Post by fealhach2008 on Nov 6, 2012 8:20:59 GMT -5
The End
The howling wind blew down the snow-covered valley, snatching away the yells and warcries of the Black Lion warriors before they could reach their silent foes that gathered before them on the opposite slopes. Beating their shields, some of the front rank surged forward. An iron-plated warrior sitting on a heavy-limbed, giant of a horse rode ahead of them, stopping between the headstrong young warriors and their distant enemies.
“Get back into line! Stay together!” his thunderous voice stopped the charge almost immediately and the ranks reformed with the guidance of an ageing but stout foot knight.
“Steady, lads, steady. Not long now.” The old man walked along the straightening ranks. Many of the Uthgardt touched freshly carved holy symbols on their chests as he passed by, hopeful that their new gods will watch over the newest lambs to their flocks. Their insults and jeers towards their distant enemies died down as they noticed movement now and Reynald, priest of Tyr and missionary to the Black Lion village of Hollowstone, turned his ice-blue eyes in the direction of the dark mass of men rapidly advancing towards them.
“See?” he muttered almost to himself, “ Here they come now.”
The brigand army numbered well over two hundred; made up of escaped outlaws, army deserters and desperate men cast out from tribes throughout the North. Joining together to escape the predations of their savage environment, they’d steadily grown and prospered preying on the isolated settlements that had shunned many of them. Now after wandering into the lands of the Uthgardt, they’d picked out the Black Lion settlements northeast of Beorunna’s Well to be their next targets.
Gerrad sat upon his mount, his head bowed in prayer as he fingers touched the symbol of Torm resting on his breastplate. He looked up and scanned across the bandits now charging towards him and his eyes fell upon a man: taller than the rest and wearing more armour. He carried a great axe and bellowed his defiance as he led his bandit army towards their prey.
Gerrad twisted in his saddle to his Uthgardt allies.
“You see the big bastard with the axe?”
A murmured affirmative came from the Uthgardt and he casually rode over to join the right end of the first rank.
“Keep away from him. He’s mine. And you lot in the second rank, remember to throw those bloody javelins as they charge in.”
The wind buffeted the Uthgardt as they now stood silently in their shieldwall, watching the approach of their foes as Gerrad and Reynald’s clear voices carried their blessings of strength and protection for themselves and the Black Lions to the gods. The Uthgardt warriors braced to receive the enemy that rapidly closed on them, nervous glances fell on the two holy men who had now drawn their longswords.
Their voices rose in strength to be heard against the increasing howl of the wind that seemed to have joined the rushing charge of the brigands as they crashed against the Black Lion shieldwall.
Capture
The women wailed as the first of their menfolk fled into the squalid campsite, battered and shieldless, chased by barbarians wild with the joy of victorious battle. Many had started life in the camp as brutalized captives, but now many of them had husbands that provided for them and their children. The drudgery of farming and weaving was a thing of the past, replaced by drinking and revelry, but now all of that was to come to a violent end. The bandits were cut down without mercy as they were overtaken or dispatched with daggers if found in the tents and huts that were being systematically looted before being put to the torch.
“Quarter! Damn you all, give them quarter!” Gerrad rode into camp, striking Black Lions with the flat of his blade as he attempted to restore order before innocent lives were lost. His helm was gone and blood still ran down his face, staining his cropped snow-white hair and beard adding to his terrible aspect, as if he was an avenging avatar of a merciless god of war.
Barked orders interlaced with threats brought a semblance of order throughout the ruined camp. Gerrad dismounted and when the paladin felt enough eyes were upon him he spoke in a voice that would be heard clearly throughout the camp.
“I am Sir Gerrad Bowerhame, knight of the Loyal Order of the Lion. I promise you will come to no harm, provided you have no crimes to answer for.”
His assurance was met with stunned silence and he muttered a quiet curse.
“Ranulf! Caorl! Make sure they’re all stripped of weapons, and-“ His orders stopped when he noticed a disturbance on the edge of the camp.
Two Black Lions were holding a young girl’s arms as she slumped forward, a wild mane of bright red hair hiding her face. Sterngar, the chieftain of Hollowstone, raised his warhammer again to finish off the child the two men were holding up. He paused as soon as he sensed Gerrad’s gaze fall upon him, and knew he would follow the girl to the afterlife if his hammer struck. His breathing was ragged and as he turned, Gerrad saw blood from a fresh wound running down the left side of his neck.
“The little bitch near bit me ear off! No-one does that and lives!”
“Hit her again, boy, and I’ll send you to whatever Hell child killers go.”
Gerrad stalked over and shoved Sterngar aside. He gently lifted her chin up to see if she still breathed and saw she was no older than ten summers. She was still conscious, though barely, her pale green eyes struggling to focus on her saviour who took her from the two men and placed her on the ground. There was a lot to do here, and he felt a massacre could still easily happen here should he leave these barbarians here to get Reynald to tend the child’s injury. With a sigh, Gerrad removed his holy symbol and placed it around the girl’s neck with a silent prayer to Torm to watch over her. The paladin walked away followed by the three Uthgardt and began the task of sorting the guilty from the innocent. The girl's eyes closed and consciousness slipped away.
The howling wind blew down the snow-covered valley, snatching away the yells and warcries of the Black Lion warriors before they could reach their silent foes that gathered before them on the opposite slopes. Beating their shields, some of the front rank surged forward. An iron-plated warrior sitting on a heavy-limbed, giant of a horse rode ahead of them, stopping between the headstrong young warriors and their distant enemies.
“Get back into line! Stay together!” his thunderous voice stopped the charge almost immediately and the ranks reformed with the guidance of an ageing but stout foot knight.
“Steady, lads, steady. Not long now.” The old man walked along the straightening ranks. Many of the Uthgardt touched freshly carved holy symbols on their chests as he passed by, hopeful that their new gods will watch over the newest lambs to their flocks. Their insults and jeers towards their distant enemies died down as they noticed movement now and Reynald, priest of Tyr and missionary to the Black Lion village of Hollowstone, turned his ice-blue eyes in the direction of the dark mass of men rapidly advancing towards them.
“See?” he muttered almost to himself, “ Here they come now.”
The brigand army numbered well over two hundred; made up of escaped outlaws, army deserters and desperate men cast out from tribes throughout the North. Joining together to escape the predations of their savage environment, they’d steadily grown and prospered preying on the isolated settlements that had shunned many of them. Now after wandering into the lands of the Uthgardt, they’d picked out the Black Lion settlements northeast of Beorunna’s Well to be their next targets.
Gerrad sat upon his mount, his head bowed in prayer as he fingers touched the symbol of Torm resting on his breastplate. He looked up and scanned across the bandits now charging towards him and his eyes fell upon a man: taller than the rest and wearing more armour. He carried a great axe and bellowed his defiance as he led his bandit army towards their prey.
Gerrad twisted in his saddle to his Uthgardt allies.
“You see the big bastard with the axe?”
A murmured affirmative came from the Uthgardt and he casually rode over to join the right end of the first rank.
“Keep away from him. He’s mine. And you lot in the second rank, remember to throw those bloody javelins as they charge in.”
The wind buffeted the Uthgardt as they now stood silently in their shieldwall, watching the approach of their foes as Gerrad and Reynald’s clear voices carried their blessings of strength and protection for themselves and the Black Lions to the gods. The Uthgardt warriors braced to receive the enemy that rapidly closed on them, nervous glances fell on the two holy men who had now drawn their longswords.
Their voices rose in strength to be heard against the increasing howl of the wind that seemed to have joined the rushing charge of the brigands as they crashed against the Black Lion shieldwall.
Capture
The women wailed as the first of their menfolk fled into the squalid campsite, battered and shieldless, chased by barbarians wild with the joy of victorious battle. Many had started life in the camp as brutalized captives, but now many of them had husbands that provided for them and their children. The drudgery of farming and weaving was a thing of the past, replaced by drinking and revelry, but now all of that was to come to a violent end. The bandits were cut down without mercy as they were overtaken or dispatched with daggers if found in the tents and huts that were being systematically looted before being put to the torch.
“Quarter! Damn you all, give them quarter!” Gerrad rode into camp, striking Black Lions with the flat of his blade as he attempted to restore order before innocent lives were lost. His helm was gone and blood still ran down his face, staining his cropped snow-white hair and beard adding to his terrible aspect, as if he was an avenging avatar of a merciless god of war.
Barked orders interlaced with threats brought a semblance of order throughout the ruined camp. Gerrad dismounted and when the paladin felt enough eyes were upon him he spoke in a voice that would be heard clearly throughout the camp.
“I am Sir Gerrad Bowerhame, knight of the Loyal Order of the Lion. I promise you will come to no harm, provided you have no crimes to answer for.”
His assurance was met with stunned silence and he muttered a quiet curse.
“Ranulf! Caorl! Make sure they’re all stripped of weapons, and-“ His orders stopped when he noticed a disturbance on the edge of the camp.
Two Black Lions were holding a young girl’s arms as she slumped forward, a wild mane of bright red hair hiding her face. Sterngar, the chieftain of Hollowstone, raised his warhammer again to finish off the child the two men were holding up. He paused as soon as he sensed Gerrad’s gaze fall upon him, and knew he would follow the girl to the afterlife if his hammer struck. His breathing was ragged and as he turned, Gerrad saw blood from a fresh wound running down the left side of his neck.
“The little bitch near bit me ear off! No-one does that and lives!”
“Hit her again, boy, and I’ll send you to whatever Hell child killers go.”
Gerrad stalked over and shoved Sterngar aside. He gently lifted her chin up to see if she still breathed and saw she was no older than ten summers. She was still conscious, though barely, her pale green eyes struggling to focus on her saviour who took her from the two men and placed her on the ground. There was a lot to do here, and he felt a massacre could still easily happen here should he leave these barbarians here to get Reynald to tend the child’s injury. With a sigh, Gerrad removed his holy symbol and placed it around the girl’s neck with a silent prayer to Torm to watch over her. The paladin walked away followed by the three Uthgardt and began the task of sorting the guilty from the innocent. The girl's eyes closed and consciousness slipped away.