping desperately that the captain might wake up. Every moment here was a moment in which the sorceror might strike out at the pair, and Graeme had seen the strength of his magic. He did not want to wait around to find out what else he might bring to bear. Swearing an oath to his ancestors, Graeme sheathed his blade, and dragged Nord into a sitting position. Putting an arm around the man's waist, Graeme leaned forward and pulled him across his shoulders. The full weight of the armoured figure threatened to bear him into the ground, but Graeme succeeded in steadying himself, and rose slowly and defiantly, the unconscious captain draped across his back. Turning, he began moving as quickly as he was able towards the Kenshurian lines, praying that the sorcerer remained too preoccupied to deal with him.

If there was time, Graeme swore, he would return and pay the creature back for killing his steed.