| The Siege at Goldhollow pt IV |
| Summary: | Rikton pushes hard to push Galenthia out of Goldhollow. The Defenders of Goldhollow manage to hold on to their territory, but only barely and at a terrible cost. |
| Date: | 9/13/1868 |
| Related: | Siege at Goldhollow pt's I-III, Westwar |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
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The Siege of Goldhollow has been raging for a month. The Galenthians have fought street to street, house to house, and are now backed into their last three defensive lines. Since th arrival of Kentaire's new weapon, the mortar, Goldhollow ahs suffered a never ending barrage of shells that fly over the walls to land in the city itself. Ignoring the walls and defensives, these shells land and explode on impact, sending fire and shrapnel in every direction. After the initial bombardment a day was given in parley for both sides to gather and honor their dead.
After that day, the shelling started again. It has been nearly a week since that blissful 24 hours of silence and rest. Now, the air is filled with the smoke of fires, of building dust as brick and mortars have collapsed under the continual barrage. The skyline is orange hued as a fire burns somewhere, and instead of the forgiving yellow light, the sun, under all the smoke and debris in the air has turned an angry red, while the twin moons at night glare a menacing orange that is vastly different form the normal bright white of Summer and Winter Moons.
It is here, at these defensive lines, that Galenthia prepares itself. Drums and bugles can be heard, and that can only herald one thing. Rikton comes again, and form the sound of it, they come in force.
Sonya stands at the defensive lines with whats left of her men. Armored in pitch black leathers with her twin daggers already drawn she waits, her body coiled with tension. The ice eyed Countess of Kaedon's lips are moving in silent prayer as she stares up at Summer Moon. She prays for victory for her and her people, she prays that they make it through this alive and she prays for the strength to kill the bastard who started this mess." As the bugles and drums sound her prayers conclude and she looks to her men nodding once as they slip alongside her into the shadows to find a good vantage point to start the upcoming battle."
Dertan turns to the archers and crossbowmen lucky enough to have drawn duty at the time of the assault. A few words are shared; equal parts reassurance and instruction and then he turns to take up his official place in the pre-arranged ranks. The pale longbow is checked one last time, his helmet tightened to a point that really isnt all that comfortable and nerves battered into a semblence of confident calm.
Present at the defensive lines, leaning on his poleaxe, Jarret is looking out there rather carefully.He's keeping quiet as he does, breathing slowly as he's unable to hold back a bit of a smile. Waiting for whatever is going to happen to happen.
For days Belladona has been locked away in the Cathedral tending the wounded that come in. There are many and thier injuries vary. Burns, impaled objects, cuts both shallow and deep. The Ulsen Lady handles it all with grace and speedy effiency as she prays for each of them and works to heal them. There is currently a lull and she slumps against a wall in her cream colored gown. Her long black hair is trying to escape its neat bun, falling is wisps around her face. Its then she hears the sound of the apporches assult and her eyes widen. "May the One protect us all…" She whispers and then hurries off to collect more medical supplies from the stores, she will need them she knows.
Looking perhaps a touch ragged about the edges, Sir Wulfred stands ready clad in his old breastplate and billowing sleeved jerkin and breeches, every inch the long cannoneer. Light on his feet, hah, to a degree, and adorned with a gloriously green sash that marks him as the noble knight he undoubtedly is, albeit adorned with a piratical brace of hand cannon to supplement his axe and long cannon. With his old and much loved long cannon before him, he gazes off towards the enemy, his men ranked alongside him, pike nestled between his own long cannoneers, all ready to aim when the order comes. The pike itself bristling like a fierce and warlike hedgehog, and elsewhere his armoured knights, ready to wade into the fray where ever needed, "Righto lads and lasses! The One-botherers are finally upon us once more!" The warm roar of Wulfred's voice carries all too easily, "Offer your prayers now! Whatever your God or Gods and make sure every shot and every blow counts! Bugler!" And even as he finishes his roar, the Spurs own bugler approaches the old and bearded lord, standing ready to blast some tune into the air as Wulfred pats him on the shoulder, "Stand ready lad."
The drumming stops, but more importantly the more observant notices it is quiet. Except for the shuffle of of feat, the light clank of weapons and or armor. Black clouds of smoke drift across the streets, mixing with grey dust that obscures vision. Somewhere along the Goldhollow defenses a soldier coughs. And then, suddenly, three long and loud blasts on a bugle cuts the tense air like a hot knife through butter.
A roar errupts and charging out of the smoke and dust come waves of Rikton Spearmen. Archers firing from someplace behind them where arrows and crossbow bolts fall among the defneders. The Spearmen hodl shields before them showing that they may be light infantry but they are professional. Return archer fire into their waves slams into shields, but more than one soldier of Rikton falls in that advance.
However, so to do the defenders. As arrow and crossbow fire rains down on them Galenthians die or scream as they are wounded. A man next to Wulfred clutches at his neck as blod gurgles from a protruding crossbow bolt and falls over, kicking frantically as his life pulses out of him and he drowns in his own blood.
The defenses make ready, First line - Goldhollow professionals and militia (levies are too unreliable), both spear and missile, along with Chandus Borderer spearmen. Second line - Burnished Spur pike & shot supported by Chandus archers. Reserve line - Chandus Sun Shield Guards, lancers, and some dismounted Spur knights (1/3 of their total). Everyone supported by whatever Vigamandr and Shadow Snakes are leftover.
With grim detemrination, these Galenthians make themselves ready. And the Rikton charge into them. Spears thrust, swords slash. Men cry and scream their own battle cries or for their mothers as their lives are ended. It is brutal, is visceral, and it has only just begun …
Sonya and the men who follow her leap into the fray once Rikton engages the main force. The shields deter their attack at the beginning by the sheer determination and fierocity of Sonya and those she commands manages to turn the tide in thier favor, at least to begin with. Sonya slashes her twin daggers accross one mans neck and stabs another in the hand as he tries to stab a spear at her. Her expression is blank, her eyes cold as she pulls the dagger back and moves in for another attack.
Dertan starts to call the rythm of draw, shoot, fire to his men. His eyes focused as much on what they are doing as what the enemy is. Waves of projectiles crash down on the enemy lines, causing little more than a distraction at this point. Then the other side returns fire. It isn't good. The formation withers and Dertan himself is struck by a pair of arrows hit him. One buries itself into his maile but the other is stopped by his helm. He's going to be glad that he put extra effort into securing that helmet tomorrow. There is a distinct moment where it looks as if he might go down under the impact but he stabilises and a moment latter calls "tighten the line." Apparantly he's not down yet.
Inside the Cathedral Belladona is scurrying to prepare for what she assumes will be a great rush of injured men and women. Poltices and bandages are gathered, what alchemical concoctions she has left are also gathered up and organized as she gives quiet instructions to her fellow medics, discussing how best to triage those who come in and where to put them.
Wulfred raises his long cannon as the enemy charge from the smog and the smoke, "Sound the attack lad." And the sharp retort of the bugle announces the attack, even though a good many Galenthians gaze upon the assault firsthand. And even then, as one of his men falls to a crossbow bolt to the neck, Wulfred steps into the gap made and bellows his first order, "First rank! Fire!" And the Spurs long cannoneers pour a veritable fusilade of shot into the approaching enemy. The sergeants soon follow Wulfred's own order with the second and third rank firing shortly after, and immediately after firing, the men and woman of the Spurs are reloading and the pike are bracing themselves for the inevitable, "Keep…" Wulfred roar is cut short as his teeth tear a packet of powder open, flecks of gunpowder tumbling through his beard, "… up the good work! We'll hold these bastards to account yet!" Ramming home the shot and powder, already Wulf and his first rank are aiming once more having punched holes into a good many approaching Rikton soldiers. sending bodies tumbling, spinning and slumping, shattering bone and ruining lives. And soon enough he's aiming once more, bringing that long cannon up and readying the slow match, "For the Her Majesty the Queen! Aim!"
As the enemies charge, Jarret stands up and brings the poleaxe out to extend it against the charging enemies. It takes a little while, but soon thereafter the first enemy is impaled on the pike at the end of the weapon. Getting the weapon free again, Jarret turns to face the next one, expression stony.
Varian has arrived.
The sound of batlte fills the streets of Goldhollow as Rikton presses into the Galenthian defenses. Climbing stabbing, thrusting, even throwing spears to try and drive the Galenthians back from thier defenses. House Kaedon suddenly strikes from one side, as do the Vigamandr led by Jarl Raskbrook. The two "Heathan forces" crash into the flanks, but by this point, Rikton's troops were expecting it. While it slows the overall tide of Spearmen streaming in, they do not, by any means stop it.
Aethewulf roars as he leaps from his hiding place screaming "FOR THE HALLS OF SUMMER!" and slams his shield into a Spearman, the man is knocked away but several spear points thrust at him, driving him and is Riaders back, not away, jsut a step or two back. He growls and slams his axe forward laying into the enemy formation.
Many defenders are killed in this first charge, others wounded, but the line appears to be holding. At Belladona's healer triage soldiers are being brought in and healers tending to them. A man screaming in pain is laid before the Ulsen, his leg splayed open and the bone broken.
As the lines come together Dertan changes the archers tactics with a quickly stated "Fire at will." The order given he moves to do the same. His pale longbow is risen, drawn and an arrow sent hurtling into the gap between shoulder and breastplate of one of the opposing troopers. The enemy falls, presumably out of the action, and he starts hunting for a new target.
With a flash of her blades Sonya stabs another man in the gut, loosing his entrails onto the ground beneath him. Without so much as a second wasted the Countess pulls her blades free and engages the next man who dares to charge at her. Her men few though they are now hold thier own, guarding each others backs as best they can.
And again the rolling and acrid thunder of the ranks of long cannon erupts and punches great holes into the Rikton host, even as good men and woman fall, Wulfred's cannoneers and pike give a good account of themselves. Pike slash, thrust and keep the enemy at bay, the rolling ranks of shot inflict such carnage. But the old Wolf doesn't flinch, nor stop at his practised pace. The Spurs continue to fire and reload and fire, rank after rank, Sergeants bellowing, Wulfred likewise. The orders swift and clear, and the pace is set as they seek to scour the enemy ahead of them, "That's the spirit! Pick your targets!" Wulfred bellows once more, readying his weapon throughout as he stands proudly beside his men, easily marked as their commander given that glorious sash (and all his shouting) made by his wife. The pinned sash is beautiful, the sash is Galenthian green, the sash just maketh the man.
Belladona rushes to aid the man who is brought before her. She whispers soothing words and prayers to him, trying to calm him as she works. She does give him something for the pain and to slow bloodflow but still he passes out completely as she is half way through setting his bone and stitching his leg up. Still the man will live, he might even be able to walk again given enough time. Bella sighs softly and murmers a soft prayer for him as she finishes and goes off to heal the next patient now.
This time it's more people facing Jarret, and he's driven backwards, taking a few relatively deep wounds. There's a loud growl, as he makes his way forward again, attempting to take out enemies with a bit more force this time.
Ashwind zips about in a wide arc all around Varian as he fends off the thrusting spears of the enemy forces. Hafts are hewn cleanly along shortly thereafter by the men holding them, the ground about the count becoming a mire of blood and other fluids. The sidhe-steel cuts through steel helms as though they were leather caps, and not a single soldier is able to find purchase on the whirling form of Varian. While Ashwind does a majority of the killing, Varian is not above snatching up a spear-head and thrusting it through the eye slits of a man's helmet when given the opporunity. Regardless of how it occurs, men fall like wheat about the bloodied count as he stands immovable with his heavy infantry.
Longcannons, and Archers fire in unison dropping an entire rank of the onrushing spearmen coming to join the fray. More arrows and bolts dart out from that swirling dust and smoke and land among the Galenthian lines. Men scream on both sides. The fornt line rallies with Jarret, slashing and hacking and thrusting form their defenses, while the Rikton troops continue to thrust and stab and try to climb the defenses. A man next to Jarret is lifted off his feet and falls to his back clutching a thrown spear in his sternum. He screams once, and then is silent, his eyes looking skyward at the glaring red sun.
Aethelwulf's axe smashes into the skull of a Rikton Soldier, splattering gore as he rips the bearded axe free. His eyes scan the slaughter and he growls at the Riktons, blood dripping form his face and beard. "COME ON YOU ONE FOLLOWERS!" He bellows in Njorvolk. "DIE BY THE AXE OF THE IRON WOLF!"
Dertan draws fletching to his jaw, picks his target and lets another arrow fly. Again its a solid blow that punches through armor and flesh to down its victim. Again Dertan immediately starts checking for his next opportunity. He moves a couple of steps to improve his vantage point a little. A slight, but clear, limp demonstrating that the injury he took earlier in the fight is serious enough to hamper.
A dagger finds its purchase between a mans eyes now as Sonya continues to fight alongside her men. The roaring of battlecries and screams of dying men don't seem to phase her much. She keeps her composure and her calm fighting with ruthless efficency.
The steady fusilade of shot continues to pout into the enemy, the clinging acrid cloud of smoke choking enemy and Galenthian alike, "Rank! Fiiiire!" And even as the 'firrrre' rolls past that glorious beard, the targets are picked and the shots are fired. Wulfred himself picks out a particularly smug looking Riktonian, and punches a hole right through his temple, just as the man turns to shout some holy One-Bothering phrase or somesuch. And the look of surprise that follows, etched upon Wulf's victim's face is hardly noticed as Wulfred is soon in the act of reloading and bellowing encouragement to those within earshot. Yet the poor Riktonion turns from the momentum, crumpling upon the cobbles face first to the shock of his bloodied holy brethren. And then Wulfred is soon raising his long cannon again, marking the next as the shots ring out behind him, each rank in turn as their long cannon are raised once more…
Another man is brought to Bella now, this one with a heavy gash on both his right arm and left leg. She soothes him as best she can offering prayers as she stitches him up and cleans the wounds as best she can. He too will live it looks like. Around her the other medics are busy as well, transporting, triaging and tending to all who are brought into the Cathedral. Bella glances about breifly before quickly moving on to her next paitent.
Blood drips steadily from Varian's visor and pauldrons, finding the edges and beading downward like rain before the count takes a moment to draw one of his gauntlets across the bloodied armour in front of his face. The sharp tips of steel fastened to the ends of the gauntlet find new use however as they're thrust outward suddenly, digging into the exposed neck of a nearby charging soldier. Beneath his helm, Varian grits his teeth as he swings a foot up onto the man's stomach to get a better hold on his windpipe before wrenching backwards viciously and partially removing it from the Rikton soldier's neck. With the gorey remains on his hand as the soldier falls gurgling into the bloody mud, Varian thrusts Ashwind out to his side to skewer another man who wandered too close to the count. The tip pierces the man's gambeson before erupting out the back and then quickly vanishing as it is drawn back out, letting the second man fall to the ground to add to the pile building up around Varian and his men.
<Pose Tracker> Jarret has posed. They're speaking Common.
Jarret frowns as he takes another wound, wincing as he stumbles back a bit. Glancing around rather carefully as he does, trying to get someone between himself and the people he's been fighting. Trying to think if he should simply try keeping himself standing now.
Aethelwulf kicks a man away and slams his Axe toward a second person but finds that intercepted by a shield. He parries severla spear thrusts with his own round, keeping himself alive, despite a few of his peopel taking spear thrusts beside him. "I will see you all in Summer's Halls my friends!" He says with a slight snarl, and swings his axe again, eagerness to draw blood in his eyes.
From his position Thomas frowns. They COULD hold that first line, but the casualties were mounting, and they were only going to get higher. With a nod, he lowered the Parthian Glass and turned to his Serjeant. "Signal the fall back to the second line. Make ready Sir Dertan Sokar's Carts. Let's see how they LIKE Artillery for once."
The Serjeant grins and nods. "Aye sir." Then runs off to pass the orders.
Rikton's forces keep coming. Despite a good number being killed or wounded, more just keep coming. However, the same can't be said for the Galenthians. Every death si felt, and every wounded soldier is another soldier who can't hold the line. So it comes as almost no surprise when the bugle blows and somebody calls out, "FALL BACK! FALL BACK TO THE SECOND LINE! BY ORDER OF THE BARON, FALL BACK!"
At this point wounded are flooding into Belladona's triage. Blood and screaming are the order of the day here. It is begining to look like pure chaos.
Sonya scans the battle field as she hears the call to fall back. Her eyes snap to a nearby Shadow Snake. "Run and inform Sir Wulfred that his men and the White Hallers are to cover the retreat for the rest of us." Then she backs off drawing back in an organized fashion along side her men, calling out to them in a sharp commanding tone. "RETREAT! THE BARON HAS CALLED US BACK! RETREAT!" Then she switches to Barbarian and addresses the White Hallers. "MEN AND WOMEN OF WHITE HALL! COVER THE OTHER UNITS AND FALL BACK WHEN YOU ARE ABLE! MAY YOUR GODS GUIDE YOUR WEAPONS AND WELCOME YOU SHOULD YOU FALL!" Her tone commands attention and then she falls silent slipping back into the shadows to withdraw along side the others who she has commanded to retreat.
Falling back? Jarret doesn't need to be told that right now. He moves along as fast as he can, working on avoiding those that have been attacking him. There's a look of stubborn determination on his face as he moves.
Dertan echoes Sonya's call of retreat with a call of "Fall Back" and the limping Lord and his unit of archers start to flow back away from the front lines and back towards the positions held by the Chandus archers. Individuals pause occasionally to assist those who struggle with the pace but good order is generally managed.
Its absolute chaos in the Cathedral, wounded are piling in and up and more are appearing everythime Belladona turns around. Still the Ulsen leady does her best to stay calm and level headed as she gives orders in a brisk, yet still gentle fashion. The order manages to stay maintained overall dispite the influx of people. Things flow smoothly overall the healers managing to organize people and get them treatment in a mostly timely fashion. Prayers are given as Bella continues her work not stopping in her attempts to save as many people as she can manage.
Varian hears the call to fall back just as he's finished sinking Ashwind's edge a quarter of the through an enemy soldier's torso. He turns his head to the side, glancing in the direction of the call as if to clarify that was what he had indeed heard before sighing and using his boot to push the man from his sword. He echoes the call to those around him, parrying a blade in the process and divesting the blade's owner of his limb as he begins to step backwards, falling back slowly. His men move with him, a wall of black steel that stomps the ground heavily and crushes anyone unlucky enough to have fallen without dying yet. Ashwind's tip is wielded almost like a spear, the razor sharp end swiping the air before the count to slice deep, fatal wounds into the throats of two more men near him. They drop to the ground, their blood mingling with that of so many others as the soldiers of House Reine make their retreat back up whatever corpse-littered street they'd been fighting on.
The order is given and Wulfred fires off another shot before tossing his long cannon to the young bugler at his side, "Run fast lad." And bending stiffly, the old knight gathers his shield from the floor before him and loosens the axe within the loop of his belt as the Shadow Snake moves to his side to relay the order from Sonya, "Right you are lad! Regards to your Countess, and good luck!" Slapping the Kaedon man on the back, the old Wolf sends the Many Worshipper on his way as he and the others are given the unenviable task of buying time. To the men he turns and bellows in his booming baritone as he moves to the centre of the line, standing out thanks to that glorious sash across his burnished breastplate, "Lets give our brothers and sisters the time they need eh? Long cannoneers, one good volley and retreat…"
A good few swift puffs of smoke and ball erupt, shot sent on its way to shatter limbs and lives, crumpling Rikton forces before they pull back alongside the others also, "Serve the Baron well my dear fellows! Now then! Pike! Royal Knights! And you bloody marvellous buggers from up north! Stand with me! Sons and daughters of Galenthia!" His voice a roar as the Rikton forces push and the Galenthians fall into retreat towards their final stand. But Wulfred, he does the opposite of retreat as he steps forward and bellows, "For the Queen! For Galenthia! Hold the line!" A good roar erupts from the Galenthians as they take up the cheer and level their pike and raise their shields, Wulfred amongst them. Shield raised, axe drawn, and then the two lines collide. Wulfred hacks at the nearest, pike are thrust, men are skewered and maimed on both sides. But precious time is bought as they give their lives dearly. But even as they leave dead, they are cut down all too easily as they are overwhelmed. Men falling at the feet of the Rikton forces, yet despite the carnage of the Galenthian and White Haller forces, it is a decimated force that manages to make it back behind the lines, having bought time for the others.
As the forces of Galenthia fall back, Aethelwulf nods once as he hears the order. So. He might just be allowed to die on the field of battle after all. He slams his axe against the rim of his shield. "SHIELD WALL!" He calls out, and the Njorvolk do as they are bid. As the Rikton Spearmen charge forth, he and several other Vigamander throw throwing axes. These heavy blades crash into sheilds, splintering some, wounding or killing the men holding them in others. Aethelwulf takes a deep breath.
A woman stands on the rooftops looking down. Her long golden hair is in a braid, and her shield made of the purest lightsilver. As always she sheds a tear when this moment comes. Such men as these should never fall.
That tear becomes a rain drop as the clouds open up and rain begins to fall. Aethelwulf feels the tear hit his cheek but he pays it no mind. When the Rikton troops close he smiles. "FOR THE HALLS OF SUMMER - CHARGE!" There is a roar and the Vigamander of Clan Raskbrooke slam into the Rikton Spearmen. Axes, blades and hammers rise and fall splintering shields, helms, bones, and rending flesh, snapping mail and scale and severing limbs. Blood flows, and the man who has lived the way of the Warrior, the way of his people and the gods of the Tuskenold revels in the battle. His axe bites deep, and he flails the heavy weapon into a man's face crushing the skull and spilling the blood. He lets go of the axe as a spear is thrust his way and he's forced back, taking the spear on his shield. He then punches the man who thrust his weapon in Aehtelwulf's face in the neck wiht his shield. THe rim crushing the man's windpipe.
A bolt slams into his shoulder spinning him. He feels the pain like seering fire and it staggers him. He takes a throwing axe off his belt and throws it at the Crossbow man he sees reloading, the axe catchign the man in the chest and dropping him like a stonr. Then a spear thrusts into his side and Aethelwulf screams. The head piercing his armor and ripping into his insides. He grips the spear and glares at the man who spits "Heathen!" In that babbling tongue of the soft Easterners. He punches the haft snapping it and rips the spear head out in a gout of blood as he jams the bloodied head into the man's throat.
He has just enough time to draw his last throwing Aex when another Spear finds him. This one in his back. He staggers forward and falls to his knees, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth. It is then that he sees her. Striding across the battlefield, her wings spread wide and that spear and shield of the most beautiful Lightsilver. He laughs and turns to look at the man who pulls the spear out. He throws his axe and at that range, the Jarl of Raskbrooke's Axe lifts the man off his feet and into his fellows. He feels hand on his shoulder and hears the softest, most beautiful voice whisper, "It is time Jarl of Raskbrooke. You have fought well, and the Gods call you to their Hall."
A tear of joy falls from Aethelwulf's eye as arrows slam into his chest. Seven arrows pierce armor and flesh, each removing the air from his lungs. However Aethelwulf Raskbrooke, the Iron Wolf, Jarl of Clan Raskbrooke doesn't feel the pain. For he is home, and welcomed to the Halls of Summer, songs of his deeds fill the air welcoming him, and the mightest of all warriors slaps him on the back handing a horn of honeyed mead. "Welcome home my son."
At the Second line, the fortifications await the weary soldiers of Galenthia. Just behind it are Scorpians on Wagons, and one Balista on a seperate wagon. In the distance the Rikton troops gather for a second push. However charging from the carnage of the last battlefield comes not Spearmen, but the Retinue of Templars, heavy infantry, including Heavy Infantry form House Tusca who led the counter attack in the last battle. They form up, but while the do, Archers let loose with volley after volley of arrows that rain down on the defenders.
Once the archers have rejoined with the others it is time to once again add their support to the line of retreating infantry. Dertan grits his teeth against the pain flaring in his leg and turns his attention to the bloody task. Arrows rain in both directions and men fall on both sides. His own arrow is lost amongst the others. Presumably it strikes home, but he never sees what it hits to confirm his kill.
As the last of the retreating troops passes an invisible line on the street a single signal is sounded. A moment later the wagon mounted scorpion and ballista open fire. Bolts longer than a man hit the charging enemy with punishing force, shredding through infantry lines to impale soldiers that a moment earlier thought they were safe. Soldier's who simply have no where to go as the barrage continues.
And there comes the arrows against him. Jarret manages to get out of the way of the incoming projectiles. It seems to be with a heavy effort, but he gets out of the way. He hasn't been able to see the effectiveness of the artillery, too focused on staying alive.
It is a somewhat bloodied Wulfred who steps aside to allow the remaining men of his own regiment and those of the White Hall contingent to make it past first, turning only to gaze off towards the carnage that paid for many another life in return, "Bless you all." The words offered warmly as he finally steps behind the line to fine his long cannon thrust back into his hands by the bugler. A nod is given, there are no words for all that was lost, and Wulfred rumbles a frog in his throat clear, "Long cannoneers! Form up!" Wulf blinks his eyes, scrunching them up tight as he exhales slowly before opening the eye gazing down the gloriously inaccurate long cannon. But at this distance? Like shooting Riktonian soldiers in a street. Even the shredded ones as the artillery wreaks havoc, "Fire!" And the long cannoneers and Wulfred… open fire.
Sheathing her daggers Sonya makes it the second line with her men. She glances back breifly watching as the White Haller's are overrun. She speaks a soft prayer for them bowing her head low before hurrying behind the line and readying her bow. She gets into position, her Snakes drawing thier bows along side thier countess. Thier faces are grim and Sonya knocks an arrow aiming it at the charging Templars with a cold gaze. Softly at first she begin to speak but her tone rises steadily in prayer to the Many, attempting to inspire her people and strengthen thier hearts and aim. "Though out numbered we remain steadfast. Though confronted with the fury of hate and fire we stand strong. Those who would destroy us outnumber us but thier souls and bodies are weak, for they serve only one, we are united by the strength of the Many. And the Many shall guide us. Fear not brothers and sisters. Death is not to be feared, send the enemy to Death and he shall turn his gaze from you. Stand strong, and by the blessing of Summer Moon and all the Gods, we shall prevail." She fires her arrows steadily as she speaks, most of her shots flying true more often than not.
Busy, Belladona is so busy. Bustling to and fro taking care of as many as she can with effiencency and gentle prayers for all she treats. Quite a few people seem impressed with the young Ulsen but Bella doesn't notice she stays busy. Each man she is brought is treated with careful attention and genuine concern and care. She stitches and cleans wounds, sets bones, removes impaled objects and even though the injured keep coming she still refuses to stop.
Varian peels arrows from the air around him with his blade alone as he and his men fall back. The occasional dart slips by him but it cracks harmlessly into the ground or off of someone else's shield; the viscount is able to withdraw from the front in relative safety along with the bulk of his men. It is a good thing that they are moving at the relatively quick clip that they are, too, for when the artillery hits the streets where they had been not so long ago the result is… Messy. Varian cannot help but looking back at the rather impressive carnage as the Galenthian forces begin to regroup and form back up. Artillery is wonderfully effective when deployed well, it would seem.
The Heavy Infantry of Rikton take a tremendous beating thanks to Dertan's Artillery Carts. However, Rikton isn't without their own plans and ability to adapt. Alchemically fueled Fire Arrows are fired from the cover of rubble solely at the crews and carts of the hauled Artilelry. Why they don'y simply burst into flames, hte fire does damage to ammunition, and the strings of the scorpians. Eventually Galenthian troops pulling them back befor ethey loose the precious defensive weapons.
It is at this point that the second wave of Heavy Infantry surges forward. Streaming wiht shields and speed toward the Second line fo defenses these man and women of Rikton close the distance with intent on taking this place. All the while rain falls from the skies, turnign the shattered streets muddy as it falls in sheets form the skies.
The rain falls heavy around her, filling Sonya with a sense of great power. She closes her eyes a moment, feeling the power surge around her leather clad form. The air around her turns frigid quite suddenly as her eyes snap open and practically glow with energy. Those cool orbs focus calmly on the ground between her men and the charging forces. Snow begins to fall, the rain freezing and turning to ice wherever it has fallen. The Shadow Snakes look at Sonya with awe and confusion some of them even forgetting to fire thier arrows. Shard of ice impale HUNDREDS of the Rikton men, killing them quite brutally. Even more of the charging force slips and slides, falling on thier asses in a very unheroic fashion. Sonya watches this with a ghost of a smile on her lips and whispers soft prayers of thanks to both Summer and Winter Moon.
As the snow continues to fall and the ground freezes near solid, the batlte itself has stopped. All eyes are on Sonya Kaedon, who it is evident is the cause of this freak snow story at the end of summer in Galenthia. The Vast majority of Rikton soldiers flee, slipping and sliding on the ice. Others retreat in a more careful and disciplined action. Those others being the Heavy Infantry of House Tusca.
Despite suddenly winning a battle nobody thought they could, the field is quiet. No cheering. No slapping each other on the backs. Just silent as the snow falls and breath comes in puffs of white air. More than one Galenthian looks to their commanders, unsure if THEY should be running.
Sonya doesn't need or expect thanks. She merely turns on her heel and moves to take her leave. Her Shadow Snakes falling into procession behind her. The crowd seems to part as the Countess moves through it wordlessly. There is no aggression in her gaze not movements and nothing suggests she is evil or has lost her mind. Nothing except the snow and the mass of dead Rikton forces she leaves in her wake.
Dertan witnesses the carnage left by two siege weapons shooting down a narrow avenue with a mixture of grim satisfaction and uncomfortable horror. The priests will be busy tonight. He moves to start sending waves of arrows into the aftermath of that artillery impact, calling timing to his men as he prepares. In the end though the arrow wave is just a scattered outbreak of arrows as most of the unit get caught up in staring at the ice storm instead of shooting. Dertan himself just stares that the result with an expression that almost entirely matches the one caused by the ballista and scorpion. All at once the screams and reactions of them men around him jolt him back to reality and he snaps out a "Steady. We won. Steady." Staring at Sonya is something he doesn't manage to stop. Not yet.
Brigadier Baron Thomas Chandus, commander of the Goldhollow Garrison has been firmly fixed on the wall which crosses the Keep's gate, opver a hundred yards from the battle. It's here that he's waited with the reserve of swift, heavy forces. It's here that he's watched the troops under his command stand and fight, and truthfully, die. It's here that he had turned to his Serjeant at Arms, Verus, and signalled for him to ready the reserve for their contribution into battle. Fastening his helmet on his head, unslinging his shield and loosing his lightshield broadsword, he prepared to lead his beloved Sun Shield Guards and the remainder of the dismounted Knights of the Burnished Spur in a last hurrah. Will they be able to sway the tide? He hopes. The plan has gone as well as he'd expected until now. One last push.
As he tightens the strap on his shield, he squints. "Is that snow, Verus?" The question goes unanswered. The field is swept by ice. Ice from the sky. Thomas's eyes go wide, and his face goes white, as deathly white as the snow. He stares at it, unable to pull his gaze away, unable to move. He appears transfixed by the sight as much as their poor opponents are transfixed by the bolts of ice pinning htem to the ground.
It is over, soon enough. And when it is over, despite his fear and apprehension, Brigadier Baron Thomas Chandus raises his sword and orders the reserve forward. The battlefield is near silent, and they are the only troops moving. Slowly, they march, keeping in tight formation as if their fellows packed next to them will preserve them from whatever foul power just fell down from the heavens onto their opponents. Thomas is at their head. He stops in front of the battered, near broken Galenthian lines. "Viscountess. Report." It is not a request.
Wulfred slowly lowers his long cannon as the odd weather comes into being, his one hand rising, "Cease fire." The words oddly muted as he just watches the retreat of the Rikton forces. Wulfred surely feels every single one of his years as he leans against the barricade and just exhales a ragged breath. Time to take a breather. And gaze at the snow.
Varian had rather been expecting a grand final clash that either would have won them the day or seen it all go down in a sea of blood and fire. Instead, winter comes early and with a rather sudden violence for the Rikton forces. "What is.. All of this?" The viscount asks the question of no one in particular, as all of the soldiers in his livery near him are as lost as he is while they look upon the retreating backs of those not impaled on ice. Ashwind is lowered slowly as Varian tilts the visor his helmet up, trying to get a better look at the scene before him whilst his breath clouds in the air. "You, go find…" Varian pauses, glancing at the ice again and then back to the soldier next to him. "Find baron Chandus. Figure out is going on here. If this was some particularly impressive alchemical trap or, something of another matter." The man's helmeted head bobs vigorously before he takes off, leaving Varian to stand there with the rest of his men as they look back toward the ice.
Sonya pauses as Thomas marches out to meet them. Her shadow snakes fan out around her protectively as she studies the Baron. She arches a brow at the command but decides to obey, her tone calm and steady as she replies. She looks rather surprised as she glances around breifly before giving her report. "The Rikton forces have withdrawn, we won the battle. Many of the brave Burnished Spurs perished and we lost many of the White Haller's to cover the retreat." A shadow snake whispers softing to her softly and her eyes widen before a look of regret shows. "Also the Jarl of Raskbrook has apparently met his death in battle." She looks truly sad as she admits this. "It seems his noble Gods have visted thier wrath upon Rikton in vengence for his death. I have no other way to explain the snow and ice." She admits looking for all the world like she is truly sincere.
Belladona's work draws to a lull as the battle ends. She finishes patching up the wounded left in the Cathedral and then dares to venture out. She and several medics slowly makes thier way through the streets with satchels of medical supplies, looking for any others who may be wounded or trapped. They move carefully but freeze altogether when they see the snow and ice falling. Bella shivers her eyes widening in shock and she starts moving towards the scene with brisk steps, she seems determined to check and make sure everyone is alright.
Dertan limps across to Varian's position, his eyes turning frequently to the street. "What just happened Viscount Varian?" He asks the count in a hushed voice intended not to travel to the count's men. "Do we need to reinforce our position or was that the total rout it seemed?"
Thomas faces down Sonya, equally as cool and determined as her. His coolness, however, is not the same that he displays in battle, nor the same that Sonya displays now - his coolness is a chill to all things friendly and genial, and it is directed at the Viscountess in front of him. "No, Viscountess Sonya Kaedon, no they did not. For if the Divine Power came down to strike our enemies, then HOW did I watch the rain turn to snow and then to ice in a pattern radiating out from you? I watched all of this battle from the tip of the Keep. I saw all. I saw you all fight valiantly and I saw Jarl Aethelwulf fall. May the One save his soul." This last bit is said with his lips pressed firmly into a line, and his eyebrows knitted.
Motioning to his soldiers, and then to Sonya's, the Baron continues. "All eyes here saw you glow. If I asked any who were not partisans of yours, they would say the same. It came from YOU, Viscountess. You. And why, when I came out with the reserve, did your soldiers immediately cleave to you as if they knew something had happened? Did they think I would strike down an ally? Viscount Varian. We must discuss this immediately. Sir Wulfred. Lady Belladona." He jerks his finger towards the ground. This, again, is not much of a request.
It is a bloodied and weary Wulfred who pushes away from the barricade, handing off his long cannon to the young bugler of before, ruffling the lad's hair as he pats a few shoulders along the way. The rearguard action was indeed rough, many good men, but a victory of sorts. Yet still, he moves towards Thomas and Sonya, barely paying much attention to what is going on, except to realise it is indeed something serious. And so for once, he keeps quiet while adjusting his bloodied green sash across his burnish breastplate, "Baron. Viscountess." A nod given to each in turn.
Belladona gets there in time to hear Thomas address Sonya. Her eyes widen and sweep between the Countess and the Baron carefully her expression concerned. "I am here Baron Chandus and I agree that there should be a discussion about what happened here." She studies Sonya nervously shivering a bit as she tries to put on a brave face, but the woman frightens her, that much is plain.
Varian has no good answer for Dertan as he looks over to the man. At least to the first question. "I'm not sure. It would appear that our enemies were impaled by ice, though I know not exactly how that might be. As for reinforcement.." Varian glances back down the street, no longer able to see a living Rikton. "Send out some scouts to ensure they have pulled back, but I do not think we need to worry about them returning. Not today at least."
A few moments later.
Varian is now in attendance to the meeting amongst the leadership, but has yet to say anything. He has, however, removed his helmet for the time being and sheathed Ashwind. All that aside, he is going to need a lot of soap and water to clean up afterward.
Dertan nods briefly to Varian and starts making his way across to Thomas via the nearest ranger or shadow snake. "Check they have retreated." he asks of them before continuing to the meeting.
Sonya tilts her head and scoffs lightly at Thomas's words. Her tone is composed and yet stern as she replies. "Thats impossible and you know it your Lordship. You may dislike me but now you are merely looking for excuses to condemn me." She takes a slow breath looking a bit disappointed with Thomas before she continues. "Magic may have existed once, but its ways are long forgotten as anyone could tell you. No. I did not cause that ice storm. Let it go."
"Is it impossible, Viscountess? I have seen many things we once held in the West to be impossible. I have seen a man rise from the dead, at HIS hand -" Thomas points at Varian, "and then rise again; when slain a second time, a blue fire consumed him from the inside out. The Viscount swung the sword. He knows whath appened with Alphard Tarris at the Peace Ball. I have seen Rikton closed by some otherworldly means, and the sun dimmed for weeks and weeks. I have seen a beast of which I cannot describe adequately on the walls of our stronghold in that same Holy City attempt to devour Baroness Myrana d'Armaz, and instead turn her hair from brown to snow white. All these things, we held to be impossible. The world is changing, Viscountess."
He fixes her with a hard stare, again. "Are you changing too? Did your change bring this?"
Sonya fixes Thomas with a cool composed look. "No. You are being overdramatic. And if you stopped to think you would remember that I too was present at the Peace Ball. I was in Rikton during the sealing. But no, I remain unchanged. And even if I did have magic it would not change who I am. But I do not, so please do stop fussing. Find a REAL reason to hate me if you must. I refuse to be idly blamed for something I did not do. Perhaps it was the gods, perhaps it was something else. I do not know. I know however that I am innocent of ill intent against all but those who would attempt to destroy me. And ice and snow is hardly a way of defeating the enemy I would choose." She narrows her eyes at Thomas definatly. "Why would you accuse me Baron? I know many say that I am a 'pagan witch', but surely a sensible man such as yourself can see that is only half true?"
Belladona has stepped forward, standing a polite distance away but still somewhat near to Thomas. She bites her bottom lip breifly her gaze flicking between the group thoughtfully. She looks confused and uncertain but she finally speaks up after Sonya finishes. "The Baron is not unreasonable Your Excellency. Nor is he blind. I was not here, I did not see what happened. But it sounds to me like you did do something, intentionally or not." Her eyebrows furrows in thought. "Your Lordship do you think that perhaps she did something without knowledge of it? Or maybe it was an accident or emotional response? I cannot claim to know any facts about this, so all I have are my opinions and speculations." She looks troubled by this admission.
Wulfred finds himself grinding his teeth for a moment, having seen a good many of his regiment slaughtered as they held the line and allowed the bulk of Galenthia's forces to retreat safely, it seems the old Wolf is more than a trifle perturbed at anything but the due reverence the dead are deserving of, "I saw nothing, nothing but flakes and ice. I've no idea what it was and I am thankful that I missed the demons nest that is evidently Rikton… I don't understand a single thing you are all going on about, and if I may? I find that I truly care very little in all honesty." Again his teeth grind as he clenches his fists at his sides, "I'm going to comfort my men, not deal with this damned nonsense of fairytales and goblins." and with that gruff and all too terse muttering, Wulfred turns upon his heel and stalks back towards his men, biting back a lump in his throat and a few tears in the corners of his eyes.
Varian has been rather idly divesting himself of some of his more extraneous pieces of armour while this rather serious conversation is going on beside him. An attendant is currently laden down with a number of blood-splattered pieces of black steel by the time Varian deems himself suitably comfortable to refocus on the topic at hand. "I was going to ask if this perhaps had been an alchemical trap, of some sorts. If it had been, it would be the most impressive feat of alchemy I've ever seen," the viscount remarks casually, affixing himself with a pair of clean black gloves in the process. "Whether it was alchemical or not, however, it certainly seems to have dealt an undeniably heavy blow to the Rikton invaders. I, for one, am glad they're adorning the makeshift ice pikes over yon," he concludes, waving in the general direction of the kebab'd soldiers. "Provided such twists of fate keep aiding Galenthia in remaining free, I think they're useful."
"For honour's sake, Viscountess. What happened here was an abomination. Do you think that because we benefitted from the abomination that all shall be in the right?" Thomas levels his index finger, finally, at Sonya. This is a highly offensive gesture and plainly obvious to all around. "I do not hate you. You are a pagan, yes. So are the Ulsen and the Thrace, the Charwin and the Rosendale, the Thalesia. So are our White Hall allies; indeed, Jarl Aethelwulf prayed to strange Gods. Were you even a witch, this I would not fault. But if this WAS you, Viscountess, then it would not just be you as a pagan, or a pagan witch. It would be a pagan sorceress, one who brings down evil magic upon mankind. Saint Darius forbid that it was you." He leaves himself a nice out there in not directly accusing her of being a sorceror, even if he did earlier say that the magic came out of her, and perhaps a narrow passage with which to salvage a relationship in the future.
That seems about as far as Thomas is going to take this argument. His sword slips back into its sheath; his shield already on his back. "Perhaps, Lady Belladona. I am willing to give the Viscountess the benefit of the doubt. What must happen now is caring for the wounded and dead. Including these poor enemy. We do not distinguish. All will be cared for in the Cathedral. As I promised the Lord Captain, the Cathedral is a neutral ground and a place of peace. Lady Belladona. Ensure the wounded are cared for, and assign funeral pyre detail. Sir Dertran. The reserve line that I brought is fresh and has not seen battle today. Bring them out to the defensive positions and ensure that they are manned. All others are to be cared for in the keep."
Thomas does not respond verbally to Wulfred - but he does give him a nod of understanding. He spares his final words for his liege, Viscount Varian Reine. "The otherworldly, both angelic and demonic are fickle things, your Excellency. We humans cannot distinguish between them, and what aids us one day may strike us the next."
Dertan turns to studying Sonya at approximately the point where Wulfred declares he doesn't care. He looks to Thomas as Varian finishes speaking and then nods as he is given instructions "I will see that it is done Brigadier.
Sonya narrows her eyes at Thomas. She lets him have his rant indulging him with an expression similar to a mother with a petulant child. "And how do we know it was sorcery, or that sorcery is even evil? You spread the sickness of paranoia and closed mindedness that plagues many of those who follow the One Baron. But you need not fear. I will have my men and myself evacuate the city before the next dawn. I have no desire to deal with those who would make such horrid accusations against me." Her tone is calm yet there is a touch of steel to it. It seems very likely Thomas will get no more help from House Kaedon. "My people will return to our homes, bury our dead and mourn, we have had enough fighting for those who would condemn and slander us even while they sacrifice and use us to help their efforts." She brushes past Thomas. Intending to end this conversation now.
Belladona curtseies to Thomas. "Of course Your Lordship. And may I say that I am glad you will permit me to tend both sides? I will see to that right away." And she turns, hurrying off to do as Thomas asked with no delay. Funeral pyres are arranged, the wounded gathered and tended. Rikton or Galenthian it does not matter to her, every man she can save she will and she offers each of them the same soft prayers and compassion. She assigns several of the soliders to oversee the funeral pyres and even manages to find a priest of the One to perform last rites over the poor souls. She will stay up late that night, in the Cathedral working.
"They." Thomas muses over Sonya's choice of words. "They. Perhaps that symbolises the end of the fiction, Viscountess, that we serve the same Kingdom. I serve the Kingdom of Galenthia, and I believe that your gallant soldiers and vassals do as well. I am not certain that you serve ought but your Dark Gods and yourself. Every thing that I have seen that is sorcery has been evil thus far. So say also all records of it. It is not myself who needs to prove sorcery's evil, but anyone its merits. Go then, Viscountess. Whatever the case, you and your Shadow Snakes have served with distinction, and for this I thank you. May the One bless you all."