Author Topic: The Orphan's Revenge  (Read 890 times)

Constantine

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The Orphan's Revenge
« on: March 01, 2016, 09:33:33 PM »

A townhall bell is tolling. A powerful bronze voice ringing over a burning village. There is pause between each strike. A pause that makes the young girl wince as the multitude of other voices rush to force their way into her ears. Voices of her people being slaughtered and raped. Cries of pain and despair. Cries of fear. Clang of metal and neighing of horses. Savage and gleeful warcries of Rathgarian barbarians. And then the one sound that makes all others vane. The wild bellow of her father as he is being burned alive at the stake in front of his own fort. His flesh swiftly turns black and dead, consumed by hungry flames. Then darkness overwhelms her as strong arms carry her away. For a while she hears nothing but thudding of horse feet and the bell still tolling in the distance. But there is one sound that is still there after all these years. Her father screaming and screaming in the back of her head. There is no flesh left on his charred bones but his eyes gleam with raw fire and she can not look away. She can not close her ears. In her world it is never silent. When all sounds around her die there is still crackling of fire and a torrent of deafening pain escaping a charred corpse's mouth.


"My lady! The fire is about to go out, my lady!" young Torin shouted. He had to strain his lungs to overpower the bawl of a man in full armour, squirming on a makeshift dais. Gwenys opened her eyes, waking from her usual flashback and stared at the man being tortured. His plate was dark and steaming, his eyes wild and senseless, his black mouth open in ceaseless scream. Steven Falenhof, the man who burned her father. The man who raped and slaughtered her sister. The man who robbed her of her home and sanity. The fire under his charred feet was indeed growing weak and she ordered to add some more wood. Not too much though, she wanted him to scream longer. So that she could not hear that other voice in her head.


There were others still. She remembered their faces well. One a brute of a man, with a grey mane and a wild beard. Always sporting that concieted and lewd smirk. Another lean and ascetic with a hard face and eyes cold like those of a reptile. They must pay for killing her brothers and robbing her of all she had.


When his evil soul finally left Steven's body and his voice died, uneasy silence fell over the square. The mortals were looking at each other in wonder and dread as tears streamed down their mistress' cruel face. The bell was tolling over looted and burning Chetraesho.

Arx

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Re: The Orphan's Revenge
« Reply #1 on: March 03, 2016, 12:54:16 PM »
Oclire tossed his gauntlets onto the table.

"So she burnt Steven. It is a pity, but such is Fate. Perhaps I won't give her the quick death I had in mind. We shall see where Fate goes." He glanced at a map for a moment, and turned aside.

"Sirrhas, have someone contact King Frederick. That'll be the quickest way to get that fool of a boy out of here. It'd be a shame to destroy their entire family line for one mad woman. I cannot fathom why they will not simply accept Fate and move on."

He looked back to the table, running a finger down a list, and glancing across at the map occasionally.

"Ottokar, Margolf, ready the troops to ride out. Adrianna is right. There's little to be gained by waiting here. Let her ladyship play at revenge in her toy fortress all she likes. She'll take her army to the Hooded God with her, soon enough."

The men saluted and turned, mail jingling as they marched out of the room.



Minor quibble: none of the Black Road are from Rathgar except Sirrhas. The majority are an assortment of no particular culture, bound together more by the Creed than anything else.

Constantine

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Re: The Orphan's Revenge
« Reply #2 on: March 07, 2016, 10:07:53 PM »

Most of her days Gwenys spent on the battlements, boring the besieging army below with her hateful and bitter gaze. The cultists mobilized everything they could and cornered her company in this wretched mining village. At least it was well fortified and she prayed to stars and heavens that one day they would finally attack and break themselves against the sturdy walls like a bloody tide.
But they bid their time. Her men grew hungry and exhausted. The future of her quest looked truly grim.
Until one day she was woke up to a report of strange activity in the enemy camp as many tents were being collapsed. When she climbed the walls she could see it for herself. A steady line of soldiers trickling into the forest and vanishing under the umbrage of ancient trees.


"It has to be a trap, my lady." gloomily noted one of the mortal veterans, standing by her side. She remebered his name. Evor, the cavalry captain. A swarthy and stern man who she knew was born in Arrakesh and entered her late cousine's service back when she fought in Asrian wars. He had fought many battles, much more than herself. He would long be dead by now if he was a fool.
But staying alive was not top priority for young Gwenys. It looked like the cultists were splitting their host and Gwenys saw an opportunity to make a decisive strike. Of course it looked like a trap, but would they be able to hold out in a starving besieged village for much longer anyway?
"We will sally after dark."
Her order was met with sullen silence but no one dared to contradict.


Archers moved into position first. A hundred fire arrows lit the night sky as they made their way to the enemy encampment. Before the second volley was loosed she sounded her battle horn and spurred her steed. Her small cavalry detachment sprung into gallop, struggling to keep up with her. They were to encircle the camp and strike from behind, sowing chaos. A dozen bugles echoed her call and halberdiers rushed forward in lose foramtion. They had to do the main bulk of fighting tonight.
They covered half the distance when horns sounded alarm in the besieging camp. Arrows started flying in the opposite direction. Her plate caught a few, her companions took the rest. Then there was slaughter.


As her senses returned to her she found herself in the middle of a ravaged and burning camp. Screams were getting rarer and farther away, the battle was won. Two young pikemen appeared before her, carrying a mangled body clad in a broken plate, sturdy but simple in design. Although the man was clearly dead, his eyes were open and seemed to be glaring at her. She knew these eyes, watery and emotionless yet strangely intense and terrifying. Oclire the butcher was lying dead before her.
"Nail the body to the gate," She ordered. "I want Sirrhas to see it when he returns."
Only one left now. Sirrhas the rapist.
She lingered a moment to savour her triumph then signaled retreat.

Arx

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Re: The Orphan's Revenge
« Reply #3 on: March 08, 2016, 09:13:02 PM »
Militia spilled from the gates of Chetraesho as Ottokar rode close enough to make out individual faces. He reined in his horse, and glanced up at an optimistic arrow whistling overhead. A quick count and some rough guesswork suggested they were outnumbered, and badly. He turned and began riding back to the camp, unhurried.

The tarbains and housecarls of Kolkyre were hardened, trained for long campaigns on short rations. They were the only bastion hoding the siege while the Battle Inkallim and Castillans refreshed their supplies. For all this, they were not afraid. If they fell, then that was their Fate. Or they would stand fast, and in their lack of fear of the Last God, they would drive back the heathen masses.

As Ottokar approached, Oclire rose and swung himself into the saddle. Otto jerked his head towards the approaching soldiers.

"Perhaps two for one."

"Good odds." Oclire smiled tightly. He raised his voice to a thunderous bellow, "Move out!"

All over the camp, the well-oiled war machine swung into action. The peltasts rose from where they'd been seated in groups around campfires to spread into a staggered screen ahead of the inbound foe. Ranks of infantry in scale marched down the muddied lanes of the camp, heavy maces resting on their shoulders. Crossbowmen cocked their weapons, and longbowmen drew arrows from their quivers.

Around Oclire, the housecarls of the Roarin Blood drew in close. They might die today, but their lives would be dearly bought. Around them, arrows began to fall as the Flambards' archers opened the combat. In seconds, the air was filled with screams as Oclire's men fell and arrows tore through the ranks of Gwenys's soldiers in turn.

With a roar, the sortie force began its charge towards the besiegers. The peltasts stood their ground long enough to whip off a volley of javelins, and fell back to the line. Shields snapped up and formed an iron wall of men, women and weapons. The Hooded God stalked the ranks, waiting to gather the fallen.

Battle was joined. In the space of seconds, entire ranks of infantry fell. The attackers paid in blood for every shield that dropped from the wall, but they had far more blood to pay with than Oclire had shields. The deaths were apalling, both sides fighting with a fanaticism that demanded death before retreat.

The wall broke, and fell back. Archers took up sticks or stabbed with arrows, filling in the gaps in the wall. Oclire's housecarls waded in, swords rising and falling. Ottokar coldly trampled the bodies on the field - living and dead, friend and foe.

Cavalry thundered through, and the wall broke again. Still, no soldiers from either side would flee. The besiegers fell back again, and Oclire took the line, cutting through joints and stabbing with deathly efficiency. A halberd glanced off his armour, and he carved it in half.

The wall broke, and remained broken. The shields were scattered through the forest, useless. The hands to hold them were dead, gone to the final embrace of the Last God. Three remained on the field: Ottokar, Margolf, and Oclire. A cavalryman rode down Margolf, and Ottokar and Oclire fell back, and back.

The wicked spike on a halberd punched through Oclire's armour like a knife through thin paper, and he glanced down at it with an expression of mild distaste. As another struck him, his expression changed to a terrifying grin as he chuckled. "Such is Fate, eh?" He coughed, spitting blood, and with a last spasm of strength hacked off the hand of the first to wound him.

The light faded from the world as Oclire walked the last few steps of his Black Road to meet the god he had served all his life. The only god not to abandon the world. The Last God.

"From death is life. My feet are on the Road. I know not pride."

Constantine

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Re: The Orphan's Revenge
« Reply #4 on: March 19, 2016, 08:32:49 PM »
Gwenys looked at the broken body at her feet completely expressionless. A bear of a man with powerful arms and broad chest. She could almost still see that loathsome smirk on his lifeless lips, now white in colour and caked in blood. He was dead, the last of the three monsters who ruined her life. The oath was fulfilled and she was free. She does not have to cut her hair and wear black any more. Mourning is done. Vengeance is dealt. But there was no relief. There was absolutely nothing.

Suddenly she realized she had been standing there for a while motionless, her lieutenants crowded behind her in uneasy silence.
Slowly she plucked the arrow from Sirrhas' neck and turned to face her men. "You have served me well. Now you can go home. Bring this arrow to my cousin, it will be a fine addition to his trophy room. A reminder that no one can wrong a Flambard with impunity."
The men shifted and looked between themselves until old Marliis the barbarian took the arrow from her and spoke warily. "What of you, my lady? Will you not come?"
"Leave." Her voice was soft but the mortals knew her disposition was not. They lingered for a bit and then retreated, bowing and avoiding to look her in the eye. Thankfully no one dared to ask the question she feared. What was she going to do now? She had no answer.


Her gaze fell upon the corpse again. Her hand slowly reached for a dagger. One stab under the ribs... Would that make sense? To turn the final page and reconcile with her fate? Fate...Her hands wavered and the dagger fell into the grass. Was she walking the accursed Black Road now?

Dystopian

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Re: The Orphan's Revenge
« Reply #5 on: October 20, 2017, 09:03:50 PM »
Lmao Constantine you got this?