The fights of fantasy
Jul. 15th, 2002 02:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jchrisobrienKent hung on for his life through the chilling descent. The ground lurched up to meet him all too quickly... he was staggering to his feet, but he didn't remember his landing. His steed Sirocco let out a final gasping wheeze, shuddered, and went silent. Cruel black barbs pierce the pegasus' wings and ribs. Another dart ricocheted off Kent's shoulder, two more pierced the ground at his feet. He cursed and turned to survey the field of battle.
The field were scattered with yellow and black clad bodies, the militia of Averland, proud and dutiful men of the Empire. Now there were but cold dead flesh. The air was thick with arrows from the Druchii warriors, along with the heavier bolts from their war machines. A volley of those bolts flew though his greatswordsmen. Their armor was among the finest forged in the Empire. It might as well have been satin. Several of them were impaled together by the yard long shafts. They held each other, offering comfort in death. Before him his men tried to press forward into the steel rain. To his right, his knights and flagellants lie dead and dying. Noble blood ran as quickly as the blood of the desert dervishes. Shadowy, skeletal figures walked among them, butchering the wounded with as much emotion as a shop clerk counting beans.
There was little sight on his wood elf allies. There was sound however. Shrieks, cries, the whistle of arrows impacting into wood and bone. The walking dead were barely visible through the mist, but there were far too many of them to think that the elves were holding their line.
To his right there were flashes of light and arcane chanting. His wizard was doing his best to confound the archers with light, blinding them to confound their aim. Light blossomed among the Druchii, almost as bright as the sun, but quickly it was snuffed by their own wizards. At least their sorceress were too busy countering his wizard to cast spells of their own.
Kent raised his bow, determined to gain a small measure of vengeance for the loss of his steed. The intricately carved bow, resplendent with runes of power and carved with dragons, could strike with almost the same force as a cannonball. He let fly and the yew shaft flew like a bullet towards the enemy... and fell wide of it's target. Kent seethed with rage. The steel rain continued, and he watched a small detachment of swordsmen fall to the ground.
Enough was enough. His men had suffered greatly, without advancing even halfway across the field. But they had achieved their objective. The two dark towers that stood in the valley were toppled. His allies, the elves of Loren and Ulthewe, under the leadership of the mountain Dwarves, had accomplished what they set out to do. At a great price.
Kent turned his back on the field of death, and signaled a retreat.
The field were scattered with yellow and black clad bodies, the militia of Averland, proud and dutiful men of the Empire. Now there were but cold dead flesh. The air was thick with arrows from the Druchii warriors, along with the heavier bolts from their war machines. A volley of those bolts flew though his greatswordsmen. Their armor was among the finest forged in the Empire. It might as well have been satin. Several of them were impaled together by the yard long shafts. They held each other, offering comfort in death. Before him his men tried to press forward into the steel rain. To his right, his knights and flagellants lie dead and dying. Noble blood ran as quickly as the blood of the desert dervishes. Shadowy, skeletal figures walked among them, butchering the wounded with as much emotion as a shop clerk counting beans.
There was little sight on his wood elf allies. There was sound however. Shrieks, cries, the whistle of arrows impacting into wood and bone. The walking dead were barely visible through the mist, but there were far too many of them to think that the elves were holding their line.
To his right there were flashes of light and arcane chanting. His wizard was doing his best to confound the archers with light, blinding them to confound their aim. Light blossomed among the Druchii, almost as bright as the sun, but quickly it was snuffed by their own wizards. At least their sorceress were too busy countering his wizard to cast spells of their own.
Kent raised his bow, determined to gain a small measure of vengeance for the loss of his steed. The intricately carved bow, resplendent with runes of power and carved with dragons, could strike with almost the same force as a cannonball. He let fly and the yew shaft flew like a bullet towards the enemy... and fell wide of it's target. Kent seethed with rage. The steel rain continued, and he watched a small detachment of swordsmen fall to the ground.
Enough was enough. His men had suffered greatly, without advancing even halfway across the field. But they had achieved their objective. The two dark towers that stood in the valley were toppled. His allies, the elves of Loren and Ulthewe, under the leadership of the mountain Dwarves, had accomplished what they set out to do. At a great price.
Kent turned his back on the field of death, and signaled a retreat.
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Date: 2002-07-16 02:19 pm (UTC)Nice bit of writing in all seriousness
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Date: 2002-07-16 04:16 pm (UTC)I got hammmered pretty badly that battle, so rather than get upset, I decided to turn it into a story. Which turned our rather well...
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Date: 2002-07-16 04:59 pm (UTC)I used to play a bit of that as well as warhammer 40k. I only have a couple of elven pewters left *le sigh* Good times =)
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Date: 2002-07-17 07:03 am (UTC)