Bonce (formerly Beorn) [Kingdom of Rondón]

Come, my child.

In the corner of his eye, Gabriel could see LoSueno. He was not sure when the god of dreams began to stalk him but he knew why the deity was there. Or at least he suspected why. He'd been dropped just within the wall after the explosion shattered the gate and sent him flying. It had taken him some effort but he'd managed to fight his way back to his fellow Rondi. Those on the ground had not recognized him, only the ones on the wall had seen his acts of heroism but they'd accepted him into their ranks. Every blade was needed after all.


Everything in Gabriel's field of view was fuzzy and indistinct. Everything but the apparition of the diety. Was it truly an apparition or was it merely a hallucination? There was a thick cloud in his mind, everything felt numb. His left arm hung useless at his side so he'd been shifted to the right of the formation. They were charging the Zephyy line, at some point he'd replaced his dagger with a proper arming sword once more. It was inferior to his father's blade but still better than the dagger.


Gabriel just wanted it to end. He was sure he'd died when he fell from the wall and he was nothing more than a spirit. Some kind of revenant forced to continue on when everything was pain. LoSueno was there with his guitar trying to tempt him to fall, to lay down his head and give in. To go to the god's love for his final rest. It was so tempting. The city still stood but there were so many Rondi here. Even though the Zephyy outnumbered them, the commanders had promised victory they would not have lied. One less swordsman would not make the difference surely?


The blade came down cleaving into a Zephyy neck. Everything around him there was death. The sickly scent of burnt flesh was the only thing he could smell. He shouldn't be happy about that but it covered up the stench of shit, piss, and blood so he did not care. Someone was shouting about mages but he did not care. He had died at some point of that he was sure. Now he was in LaMeurta's realm and this was his punishment for failure, an endless war. He could not stop fighting even if he wanted to.


The visage of his goddess had joined that of her love. The two were singing a song their voices sounding clear even over the roars, the screams, and the booms. It seemed as though they were discussing something but what could it be? Why had his mind conjured such visions? Was it part of his torment. The goddess lifts her arm and points, the young bull's gaze follows the gesture. There was a man at the back of the Zephyy line. Dressed in the finery of a nobleman, an eye-patch marking an infirmity, and a masterwork blade at his side.


A roar was torn from Gabriel's lungs as though the goddess herself had crushed her fist around them. Forcing every last ounce of air from his body to create an ear-shattering bellow. Suddenly the haze of pain is gone replaced with a red mist that covered his vision. The one-eyed man was here. His father's killer was here. Surging forward he brings his sword down with such force that he cleaves right through a man's shield driving the blade into his shoulder. The weapon catches but Gabriel does not pause. He wrenches the dying man's sword from his grasp and charges.


The voices of the two deities seem to meld in his ears. No longer does LoSueno try to lure him to sleep. No longer does LaMeurta ask for his life. They are in accord they will let him live until vengeance is his. The strength of his gods enters his body or so the stories would say one day, though perhaps it was simply such a rage that he was pushed beyond mortal bounds. Either way, despite his pain and his injuries he once again fights as the demon with a fire and ferocity that make the Zephyy pause.


The sword he'd stolen from a dying man snaps in two as he smashes it into the breastplate of a Sargent. Undaunted Gabriel rams the broken sword up into the man's shoulder before grabbing a spear. It was an unfamiliar weapon but he hurls it with all his might at a robed figure. He knows not why only instinct drives him now. The Bull of Rondon looked less a man and more an aberration, blood covering his body leaking from innumerable wounds. The Zephyy began to believe he was a demon in truth for he did not fall despite being stabbed, slashed, and punctured.


Gabriel's teeth sink into flesh. Blood sprays into his mouth as he clamps down hard skin parting as he tears a chunk out of a man's throat. Their blades had been locked, each forcing themselves into the other, and Gabriel's left arm could still barely move. So using his mouth had been the easiest way. The soldier falls to the ground gurgling clutching at his throat. Spitting the flesh away Gabriel barely even paused for a breath. He could see the one-eyed nobleman and the man could certainly see him, could hear him. So the young bull roars.

"MY NAME IS GABRIEL TAURTOYA. YOU KILLED MY FATHER. PREPARE TO DIE."

Brave, thought Feanor, but foolhardy. As the charge went forward, the elves were impressed at the sheer stubbornness of the Rondi soldiers. They were going about it the hard way...although the Feanor couldn't really see an alternative at the moment.

"Let's get those gates open for them!" He shouted. Half the Rangers stood and took off at a sprint with him, the elves moving rapidly through the uneven terrain, completely around the flank of the warriors defending the gate. Feanor's grappling hook was the first to catch on the wall, arrows slammed out of the sky by his remaining rangers. Even with the covering fire, two more of his Rangers dropped on the run there as he began to clamber up the wall. Another arrow dropped the guy at the top, and Feanor's blade lashed out in a blur of silver and steel.

Three men in fell in an instant, two with throats slashed open, the third with an arrow lodged in his skull. Enough space was clear that the remainder of his Rangers, all eleven of them, climbed up behind him. Three turned and began to back up, protecting the rear of the remainder, who began to beeline for the gate mechanisms in the gatehouse. They were quick with a blade, relying on speed, agility, and honed reflexes to avoid hits instead of any sort of heavy armor. The Rangers on the ground continued to clear a path with arrows, providing the group on the walls with covering fire.