[Quest] Taking Back Eventide

by **Chevalier** on August 21st, 2012, 7:18 am

77th Day of Summer, 512AV

On the 77th day of Summer in the year of 512AV, the Syliran Knights were called upon to remedy one of the many tragic events that had befallen the province of Sylira. This was the destruction of the Eventide Tower, a longstanding outpost for the Syliran Knights, as well as a home to the Starcleaver Bounty Service. A group of one hundred Knights, some fifty squires, and five wagons left the castle city of Syliras, trudging forward through the heat of the midday toward Eventide. Each participant was expected to be up extra early, as the Druva twins expected to be upon the Tower within the afternoon. Thus Eachann, Rothyr Windbourne, Lynes and Tork all found themselves awoken at a mere two bells into the day. From there it was a rush to eat, get packed, and get on a horse, man a wagon, or march the old fashioned way some forty miles north.

The duo of Companies along with their squires struck up a tempoary camp some two miles outside of the Eventide with Eren's best scouts returning from their observatory trek beyond the bulk of the group. "Ma'am!" one scraggly looking fellow called out toward the female Stewart Knight. Unshaven with thick oily locks, he looked more like a vagabond that had stolen a Knights uniform than a Knight himself. "We found 'er, we found the Eventide, an' it's as bad as we thought. Half the place be underwater, like the Gods themselves grabbed a hold of the coast and dun dragged it inland. It's permanent ma'am, that coastline is as sure as the sun."

"Hmph." the woman responded, the symbol of three swords showly plainly upon her collar, "Well, that means half of it is not underwater. That's good enough for me. Syliras built itself up from nothing, so I think we can handle a Tower. GATHER ROUND!" Eren spoke in a sudden blasting voice loud enough to make even her brother duck reflexively. The camp brought itself inward to listen to one half of their ranking superiors, "Listen up. Ser Greice is back, and yes the rumors were true, it seems the coast has shifted enough after the storm to put the Eventide half beneath the waves. If there's half left, it's our job to secure the area so that construction teams can begin on their way to rebuild the tower to the east. The part that escaped being submerged will become the new docks."

As the Stewart Knight took a moment to clear her throat Ser Greice divulged additional information, fearing that keeping it until after her announcement would be detrimental to the entire operation. "Ma'am wait, there's more. I done spotted movement down in the water an' all around what's left of the tower. Couldn't get too close without the lot of um seeing me, but it looked like they be landspawns. I reckon say, four or five dozen I seen just with me eyes."

"Well then I'd say we handle this by the books." a male voice spoke up, it was Eiro, the other half of the Druva twins. Running a hand through his rearward arching hair, the man stepped up next to his sister, "We advance, White Company softens up any hostile forces with arrows. If they retreat Green Company runs them down. If they advance, ground forces will meet them with Green Company completing a flanking charge and we'll crush them between our superior numbers."

"Tch..." his sister grumbled. Interrupted by her own brother, what a pain in the ass. Still, his plans were never with great fault. They were typically safe and statistically advantageous. "Very well. If we're lucky whatever ridiculous Djed infested mess is down there will just head out to sea when we show ourselves. EVERYONE GRAB YOUR GEAR!" the volume in her voice suddenly spiked again, causing Eiro to quickly attempt to clasp a hand over the ear directly facing his sister. "We're moving out in five chimes, we've got roughly 20 chimes until we're on top of the place after that. We'll start with White Company, the signal is a White banner and a drum beat sixty beats a chime. Green Company is a Green banner and a drum beat of one-hundred and eighty beats a chime. The signal for retreat is a White on Red banner w--gah, we shouldn't need a retreat. Lets make this a routine clean up men. NOW MOVE!"

Secret :

by **Tork** on August 21st, 2012, 2:03 pm

Long was the trek and Tork found himself walking, his heavy full plate armor soaked in the sun slow cooking the gargantuan squire, his suit had to be custom made to fit him. Far thicker and heavier an outright impossibility for a human to wear, a feat of strength that even this jamoura found cumbersome burden. Every step was a small work out, free movement was no longer a possibility however he did feel secure, and he knew the crushing weights would eventually yield as he adapted to life in plate armor.

As for a weapon he carried a great hammer, a solid demolishing tool a regular wrecking ball of sorts.

He was fairing well despite the weight and heat, he ate hearty and drank plenty of water at early chow time.

When they had finally made it to eventide, it was both comedic and serious the undertones of the twins was refreshing even welcome. He lacked experience but felt he was in good hands. He smiled wide behind his helm as Eiro flinched when his sisters voice spiked like he'd been cracked in the backside.

Of course his smile soon faded when word got around that there was a possibility of a fight, strong as he was he'd never been in a fight before much less take something's life in combat. It really started to sink in now, the seriousness of this whole thing. Part of him wanted this to be resolved peacefully and the creatures retreat into the ocean. Though as nice as that would be, he had a sinking feeling a real bad one that it was not going to end that way at all.

He prepared himself emotionally and mentally as best he could, that's all he could do. Toughen up and prepare for the worst of it, he knew if he did nothing people good people trying to do the right thing might get hurt or worse.

He clentched his hammer with both hands and was ready.

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on August 21st, 2012, 4:46 pm

Rothyr rode with the rest of the mounted warriors. He looked out of place for a squire. Rothyr wore the light armor raiment that the Syliras knights outfitted their soldiers with. He was clad in chain mail, plate and leather, but he carried his helmet for the time being. It had been a while since he had worn any armor, much less armor of plate and mail. The last time he wore armor, he was in Cyphrus with the clans. He would wear the Drykas leather, it was lighter and very strong. But, when in Syliras, do as the Sylirans do. He didn't mind the armor so much, in fact he was enthused they gave him armor to begin with. He signed up for the mission to take back Eventide when he saw they needed strong fighters. Hunting, while his bread and butter, was becoming boring. He figured signing up with the Sylirans for a spell would make him enough money to survive, and he didn't want game to become too scarce. Local predators might turn on him if they can't find other things to prey upon.

Aside from the armor, he also saw about borrowing a spear, to make himself more useful from the saddle. He could always use his axe and knife, but he wanted more reach, and a better means to defend himself. They weren't particularly clear about what they were going up against, but if they were sending so many soldiers to combat it, he couldn't be too careful. Aside from the new loaned spear, he still carried his knife, Glassbeak war-ax, and his primary weapon: the recurve bow.

He didn't talk to the other soldiers much. They didn't seem to be the social type like he was. Rothyr was content to ride in silence, though. He listened to the rolling carts, horses' hooves, and footfalls. Hearing so many moving at once reminded him of home, and he nearly grew homesick before the procession came to a halt. He rode ahead when their commander began giving orders, to better hear them.

He listened to the twins, and the male twin gave what seemed like a solid game-plan. He felt uneasy about how the twins interrupted each other, though. It showed instability amongst the leadership, and that worried him. However, whatever problems their commanders may have with one another, it was up to the soldiers to bring home victory. Surveying the army around him, he felt confident they would succeed. He wasn't sure what differentiated the companies. He was a horse-archer primarily, and he didn't see many more like him. He figured they would place him with the other cavalry, and decided not to worry so much about it till it came time for it.

As the order was given to grab gear, and prepare to march again, Rothyr remained where he stood, watching the others buzz around him. He placed the rear-end of his spear on his boot, and put his helmet on, putting the strap under his chin to hold it in place. Despite his nervousness at being in a large-scale battle, something he'd never done before, he was excited about a new adventure. This was something new for him. The horse-clans wouldn't fight like this against a foe, the tactics would be very different. He was excited to see how the Northerners fought, and make some good money doing it as well.

by **Eachann Marshall** on August 22nd, 2012, 1:16 am

Two Bells Eachann thought ruefully as he rolled out of his bed in the Squire's quarters. Though he shared the space with half a dozen others, he was the only one requiring so early a wake up call, and so he endeavored to not disturb any of them. Despite the lateness (or earliness) of the hour, the squire was anxious and eager to be on his way, and his hands betrayed that by trembling as he packed his kit, and dressed himself.

Since coming to Syliras earlier in the season, Eachann had enlisted in the cities namesake Knights, and begun at once training with them. He had put aside the simple leather armor that he had worn, and now dressed in the rainment of his new brotherhood. A suit of ring mail went over his clothes, and then plate poleyns, greaves and solarets girded his legs. Leather vambraces covered his forearms and similar gardbraces protected his shoulders, and over it all, hung the tell tale tabard of the Knighthood. His was identical to any other knights, with the exception that his Windoak sigil was Green on Silver, indicating his assignment.

Eachann's patron and mentor was Ser Corwin Bedard 9th Wing, Green Company, 2nd Regiment Silver Quadron, and so the young drykas was assigned to the same. Ser Bedard was in his early twenties, not that long a knight himself, but showing promise to command all the same. He had a slightly roguish temperament, and considered himself something of a ladies man, although he never seemed to come across as one. Though charming in a chivalric fashion, he was too self assured for most woman one on one. He was blonde haired and blue eyed, and wore an artfully unkempt style, but had little more to offer than that. Nevertheless he was a good hunter, and known to be skilled in both stealth and archery. Skills important to scout cavalry soldiers.

*~*~*~*~*

Ser Bedard answered his squires knock almost before it sounded, his voice hushed conspiratorially as Eachann let himself into the his patrons apartment.

“Good morning Ser.” The squire greeted, his voice likewise hushed in the hours before dawn.

“Good morning squire.” the knight replied as he shaved absently, while never nicking himself with the razor. “Are we ready to go?” Both men knew the answer to that, as Eachann had spent the day before packing both of their kits in preparation. He had also whetted the knights short sword and oiled the sheath, he had also checked the fletching on each of his patron's arrows, and provided fresh string for his reflex bow. All the same, Eachann made a show of rechecking everything this morning, both men knowing that nothing could have possibly gotten out of place.

“Thoroughness is a squires first requirement.” Ser Bedard had told him on the day they met. It was one of many tenants the older man had instilled in the days since, and one that Eachann kept faithfully.

“Yes Ser.” he reported after checking everything once more and finding it exactly where he had left it. “And i've already been to check on the horses Ser, they are ready as well.” As if there had been any doubt about that either. The hands at Windmount had likely not slept yet, since they had to care for and prep nearly two hundred mounts in anticipation of the deployment of two companies of Knights. Corwin smiled into his shaving mirror.

“Very good squire.” He said, swiping off the razor before tossing it over a shoulder for the younger man to store with the rest of his kit. “Lets get to it.”

*~*~*~*~*

The sight of two companies of Knights with squires and baggage train might not be the grandest Syliras had ever seen, but in marked contrast to the surreptitious deployment of the Knight Magus to combat the wild Djed storms earlier in the year it seemed almost like a festival. One hundred knights with fifty odd squires and five heavy laden wagons made quite a ruckus as they departed the city on the North Kabrin Road, bound for the allegedly swamped Eventide Post to reclaim and rebuild the northernmost bastion of civilization.

The journey itself was uneventful, but when they force neared its ultimate objective, the Stewart Knights called a halt and members of Green Company were detached to scout the area, as was their purpose. Ser Corwin was not selected, and so Eachann concerned himself with final preparations for what might be to come, namely, battle. He checked and rechecked the lay of the knights weapons on his horse, as well as the saddle girths and those that held the animals light barding on. Corwin meanwhile sat about with other knights of his wing and chatted. A squires work was never done.

Eachann gathered with everyone else when Eren Druva called, and he listened to the exchange between she and Eiro with detatched amusement. He had seen both of the twins a remarkable number of times since being assigned as a squire to Eren's Company, and was familiar with their somewhat odd demeanor. When the order was given to mount up and advance, Eachann hurried to aid Ser Corwin into the saddle, (mostly being concerned with a final check of the mans access to his own weapons) before scrambling into his own seat to follow the bodies advance.

He had never fought like this before, with other Knights at a Company or even a Wing level. Largely he had been training, horsemanship and weapons primarily, but also tactics and religion and even diplomacy (though as the Knights saw it there was little enough need for that). He was skilled enough with his Javelins, but a well worn mace hung off his hip, it's handle worn smooth by previous squires. Ser Corwin had insisted on it, even if only as a last resort, and had chosen the mace because as he'd put it, “Even an idiot can swing a mace.” . His heart in his throat and the blood singing in his ears in anticipation and a bit of fear, Eachann rode at his patrons side, trying to appear prepared for anything when he was worrying about everything.

by **Chevalier** on September 8th, 2012, 7:46 am

Beyond the occasional nervous cough the trip toward the Outpost was relatively quiet. The faint swish of the trees due to some passing breeze, as well as the chirp of a smattering of songbirds created an unsuitable ambiance for the entire ordeal. It was almost too nice a day for a battle. The sun was high in the sky, starting its trek toward the horizon. The twin commanders had planned to approach the fallen Tower with the sun at their back. Who knew if whatever was taking up residence there needed eyes to begin with, but no Syliran Knight would discount a potential advantage upon the field of battle.

Soon the pathway opened up, and ahead of them was what was left of the tower jutting out of the watery grave it had been given. The tide was high, leaving waves washing against the side of the stony walls. The sprawling tower once housed an entire company of Knights, as well as some three dozen citizens. Of course passing travelers would sometimes utilize it as a way station, moving toward the final stretch to Syliras. There ahead of them was the movement the scouts had talked about. Strange earthen bodies, muddy and damp were trudging about, as if looking for something.

"DRUMMERS!" the female Druva called out, causing a set of four squires carrying drums harnessed with straps upon their shoulders to move to the front of the ground. "Archers, form up on the drummers! Infantry, form a line behind the archers!" as she called out her orders, heavy feet began to move across the ground, and for the first time the large group of Knights was hustling. The line of archers stood fifty men wide, with a drummer nearly every 10 men. Perhaps ten feet behind them the line of 50 infantrymen stood, some Squires mixed in with the Knights. Fanning out to the sides was two squads of mounted cavalry, each twenty five men strong, also containing a mixture of Squires and Knights.

Eren ran across the field upon her horse breaking up from the left most cluster of Cavalry to give the order, "WEDGE FORMATION!". The Sergeants within the group repeated the order, leaving him to join up with the right most set of Cavalry and repeat his previous formation request. The Cavalry began putting their horses in place, with Eren at the head of the right wing, and a Sergeant at the hedge of the left wing. Behind them additional Cavalry stacked in longer and longer lines, effectively creating something of an arrowhead shape upon the field.

By now the creatures within the ruins began to stir faster and this time with direction. The drumming had began, a slow methodical beat. "Archers, ready arrows!" called out Eiro as he walked behind the line, pulling and pushing men into a straighter formation. The line readied their first volley, but soon the scattered sounds of talking reached the ears of the Stewart Knight. He turned to look back down at the waterline, only to see a large group of creatures amassing, far more than the dozens previously anticipated. "Damn, that's a force alright. Infantry, spread the line out! I want the distance of two arm lengths between each man! Archers, prepare to fire, once the enemy draws near retreat throw the infantry line and continue to ready arrows for any additional enemies down field!"

The enemy was starting to grow close now, and it seemed they were gaining momentum. The count was most likely quite similar to the force brought by the Knights, or no...perhaps even larger. "White banner UP!" came the first attack order. A set of Squires tasked with raising a set of two banners, one for either side of the field pushed the long wooden hafts upward. Upon them rested a brilliant white flag with the dark green symbol of the Windoak, fluttering proudly in the wind. The drummers began their slow, methodical beat, "Fire!" Eiro's voice roared forth, and with it a set of fifty arrows cut through the sky at the advancing force. They fell upon the landscape, tearing into a creature here and there, felling perhaps ten on the first go. "The enemy is advancing in such an unorganized fashion...it's difficult to target a cluster, they're so spread out." he pondered under his breath. "Fire at will, fire at will!"

Now the Infantry line was starting to more clearly see the attributes of their advancing enemies. Muddy hides covered in pebbles, rocks, and twigs. Some actually seemed to be carrying weapons scavenged from the ruins, and there were certainly plenty to take. With a group of fifty Knights, as well as all of the weaponry needed to equipped them having once stayed there, the Yukmen had their pick.

Another volley of arrows, then another. The creatures were only approximately 50 yards away now and closing fast. "Green banner UP! Archery line retreat behind the infantry now!" As the white banner fell the light green banner with a dark green Windoak pushed its way skyward, causing the Cavalry to start galloping along the sides of the incoming force. They needed to get behind the creatures and complete the flanking charge, but in the meantime the infantry line would need to hold the creatures steady. "Prepare to meet the charge!" the calls repeated down the line of the Infantry as the Archers hustled through, moving past Knights and Squires alike. Those with shields angled them with the bottom tilted outward slightly to lift charging opponents from their feet. Those with spears prepared them to get a fine thrust in to a charging opponent before transitioning to a melee weapon.

It didn't take long at all...before the main clash came. The sounds of whatever the main composition of the Yukmen was hitting the metal and leather of the Knights armor was so loud it drowned out nearly everything but the quickened beat of the drum. To the left a Knight with a heavy bastard sword carved into a creature, sending it down to the ground. To the right two Squires worked in tandem on the line, the first tangling a creature up with the head of his waraxe while his comrade swiftly stepped in and thrust a smallsword through the gut of another creature. A few Sylirans had been knocked off of their feet from the sheer weight of the Yukmen, which seemed so much denser than flesh and bone.

Secret :

by **Tork** on September 8th, 2012, 6:54 pm

It was like nothing Tork had ever seen volleys of arrows poured from the sky, and cavalry charged forward in something that he could only describe as a hellish stampede as mounts trampled with furious hooves and knights assailed with gleaming blade awe struck the finale came in the sound of utter calamity as fifty soldiers charged and as steel smashed steel it created a booming chatter fragmented but unified in one chord.

The jamoura found himself in utter chaos as knights surged passed him only the tallest maneged to reach his abdomin.

He found himself shoving Yukman over to make easy kills for those behind him, the roar of steel surged into him and he knocked its relentless force back.

The jamoura found himself in the thick of it, he breathed in and focused. He wanted to help and help he would as he headed towards the fallen squires, he threw himself into oncoming attacks and aided however possible. He found some level of peace in this he would become a shield to protect those around him, he would find himself blocking attacks or taking the damage outright if it meant saving someone.
May the gods bless heavy plate.

With one furious swing he barked and grunted like a charging silver back, the loud cacophony of a noise was primal and powerful. He found his weapon once poised for defense now turn to repay the favor of pain a hundred fold. Great hammer no more then a light weapon in his hands sailed down into the face of a Yukman about to slay a fallen brother in arms

His strength bordering infinite came straight down atop its head, fifty pounds of steel squashed it's skull as judgement came down. The result was like that of a cannon, bone fragments blew out as two eyes still attached by fiber and sinew shot upwards, it's forehead no more an empty cavity with nay but lower jaw busted to bits and exposed.

by **Eachann Marshall** on September 9th, 2012, 4:13 am

The first sight of what had been Eventide Tower was, for Eachann at least, a disheartening one. The Suvan Sea had been shifted far inland of it's original shore by the spring Djed storms, at least that was what Sir Bedard had told him. It looked to be all too true now, and for an instant, doubt as to the purpose of this expeditionary force crept into the squires mind. His face apparently betrayed him, for Ser Bedard at his side spoke softly as they rode.

“Steady on squire.” He said, not taking his eyes off the back of the the twin's who were in joint command. “Ours is not to question,” he concluded. “it is to do, or to die.” The Knights absolute certainty was soothing to the nerves of his young companion, even if the sentiment was not. Grandmaster Dyres had decided that the City needed Eventide Post. And had delegated the task of it's reclaimation to Alexa Nigriso and the 2nd Regiment of the Silver Quadron. The Captain Knight had in turn sent White and Green companies as a expeditionary force ahead of the remaining four hundred knights who comprised the 2nd.

By the time that he had thought all of this, Sera Eren had called the drummers out, and begun to set the battle lines. Ser Eiro fell in with the archers of White company, and Ser Eren split Green company in half to give the formation Cavalry support on both Flanks. He went to right flank with half of the cavalry, and a Sergeant whom Eachann did not know beyond recognizing him, was given command of the left. Ser Corwin and Eachann were on the left because the knight was sinister, which is to say, left handed. So he drew his bow with that hand, meaning it was more natural for him to fire to his right, which is where the Yukman would be when they riders advanced.

Though the Knights knew their business well enough to form up in good order, the firing line from White company had already put two vollies into the air by the time that Eachann could spare his attention from getting into formation. The enemy was advancing, though in poor if any order, and so Ser Eiro had his archers picking their own targets now. By the time that the enemy was within fifty yards, the white banner had come down and the green gone up. Those soldiers who were afoot moved passed the archers to form a battle line, while their brethren set up behind for support. All of this took place as the two wings of the formation, the horseman of Green company and their smattering of squires had begun to make their way around the enemy mass in an encircling maneuver meant to crush them between the horseman and the foot soldiers. It was a classic trick, and ofttimes successful, but as the horseman set out, Eachann could not help but think that the line of infantrymen looked very thin compared to the enemy who was swiftly closing and whose numbers exceeded the original estimation several times.

The cavalry swept wide of the enemy on both flanks. If the yukman had been any sort of strategists they would have realized what this meant for their own attack and either withdrawn or at least turned outward to face it. Instead they continued to attack the Infantry, who fought valiantly to hold them back while their reinforcements got into positions. Shafts continued to be fired overhead by White company, and those in the cavalry who had ranged weapons added their own fire. Ser Bedard killed at least four Yukman as they rode, doubtlessly wounding others. For his part, Eachann held his javelins as he only had five and it seemed foolhardy to discard them all before the fight had even been properly joined.

However, there were stragglers from the enemy flanks, and some found themselves in amongst the cavalry as they rode, and in this fashion Eachann found his first opportunity for combat. One of the creatures blundered into the path of his borrowed horse, and the squire, still unwilling to loose a javelin less he fail to recover it, retrieved the loaned mace from his hip. “Any idiot..” he thought ruefully as his fingers opened and closed reflexively on the worn wooden haft of the weapon. The yukman faced him squarely, it's arms outstretched as if to pull him from the saddle. Idly, he thought back to childhood, to riding with a stick, and taking the heads off of seed plants with a stick. Leaning slightly out of the saddle, he swung the mace. The creature was he decided reaching for him, and when the flanged steel head of the mace crashed into the side of it's head it was with the sickening crunching thud and faint pop of a melon hitting the floor. The things fingers closed momentarily around Eachann's legs, but the went slack almost immediately as the lifeless body slid away behind him. On his left, the squire heard his patron laughing.

“I told you!” He crowed, smiling as he loosed another shaft into the mass of the enemy. “Any idiot can swing a mace!”

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on September 9th, 2012, 4:48 am

Rothyr took his place in the third row on the outside, on the left flank with the Cavalry. He holstered his spear for the time being, utilizing the range of his bow as they would close in. He would draw his spear as they began the charge. He took the time out of engagement to watch how the Sylirans fought. They formed lines, and charged each other. They'd hack each other to bits until one side lost its' nerve, or ran out of soldiers. He had seen no large-scale battles in Cyphrus, but he had heard of some battles between pavilions, and they would simply ride around chasing each other with their bows or javelins until one side was defeated. It took quick thinking to be a Drykas horse-warrior, and Rothyr believed it would benefit him today.

The order was given to ride, and the wedge began to move forward. He placed a hand on Windlass's neck to calm her. The vast amount of warriors present, and the noise were something she was unused to, and it unnerved Rothyr too. They would both be cutting their teeth for battle that day. He looked around at his fellow squires and knights, had they seen battle before? Did they wear their stone-cold faces to hearten themselves? No time to ask, unfortunately. He looked back towards the battle line. He saw fighters of all races present, Syliras being open as fare as race was concerned. He saw a Jamoura wielding a massive hammer crush a skull like an egg, and had to flinch at the grizzly sight. He'd never seen a Jamoura before. The sight would ensure he used manners whenever he met one.

The wedge moved forward, and the beast-men surged forward against the battle-line again. There were so many of them. He'd seen the corpses of similar creatures before in Cyphrus. He believed they were called Yukmen, and they were as wicked as they were ferocious. Rothyr was glad to have his spear, and his bow, also his fast horse if things did not bode well for the knights that day. He was glad to not be standing in the battle-line. That was work for the sword and shield, and Rothyr fought best on the horse. He did not fear the taking of life, that was something he knew already. He took lives and sent beings back into the web regularly, living the life of a hunter. He also could kill men if he needed to. This he had done before, not long ago on a plain in Cyphrus where his pavilion burned. He learned quickly that in battle, one kills or is killed, and it was a harsh lesson that cost him dearly.

As the wedge turned, he scanned the horde for potential targets. He took the left hand side of the wedge to give him the room to aim his bow on the left, and draw with his right. As the wedge got within range, he knocked an arrow to the string and drew back. He counted his horse's hoofbeats, and on that moment where none of the horses' hooves touch the earth he let his arrow fly. He could make no definite targets out of the mass of brown matted hide, and was no perfect marksman, so he let his arrows go towards what he thought were the larger groups of enemies, figuring they offered more chances to kill. He paid no attention, he just took his breath, drew, and fired. On the fifth arrow, he saw it cut through the wind like a deadly bird of prey, and sink itself into the throat of an enemy, who dropped to the ground gripping its' neck.

Cold sweat began to pour down Rothyr's face as the adrenaline of battle began to flow in him. With five arrows spent, Rothyr sheathed his bow, and drew his spear. The enemy came ever closer the their unit. A few of the faster ones with the mind to resist the Syliran cavalry came to engage and were quickly cut down. Rothyr got one of them himself: a warrior came to claim Windlass's head, and a swift thrust between the ribs from his spear sent him back to the web. The cavalry continued to ride on, gaining speed towards their destination, and Rothyr rode with them. Still the enemy came closer to kill them, and again one tried to take Rothyr. With a sweeping motion, he turned the blade of his spear and slashed the enemy's neck, sending a torrent of blood into the sky as the creature's head flopped halfway off its' head. Still, as the enemy came, and the Syliran colors grew darker and darker red with blood, they rode onwards. To victory, or ruin.

by **Chevalier** on October 5th, 2012, 11:29 pm

A group of trained warriors fighting a group of untrained creatures was quite the sight. The Sylirans weren't going easy on them, and they were still finding the battle difficult due to the sheer unpredictability of the opponents they were facing. Over by Tork, a pair of Knights jammed their broadswords into a Yukman, one from the front, and one from the back. Another Squire tackled a Yukman before it could get to the line of archers, though it was difficult to determine if this Yukman had the right idea in going for the ranged units, or simply managed to focus on the origin of the flying shafts of death that had been piercing into their main globular body.

"Steady, hold that line!" the voices of various Sergeants called out as they attempted to keep their men focused. Things were getting hairy for the infantry, even if they were better equipped and trained, the force attacking them was significantly larger. A properly executed cavalry charge changed the tide of battle against professionally fielded soldiers, and they knew that a little extra difficulty in dealing with the marauding landspawn at melee would be worth the crushing blow from behind. A few of those in hand to hand combat had sustained injuries, several had even appeared to have been bitten, bleeding wounds oozing from the small parts that were unarmed among those that chose to wear the lighter armaments.

Eachann and Rothyr heard the cascading order, "Draw melee weapons!" The shout started at the lead horse of the wedge, and then continued back, each man repeating the order lest it be drowned out by the pounding of the hooves. Dozens of feet of polished steel was released from their sheaths, most of the cavalry men utilizing a sword, though a few preferred a spear or lance as well. As they rounded a small ridge, each rider felt the momentum of the horse pick up slightly as they rode down a small decline, just as the Captain had intended. Though these creatures weren't considered as sentient as fighting another Human force, the charge still threw forth a great battle cry.

As the first horse slammed into the first Yukman the value of cavalry was immediately distinguished. From behind a person (or creature) didn't simply get knocked over from a horse at full charge, they were literally blown clean from their feet. From the infantry line, Tork saw dozens of bodies sailing through the air, almost comically as if launched from catapults. Those that had been in combat before immediately jumped upon the advantage, drilling the various Yukmen as they were downed and disoriented.

"Remain in melee, fight upon your horse!" the Captain yanked her steer in order to force it to rear up to gather the attention of her men, which could easily be lost in combat. The charge had certainly changed the flow of battle. The struggling infantry line was now clearly in command of the situation after the cavalry had literally acted like a saw and divided the main body of opponents.

Secret :

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on November 18th, 2012, 7:20 pm

Rothyr leveled his spear, as ordered, having heard the command from his wedge's leading officer. The war cries of his fellow horsemen rang out against the blue sky, and made his ears ring inside his helmet, and let his own come forth from the depth of his being, shouting his defiance, his blood lust, letting the battle-fury come over the wild-haired horseman from Cyphrus. His cry rang loud, loud to draw open the web for the souls he would send back into it that day. A war cry to shrink fear and doubt, to inspire courage.

Time seemed to slow. Rothyr's throat grew dry. His sweat poured and soaked his hair, and the clothes he wore under his armor. He was mere seconds before the clash with the first ranks of the Yukmen, if they could be called ranks. The first contact shook him to the core, as the strange creature was catapulted by the sheer weight and force of Windlass's body, losing no momentum as they rode into the thick of battle. The second was no different, but soon the charge halted, and they joined battle. The infantry seemed to be pushing the enemy back, as confusion spread and death came from behind. Rothyr broke ranks and left the triangle, into the thick of the enemy.

Rothyr thrust his spear into the chest of one foe, drawing it out of the enemy who tried to clutch to it to pull him from the saddle, but could not grip for the blood loss made him weak. Rothyr took the reins in his teeth, gripping his spear with both hands now, as two new enemies tried to take him from the side. They swung weapons up at him, landing blows that glanced off the armor. He still felt the sting, and knew there would be bruises. He was glad to be armored that day, or those blows would have killed him. Grimy hands reached up for him trying to pull him down, but Rothyr was still armed, and thrust his spear down and down again, till the hands stopped grabbing for him, and fell lifeless.

He took a moment to catch his breath, and look around at the situation. A moment of peace in an hour of chaos showed that the Sylirans were holding their ground still. He had just begun looking for his unit, to rejoin them, when Windlass suddenly reared up. A Yukman, wielding a spear, had come for her heart but she reared up on her hind legs, batted away the spearpoint, and came down on him with her hooves, crushing the foe under her weight. Rothyr leapt from the saddle, slapping Windlass on the rump with his hand,

“Get on back to camp,” he yelled over the noise, “It's too dangerous for you here!”

Windlass didn't move, but looked at him with no intention of leaving, “I'll come for you after the fight's done, I swear!”

He didn't wait for the beast to run, he hadn't the time. He crouched low and charged a standing Yukman with his spear, thrusting low and upward with it, burying the spearhead under the beasts' ribs, and up into its guts. He kept running forward with it, making the point burst from the enemy's back and damn near lifting it up of its' feet. He took it to the ground, pinning it there with the spear till he was tackled. He fought as hard as he could to not be taken off his feet, and finally pushed the creature back to show his next adversary. This one carried a blade, so Rothyr drew his axe and knife. The creature wasted no time in attacking him, and struck high to split Rothyr's skull. Rothyr parried to the right, stepped to the left and crouched low, putting all of his weight into the creature's midsection. He hooked his knife behind the creatures' knee, and took it to the ground. Wrestling the creature's hands off of him, he buried the head of his axe into it's face, silencing the shrieking, panicked cries for help it made.

Rothyr rose quickly, scanning the situation. He didn't see Windlass, so he assumed that she finally obeyed him and fled to camp. He did not see the main battle-line still, nor could he make out his force. 'I should have stayed with the group,' he thought to himself, 'No matter now.'
He spat on the ground, still dripping with sweat and now blood. His white tabard was now pink with spots of red and brown, and his chainmail matched it.

He was just about to engage another enemy, when he saw out of the corner of his eye another rider who had been dragged from his horse. At first Rothyr was relieved he wasn't the only idiot who decided to break ranks, but then realized what trouble the rider was in. What needed to be done was simple. He had to help.

Rothyr broke into a dead sprint, running past his enemy and clotheslining it to the ground. He charged forward, axe in one hand, knife in the other, and attacked those who tried to kill his comrade.

It seemed like more from a distance, but Rothyr now saw that there were only three trying to kill the other rider. They had managed to pull him from the saddle, and the rider's horse fled. They were preparing to give the killing blow when he arrived. The yukmen had their captive by the arms and on his knees. Two held him down, while a third prepared to behead him with a devilish-looking axe. Rothyr quickly engaged, swinging his hand-axe into the creature's chest. He slashed across it's face with his knife, and back across his chest before striking it in the neck with his hand-axe again. The other two threw themselves at him, and he ducked the first one. The second one he caught. He kicked out the legs from underneath it, and threw it down. Stomping on its neck to end it.

“Get up,” he yelled at the horseman, “Get up, and fight! We're not out of the fire yet!” He grinned, and held out his hand to help the man up.