Dietrich Landrik
Mercenary
GAZE AT MEIN ROLLED SLEEVES, NOOBKOPF
Posts: 81
Sacae Fame: -1
Western Isles Fame: 1
Profession: Mercenary Marine
Affinity: Thunder
Profile: Profile - Journal
OoC Alias: Synkkis
|
Post by Dietrich Landrik on Dec 2, 2014 16:18:20 GMT -6
The arrival of Oya was of perfect timing, and he saw that there was now a line of reinforcements streaming in. As the young man jumped into the trench next to him, he could see the firm resolve he had in his eyes. It boosted his confidence in their success against the undead horde and the pesky airborne creatures. Repeating his order to Oya, he saluted with his sword. "I will take charge of the forces here while you take charge of those coming in."
Turning, looked to the flag carrier next to him. "Follow close to me! I will be leading this headquarters! We will press on towards the south!" Just then, Fuchs had returned from his trip with a long line of men carrying firepots in empty sandbags that were tied as saddlebags behind their necks. Some men with swords and knives carried torches carefully as to help light the weapons.
"Prima, Fuchs! Perfect timing. You will lead the Grenadiers forward. Break them up into groups as you see fit. Berg is already forward with a company of archers. They will help in area denial and pinning down the enemy reserve. I will lead the general assault with our banner man. Oya will make use of our successes with a reserve force so we can break the enemy's line. I figure they will not rout, but we can crush them!" Dietrich said with a fire burning bright in his eyes. Fuchs repeated his order to Landrik swiftly and saluted before he made his way off towards the front and his junior leaders.
The blonde swordsman lifted his sword in the air, signalling to his already appointed lower-level leaders. He never figured he'd be leading a strike force on land instead of a raiding party at sea. The Divine worked in mysterious ways. "Forwards!" Landrik yelled as he moved forward, pointing his sword in the direction of the enemy. The men emerged from their holes at a brisk walk and weapons at the ready. This movement caught the attention of the flying creatures, however a well executed arrow volley kept them at bay.
Working closer to the front line, Landrik lifted his sword over his head and rested the end of his sword in his left hand, holding it horizontally. The men now began to bound forward and engage the flying enemies at will as they came close. Some men were hit, but the concentrated force of men gave the monsters no quarter. Only meters away from the chaos of the front line, Landrik pulled his flag carrier to him and ordered him to signal the attack. "Attack!" he shouted, a hornist reinforcing his command. The men surged forward in cries of "Hurrah!" and drove their weapons through the pale flesh of their former comrades. After the attacks from earlier, they had no remorse for them anymore. They fought to survive. They fought to win!
A few firebombs were flung forward into the natural choke-points of the trenches and the unearthly shrieks were heard from the burning undead. If it were not in the thick of the combat, it would be a horrific sight to watch and endure.
|
|
|
Post by Oya on Dec 3, 2014 17:17:53 GMT -6
Oya simply waited as the troops began to pour in from the retreating pirates. The bravest and most bloodthirsty of the the pirates joined up and began to pool around Oya. The young captain was preparing to move his troops to the south. Dietrick had already advanced and his men were doing a good job assaulting the horde of undead and flying abominations. Now it was time for Oya to take the reserves and join the battle, but the pirate wanted to wait a minute before they joined. It was not because of strategy or the idea that he wanted to see Dietrick leadership skill. It was purely instincts. He wanted his men to get a good idea of what they would be facing and prepare themselves mentally for what is to come.
"Take a good look", spoke Oya as he turned to the newly arrived pirates. In their eyes he could see a great spectrum of emotions. Some of them were angry; some of them were bloodthirsty; and a few of them were truly scared. Every man here had their own reason for being here. It was not for gold nor was it for plunder. The undead had no money to be split amongst them nor did they guard some valuable treasure. They were here for honor, as those men who died to make this undead army were their allies. The were here for vengeance as many of the people on the others side were once dear friends. They were here for morality. Each man here would kill for gold, but to give the world over to monsters and abominations now that was crossing the line. They were evil people, but they were not that evil.
"Alright lets move out", spoke Oya as he tossed Xigsashaw over his shoulder and began to lead the troops into battle. Oya had given them enough time to think and observe. Any longer he might risk them pulling out or coming to their senses about the danger that stood in front of them. In a grand charge the pirates hit the flank of the undead horde. The archers in the back grounded the gargoyles that hovered above the battlefield as the soldiers with their axes cleaved through the flesh of the monsters. In the front leading the charge was Oya.
With a loud roar Oya made his presence known to the horde as Xigsahw sailed through the air and shattered the bones of the undead. The young pirates eyes were filled with flames as he rushed into battle. If you had told Oya that a year ago that one day he would be married and rushing into battle with a holy weapon against a horde of undead he would have slit your throat. Now here he was at the age of seventeen fighting a battle that seemed to come out of a story book. In his right hand was a holy weapon of legend and to his back was the army of pirates rushing in to aid the heroes. Oya chuckled a bit under his own breath as he thought how life can suddenly change on you. A few days ago he was trying to take this city down, but now he was defending it. Though he was not sure how the defenders would act toward him and the boys once this was over, but he knew it had to be done. He could not let Hargus turn the whole city into a horde of undead. If he succeeded then the whole world itself could be doomed to being overrun by monsters.
With cursing and hacking Oya pushed through the lines of the undead. Xigshaws straighten lead the way as the boy's hammer smashed through the bodies of unholy creatures. As Oya smashed one another would soon take its place, but to Oya it did not matter. All that mattered was breaking through the horde. He pressed forward with no rearguard to his back. He smashed, slammed, and broke his way through the enemy. Before he knew it he had carved a line through the enemy forces without his brothers in arms next to him. On his left right side were the undead and his men ten yards behind. It was not far, but dangerous as the horde seemed to take notice and charge in on him.
Oya's heart began to race as he saw would seemed to be his doom. Enemies all around him and his allies just out of sight. As the undead moved forward time seemed to slow. Oya's deeds seemed to flash before him as death seemed to near. Panic sat at the tip of his tong and rage grew in his gut. Oya could feel himself slipping. He could feel himself going. His mind flashed to the words of his mother. She told him about the first time she went berserk, the first time she let loss her inner rage. It was chaotic, savage, and power, but it was not Oya. Oya had been struggling with these impulses and emotions for quite some time now. If he gave into his rage he might loss Willow. He could not show her the savage side of him even if it meant death on this battlefield. No, oya had to learn to control it. To control that anger and focus it like a true warrior.
Suddenly and without warning a brilliant light shinned down from the heavens. The light consumed Oya's body in its radiance and for a moment the boy was no longer in view. The pirates, who desperately fought to cut a path to their leader, were startled and the undead came to a sudden halt. All of their eyes turned to Oya as he suddenly appeared from the light. He looked the same, but there was something different about him. Oya was no longer a boy fighting in this war, no he was a man, and a fearsome warrior.
Breaking the silence Oya rushed forward with Xigsahaw only in his right hand. With a swift swing he bashed through three of the undead and leaped into the air. The assault signaled everyone that the battle was back on both the undead and the pirates, but there was a change in oya. Cutting the space between him and his men Oya landed onto the shoulders of one of the undead. His weight smashed open its chest and his falling hammer split its skull. Without wasting a moment oya placed both hands onto the shaft and knocked an assaulting creature head to the moon, not really, and powered his way back to his men. With cheers of victory they rushed forward tearing into the undead hosts.
|
|
Dietrich Landrik
Mercenary
GAZE AT MEIN ROLLED SLEEVES, NOOBKOPF
Posts: 81
Sacae Fame: -1
Western Isles Fame: 1
Profession: Mercenary Marine
Affinity: Thunder
Profile: Profile - Journal
OoC Alias: Synkkis
|
Post by Dietrich Landrik on Dec 3, 2014 20:59:00 GMT -6
As much as Dietrich suspected of the honorable nature of Oya and the simple tactics used by his sea-faring men, they had jumped into the thick of the undead to rend them apart - and rend them apart they did! In a spectacular fury, Oya had single handedly managed to get himself close to death and in a great bout of second wind, he cleaved his way back to his men. The effort had some sort of change in him as he looked much more like a young man rather than an inexperienced boy. Dietrich took pause in his assault and saluted with his sword from afar. "Bravo, Oya! Always forwards!" he shouted, then spurring his men onwards to the weak spots in the enemy lines.
"Find a path and strengthen it with your steel! Encircle them! Fend off any attacks! Kill! he growled, managing to land a critical blow into a helmeted revenant. A ring of Dietrich's men managed to cut and burn their way to encircle a horde of undead in some lower ground. This being the case, they fell quickly and with ease. Landrik laughed maniacally, seeing his plan come to fruition. He pulled men off the line to push further on - keeping their momentum going. He could even see the archers playing catch-up in the distance. The flag waved onwards, marking with it a path of destruction. Some sections of the line were stalled in heavy combat, but Dietrich had an eye for the terrain and where they were built up. His forces spilled like water across the battlefield, blowing through the weak defensive lines.
Seeing his attack running out of strength, he knew he had to bolster his gains. Whether Oya's men would leapfrog forward or help annihilate the pockets of resistance, he was unsure. Regardless, the field was playing into their hands now. An iron will from the volunteers greatly overpowered the ghastly horrors of Hargus.
|
|
|
Post by Oya on Dec 4, 2014 21:19:21 GMT -6
"Close call Oya", spoke one of his men as the Warrior took back control over the unit. Oya now more serious about the situation, near death seemed to have that effect on people, ignored the comment and looked at the battlefield in front of him. Oya had taken notice that Dietrich's forces seemed to have slowed down. The horde was starting to give them a bit of trouble and their momentum was starting to dwindle. Boldly and tactically Oya ordered his men on the back line to move around and joined up with Dietrick's forces. The new and fresh blood would bolster the ranks and break through the wall, while Oya and the front line pushed forward. The men missing at the back would make the line weaker, but Oya planned to bolster that by adding his own axe to the fight.
"Alright here we go", shouted Oya as he charged forward. His near death still in mind Oya approached with both anger and caution. With a furious assault oya began to tear into the enemy with Xigshaw. His anger strengthening every swing as he looked at his potential killers and his useless allies on his side. As angry as Oya was at the undead he was also ticked off by the men at his side. They were the ones that let him push forward and did not keep up, nor did they shout out to let him know he was pushing to far. It was negligence on their part and a foolish placement of trust on his. Oya took note, but buried the feelings. Now was not the time to divide their forces. They had a enemy in front of them that needed slaying.
Shifting his men into a arrow formation Oya began to cut a bloody path through the undead. He and his men passed the threshold of the east and began to move into the south. Their were still some monsters assaulting the walls on that side, but the zombie reinforcements were routed or simply scattered across the field thanks to the pirate assault. Quick to stunt this monster outbreak Oya and his men fought into the south. Their goal was to take some pressure off the southern wall and then cut a path to Hargus himself.
|
|
Dietrich Landrik
Mercenary
GAZE AT MEIN ROLLED SLEEVES, NOOBKOPF
Posts: 81
Sacae Fame: -1
Western Isles Fame: 1
Profession: Mercenary Marine
Affinity: Thunder
Profile: Profile - Journal
OoC Alias: Synkkis
|
Post by Dietrich Landrik on Dec 8, 2014 0:10:04 GMT -6
In a sea of blood, steel, and peril; the enemy broke. The fighting men of the fleet turned their foe just about every which way but loose, rending them apart with fury. Whoever was available was guided forwards to follow in the path cut forward by Oya. It was in this moment that Landrik allowed his line to stabilize and refresh itself in preparation for the next action.
Berg, dripping with sweat and his empty quiver dancing on his back, hobbled up towards his comrade, panting. "Ho, lordy! I can't believe that just happened! It was if they just melted!" the heavy-set archer proclaimed, out of breath. Fuchs was still on the front lines out of immediate sight, but everyone knew where he was because he left a path of fire in his wake. "We've taken some decent casualties, but nothing compared to what I've seen happening on the other fronts from where I was standing. It seems the men at the wall have no desire to push into our lines! Should we move onward?" Berg asked, looting arrows from a downed archer.
Sating his thirst from his wooden canteen, Dietrich looked first to the wall and then towards the South. "If I had a choice, we would continue our push towards the South. Yet, I have no choice! There is Oya and his men pushing towards Hargus. Something's changed in him..." Landrik trailed off, collecting his thoughts on the boy.
Returning his canteen to his side, Landrik and Berg had already collected a mashing of stragglers from fresh-faced men off the boats to wounded and men covered in dust and blood. "Berg, the task given to the archers has been completed with remarkable efficiency. I congratulate you in your efforts. I need you to now lead this combat group to our reserve. Collect as many archers as you can and direct them as you see fit." he ordered, writing it down as he spoke the words. Tearing off a sheet from his journal, he passed the signed order to his long-time comrade. "Understood, Berg?" he asked, filing his journal away into his chest pocket. Drawing his sword, he made himself ready to move again.
The hefty bearded man never looked so determined and proud in his life. "By your orders, Landrik. I'm with you until the last man falls." he proclaimed, looking into his eyes with respect. The marine didn't know how to properly return this show of respect other than through action.
"I wouldn't have it any other way. Onwards!" he commanded, moving towards the south at a brisk walk, the banner waving on.
[LEAVE THREAD; ENTER SOUTH]
|
|
|
Post by Valcrist on Jan 19, 2015 22:08:09 GMT -6
A blade of pure wind sheered through the air, slicing those unfortunate to be caught in it's path to shreds. Black blood spewed in the air and countless gashes and cuts bit into the flying monstrosities foolish enough to near Valcrist. He turned his head slightly, his silvery blade of winds in his hand. A veil of gales wrapped themselves, dancing across the blade's length. Glowing runes of emerald green seemed to intensify with each passing moment, yet somehow they remained the same brightness at all times. A trick of the eyes perhaps, or a quirk of the magic and spirit bound to the enchanted blade. His long orange scarf was dramatically flying back against the winds, something he would have engineered on purpose if he wasn't too busy fighting for not only his but everyone's lives.
Their numbers were incredible, unrealistic. It felt like far more then the bandits they fought, of which were nowhere to be seen. Retreated, Valcrist was grateful for their cowardice. To be able to flee at the sight of such monsters? A luxury they could not afford, they were forced to fight them tooth and nail. Swarming from all sides, overwhelming the archers in short order. He had long since dropped his bow and took up his enchanted blade once more. Their numbers were smaller then ever, dead were everywhere. Dead that moved and shuffled on their own accord, unnatural like puppets being pulled by a malevolent master's strings. Jerky, unnatural, covered in gashes and wounds, deep and fleshy and impossible to live through. Live. That was the key, these men didn't live. Not anymore. Undead they were, undead they became. Those downed by the wicked spears of those flying fiends rose once more to fight again. Those who didn't turn slowly bled out, wounds beyond treating. The Clerics were almost always targeted first by the gargoyles, seeing them as unable to defend themselves. They tried their best to defend the brave souls, but often they lost just as many as were saved.
Richter was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Wyatt, nor Kenshin or Aaron. Those who lead them before flocked to the south of the city, where it was the hardest. While they contended with a murder of gargoyles, the south faced so much worse. Soldiers withdrew into the city, scare, fleeing for their life. He couldn't blame them, but it was little help. As much as they tried to prevent the flying beasts from entering the city, it was frankly impossible to stop them all. They flew overhead, seeking those who run, sensing weakness, tasting their fear and smacking their maws and fiends to a feast. Somehow things have boiled down to such a situation that somehow Valcrist once again wound up the senior officer on the field of battle. He was no leader of men, it was all he could think of what he should do himself. 'get in formation'? Hah, what formation? The 'try no to die' formation? They were expecting bandits, not monsters. If they could, he was sure these men would flee. To flee into the city was pointless, to flee out of it was death.
People looked to him, to Valcrist, for leadership. Midst the chaos and destruction a figure stood, his body wrapped in a coat of winds. No matter how many of the damnable beasts tried to swarm him, they were swatted away. They couldn't even get close to him, almost as if he was protected by the winds themselves. Truthfully he was fortunate, those who can command the winds find themselves more easily fighting those who struggled against them within the air. These weren't simple pegasi, or wyverns who danced along the sky, these were dark monster who batlike bodies were ripped apart by his blade. Deserved of not, they looked to him, much to his chagrin. What was he supposed to do?
"Valcrist what do we do?" He heard more then once, those around him protected by sheer virtue of his effective anti-air combat. How was he supposed to know?
"Fight, live." He said, not very comforting words to be honest. "I don't know about you, but I didn't come this far to be killed by some monsters." He spoke before swinging his blade once more, the silvery edge cutting through the air and sending a razor of gales forth, ripping another descending creature to bits. "Cling to life as it struggles in your grasp! As long as you live there is a will to fight! Find it! Use it! The second you surrender you die! I'd rather die fighting then accepting death willingly! I'll go down kicking and screaming if I have to! Fight until you can no longer see straight! Till your hands are raw and bloody! Fight and LIVE!"
|
|
|
Post by Valcrist on Feb 7, 2015 16:02:16 GMT -6
So they lived. Thought it was hard, though it was bloody, they lived. In truth, it was almost like it became easier as time passed. The numbers of gargoyles waned, the bandits vanished, for a time Valcrist believed this was because they were making progress. It was their success, that maybe he helped just a little in inspiring these people. Of course what he said was kind of trite, 'live' anyone in their right mind could understand that they needed to live. That was it though, right mind, these people were scared. Terrified. Hardened Sacaen swordsman perhaps not, but the common soldier who picked up arms to defend their home. They were scared. Actually even the hardened swordsmen were terrified, it's one thing to kill a man rushing at you with an axe, it's another thing entirely to face down something that should not exist in this world. Creatures of stone brought life by some unknown magic, isn't that what it always was? Some magic. Mages didn't play by the same rules as everyone else.
The thing was, they weren't making progress. It may have felt like it, but in reality they just saw the number of enemies decrease. It wasn't that they died, they simply moved. They weren't the targets anymore, there was something far more interesting for them to fight, a bigger fish to fry so to speak. It was hard to pay attention to the flow of the entire battle, because they were so focused on simply surviving this fight, it was until the screams of horror filled his ears that he even knew of the beast to the south. "It's all over!" Someone cried in fear. "Elmine save us!" Another prayed to their goddess. "Has the sky father forsaken us?" An archer near to the blacksmith dropped his bow in fear, the Sacaen man just staring at the monster towering in the distance. He had nothing in his eyes, nothing on his face, nothing but pure terror.
Valcrist turned about, and the sight filled his eyes. Filled his mind. Towering in the distance was a monster. They fought beasts with no end, but this was different. It was no mere beast, no other word but monster. A monster among monsters. Gigantic, even in the distance he could see it like a tower of flesh, baring but one mammoth eye. He could see marks of black fill the air, and bounce right off of it. Arrows did nothing, archers did nothing. He could feel his heart rise into his throat, short of breath. How could such a... such a... Such a thing exist? How did this thing come to be? Where on Elibe were they hiding it? It filled him with dread, and he knew he shouldn't stare at it but he couldn't dare to look away. Watching as it swung it's trunklike arms, as thick as any tree, and swat the people daring to come near and turning them into paste. A giant chunk of the wall detonated into a plume of black, and was simply gone. Vanished. As if it never existed. All this time they were worrying about catapults when they had this kind of power. Why did they wait so long before now? Why even have this farce of a war if they were just gonna crush everyone, everything with their power?
He was brought back to reality by spear of a descending demon, almost a second too late as he barely dodge the blow, the weapon ripping the coat he wore and biting it's way past the armor beneath, leaving a gash that filled his chest with fire and pain. He cringed, but didn't miss a step as he did a pirouette and landed on his feet low to the ground, dashing off in an instant and drew Fang. He had been caught off guard by a weakling, the creature couldn't even hope to match his speed as the blade tore it to shreds with strike after strike. He swung his blade up from below, then off to the side he swung again horizontally, he positioned himself and did a strike from above, and to finish the creature off he thrust his weapon into the monster's gut. Each strike had cut deep, and each strike silenced the monster. The creature's blackened blood spilled over him as he yanked the sword from the beast's innards, staining his clothes with its foulness.
He clutched his chest with a cringing pain, feeling the blood coming from the wound. He couldn't- He couldn't let this stop him. The wound was shallow, but whatever foul magic coated those creature's weapon filled him with pain. "Ugh..." He groaned in pain. "Archers! Don't forget your duty! Fire upon those gargoyles as they near! We can't let them into the city! Kill every last one that you see!" He called upon the scared men, and urged them for action. He put the pain in the back of his mind as he remembered his own advice. "Don't let fear take hold of you! Don't let pain stop you! If you want to live you can't give up, no matter how bad it seems!" He shouted as he sheathed his bloodied Fang, and drew upon his windsword once more.
He heard some people cheer, but just as many screamed. He couldn't save them all, he could barely save himself. That was the cruel truth of this world. Maybe it's time he stopped beating himself up over it. He took his blade in hand, a blade coursing with the magic of Excalibur itself, and he gripped the large blade with both hand. He closed his eyes for a second, and he didn't think. No. Thinking didn't work, not for Valcrist. Thoughts filled him with hesitation, with self-doubt, if he tried to rationally think about something he failed. Instead he felt. His instincts have always been what truly guided him. What did those instincts say? He opened his eyes to see that the gigant cyclopes had fallen, and suddenly he knew. "Soldiers! Never stop fighting no matter what!" Was what he said as he leapt off of the rooftop he had been on, a long leap guided by his blade of winds, and he sprinted at top speed barely a blur.
[Leaves thread for south like everyone else]
|
|