Legacy of the golden Dragon - Battle for Kwythelar
Spoiler :
Taryl of Twelth lay low in the grass. Being as small as he was, this made him pretty much invisible. And he was very happy about this because what he saw from his position was far from encouraging. The plain in front of Kwythelar...was full of enemies. Those Orc-things, judging from the way they looked. They were...many. Many times many. It was as precise as Taryl could tell, for he could not count past thirty (Because the standard pay for a City Guard Leftenant were thirty coppers.) Everything beyond that was many, obviously. And many times many...that was a lot. Far too much, in fact, to be challenged by the small scouting band.
Taryl did not know how the huge host had outrun them. Perhaps they had moved straight through areas the Scouts had been forced to avoid, or perhaps the Orcs the Scouts had seen in that fishing village had been but a rearguard. He did not know and neither did he care. There was only one important thing: These bastards were threatening his home. And ferrets were very territorial.
“Tis not good, Captain.” Taryl mumbled. “'Sem are too many.”
“I know, Leftenant, I know.”
“But we can't let sem...take se city, Captain, we can't. 'Tis home.”
The Centaur looked at him with an amused surprise. Probably only Centaurs could smile in a situation as dire as this.
“Do I hear a hint of principles within you, Leftenant. And here I was, thinking you a ruthless soldier, stealing from the dead and so on.”
“I do what needs doing, Captain, 'tis true. And 'tis true I'm not one of sem educated people like Relassi. I am a City Guard, Captain. And 'tis sis city I once swore to guard, Captain.”
“As did we all, Leftenant, as did we all.”
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A day had passed since he desastrous battle had passed and the City of Kwythellar readied itself for its last stand. The city walls had long since crumbled into dust and ruble but even had they been intact just like on the day they were built, there wouldn't have been enough fighters left to defend all those miles and miles of bricking. Surprisingly many men had survived the defeat in the hills, almost 10.000 men had made it out of the butchery alive. The militias and bowmen were relatively unharmed, but the best forces, the City Guard and the Centaurs had payed the heaviest price. A third of the City Guard and an eight of the Centaurs were dead. Those that had been wounded had been abandoned during the retreat. Morale was low, but the men would fight nonetheless. After all, this time there was nowhere they could run to.
And thus, they had readied their defences. The crumbled walls and the hundreds of ruins in the outer districts uncovered by the retreating ice had one advantage: There were many, many stones and rubble around – enough to build barricades wherever they were needed.
Then, as the criers proclaimed the tenth hour of morning, the orcs charged.
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“Sey have begun moving, Captain.” Taryl said. He lay on the edge of a low hill, while the rest of the band was undercover behind it. The last hours had been spend preparing. The last of the dried meat and stale bread had been shared out. It had been a cold meal, of course, because they had not dared to light a fire. But no man should go into death with a grumbling stomach, everyone agreed. Just as everyone silently agreed that they were going to die.
They had to try to reach the city or at least to distract, delay and kill as many Orcs as possible before being overtaken.
Now, the men were ready, their weapons sharpened and polished, missing gear replaced and silent prayers to the various gods the men believed in ushered.
Even Relassi, the Lamia mage, had taken up a long, slim spear. He had not the slightest idea how to use it, he openly admitted, except to “stab sem with se pointy end.” as Taryl had mockingly advised him.
But for now, they had to wait. The main body of the foe was still on the field outside the city. To attack now would be suicide. And even with death being the most likely outcome, they at least wanted to make it worthwhile.
But the gods had apparently indeed been swayed by the prayers: While the enemy army advanced, a group had stayed back. A group marked by dozens and dozens of banners, one especially tall one with a burning axe not the least among them.
“There!” The Captain said, half to himself and half to his men. “Seems as if their leaders are staying behind to watch the battle unfold. If we can get to them, kill or capture them...perhaps this will corrode the enemies morale.”
But how to reach them? The main bulk was to far away to intercept them, but nonetheless they would have to cross fourhundred meters of grassland without much cover. They would certainly be discovered, and the bodyguard still outnumbered them two to one. At least.
Taryl looked at the mass of banners with contempt. So close and yet so far. To Camulos with those banners and those under them, he thought, silently swearing. Those banners...an idea flashed in his furry head. A desperate idea, one so crude and daring and mad that anyone with a proper education would certainly dismiss it on the spot. But beggars can't be choosers...”Relassi, please give me sis spear of yours....”
Like with many great deeds, to those performing them they seemed much more like madness than like heroism. But alas, there was little to no choice. They just had to do something, even though death in vain was the most likely outcome. For some of the more devout party members it was a question of duty, of not angering Junil and all the good Gods. To the rest, the question was less complicated but quite as clear.
Taryl was marching, the dirty cloak that once had been his coverlet drawn deeply into his face. Behind him, a human Sergeant was holding up Relassi's spear with a dirty rug on it that barely passed for a flag in a civilized environment. But then again, they weren't pretending to be civilized. Quite the opposite, really.
They would pretend to be Orcs and Goblins, one Chieftain arriving late to the battle and making straight way to the Orc General. Hopefully, this would get them close enough to land the one lethal strike needed to eliminate the barbarians leaders. Provided everything worked according to plan, they would have the element of surprise. And God's willing, it would be enough to make up for the enemy's superior numbers. And skill.
After he had explained his idea to the others, Relassi had mumbled something of a “Patrian Horse”. Taryl hadn't understood it in the least, but it didn't matter. The mage's consent was all that mattered. The men regarded him as a sage and if he said the plan was good then they believed it. They were, after all, Guardsmen and thus accoustumed to leaving the thinking to bigger men.
The men had then covered their uniforms with rugs and cloaks and had painted their faces with mud to look more savage. The Centaurs had of course stayed behind. Humans could pass for Orcs and Ferrets for Goblins, but the horsemen would simply be to obvious. They would charge once the main party had struck. Relassi, in contrast to this, had insisted on accompanying them. He had to crouch low to the ground in the midst of the group, as befitted a snake, but it was the only way for him to reach the batlle in time anyway. He couldn't really act the Orc, but he couldn't run like a Centaur either.
And indeed the Gods looked favourably upon their deception, for it worked better than expected. They managed to get into shooting distance before the Orcs actually noticed that they weren't looking upon their kin. The rest was speed. As one, the Guardsmen let loose a volley of arrows and bolts into the confused Orcish bodyguards and managed to get a second one up in the air before the savages recovered. Meanwhile, the Centaurs had started running and slammed, lance's lowered, into the remains of the foe. The rest of the Guard joined the fray, a fight as short as it was brutal. Despite their heavy casulties, the Orcish Elite fought well and bravely to the last man. But eventually, they were overvelmed and the enemy battle leaders slain. The enemy General himself, a huge brute wielding a monstrous axe, was the last to die. He took two of Taryl's bolts in the chest and yet managed to slay the Captain of the City Guard. It was the Lamia mage who delivered the final blow. He wasn't a fighter, but he still was a two meters tall snake. And though his face was mostly human, his mouth concealed a set of long, needlelike poisonous teeth. It were those teeth and the venom they contained that finally ended the Orcs life.
Both rejoicing about their unexpected victory and mourning their many losses, the City Guards hacked down the enemey banners and unfolded their own. A big golden dragon on a purple field (The flag actually had been the uniform of a especially big centaur Guardsman slain in the assault. However, the hole where the orcish spear had punctuated his heart and the huge red stain only added to it's martial appeal.) This however had a vast effect on the Orc's main army. Without their leader uniting them, they turned upon one another, displaying the full madness of the bloodlust they so worshipped. The city of Kwythellar was saved that day and the Orcs all were slain or taken prisoner.
(Sorry, had to end this somehow)
Taryl did not know how the huge host had outrun them. Perhaps they had moved straight through areas the Scouts had been forced to avoid, or perhaps the Orcs the Scouts had seen in that fishing village had been but a rearguard. He did not know and neither did he care. There was only one important thing: These bastards were threatening his home. And ferrets were very territorial.
“Tis not good, Captain.” Taryl mumbled. “'Sem are too many.”
“I know, Leftenant, I know.”
“But we can't let sem...take se city, Captain, we can't. 'Tis home.”
The Centaur looked at him with an amused surprise. Probably only Centaurs could smile in a situation as dire as this.
“Do I hear a hint of principles within you, Leftenant. And here I was, thinking you a ruthless soldier, stealing from the dead and so on.”
“I do what needs doing, Captain, 'tis true. And 'tis true I'm not one of sem educated people like Relassi. I am a City Guard, Captain. And 'tis sis city I once swore to guard, Captain.”
“As did we all, Leftenant, as did we all.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A day had passed since he desastrous battle had passed and the City of Kwythellar readied itself for its last stand. The city walls had long since crumbled into dust and ruble but even had they been intact just like on the day they were built, there wouldn't have been enough fighters left to defend all those miles and miles of bricking. Surprisingly many men had survived the defeat in the hills, almost 10.000 men had made it out of the butchery alive. The militias and bowmen were relatively unharmed, but the best forces, the City Guard and the Centaurs had payed the heaviest price. A third of the City Guard and an eight of the Centaurs were dead. Those that had been wounded had been abandoned during the retreat. Morale was low, but the men would fight nonetheless. After all, this time there was nowhere they could run to.
And thus, they had readied their defences. The crumbled walls and the hundreds of ruins in the outer districts uncovered by the retreating ice had one advantage: There were many, many stones and rubble around – enough to build barricades wherever they were needed.
Then, as the criers proclaimed the tenth hour of morning, the orcs charged.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Sey have begun moving, Captain.” Taryl said. He lay on the edge of a low hill, while the rest of the band was undercover behind it. The last hours had been spend preparing. The last of the dried meat and stale bread had been shared out. It had been a cold meal, of course, because they had not dared to light a fire. But no man should go into death with a grumbling stomach, everyone agreed. Just as everyone silently agreed that they were going to die.
They had to try to reach the city or at least to distract, delay and kill as many Orcs as possible before being overtaken.
Now, the men were ready, their weapons sharpened and polished, missing gear replaced and silent prayers to the various gods the men believed in ushered.
Even Relassi, the Lamia mage, had taken up a long, slim spear. He had not the slightest idea how to use it, he openly admitted, except to “stab sem with se pointy end.” as Taryl had mockingly advised him.
But for now, they had to wait. The main body of the foe was still on the field outside the city. To attack now would be suicide. And even with death being the most likely outcome, they at least wanted to make it worthwhile.
But the gods had apparently indeed been swayed by the prayers: While the enemy army advanced, a group had stayed back. A group marked by dozens and dozens of banners, one especially tall one with a burning axe not the least among them.
“There!” The Captain said, half to himself and half to his men. “Seems as if their leaders are staying behind to watch the battle unfold. If we can get to them, kill or capture them...perhaps this will corrode the enemies morale.”
But how to reach them? The main bulk was to far away to intercept them, but nonetheless they would have to cross fourhundred meters of grassland without much cover. They would certainly be discovered, and the bodyguard still outnumbered them two to one. At least.
Taryl looked at the mass of banners with contempt. So close and yet so far. To Camulos with those banners and those under them, he thought, silently swearing. Those banners...an idea flashed in his furry head. A desperate idea, one so crude and daring and mad that anyone with a proper education would certainly dismiss it on the spot. But beggars can't be choosers...”Relassi, please give me sis spear of yours....”
Like with many great deeds, to those performing them they seemed much more like madness than like heroism. But alas, there was little to no choice. They just had to do something, even though death in vain was the most likely outcome. For some of the more devout party members it was a question of duty, of not angering Junil and all the good Gods. To the rest, the question was less complicated but quite as clear.
Taryl was marching, the dirty cloak that once had been his coverlet drawn deeply into his face. Behind him, a human Sergeant was holding up Relassi's spear with a dirty rug on it that barely passed for a flag in a civilized environment. But then again, they weren't pretending to be civilized. Quite the opposite, really.
They would pretend to be Orcs and Goblins, one Chieftain arriving late to the battle and making straight way to the Orc General. Hopefully, this would get them close enough to land the one lethal strike needed to eliminate the barbarians leaders. Provided everything worked according to plan, they would have the element of surprise. And God's willing, it would be enough to make up for the enemy's superior numbers. And skill.
After he had explained his idea to the others, Relassi had mumbled something of a “Patrian Horse”. Taryl hadn't understood it in the least, but it didn't matter. The mage's consent was all that mattered. The men regarded him as a sage and if he said the plan was good then they believed it. They were, after all, Guardsmen and thus accoustumed to leaving the thinking to bigger men.
The men had then covered their uniforms with rugs and cloaks and had painted their faces with mud to look more savage. The Centaurs had of course stayed behind. Humans could pass for Orcs and Ferrets for Goblins, but the horsemen would simply be to obvious. They would charge once the main party had struck. Relassi, in contrast to this, had insisted on accompanying them. He had to crouch low to the ground in the midst of the group, as befitted a snake, but it was the only way for him to reach the batlle in time anyway. He couldn't really act the Orc, but he couldn't run like a Centaur either.
And indeed the Gods looked favourably upon their deception, for it worked better than expected. They managed to get into shooting distance before the Orcs actually noticed that they weren't looking upon their kin. The rest was speed. As one, the Guardsmen let loose a volley of arrows and bolts into the confused Orcish bodyguards and managed to get a second one up in the air before the savages recovered. Meanwhile, the Centaurs had started running and slammed, lance's lowered, into the remains of the foe. The rest of the Guard joined the fray, a fight as short as it was brutal. Despite their heavy casulties, the Orcish Elite fought well and bravely to the last man. But eventually, they were overvelmed and the enemy battle leaders slain. The enemy General himself, a huge brute wielding a monstrous axe, was the last to die. He took two of Taryl's bolts in the chest and yet managed to slay the Captain of the City Guard. It was the Lamia mage who delivered the final blow. He wasn't a fighter, but he still was a two meters tall snake. And though his face was mostly human, his mouth concealed a set of long, needlelike poisonous teeth. It were those teeth and the venom they contained that finally ended the Orcs life.
Both rejoicing about their unexpected victory and mourning their many losses, the City Guards hacked down the enemey banners and unfolded their own. A big golden dragon on a purple field (The flag actually had been the uniform of a especially big centaur Guardsman slain in the assault. However, the hole where the orcish spear had punctuated his heart and the huge red stain only added to it's martial appeal.) This however had a vast effect on the Orc's main army. Without their leader uniting them, they turned upon one another, displaying the full madness of the bloodlust they so worshipped. The city of Kwythellar was saved that day and the Orcs all were slain or taken prisoner.
(Sorry, had to end this somehow)
