Gnomes2169
2013-04-05, 12:01 AM
It all started with a murder.*
As the division marched in a long, stretched out line towards the Cordisu border. The muddied and torn flag of Tolerind seemed to be the cleanest part of this army, whose members were ragged, beaten and torn. They glanced warily about them, jumping at the smallest of shadows and trying to follow the path of the soldier in front of them. That was the only way to be sure the ground wouldn't fall from under you, drawing you down to suffocate in the mud. Occasionally, a man or woman would cry out and everyone drew weapons or looked for a place to run. Often it was just someone who's nerves had snapped, or who had been bitten by an insect somewhere new. Very, very rarely it was someone being bitten by something worse, and since the healers, or at least the ones would could help, were laying dead in a field two weeks behind, there was nothing anyone could do except watch their companions die or put them out of their misery first.
And wherever the army went, the crows followed. They had already glutted themselves off of the flesh of the cavalry and their riders, now they stayed around to consume those that fell behind or those who didn't wake up. Sometimes, the carrion birds didn't wait for their food to die.
These were what Timet was looking at when Captain Rossel barked to him. "Timet, what are you doing with your head in the clouds? You're leading this army my boy, keep your eyes on the road." The young Cordisu scout turned his exhausted eyes back to the path. He had brought them safely through the swamp so far... or as safely as could be managed after that disastrous full-scale retreat. After a month of wandering through this acursed swamp they had finally encountered the enemy. Only, the Cordisu hadn't actually come out to fight them. Oh, a small force had stood their ground and distracted his army, but all of his carefully laid out plans had fallen to pieces the instant the healers came under attack by men within his own ranks.
After that, it had been a rout. His soldiers began listening to the incompetent sergeants and lieutenants that Rossel had been assigned, and they stopped listening to him. The last of his cavalry had died in the third hour, and all but five of his pegasus riders had been shot down before the Cordisu had finally been hurt enough to be forced to fall back. While reports varied on the enemy's numbers, Rossel suspected that they has less than an eighth of his force. He had half of his legion still standing, and would probably have had less if those Historians had not interrupted the fighting among his own men! Fools. Apparently, they had become paranoid after what had happened with the healers, and the lieutenants had decided to eliminate other competition on the field of battle. Over all, nearly half of his legion had been wiped out in that one skirmish. And they hadn't even found a single village or temple on the way in... He sort of had to admire how well the Cordisu handled invaders, at least with the dysfunctional army he had been given.
Fortunately, a guide had been given to them by the Historians. An apprentice to the old man that had come through... named Asheron or Atos or some such ridiculous name. Timet was a good lad, bright, helpful, courteous, a native to this death trap and being forced to work with him. Over all, a good combination, and more than he could apparently ask for from his soldiers.
This had to have been the worst assault in centuries, only salvageable by virtue of him not having lost every last one of his troops in this butchers field. But you know, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Rossel had been set up to fail. In fact...
"Bad omens sire."
"Hmm?" Captain Rossel grunted, drawn out of his thoughts of plots and intrigue. "Speak up boy, what did you say?"
"Sire, 's the birds sire. They're bad omens." Timet explained, stepping around a log instead of over it. The company followed after.
"It's sir boy." the captain explained for the fiftieth time. These Cordisu had just the oddest way of speaking about them, it made them damn near impossible to listen to sometimes, let alone understand. "Keep your superstition to yourself too." He mumbled, "Men's moral is bad enough as is. Don't need them thinking that some kind of nightmare is going to come at them because of some blasted birds. See?" Timet nodded, and the captain pushed his concerns to the side.
A loud crash to his right drew the captain's attention. His blade and those of hes personal guard were drawn in in instant, as another crash came from behind them. Men looked about in desperation before finally the source of the noise was revealed. A pegasus rider crashed down through the trees, black arrows piercing her body and that of her flying stead, enough to make it look like an army of ants saw ripping away at their bodies. Rossel cursed as behind him a roar that could be recognized as combat began. But something lay under that roar, something... inhuman. The first demon walked out of the forest, war axe imbedding itself in the dying pegasus's neck before it was joined by twelve others. Timet and Rossel's guards looked to their captain nervously. He looked back, projecting more confidence than he actually felt.
"Cut your way out men! We must be close to the edge if they are attacking us here! Forward, for God and Glory!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile
In a much more boring area of town, an army of mostly Roenel troops was mucking about in a temporary base, hiring mercenaries, recruiting young glory seekers and otherwise just having a jolly old time. Wenches and beer rand freely among this peaceful community. And Lieutenant Briggs sighed. He needed something for these men to do while they wated to be deployed to deal with one of the rebellions. But what? He had heard of some bandits a bit to the north...
"Simon, my lad, can you come over here please?" He called, hoping that the other man would both be close enough to hear and actually sober. That would be a miracle among these greenhorns... "Simon! I have a job for you and those friends of yours. Bring the glowing one with you!" The commanding officer barked, "What's his face... Uriel!"
*It all started with a pun. :smalltongue:
Also, sorry about not having any pictures... I still can't sprite at all. :smallfrown:
As the division marched in a long, stretched out line towards the Cordisu border. The muddied and torn flag of Tolerind seemed to be the cleanest part of this army, whose members were ragged, beaten and torn. They glanced warily about them, jumping at the smallest of shadows and trying to follow the path of the soldier in front of them. That was the only way to be sure the ground wouldn't fall from under you, drawing you down to suffocate in the mud. Occasionally, a man or woman would cry out and everyone drew weapons or looked for a place to run. Often it was just someone who's nerves had snapped, or who had been bitten by an insect somewhere new. Very, very rarely it was someone being bitten by something worse, and since the healers, or at least the ones would could help, were laying dead in a field two weeks behind, there was nothing anyone could do except watch their companions die or put them out of their misery first.
And wherever the army went, the crows followed. They had already glutted themselves off of the flesh of the cavalry and their riders, now they stayed around to consume those that fell behind or those who didn't wake up. Sometimes, the carrion birds didn't wait for their food to die.
These were what Timet was looking at when Captain Rossel barked to him. "Timet, what are you doing with your head in the clouds? You're leading this army my boy, keep your eyes on the road." The young Cordisu scout turned his exhausted eyes back to the path. He had brought them safely through the swamp so far... or as safely as could be managed after that disastrous full-scale retreat. After a month of wandering through this acursed swamp they had finally encountered the enemy. Only, the Cordisu hadn't actually come out to fight them. Oh, a small force had stood their ground and distracted his army, but all of his carefully laid out plans had fallen to pieces the instant the healers came under attack by men within his own ranks.
After that, it had been a rout. His soldiers began listening to the incompetent sergeants and lieutenants that Rossel had been assigned, and they stopped listening to him. The last of his cavalry had died in the third hour, and all but five of his pegasus riders had been shot down before the Cordisu had finally been hurt enough to be forced to fall back. While reports varied on the enemy's numbers, Rossel suspected that they has less than an eighth of his force. He had half of his legion still standing, and would probably have had less if those Historians had not interrupted the fighting among his own men! Fools. Apparently, they had become paranoid after what had happened with the healers, and the lieutenants had decided to eliminate other competition on the field of battle. Over all, nearly half of his legion had been wiped out in that one skirmish. And they hadn't even found a single village or temple on the way in... He sort of had to admire how well the Cordisu handled invaders, at least with the dysfunctional army he had been given.
Fortunately, a guide had been given to them by the Historians. An apprentice to the old man that had come through... named Asheron or Atos or some such ridiculous name. Timet was a good lad, bright, helpful, courteous, a native to this death trap and being forced to work with him. Over all, a good combination, and more than he could apparently ask for from his soldiers.
This had to have been the worst assault in centuries, only salvageable by virtue of him not having lost every last one of his troops in this butchers field. But you know, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Rossel had been set up to fail. In fact...
"Bad omens sire."
"Hmm?" Captain Rossel grunted, drawn out of his thoughts of plots and intrigue. "Speak up boy, what did you say?"
"Sire, 's the birds sire. They're bad omens." Timet explained, stepping around a log instead of over it. The company followed after.
"It's sir boy." the captain explained for the fiftieth time. These Cordisu had just the oddest way of speaking about them, it made them damn near impossible to listen to sometimes, let alone understand. "Keep your superstition to yourself too." He mumbled, "Men's moral is bad enough as is. Don't need them thinking that some kind of nightmare is going to come at them because of some blasted birds. See?" Timet nodded, and the captain pushed his concerns to the side.
A loud crash to his right drew the captain's attention. His blade and those of hes personal guard were drawn in in instant, as another crash came from behind them. Men looked about in desperation before finally the source of the noise was revealed. A pegasus rider crashed down through the trees, black arrows piercing her body and that of her flying stead, enough to make it look like an army of ants saw ripping away at their bodies. Rossel cursed as behind him a roar that could be recognized as combat began. But something lay under that roar, something... inhuman. The first demon walked out of the forest, war axe imbedding itself in the dying pegasus's neck before it was joined by twelve others. Timet and Rossel's guards looked to their captain nervously. He looked back, projecting more confidence than he actually felt.
"Cut your way out men! We must be close to the edge if they are attacking us here! Forward, for God and Glory!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile
In a much more boring area of town, an army of mostly Roenel troops was mucking about in a temporary base, hiring mercenaries, recruiting young glory seekers and otherwise just having a jolly old time. Wenches and beer rand freely among this peaceful community. And Lieutenant Briggs sighed. He needed something for these men to do while they wated to be deployed to deal with one of the rebellions. But what? He had heard of some bandits a bit to the north...
"Simon, my lad, can you come over here please?" He called, hoping that the other man would both be close enough to hear and actually sober. That would be a miracle among these greenhorns... "Simon! I have a job for you and those friends of yours. Bring the glowing one with you!" The commanding officer barked, "What's his face... Uriel!"
*It all started with a pun. :smalltongue:
Also, sorry about not having any pictures... I still can't sprite at all. :smallfrown: