Andraste Ruana
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 244 
Age: 25
Physical Description: =====================================
Although she is quite young, Andraste's very being resonates with magical power. She has long, dark red hair that falls down around her face, framing her soft, kindly features nicely. She has soft, unnaturally coloured orange eyes, striking against her pale skin. Andraste's hands speak to a lowborn life of peasant work, rough and callused. However, her skin is fair and her figure elegant, her musculature long and lean, lending itself to swiftness rather than powerful. Heat emanates from her body, able to be felt from almost a foot away.
====================================
Clothes and Equipment: Since her adoption into a magic collegium, Andraste has taken to wearing ornate crimson great robes, flowing about her figure, complete with gold filigree and a roomy hood that shadows her face when worn, although she tends to keep it down outside of whatever court she happens to be serving. Her only offensive equipment is a dirk imbued with a haste enchantment, allowing for almost unnaturally quick strikes. However, she tends to favour her magic-imbued twisted oak staff which enhances her casting ability, the large black onyx stone at the tip of the staff holding a particular affinity to her favoured school of magic: Pyromancy. She also holds a book of various incantations in her other hand when in battle, reading them off with extreme speed and accuracy. She possesses a natural resistance to heat, but is much less resistant to cold.
======================================
Registered: May 31, 2015 20:33:14 GMT -8
|
Post by Andraste Ruana on Nov 21, 2015 20:44:10 GMT -8
Andraste maintains her composure despite the heightened attacks on her person, muttering spells under her breath as she lowers the obsidian stone in her staff to face the onslaught of enemies. As she finishes chanting, a gout of white-hot magical flame explodes from her staff, immolating any unprotected being who enters the radius. While this is enough to stop the first few warriors from getting to her as their screams are turned from battle lust to pain and horror, eventually the wall of bodies is able to get close enough to be within axe-swinging radius.
With a quick incantation, Andraste summons up a shimmering shield, the first few axe swings sliding off it. Before enough warriors are able to strike hard enough to break the shield, she follows with a second incantation, and the shield explodes outward before dissipating, throwing the warriors back with it. Suddenly, Andraste's spellbook flips open in her hand apparently of its own accord, stopping on the page she wishes, the incantation she intends to chant highlighted by a golden light. She begins the incantation and the ground begins to shake around her, and when she finishes, the swamp opens up to swallow those warriors in close proximity, the earth engulfing them to the neck, allowing them to breathe but not much else. That's when Andraste makes her first mistake.
Believing that the immediate danger to her person has passed, despite the warriors still struggling to break the line of mercenaries, Andraste drops her guard, planting her staff back into the ground and turning to Vain to speak. Before she can get a word out, however, a thrown axe spins out from the melee and strikes her in the left shoulder, and although her magical pauldrons deflect the blow considerably so that her arm isn't severed entirely, it still buries itself in her flesh, blood splattering behind her as the blade easily tears through muscle. She lets out a short pained cry and grasps her arm, her spellbook falling to her side on its tether. She leans on her staff as she tenderly investigates the wound with her fingertips.
"This may be bad," she says, her voice maintaining its placidity despite her wound.
|
|
Vain Caulfield
Dedicated
Shenanigans
Roleplay posts: 175 
Age: 109, looks 20ish
Physical Description: Being an incubus, Vain is inhumanly attractive. Sculpted muscles, chiseled jawline, flawlessly groomed hair, etc. His wings, horns, and tail only appear when he decides to drop the illusion.
Clothes and Equipment: His illusions give him the appearance of wearing rumpled yet well-tailored adventurer's clothing, but in reality he isn't wearing much at all. He doesn't carry weapons.
Registered: Sept 19, 2015 10:06:51 GMT -8
|
Post by Vain Caulfield on Nov 21, 2015 20:59:01 GMT -8
Vain is not calm.
"Aaugh! Andraste! No! Wait! Stop!"
He babbles incoherently, panicked. After a moment, he regains his senses and removes his scarf.
"Here, let me put this on you..."
Tying it skillfully around Andraste's injury while trying to keep the axe in place without jostling it (he's very good with knots and ropes), he glances around, ducking a second axe with a yelp.
"This is bad, Andraste. We need to get out of here."
|
|
Chance
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Age: 20
Physical Description: A tall young man with scraggly hair and the beginnings of a beard. His build is lean and muscular, skin tanned from working as at docks and on boats for the past year.
Registered: Apr 27, 2015 17:46:53 GMT -8
|
Post by Chance on Nov 21, 2015 22:46:24 GMT -8
The sound of battle cries, screams, and clash of steel had grown as the fight in the swamps progressed. Oliver pitied the clansmen that fought in the marsh. They had been sent into certain death. They knew their fates when they volunteered though. The young man shoved his feeling to the back of his head. "Archers, knock." He commanded, doing so himself. The enemy force would break through through the trees and need to cross the river soon. "Mages, begin the summons." Oliver had been ensured that the Wickan mages could summon a power capable of turning the battle greatly in their favor. Oliver didn't know what to expect, but he hoped they were right.
|
|
Silas
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 255
Age: 26
Physical Description: 6 feet tall, broad shoulders, with a lean and muscular build. One with experience would tell that Silas is a mercenary, yet he has very few scars. Over all he is a handsome man.
His hair is dirty blond and has recently grown nearly to his shoulders. A coarse scruff lines his strong chin telling of recent time spent traveling.
Clothes and Equipment: Weapons: Hunting knife, spear
Registered: Apr 16, 2015 6:56:12 GMT -8
|
Post by Silas on Nov 22, 2015 1:53:20 GMT -8
The pair Silas was addressing did not pay any attention to him as the fight was getting more chaotic. Silas turned his attention back to the fight doing his best to stay alive. A shaggy beast of a man swung a club at Silas's head, but he stepped forward and blocked the blow with the shaft of his spear. The wooden handle gave a crack, but held. Silas kicked out at the man's knee but the foe jumped back and avoided it. He did not avoid the spear thrust that followed.
Silas noticed that the women from earlier had taken a serious wound. He made his way over. "That looks bad. I'll cover you while you retreat. It doesn't look like there are many wickans left."
|
|
|
|
Post by The Kingdom of Audria on Nov 22, 2015 12:02:33 GMT -8
The initial skirmishes were going in favor of the Knight-Brothers. Giplor's Royal Navy had allowed Konrad's main force to disembark on the eastern side of the river, and after the retreat of Ferndale's men, the Brothers could now pressure Vykas' northern flank. The Royal Navy was still under the threat of Haffalk's squad, however, and they would need to act fast before they were destroyed.
Meanwhile, the mercenaries had pulled through and Dietrich's forces could now dig in on the western river banks, opposite the Wickans, who were still heavily fortified on the eastern banks.
Western Marshes
Those warriors who were not cut down in the path of Krypt turned and fled, back in an easterly fashion - to the safety of their allies. Andraste had been wounded in the conflict, but was being protected by Silas and her own personal sidekick, Vain. The few remaining axemen in the area were quickly put down by both Dietrich and Silas. Dietrich rested his blade and approached Andraste. "We can't afford to tend to the wounded," he began, completely dismissive of the groaning allies in the area.
As if sent from the Most Holy himself, Brother Wolfgang appeared from behind the ranks, his hands up and preparing a healing spell. "That is not our way, OrdernMarschall," he said, somewhat irritated at Dietrich. "Here, this shall help," Wolfgang said calmly, bending down to heal Andraste's wound. "I shall stay behind with volunteers to tend to our wounded," he continued, "Dietrich, lead those who are still willing onward, I am sure Konrad would be pleased to see you."
Dietrich snarled and spat on the ground before turning eastward. "Follow me," he commanded. About 2/3 of the mercenaries were still in fighting condition, and under the command of Dietrich, Heinreich, and Gustav, they set off eastward.
"Sometimes, I don't know the difference between Wickan magic, and Andraste's magic," Gustav commented to Heinrich quietly.
"The difference is," began Heinrich, "Andraste uses her magic for good, the Wickans abuse magic in such a way as to hurt innocents."
The Wickan Camp
Adrian felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. It was nothing new fighting these pagan folk again, after his experiences in Eastwick. He would easily deflect blow after blow, timing his strikes perfectly to thrust forth and deliver a fatal blow to the barbarians ahead. The line of Halftbruders had managed to push against Ferndale's men, who had retreated, and the Brothers were now slowly making their way southward, to put pressure on Vykas' northern flank. "Keep going, do not let up! Stand together, as Brothers and Sisters! Do the bidding of our saviors! If you shall die, you do so with honor, glory, and salvation!" The Brothers were getting dangerously close to the Wickan camp.
To the south, Vykas growled. "Argh! Fortify our northern positions!" About 2/3 of the Wickan army would be relocated on the northern battlefront, while the other 1/3 would remain under Oliver's command, preparing for Dietrich's arrival. The fighting would be fierce here, and it was here the most casualties would occur.
Dietrich, being the brash sadist he was, burst from the trees and leapt down into the western banks, as did many mercenaries. Arrow's from Oliver's forces were sent flying towards them. "Take cover," the OrdernMarschall commanded, grabbing a nearby mercenary and using him as a human-shield. Many mercenaries would be wounded and drowned in the river. "We have to get across somehow!"
"There," Heinrich called out. He and Gustav had remained on the upper bank, not wanting to jump down and fall into an ambush - like Dietrich had. "If someone can knock down these tall trees, they'll land on the other side of the river, allowing us to bridge across!"
|
|
Chance
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Age: 20
Physical Description: A tall young man with scraggly hair and the beginnings of a beard. His build is lean and muscular, skin tanned from working as at docks and on boats for the past year.
Registered: Apr 27, 2015 17:46:53 GMT -8
|
Post by Chance on Nov 22, 2015 12:46:52 GMT -8
"Archers, fire!" Commanded Oliver as the first soldier jumped onto the bank. Most of the arrows fell short and no more soldiers came to the banks. "Hold until they reach the river." Oliver ordered, "Make those arrows count."
"They'll be slaughtered when they try to swim across." One of the archers said.
"If they swim." Oliver emphasized. "Their only real options are to use boats or a bridge. Or they could wait until we re flanked from up river, I guess." Oliver held out his arm and screeched. No one among the wickans were surprised as a falcon swooped out of the sky and landed on Oliver's arm.
"Skreeat." The bird squawked.
"What did you see?" Oliver asked. The bird put its beak close to Oliver's ear and made a series of clucks and chips. Oliver nodded and fished a piece of dry meat out of his cloak or the bird. The falcon grabbed in then took off.
"They are cutting down trees in the forest. Some of the larger ones could reach our side." Oliver thought about this for a while, then grinned. "Two can play that game. Get me some axemen and fire mages." Oliver was excited for his plan.
"The mages are all busy." Shelk, Oliver's second in command, told him.
"All of them?" Oliver responded incredulously. He looked over to the huddled group of mages. Their chanting had grown louder and the winded and quieted. "Well just the axemen then...Uh...How long will the mages take?" Asked Oliver.
"Shouldn't be long now." Shalk said with a gleam in his eyes.
|
|
Kinzokan Krypt
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 129
Physical Description: Kinzokan Krypt is a seven foot tall beast of muscle, violent scars and a wild mane of dark hair. Almost legendary for his status as a veteran of many battlefields, Krypt is known for his exceptional skill and combat prowess and because of his dark, ashen-coloured skin he is referred to in mercenary circles as "Kinzokan the Black".
He originally hailed from a volcanic land devastated by fire, brimstone, magma and ash and as such, his people are known as the Ashkin. Due to spending their entire lives surrounded by scorching heat and with little water that isn't boiling or steamed, the Ashkin are nigh impervious to fire and its effects and their skin has thus thickened and hardened into an almost naturally armoured hide. Such is the toughness of an Ashkin that only the sharpest of weapons, or the strongest of their wielders, could cut deep and hard enough to draw blood or cause serious injury. Yet in the volcanic wastes, such a defense isn't only advantageous, but necessary - for each day would bring the Ashkin tribes into contact with the aggressive, giant, reptilian monsters who ruled the ashlands as ever-starving kings.
Registered: Nov 10, 2015 20:24:36 GMT -8
|
Post by Kinzokan Krypt on Nov 22, 2015 13:36:26 GMT -8
"The tactics are rather poor," Krypt all but blurted out, to no-one in particular, as he began marching east once more following the fight against the barbarian beserkers. "Marching through swampland, with flanks completely open, no effort to form up and create a shield-wall when the enemy appear, no effort to avoid the death of our own men. We're just powering through, not caring for the cost of it all for even a moment."
Krypt rarely rolled his eyes, but he found himself doing so, his spear held over his shoulder and his other hand on the hilt of his hip-mounted sword. "Which is exactly what the enemy want. They'll slowly and surely make our numbers dwindle until we are forced to return. At this rate, I don't imagine we'll even be able to hold ground on the other side of the river, much less win the battle."
He had left the other notable mercenaries behind, caring little that Andraste had been injured or that others had moved to help her. He didn't know them; they were just nameless faces in an army, whose deaths would not shake him.
|
|
|
|
Post by Atlantian Angelic Order on Nov 22, 2015 18:25:09 GMT -8
The flaming arrows would come down on the ships, but what damage could a couple little fire arrows really do to a war galleon. After the arrows struck, the men lowered a few buckets over the side and got water. They'd pour the water on the fires and pat out any that had tried to spread.
(Since actual cannons are not allowed, I am correcting the ships weapons in this post)
As the bunker revealed itself to the War Galleon, it would react within thirty seconds. The Ballista enchanted with explosive magic the moment it comes in contact with something. They would blow a three foot hole in anything they contacted.
The sound that was released from the explosions was loud enough for the Phoenixian Elfin Archers to hear. One could expect that there would be some on their way to investigate the battle. If the enemy was not fast enough or went north, they may find themselves in trouble.
|
|
Silas
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 255
Age: 26
Physical Description: 6 feet tall, broad shoulders, with a lean and muscular build. One with experience would tell that Silas is a mercenary, yet he has very few scars. Over all he is a handsome man.
His hair is dirty blond and has recently grown nearly to his shoulders. A coarse scruff lines his strong chin telling of recent time spent traveling.
Clothes and Equipment: Weapons: Hunting knife, spear
Registered: Apr 16, 2015 6:56:12 GMT -8
|
Post by Silas on Nov 22, 2015 21:16:59 GMT -8
When Silas was sure that the women was safe he caught up to the front line. It seemed progress had been halted. He recognized Krypt and decided to introduce himself during the momentary lull. His buzz had worn off and he walked over steadily. "Perhaps we are only bait then...A distraction. A common enough strategy." Silas responded to the man's musings. "The name's Silas." Said Silas as he extended his hand.
|
|
Chance
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Age: 20
Physical Description: A tall young man with scraggly hair and the beginnings of a beard. His build is lean and muscular, skin tanned from working as at docks and on boats for the past year.
Registered: Apr 27, 2015 17:46:53 GMT -8
|
Post by Chance on Nov 22, 2015 21:58:11 GMT -8
Haffalk watched from his hidden vantage point in the swamp as the soldiers on the ships began to put out the smaller fire from Ferndale's attack. "Archers, aim for the soldiers." Haffalk's men, a disciplined group, drew their bows and took aim. The wickans were a deadly shot with the bow and Haffalk expected this to be over quickly. "Fren, Agle," They were the fire mages, "Both of you aim for the ship on the left." The eyes of the fire mages glowed red with the energy they had been collecting. Their hands lit with a red aura.
"DIE! YOU TOAD SHIT EATING BASTARDS!" Haffalk screamed and his men fired. Arrows flew at the soldiers on deck, many of them concentrated on those who were putting out fires. The mages released their destructive power and hurled four fire balls at the ship. If they were unable to repel the magic attack the rigging of the main mast would burst into flames as a fire ball hit. Three more were aimed at the deck and the captains cabin. The main mast would surely fall and spread the chaos. It would be hard to cut the mast away with the fire burning below.
"Flee!" Haffalk hissed and his men scattered in every direction. They were swimming away moments after firing.
Mean while Ferndale and his men had regrouped taking no casualties. The enemy seemed not to take them as a threat and marched towards the main wickan fortifications. Ferndale had fallen back then begun to circle back around the approaching enemy. He picked up his men as he went. The enemy had formed a battle line, which seemed to be a poor choice of strategy in a swamp, and Ferndale was forced to retreat further in order to avoid the soldiers. As a result he was late in making it to his next position.
|
|
Vales
Established
A young man living in the heart of the forest; with a striking resemblance to a certain other..
Roleplay posts: 16
Registered: Mar 1, 2015 19:30:24 GMT -8
|
Post by Vales on Nov 23, 2015 18:31:47 GMT -8
One of the mercenaries would disappear.
No-one would see him go; the moment of the strike being timed to when he wouldn't be noticed gone, to when the marching soldiers all looking in a different direction and the murky, near-overgrown swamp made it easy for a man to slip away.
The young man looked like a corpse, lying down deep in the murky waters, where swamp insects and other small creatures crawled over him like he was not there or living. Yet his eyes were opened with a fierce intensity and staring up at the men who marched almost directly over him. Occasionally a foot would actually touch him and the force of the step would push his cold body down deeper into the mud, but they would not notice him. He was silent, still and invisible.
The wild was part of him. He was part of the wild.
Then the last leg waded through the water by him and Vales sensed that it was the time for him to strike. He pulled a small knife of iron and bone carvings into the grip of his teeth, then forced himself up and out of the water with a splash. Yet by the time anyone turned to look, the mercenary who had been there, along with the source of the disturbance, had both disappeared.
The soldier was dragged down into the swampy waters, where air could not reach him and the mud filled the space around him like a thick smoke. Vales bit down hard and swiped his jaw across the man's throat, cutting through his artery with the blade. The enemy tried to gasp for air and clutch at his throat, but no sounds were or could be made. Instead, he sank deeper into the mud that seemed to open like a hungry maw and swallow him.
Vales, who had not taken a single breath, followed after and disappeared.
|
|
|
|
Post by The Kingdom of Audria on Nov 24, 2015 14:02:28 GMT -8
Dietrich's mercenaries were halted at the river, and they would have to remain there for the time being. Heinrich and Gustav had given orders for the remaining mercenaries to hold back, in the cover of the forested growth, while Dietrich and his gung-ho soldiers struggled down below, on the banks of the river.
"Should we go down to help him," Gustav asked his comrade.
"No," Heinrich replied. "I would think our master's second-in-command is resourceful enough to find his own way up," he finished, almost as if he wanted the OrdenMarschall to perish.
But perish he did not. Slinging two dead soldiers on his back, Dietrich began climing up the river banks. Oliver's archers fired on the man, knowing him to be the leader, but none could puncture him - for the arrows were cushioned upon the corpses on his back. The great man was finally in safety, with the other mercenaries as well as his two Komturs. "Argh! We wait here," he bellowed. "Wait for a signal."
Due to his pis-poor tactics, only half of the mercenaries who were hired remained.
Those who rallied with Vykas trembled with great anticipation. It was not hard to spot the shades of white up ahead, letting the Wickans know their enemy was here. "Steady," Vykas said proudly. "We may not win this day, but the Brothers will know what we're capable of. For all of our own brothers and sisters, for our fathers and mothers, cousins and neighbors, for all the blood spilled... we fight! We fight for vengeance! For absolution! We fight to end the White Devil's (Konrad) ambition!"
Cheers erupted along the thin Wickan battle line. Vykas, who wielded a sword and shield alongside his men, gritted his teeth and prepared for battle.
Across the way, Konrad and Adrian both spied the Wickan lining up to do battle. Konrad's eyes gleamed when he saw them. "There! The devils wait for us! Let us send them scurrying back to their holes! For all the brothers and sisters they've kidnapped, raped, and butchered! For your mothers, your fathers! Your cousins and fellow townsfolk! Let us press our revenge upon those who would worship evil spirits!"
The Knight-Brothers and Halftbruder erupted in a cheer. Adrian shook his head and swallowed, "the fighting will be fierce," he warned his Hochmeister.
Vykas and Konrad spied each other from afar, locking eyes. They both knew who they were looking at. "Rrraahh!" Both men let loose in a charge though the forested area, their collective armies charging behind them with full zeal. Their stomping feet could be heard across the river, their battlecries echoing throughout the heavens, and then-
Clash of steel and wood, metal upon metal, man upon man, the spraying of blood and sudden loss of life upon that forest floor. It was loud, louder then many would ever hear elsewhere.
And at the center of it all stood two great men who locked swords: Hochmeister Konrad IV, and Grand General Vykas. Konrad pushed against the man's blade with all his might, and Vykas was being forced back. Breaking the guard, Vykas ducked and evaded to the left. The men began circling one another, grunting and growling in sheer anger. With another howl from them both, they entered into a fierce and deadly melee - Konrad's strength matching Vykas' agile movements - and it seemed neither could outdo the other.
|
|
Ka of Gravlor
Established
Roleplay posts: 35
Physical Description: Gravlor is a mighty dragon of a light blue, almost white, scale plates. His body naturally formed into an armor like structure. Neon ice blue lines and squares pulse on his wings, and under certain circumstances, all over his form. It has been many years since this Wraith form has revealed itself, more or less, himself to begin with.
414' in length
When standing on hind legs, 340'
Wingspan is 360'
Clothes and Equipment: Gravlor uses pure energy, and lots of it. Where others breathe fire and lightning, Gravlor releases a powerful beam of raw energy. Not to mention it's high defense of his dense scaling and his razor sharp claws and teeth.
Registered: Sept 5, 2015 18:42:21 GMT -8
|
Post by Ka of Gravlor on Nov 26, 2015 20:52:52 GMT -8
Gravlor had been delivered a private message from a Priest within the Atlantian Angelic Order. The priest wanted Gravlor to make sure the men were safe. Somewhere in the journey, the men had slipped from Gravlor's watch. After searching around the TPS border and northern reaches of the Ra River(Vorstuga River), Gravlor decided to check further into the Teutonic State.
What he would find was disheartening. The ships were dealing with fire and archers. Such things would not please Gravlor and cause him to interfere.
Miles in the sky, a silver glimmer could be seen. The silver glimmer would become surrounded by a blue energy. The small, barely noticeable, energy in the sky, would soon become visible.
A mighty roar filled the air, allowing many within range of the battlefield to hear. Following the scream, another explosion of sound that was heard when something broke the sound barrier. The small silver and blue object was now rocketing towards the ground at an outrageous speed.
In a matter of seconds, Gravlor's massive form was visible. The mighty drake/dragon would swoop down over the river and aim for the Atlantians on the ships. Gravlor let out a mighty roar that caused all the men on the ships to hit the deck. In one swift movement in flight, Gravlor ripped the masts that were on fire and lunged them into the woodlands.
Regardless if it hit anyone or not, the mast would explode as it collided with the other trees and ground. Hundreds of large pieces of fiery wood lodged itself into the woodlands, trying to catch the tree tops on fire. While trying to catch the woods of fire, the smoke began to fill the area near the ships, cutting off view of the ships from the Wickan side of the river.
Gravlor would lift back into the sky, watching from above. He would contemplate involving himself, but in his travel and site on the battlefields, he wasn't sure if he was needed in the battle. He would remain around to make sure the Atlatians survived before making any other decisions.
|
|
Chance
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Age: 20
Physical Description: A tall young man with scraggly hair and the beginnings of a beard. His build is lean and muscular, skin tanned from working as at docks and on boats for the past year.
Registered: Apr 27, 2015 17:46:53 GMT -8
|
Post by Chance on Nov 28, 2015 23:18:08 GMT -8
Totally dismayed and befuddled at the appearance of a dragon. Haffalk and Ferndale gave the order to retreat without hesitation. This fight was lost. If they pulled back now there might be a chance to save at least some of their people.
Oliver, meanwhile, seemed to have better luck on his end of the battlefield. The Brothers of the Sword had yet to mount an attack and Oliver's own preparations were underway. The witches and warlocks were still chanting. A cold wind seemed to be picking up something hazy was beginning to form in the center of the circle. Oliver was a little off put by the summoning. Something about the magic they were using seemed wrong.
|
|
|
|
Post by The Kingdom of Audria on Nov 30, 2015 15:27:41 GMT -8
The Wickans, despite their fortifications, would lose the battle. General Vykas knew this, and the retreat would come soon, but first he wanted to slay the great Konrad IV von Marschburg, Hochmeister of the Brothers. Unfortunately for him, the Hochmeister proved to much and he would be forced to retreat lest his entire army be decimated...
Northern Battle Lines...
Vykas, weary and fatigued from his melee with Konrad, roared one final time before swinging his blade in a heavy slash towards Konrad's left hip. Konrad was ready for the blow, and his endurance and reaction were paramount - easily discarding Vykas' blow and then disarming him. Vykas fell upon his hands and knees in front of the Hochmeister. That was it... his time was up. He had tried to help his people and now he had failed.
"Go on... do it!" By now most of the Wickans eased back and combat seemed to grind to a sudden halt - both sides watching to see what would happen. "Kill me like you've killed my brothers... kill me!"
Konrad had the opportunity to land the killing blow. To behead the ringleader and possibly destroy the alliances the Wickans had made. Vykas' death would unravel all the oaths, all the promises, and would allow the Brothers to put an end to the conflict with one last stroke. But that was not what Konrad had in mind.
"No." The reply was cold and cut deep into every man there, all of whom expected the opposite. Vykas' eyes clinched, anticipating his head rolling across the blood-soaked terrain. But instead all he heard was a simple no. Vykas slowly looked up, surprised, but with hate in his eyes. "No," Konrad reiterated, sheathing his sword, "I shall not kill you, General Vykas. That is not who I am. The path forward is through forgiveness, not hate." Konrad's words echoed through every man and woman on that killing field. "Tell your men to lay down their arms, for I do not wish for them to die by the sword." In an act of mercy and compassion, Konrad held his right arm forward to help Vykas back up. "Help me bring peace to these lands... Brother..."
Vykas was silent, despite his heavy breathing. He looked at his men, and then at the Knight-Brothers, and then at Konrad. "No."
In another surprising act, Vykas aggressively grabbed Konrad's outstretched arm and pulled him forward - then drew a hidden dagger from his belt and plunged it into Konrad's gut. It happened so fast that not even Konrad's superior reactions would stop it.
Konrad grunted and instantly stumbled backward, clutching at the dagger still in his abdomen. "Master," Adrian and other Brothers hurriedly grabbed onto their Hochmeister to support him. Roars erupted form both sides and another few seconds of combat ensued - but it would not last.
Wickans had quickly pulled Vykas away from the conflict, into safety, throwing him upon a horse and riding away. The Wickans exchanged their last few blows with the Brothers before turning and fleeing. The Wickan forces had been broken and those who were not cut down attempted to flee southward.
Through the gut-wrenching pain Konrad commanded "Dietrich... we must... help Dietrich!"
The main force of Brothers began to charge southwest, towards Olvier's company.
|
|
Silas
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 255
Age: 26
Physical Description: 6 feet tall, broad shoulders, with a lean and muscular build. One with experience would tell that Silas is a mercenary, yet he has very few scars. Over all he is a handsome man.
His hair is dirty blond and has recently grown nearly to his shoulders. A coarse scruff lines his strong chin telling of recent time spent traveling.
Clothes and Equipment: Weapons: Hunting knife, spear
Registered: Apr 16, 2015 6:56:12 GMT -8
|
Post by Silas on Dec 3, 2015 10:52:55 GMT -8
"TIMBER!" Yelled Silas as the pair of trees fell. He had been sent with a group of soldier to cut down trees in order to cross the river on.
"Now get your shields and get over that river!" A gruff commander, or general, or maybe he was just a bold soldier who had taken command yelled. Silas had found a nice large shield and was first to the logs. His reasoning was it was better to be in front then stuck in the middle.
The other soldiers looked scared, and well they should be, the battle was about to start in earnest. This river crossing might prove to be a bloody one. Silas tried to come up with some words of encouragement. Thinking of none he simply climbed upon the fallen tree and lifted his spear and shield into the air "GRWUUUAAAAAAAAAA!" He bellowed a war cry to his fellow soldiers. He then turned to the wiccan fortifications and yelled again. "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" He charged.
|
|
Chance
Committed
Roleplay posts: 77
Age: 20
Physical Description: A tall young man with scraggly hair and the beginnings of a beard. His build is lean and muscular, skin tanned from working as at docks and on boats for the past year.
Registered: Apr 27, 2015 17:46:53 GMT -8
|
Post by Chance on Dec 3, 2015 19:16:27 GMT -8
"Oh, shit." Said Oliver after hearing the scout report from general Vykas's fight. "Position a quater of the archers on the northern side of the hill. Offer cover fire to Vykas's men as they retreat." It looked like the final battle would be fought on this hill.
"Shalk, are the woodsmen ready?" Oliver asked his second in command. As he watched the trees fall.
"They are in place." Said Shalk
"And the mages?"
"Soon."
"O.K. then. Bring down the trees." As Shalk scuttled away Oliver turned to the archers. "Archers notch and light." Torches had been lit due to the mages being busy with the summoning. Oliver watched the enemy begin to cross over the fallen trees. Then with a crackling tree's on the wiccan side of the river began to fall. They were aimed to land atop the tree's that the enemy was attempting to cross over. More bridges would be made, but there was such a tangle of branched that the traversal would not be easy.
There was one final part of course.
"FIRE!" Yelled the young battle commander. Burning arrows arched towards the fallen trees. Soon men would die and the river would burn and run red. Oliver was about to get his first taste of the horrors of war.
In the forest to the east the animals began to grow uneasy. Some thing was approaching. Oliver was to caught up in the battle plans to notice.
|
|
Silas
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 255
Age: 26
Physical Description: 6 feet tall, broad shoulders, with a lean and muscular build. One with experience would tell that Silas is a mercenary, yet he has very few scars. Over all he is a handsome man.
His hair is dirty blond and has recently grown nearly to his shoulders. A coarse scruff lines his strong chin telling of recent time spent traveling.
Clothes and Equipment: Weapons: Hunting knife, spear
Registered: Apr 16, 2015 6:56:12 GMT -8
|
Post by Silas on Dec 4, 2015 1:19:09 GMT -8
"JUMP!" yelled Silas as he did just that. He dove under water before the tree hit. He surfaced half a minute later beneath the fallen trees. Flaming arrows began to rain down upon them. Silas lifted his shield and looked for survivors. Most everyone had survived the initial tree felling. A some were struggling with the weight of armor and many had lost their weapons. Luckily the flow of the river was slow as fed into a swamp.
"Stay close to the trees and swim to the other side." Silas yelled to be heard down the line. "If you can swim fast have a weapon group with me before the other side." Silas carried his spear and shield raised above himself in one hand and did a side stroke. He stayed as close to the fallen trees as he could manage. The burning arrows were slow and generally noneffective in lighting the fallen trees on fire.
|
|
|
|
Post by The Kingdom of Audria on Dec 4, 2015 14:29:01 GMT -8
At the command of Silas Algeron, the mercenaries were finally able to make it over the river - if only a bit. The plan was desperate, but Konrad never expected it to be easy. This victory was almost entirely due to the Atlantian Royal Navy's timely arrival. Nevertheless, the battle persisted as Wickan ally Oliver continued his defiance; he would later be commended by General Vykas himself, and his deeds would become notably important to future of all Wickans. Likewise, the bravery and command of Silas Algeron would be commended by the Brothers, and he would receive a hefty payment from the Hochmeister himself.
Gustav, impressed at Silas' sudden charge over the river banged his sword upon his heater shield and took up behind him; Heinrich did the same. The charge across was dangerous due to Oliver's planning, but the mercenaries poured in such great numbers that Oliver's force would be overwhelmed.
Sila's charismatic bravery attracted the following of many warriors who looked upon him as their commander. Heinrich and Gustav likewise lead other contingents of those mercenaries and blitzed Oliver's position. Dietrich carved a bloody path through his allies to reach his enemies, and continued his bloodlust.
To the north, Hochmeister Konrad's injury halted the Brothers' advance for a moment. "Bind up my wounds and give me my sword," growled the intimidating commander. His sheer bravery and courage was an inspiration to his allies. Though injured, the Hochmeister raised his longsword and rallied the Halftbruders and Knight-Brothers. "Come, we must help our allies," he ordered.
Konrad's force would be pestered with arrows, but his force was equipped with shields and so the arrows had little effect. Before long the northern battle line had condensed and now faced the remaining men under Oliver's command.
Oliver was now fighting on two fronts: from the west and from the north, and the scales were tipped in favor of the Brothers...
|
|
Andraste Ruana
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 244
Age: 25
Physical Description: =====================================
Although she is quite young, Andraste's very being resonates with magical power. She has long, dark red hair that falls down around her face, framing her soft, kindly features nicely. She has soft, unnaturally coloured orange eyes, striking against her pale skin. Andraste's hands speak to a lowborn life of peasant work, rough and callused. However, her skin is fair and her figure elegant, her musculature long and lean, lending itself to swiftness rather than powerful. Heat emanates from her body, able to be felt from almost a foot away.
====================================
Clothes and Equipment: Since her adoption into a magic collegium, Andraste has taken to wearing ornate crimson great robes, flowing about her figure, complete with gold filigree and a roomy hood that shadows her face when worn, although she tends to keep it down outside of whatever court she happens to be serving. Her only offensive equipment is a dirk imbued with a haste enchantment, allowing for almost unnaturally quick strikes. However, she tends to favour her magic-imbued twisted oak staff which enhances her casting ability, the large black onyx stone at the tip of the staff holding a particular affinity to her favoured school of magic: Pyromancy. She also holds a book of various incantations in her other hand when in battle, reading them off with extreme speed and accuracy. She possesses a natural resistance to heat, but is much less resistant to cold.
======================================
Registered: May 31, 2015 20:33:14 GMT -8
|
Post by Andraste Ruana on Dec 5, 2015 20:07:15 GMT -8
Andraste, having recovered somewhat from the shock of her wound after ducking under the water to avoid the falling trees, moves in to join the battle, wading into the shallower waters of the swamp and slowly raising her tome once again, the pages flipping as she struggles to keep it aloft with her damaged arm. She grits her teeth in pain and plants her staff in the ground, chanting in a flowing, lilting tongue, an incantation glowing golden upon the page. Her staff begins to glow with light, and the waters of the river cutting between Oliver's party and that of the brothers churns violently. Andraste hopes no one will notice her casting in the heat of battle; this spell would take a moment to prepare, especially with the damage to her shoulder disrupting her focus.
|
|
