1873-12-15: The Sun Eclipsed
The Sun Eclipsed
Summary: The Unyielding Sun is eclipsed by the battlefield.
Date: 15 Decembre, 1873 IE
Related: The Battle of Mathis: Part I, Westwar
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Thomas  

"The Unyielding Sun! To me, lads, to me!" Thomas yelled, his eyes wide beneath the brim of his blood covered steel helm. At the head of his Sun Shield Guards with his lightsilver sword raised up high and his rather distinguishing armour, he cut a highly visible figure and one the troops were rallying to. They needed every bit of morale in this fight.

Though the enemy facing them was not crushing in number, they were nothing any of these soldiers had ever seen before; not truly. Vampires! Ghastly figures, fast, strong and seemingly made out of steel!

Perhaps not steel, crossed the Viscount's mind as his Serjeant at Arms, Lawrence Verus, thrust his broadsword through one of the creature's eyes. Thomas brought his own sword down on the fallen beast's comrade, hewing half its neck off with a horrible scream. "Push them, push them! Sound the advance at slow!"

They advanced in step, smashing with shield and lashing out with sword but always moving, always in line. Thomas stepped over the horribly mangled corpse of one of the lancer's horses, its head cleaved in two by these vampiric beasts. He looked to his left - the banner of the Queen's Own Crownland Guards waved in the winter wind, and they looked like their line had gone from ragged to straight. To his right, the Royal Wayston Regiment, too, had recovered from the shock of the plate armoured Red Menace infantry and were pushing these foes back.

Even these vampires were being pushed back. The initial shock of their charge worn off and a stiff line of shock infantry smashing at them, they were rapidly losing ground.

Thomas's eyes locked with one, the crest on the vampire's helmet indicating command. He was bigger, stronger looking. His armour was top notch and his demeanour would ordinarily radiate control. But Thomas could tell that that control was slipping from him. Close enough, now, to hear one of his minions yell frantically, "Master Gillan! We are lost!"

Time slowed. The memory flashed. Two years prior, in Rikton. The sun has not been seen in weeks, and the blood moon high in the ever-night sky. Hundreds and hundreds of fanatics in leather jerkins slip over the walls of the Galenthian manse. The Galenthians lead a counter-charge. Their leader… takes on five of their best warriors. Tosses Duke Letholdus to the ground. Nearly kills the Blood Axe, Sir Jarret and grabs then Lady Myrana, turning her hair from brown to white, draining her…

Shadow. His name was Shadow. Thomas slipped back to the present, recognising the hideous face, the haughty look. He had one chance. "Suns, on me! CHARGE!" The bugler, caught off guard, managed to blow a half hearted signal, but no need - the men followed their Viscount. "GILLAN!" No need to call his name, either. Whatever reply he had to his minion, it went by the wayside; Thomas's lightsilver sword arced through the air and came down at the neck coif, slicing clean through the mail and gambeson and into the flesh.

Gillan recoiled back, knocking some of his own men out of the way, black blood spraying. He let out a horrible scream that seemed to indicate that it was all over. Thomas hesitated to follow, confused. The blow should have killed any man - but this creature lived, and not only that, but RAN. The scream from the master vampire and the sight of him running was enough to finish any hope of his men snatching victory. They too, ran. It quickly turned into a rout.


Relief washed over Thomas for a moment, and he sheathed his sword to take stock. They had done it! None had faced an army such as this, werecreatures, undead, vampires! And soldiers, too, to go along with them. The trap was sealed, now, he could see. As planned, the Royal Waystons and Royal Borderers charged up the empty holes and set their spear schiltrons, closing the enemy centre off from any proper escape. He could barely make out the signal flags from the right - they were on their way to it, too. In the distance, some of his Repton Highlander peltasts who'd gone off ages ago to silence the artillery were returning in jubilation, enemy standards and bloody trophies in their hands.

From triumph, to shock. He heard Teleko's voice above all, though he did not know what he was hearing. In an instant, he felt the shock wave that radiated from the centre, felt it in his bones before he saw its effects ripple out. The half-schiltrons of the Royal Waystons and Royal Borderers in front of him exploded. He watched two men blast apart into a thousand pieces, one turn to dust, all this in an instant.

The light overtook him and darkness covered his eyes.


Dead? No, in too much pain for that. Wounded? Maybe, but as he flexed his fingers and toes in their armoured casings he thought it might be workable. He opened his eyes, and discovered that his shield was over his face and torso. Probably, the reflexive motion had saved him from the debris. Slowly, he lifted himself up, grunting with exertion.

The battlefield was a shambles, in the truest sense of the word. Utter butchery that he had never seen before, not after half a life time at war. His own men, some dead, many injured and still more shocked. Grimly, he thought them lucky. The Royal Waystons and Borderers looked like they'd taken the brunt of the blast… of them, not much was left, those brave, valiant soldiers who'd held the line against all manner.

Even more were in flight, scattered in all direction. He had to take control of this anarchy. The enemy was still out there… somewhere.

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