Siege on the City of Heroes - North, Part 2(EVENT)

[Plot Device]

The battle continues 8 days after Part 1. Make sure to read Siege on the City of Heroes Phase 3

[Vincent]

Vincent was hidden away lying against a wall, his eyes were bagging and his mind begged him to shut off for a while, to sleep and recover. He could afford no such luxury. He was in the north sector and so long as the wall offered passage he would not rest. He had not slept more than, had he slept at all? He could not recall allowing himself to. No, wait, there was that lull two days prior and a few short chances just yesterday. Either way, the fighting was tolling on both forces and the breaks were growing in length.

He heaved a deep sigh, looking around the city forcing himself to stand. The siege weaponry was effective, and if not for the constant flow of reinforcements from all over the plains he would have likely been long dead. A passing defender patted his shoulder as he returned to the lines. Did he know him? No, that was just comfort from one fighter to another. "Well Phoenix, ready to get back at it?"

"I haven't had to do a thing boy, it is all you." Phoenix Heart had been offering words of encouragement these past few days. It was, nice.

Vincent squatted and picked his two swords up off the ground, the silver blade still shown brightly through the muck and, well, who knows who's sword this one was? The other blade looked to be Sacaean in design but did he not take it from one of the mercenaries? Eh, it did not matter. Soon enough it would be tossed aside as well.

The word going around was that Hargus himself was in the south. Vincent had heard the stories of the bandit king but to think he would cheat death and command an army in vengeance. It was terrifying if not a bit petty. Aching, Vincent made his way back to the fields of battle. "Let's do this. It will end one day, or I'll die first. I got that for free too."

"Not an encouraging thought kid."

Vincent shrugged and moved into the tick of it. The truth was with so many people trying to seal the north it was easier here than it was previously but, it did not stop pirates from getting in. An axe wielder was the first to fight Vincent for the day. Vincent blocked the initial swing and found himself on the losing end of power. His sword was knocked aside shattering and the fighter continued his momentum spinning to strike again. This time Vincent raised his arms in panic letting his gauntlets take the force. The blade cut deep. Deep enough to penetrate his skin and get stuck.

The fighter jerked his axe out tossing Vincent forward and to the ground. Quickly as possible Vincent grabbed his knife and charged, tackling the enemy, and stabbing ferociously. Rising from the squabble the victor he knew he needed healing and rest. A fight that intense should not have occurred but so long as the others battled so too would he.

[Richter Abend]

Richter stood on the roof of a building, looking out over the northern wall. For eight days they had been fighting off Hargus’s men, and after eight days they were only marginally better off than they had been eight days ago. Yes, the defenders’ numbers had been bolstered by a steady stream of Sacaen arrivals, but Hargus’s marauders had seen their reinforcements come in the form of an unscrupulous, avaricious Ilian mercenary company that possessed far more military experience than the tribal volunteers now under Richter’s command. And while the Sacaens outnumbered the bandits, the assaulting force still possessed its siege weapons, and those siege weapons had now been placed within range of the north and south walls in addition to their original position near the east wall, slowly battering away at the makeshift Sacaen defenses.

The Ilian warrior could only curse at himself as he watched a small boulder loose itself from the head of a distant mangonel and soar towards the palisade. It missed the wall, but struck a hapless swordsman, crushing his body beneath its bulk with a loud thud. The pirate retreat on the first day had seemed like a small victory at the time, and the Ilian commander still held that it was, but the fact that he had not been able to disable the enemy siege engines remained a sore point. The pirates had been tactical in their retreat. Clearly unwilling to place one of his greatest assets in range of Richter’s axe again, Hargus had begun commanding his men to fight more defensively, maintaining permanent lines around the pirate catapults while avoiding the overextension of his forces. They’d dug trenches in which they hid, established fortified positions, and had been regularly rotating soldiers. It was so unlike the reckless charge that Richter had arrived amidst that it almost seemed like there was an entirely different person in command. Hmm, speaking of which, what had happened to that orange haired boy with the massive club? The Ilian warrior had not seen him since the first day, so maybe he had been demoted, or even better, killed. It did support the idea that the enemy commander had changed in some fashion.

“Sosir. Jerome,” barked Richter, turning towards two men pouring over supply and reserves documents on a nearby table. One man looked up at him, but the other seemed too engrossed in whatever he was doing to hear the pink haired Ilian.

The first, Sosir, the man who looked up, was the chieftain of a small tribe called the Keskarvio. He was a tall man with a hard, weathered face whose long, jet black hair cascaded over his shoulders and down to the middle of his back. His garb looked like that of any other Sacaen, save for a bright orange headband he wore ornamented with gold and jade. From what Richter had gathered, it was the “crown” of his tribe, the symbol of his leadership. Richter liked him because he was no nonsense, ready to fight, and knew the ins and outs of Sacaen politics, something which the Ilian had barely even known existed until the initial fighting had died down and the long siege set in. With their lives no longer immediately threatened, many of the volunteer tribe leaders had begun to bicker amongst themselves over things like rotation, duties, and whatnot. The Keskarvio were small so Sosir had little in the way of ego, and was more concerned with helping out than he was his tribe’s status, which made him perfect for dealing with the other leaders. Richter had made him his personnel officer.

The latter, Jerome, the man who did not look up, was a foreign volunteer, a young Lycian knight from Santaruz who had responded to Kenshin’s call. He was of average height, had a face that reminded Richter more of a baker’s son than a soldier’s, and bore a shaggy head of messy red hair. At first glance, the Ilian had admittedly dismissed the twenty year old as little more than an extra body, but in addition to his passable sword arm, the young man had shown a remarkable aptitude for identifying weaknesses in the city’s structural defenses, as well as an excellent head for numbers. Apparently he was what happened when you of took a boy that aspired to build churches and forced him into the knighthood instead. Richter had taken advantage of this and appointed him as the defense’s chief field engineer. Together with Sosir, the two had managed to keep Kenshin’s walls from completely falling apart.

“Amazingly enough, Sir, we’re running out of twelve foot logs. Who would have thought trees would be hard to find in Sacae?” Jerome made a sarcastic chuckle, then chewed on the end of his quill after jotting down a couple of notes on the edge of what looked to be a map of the city. “You’ll have to get your men to find other building materials, but I don’t think the people who live here will appreciate us tearing down their homes.” He paused for a moment, then jot down a few more notes. “Sir?” When a response didn’t come, the Lycian looked up to see Sosir looking at Richter. Getting the hint, Jerome keyed in.

Richter just rolled his eyes then turned his gaze back out over the wall. Dead bodies were strewn across the battlefield, the grass stained deep red with blood, but the fighting itself was currently isolated to a melee about thirty yards from the wall along a temporary front line the defenders had managed to establish. The rest of the war-making consisted of casual exchanges of magic and missile fire.

“We’ve been stationary for too long,” the Ilian commander spoke, his voice laced with authority. “I’m tired of getting boulders hurled at us by these damn bandits. I want to get another wall of sandbags up so we can push our forces further forward. If we stay fastened to our wall, we’ll never get men close enough to enemy lines to break the siege.”
“That’s going to be difficult, Abend,” replied Sosir, shaking his head. “The last major attack the bandits attempted was two days ago, and the largest of siege fire no longer reaches our walls. Most of the chieftains are becoming content to wait this out. They think the bandits are too scared to attack again given our superior numbers, and will eventually break the siege themselves.”
“That’s stupid,” interrupted Jerome, jabbing a finger at the map on the table in front of him. There was a large circle around what looked to be a gap in a larger circle drawn around the city. “Superior numbers haven’t stopped them from widening the hole in the wall that they created the first day. They focus fire at the gap every time we try to repair it, and we’re running out materials to keep up.”
“I don't agree with them,” Sosir replied, giving Jerome a quick scowl. "But few among them care what the Keskarvio have to say." The red haired knight rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“I know, I know, it’s just frustrating to have to deal with all these grumpy old men and women when Hargus himself is sitting in a camp not a mile from here,” he said with a sigh. He looked up at Richter. “Can’t you just cast a little general magic and tell them to do it anyways?”


"Believe me, Jerome," replied Richter with an annoyed groan, "if it was just a matter of 'casting commander magic' I'd have done it already and I'd have my sword half-way up Hargus's ass, but all my authority comes from Kenshin, and even Kenshin can't get the chieftains to budge if they don't think the charge is worth it." The Ilian shook his head, a bit upset that he even had to deal with this kind of crap in the middle of a siege led by the most notorious bandit in Elibe's history back from the dead. "You'd think Hargus would have a more fear inspiring effect in people." There was a long pause between the three of them before Sosir stirred, standing up straight and resting his hand in the fold of his robe.
"I'll see what I can do, Abend," he said with a resigned air. "But I can't promise anything."
"I can only ask for effort at this point, Sosir," Richter admitted, to which Sosir nodded and headed off into the city. "Ugh, where's Mavick? I need help brainstorming up a plan if Sosir can't get the chieftains in line." The Ilian warrior spoke to no one in particular, but Jerome chimed in.
"The Darkling? Haven't seen him."
"Well if you do, let him know I'll be at the wall."

[Zerachiel]

Zerachiel eyed his target like a piece of meat. His gaze appraising, and revaluing the man over and over. He watched his movements, the way he walked the way he talked. He was guarded, and never truly let his guard down. The way these men revered him, he might as well be Kraft. There was no chances, no opportunities, he always had someone watching him. He was always alert. Men like Richter Abend don't get where they were in life by being careless, and he could respect him for that. Zerachiel knew far and wide by this point he would never stand a chance in an actual match. He'd have to use poisons, or set a trap for him to slay this man. Of course both of those options carried their own challenges, but there were important to keep in mind. His job wasn't to kill Richter, however. That would just be a bonus. He needed some of his hair, but that shouldn't be too hard with how he just let it waft in the wind. Honestly he could probably just steal his hairbrush, a man who keeps his hair that well maintained must have at least three.

No, his job was something else. He was to sabotage the defenses. He was to help assure Kenshin died. Of course both of those jobs were difficult, Kenshin was almost as well guarded as Richter was and just as capable at ripping him apart. The defenses, however... That required a... softer touch. He couldn't directly interfere, lest he drew undue attention to himself. No, he was just some random mercenary. No one even questioned such a thing. In fact it was depressingly easy to get into this place, if some of the bandits were more clever they'd have taken this entire place down. Of course he was one man, sneaking an army inside is a different task. They allowed for reinforcements to arrive and enter the city and it was as simple as tagging along with one of those groups. He looked the part, especially now with his glorious second hand, and he didn't stand out. He had made a living not standing out, and in the chaos of war it was difficult to remember the face of a man who may very well be dead the next day.

He was inside the city, but that was only the first part of the plan. He was just one man, a very talented man perhaps, but not infallible or omnipotent. He alone could not destroy the wall, nor could he alone slay Kenshin or Richter. He could, however, lay groundwork. While he couldn't destroy the wall, he could damn sure help the bandits prevent the wall from being rebuilt. It was small things, nothing too obvious. Some missing material here and there, a lie told to a worker who made a mistake as a result, a lack of morale was a problem starting to seep into the minds of many and it was a problem easy to capitalize on. He took great care however to preserve his identity, he even slew some bandits himself to protect it. He cared not for these men who he fought for or against, he simply desired for the fight to be chaotic.

While the chaos never returned to the peak of the first day, it was never completely dull. The bandits banded together to assure the wall was never properly fixed, and the catapults remained in working order proving to be the biggest thorn in the defender's side. However... he would have to make his own move. Soon. This battle wasn't over, far from it.

[Minerva]

It felt as if she'd been at this damn city, in the middle of all this damn grass, for over a damn year. Yeah, it was just a week, but it felt like a hell of a lot longer. She hated the grass, and the bugs, and the sun. She wanted her Ilian winters back. This place was awful. Well, the faster they got the defenses down and the faster Hargus got in there and wrecked the place, the faster she could go home. That was all she wanted... To go home. Go back to being a noble girl who flaunted her power and ignored the law. She didn't like having to play chess with these bandits as her pieces. She just wanted to flip the board and be done.

"Get the mages and the archers ready. I want to harass those defenders. And keep shooting at that hole in the wall, I want it bigger. Maybe we can break a whole section of the wall. Go on, go! I gave you your orders, you lazy bum."

Sighing, the mage walked over to the small area where the other bandit leaders were. The men were mostly milling about, as there had been no orders as of yet to engage, and no advances by the enemy. Minerva was fine with wearing the city down, but it was boring. She wanted action, violence, a chance to roast somebody and watch them scream. And she wanted to go home. Was that too much to ask? Couldn't they hurry this damn battle up a little bit?

The sound of a catapult launch shook her out of her reverie, and she watched the projectile soar up, hitting the edge of the breach with a cracking noise. That didn't sound too good for them.

"Keep it up. That's all we can do, right?"

[Gabe]

"I sincerely hope the bandits come to their senses and quit while they are behind." Thought Gabe to himself " we may have lost the wall but they have lost their lives and we are only getting bigger, better and stronger. It's only a matter of time." Gabe's morale had boosted drastically when the clans arrived and bolstered their numbers a,nod gave them the advantage he thought but who knows what the ruffians will do next.

All Gabe could hear was the shouts of orders the clang of heavy armor as everyone got to formation but then Gabe felt a surge of pain in the side of his head "Gwaaaahhh!!!" Screamed Gabe but no sound came from his mouth. "Oops sry." Said a clan Druid her face was cloaked in her robe. "I accidentally coasted a spell on you it silenced you" said the Druid almost laughing. " it will go away in a few days." Gabe had clear expression of anger on his face. "I swear I'm deeply sorry but I have to go back to my position." She said hurridly and ran off.

"Damn it all!" Thought Gabe angry. And things were looking up but now I can't communicate with the other defenders!" Gabe continued to be cross as things continued at least he could fire a bow still so hopefully I can live through this and get back at that hooded Druid but for now more important matters were approaching. "Well let's hope the other clansmen are more useful."

[Mavick]

Mavick poured himself over the tomes and maps laid out before him on the table. It was all going to hell. Frankly, it had already gone to hell. Sacae was officially Hell. They weren't going to last. Their enemy had the advantage of being outside the walls. Which meant, even as he was standing here, they could be receiving reinforcements from mercenaries or looters or other unsavory sources, and the likelyhood of more reinforcements from the Plainsmen was looking thin. They were going to run out of rations eventually, and that was if the walls didn't fall over of their own volition first.

Over and over, the dark mage went through the simulations. Various forward advances and break-outs. All good plans. All capable of working. But there was just one problem. Those damned plainsmen. They couldn't seem to agree to anything, and it looked like the authority Richter had was in name alone. They just wouldn't listen to an outsider. And for all his planning, all his tactical cunning and subterfuge, Mavick was only as powerful as Richter's ability and desire to back his strategies.

At least he could fully devote himself to the task before him, what with Richter's introduction of new staff officers. Once, he had more or less been entirely responsible for all these different things, and to be honest, he'd been proud of it, but with the addition of the knight and the plainsman, Mavick could focus soley on his duties as a tactical officer. Right now, he needed to do that more than ever. These walls could not fall. He could not lose another battle. He would not lose another battle.

The dark mage was torn from his thoughts and musings by Jerome, who informed him that Richter needed him. Mavick nodded and thanked him, bundling a few of the maps and tomes into his satchel before heading out towards the North Wall. Richter was not hard to find, he always stood out like a sore thumb. The little strategist climbed up onto the roof, lowering his hood to meet Richter's eyes. "Commander." he greeted, before glancing out over the walls. "Jerome said you required my assistance with something. How may I be of service?" His voice was still soft, even subdued, though with the reintroduction to his old post, he seemed slightly more whole, slightly less broken. Still, the old fire in him remained dormant, save for when he was in the throws of tactical passion.

[Kenshin]

That battle had raged on far longer than Kenshin had hoped. He had wished by this time he would be rebuilding the home that he built aside friends, it had been a long time since he experienced a real war like battle, majority of them had been skirmishes. This was the reality of a war, even if it was short lived, if he had still been the one in charge of his army they would have lost a while ago, even though his opinion of Richter wasn't too high, he was doing a lot to ensure the safety of his home and his experience showed. Like the other days Kenshin spent his time walking the city, it wasn't long until he heard Richter talking with a couple of men he had appointed as his commanders, he hadn't entered their line of sight yet so he kept it that way. It wasn't long after a robed boy joined them Kenshin thought it was time to join the discussion.

"Our homes are being destroyed regardless, might as well do it in a manner that would benefit us." Kenshin looked around at the small group of men before placing his hand on the hilt of his Wo Dao. "If the essence of heroism is to die so others can live, then it's time for me to step up to the hero role. I'm willing to lead a group into what could very well be a suicide charge to break their front lines, if those chieftains aren't fools they'll listen to Richter and follow up with the opportunity I gave them." In the past his suicidal charges was only to put him that much closer to his revenge, he did not care what happened to everybody else but this time, he was looking to prevent the death of multiple clans as well of those who traveled from beyond the border to aid him.

[Richter Abend]

“Best thing you could do would be to help me come up with a plan,” muttered Richter as the diminutive Mavick approached him, offering his help. The pink haired warrior crossed his arms as he looked out over the wall, studying the field that lay before him. “We’ve had a nice influx of troops over the last few days, Sacaen tribesmen that have come to help defend the city and what not, but now that the bandits have taken up a defensive position they’ve all gotten cold feet.” He sighed as he let his gaze gradually scan the war-torn horizon.

“This fight is raiders against raiders.” Richter raised a hand to point at the enemy forces holed up in their trenches across the plain. “Aside from that pirate armada and the company of mercenaries that showed up two days ago, we’re fighting bandits. They’re barely trained and poorly organized. They’re fueled by greed and make a living pillaging weak civilian targets.” The commander made a short thumb jabbing gesture over his shoulder. “The Sacaens are better, but not by much. They’re skilled swordsman and their horseback archery is second to none, but on a military scale they think tribal. They like fast hit and run strikes with small, easily maneuverable squads. They don’t like taking casualties; they’re not mentally equipped for a long, bloody, messy siege.”

“I’m used to commanding soldiers, not hunters and hobbyists,” Richter continued, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “And I’m definitely not used to dealing with a dozen political interests at once. All this bickering over who fights where and who fights when is exhausting. They feel no unity in their shared destruction because they don’t think Hargus can do it.” The Ilian shook his head. “I’m not taking my chances.”

It was then that a familiar figure in Kenshin, of the Wind Tiger tribe, approached the two of them. Richter had learned the name of the red-haired man’s original tribe from other chieftains since initially taking command of the city’s forces. While not as grandiose as “The Crimson Demon”, Richter found Kenshin’s full name bit more friendly than his title, and had gone out of his way to refer to the man as such so as to foster at least some small feeling of camaraderie between the two of them, given that he was commanding the forces defending the infamous Sacaen’s city. He wasn’t quite sure how Kenshin felt about it yet, but the two hadn’t talked much over the duration of the siege.

“I appreciate the offer, Kenshin, but-” Richter began, a dismissive look in his eye, but before he could finish batting aside the hero’s offer of needless death, said dimission quickly turned to surprise. The pink haired Ilian’s eyes widened as he saw a spire of thick, black smoke shoot into the sky on the other side of the city. The smoke reached ever higher into the heavens until it exploded into a flower-like bloom and went cascading down towards the ground. It was an awesome visual, and would have been quite the spectacle if not for its origin. From this distance, Richter couldn’t see the source of the towering cloud, but he still knew: Hargus.

The smoke completely covered the southern battlefield, lingering upon it like a foul miasma, then as it receded, the Ilian saw a horrifying sight: the dead were rising, and with them gargoyle-like creatures like the ones he had faced at Salvation Point. The gargoyles flew high into the sky, and from where Richter stood they looked like a cloud of locusts, ready to descend upon a field of succulent grain. Then the cloud split into two clouds, with one moving towards the eastern battlefield while the other flew towards the western. And as they did, the veritable horde of zombies began making their way to the city’s southern wall. Even from the other side of the city, Richter could hear the booming voice of the Bandit King commanding his newly arisen demonic army, and it only made him more confused. There had been undead at Ostia, and gargoyles at Salvation Point. Had Hargus been behind those attacks as well? Was the Prophet actually in league with Hargus!?

There was no time for questions. Richter’s hand began to fly to the hilt of Damonzahn, but he stopped himself. He remembered the last time he’d used this weapon to slay a demon. It hadn’t ended well. So instead, the Ilian reached over and picked up Boreas, which had been resting against a barrel of rations. When this fighting was over, he’d need to create some sort of harness for it. Constantly carrying it around in his hands was getting tiresome.

“Monsters! My god, I've seen these before!" said Richter as he interrupted his own train of thought. "But never in such force! Never mind what I was about to say, Kenshin, it looks like Hargus is beating you to the punch,” A grave look was etched upon the pink haired commander's face, and a sinking feeling was settling itself in the pit of his stomach. He’d fought monsters and the undead before, but never in this great of numbers. A force like this...it was overwhelming. If Hargus had more than this in his bag of tricks, well, Richter wasn’t sure if even he could keep this city of heroes intact.

“We'll need to act fast if we're going to survive. I assigned the sage, Aaron, to the southern wall,” Richter stated, a finger shooting in that direction. “I’m going to go support him, since that’s where the bulk of Hargus’s monsters are going to hit.” His eyes jumped to Kenshin. “Kenshin, you’re in charge of the eastern wall. Make sure those damn pirates don’t use this opportunity to blow down our wall with those catapults. If you see any chieftains on your way, demand their support. Let them know they have no choice. We need every able body fighting.” Richter took a moment as he ran through the east wall roster. “The smith, the blonde one, is the archer-captain over there. If you need a second, use him.”

Richter’s gaze slid over towards Mavick, and he unconsciously bent his knees a little to lower himself to Mavick’s height.
“Mavick, find Wyatt. Tell him he’s in command of the west. I assigned a dark mage named Edrick as archer-captain. Tell them to work together.” The Ilian’s commander finger shot to the sky. “As for you, I need you keeping those flying demons from getting into the city. I can’t imagine they’re going to settle for the walls. Recruit whomever you have to, just keep civilian casualties to a minimum. We’re going to be fighting for survival, but if you think of a clever plan, or realize something of note, send someone my way.”

“Now move out!”

[Vincent]

In a moment the battlefield seemed to become timeless. Everything and everyone stood still. The battling stopped, the cries of combat silenced, all eyes were fixed on the south. Murmurs were sounded through the crowds. Soft at first but growing in concern. It seemed neither side knew what was happening. Vincent was clear of the range of his enemies and began to take steps in the direction of a strange smoke. It was engulfing the southern end of the city. Was the enemy resorting to poisonous gases?

The gases or smoke, whatever this was grew concern in the men but as it receded away the concern morphed. It changed into pure terror, confusion, and worry. Cries could be heard from several men as before their eyes monsters began to fly into the sky. The so called gargoyles. Vincent was no stranger to the monsters but he still had not fought many. Gargoyles were on that list. Uncertainty felt his legs quiver as he stepped back.

Vincent found himself in a dangerous state of uncertainty. The last time he faced monsters only two was enough to nearly wipe a team of six out of existence. This was... too many... far too many to possibly count. That was only what he could see in the sky. There was no telling what was on the ground levels. For all he or anyone could tell the south was about to fall. The most terrifying thing of all was what could be heard despite the deafening silence. The voice of a man, if he was still deserving of such a title. It was his first time hearing it but he knew. This was the voice of a terror. A monster named Hargus.

To flee would be easy. To stand and die even easier. "Phoenix... only if I truly need you should you offer me your power. People need to see that it is the average soldier that can still carry the day." The blade did not respond but the power thrummed silently as Vincent picked up a second blade from the ground.

The dual wielding mercenary turned his focus to the pirates and mercenaries that found the creatures to be fighting in favor of their side. He was not a commander but he could see it. The brokenness in these men. broken bodies he carried to safety. Broken minds that needed counseling. Broken hearts that would never heal. He was no commander and would never wish to be. But he fought beside, bled with, shed tears alongside, and befriended these men. If nothing more, he understood them. He couldn't lead them but he could do his best to rally them and bring their spirits back.

Charging forward Vincent rushed toward the now arrogant forces. They had believed they'd won the day. The battle was now in their favor and their enemies morale was broken. Vincent would ensure they did not hold such a belief long. A cowering soldier was ready to be slain but Vincent charged with a fierce cry stabbing into the opponent toppling him to the ground dead. Many more enemies were there but this would be the first of the many.

As combat resumed Vincent shouted out to his fellows. He knew not how far his voice would carry and his words would be broken in combat but to whatever ears he could reach, those that could hear needed to. "KEEP FIGHTING!!! WE ARE ALL HERE FOR A PURPOSE! WOULD YOU SEE THAT DENIED!?" Vincent shoved an opponent back. "WE HAVE LASTED FOR SEVEN HELLISH DAYS AND NIGHTS! WE WILL WIN UPON THIS EIGHTH!!!" Vincent found his own words giving him a new vigor. He needed to believe it himself. The more he spoke the more he did. "IT'S FAR FROM OVER BUT WE MUST KEEP THE NORTH AT BAY!!! IF WE FALL HERE THERE IS NO WINNING THIS BATTLE!!! BELIEVE IN YOUR ALLIES AND BELIEVE IN YOUR OWN STRENGTH!!!

Vincent knew he could rely on his commanders from hereon to guide their blades, but as much worry as the south was, if either side of the battle failed the other would be overrun. He longed to go to the chaos, but he knew many would share his sympathy. For now at least he would help keep the north fighting.

[Gabe]

If Gabe could curse right now he most certainly would. The battle had raged for what seemed like ten eternities without an end in sight. Gabe was tired at this point almost unable to think straight quiver running low, if needed he would keep 2 arrows and stab bandits if the need arose but then the situation grew just a bit more dire when he looked south. "What is that gas" thought Gabe but he soon found out as monsters and horrors one would only find in story books became all to real. "Ah sh-" but Gabe's thoughts were interrupted by an arrow hitting the wall near him from an enemy sniper from his own end of the city. Gabe immediately fired back wounding the enemy's arm disabling him. Another look around also made Gabe notice another horrible truth there weren't that many defenders still here as most went towards the monsters. "Well ain't this something." Thought Gabe as he searched frantically for ammo. He was in luck as a dead ally had some arrows both in his quiver and in his body in useable condition but the corpse was out in the open and that might be a death trap for a young archer but Gabe needed the ammo so he bolted for it and got the quiver but befor he could get back to cover he got hit in the leg by an arrow but Gabe survived and ducked back into cover and quickly warped a cloth around the wound and tried his best to keep fighting unsure of his chances of survival.

[Vincent]

Due to previous confusions it seemed as though the North was filled with opponents, each side littering the ground with their dead. On and on the battles carried until something strange occurred, a miracle if you will. A large portion of the opposing forces, the pirates, began to retreat. Who called them back? Why? The concerns were brief as the men around him began to rejoice and the bandit army became broken, though still very dangerous.

Despite his normal nature Vincent found himself giving commands rather than taking them, that was... different. "REFORM THE LINES!!! SHIELD WALL IN FRONT, LANCERS SUPPORT THEM AND ARCHERS AND MAGES MIX TO THE REAR!!!" It was slow to occur in the confusion but the North was reorganizing as the enemies fell into chaos. Push them out of the city and reassess Vincent decided.

"Archers! Focus your fire on mages and the enemy archers! Now we push them back!" Slowly the formation moved pushing back against the opposition. The catapults had ceased firing and there seemed to be a lack of command. They needed to act fast lest this opportunity fall to ruin. Secure the North and aid in the other districts, this was the goal.

This was when he noticed a young archer, wounded by an arrow in his leg, how young was he? No more than a boy. Vincent quickly pulled a mage out of the formation telling them to get the young man to the healing quarters as well as any others they may happen to find.

Things were going well here... too well. The enemy was pushed from the city back to the gate and the focus of combat was there. Victory here seemed assured but then the flow of battle changed once again. A terrified cry came out from the crowds, "Gargoyles!!!"

It seemed as though the ability to fly won out for these monstrosities letting them bypass a number of opponents to make it to the north. Vincent watched as the horrific beasts flew for them. A mere few dozen of them and yet they terrified him more than the whole of the army being held back behind the wall. A fight from two sides. It was what he had feared coming to pass most. 'I won't let them win!' He thought.

The focus was to keep the enemy out of the city but Vincent was not a fool. Keeping the heavy infantry in front allowed them to heavily slow the bandits. Mages were of course a concern but that was what the archers were there for. "Archers from the right!!! Focus fire on the gargoyles!" They would pick them out of the sky. Those that listened fired a powerful volley but the beasts kept coming. They seemed hardly affected by the attacks.

In mere moments the monsters were diving upon them. Vincent took his stance and readied himself trying to redirect to strike with his lancereaver. He merely succeeded in preventing a mortal blow. It was as if they were made of stone and muscle. The lance stabbed past him grazing his left side tearing into his armor and flesh alike. It was not deep but if untreated could leave him dying at a later point. Following up he struck with his second blade only to be blocked by the creature's wing.

The short stalemate between the two ended rather quickly as the monster grabbed Vincent by the face, its huge hand more than enough to cover him completely. With a jerk of its lance and a bat of its wings Vincent was left weaponless and lifted into the air. The creature moved to crush his head but he still had a dagger. Perhaps the weapon that pulled him through all of his worst situations.

He jabbed it into the beasts elbow, pulling it back and stabbing it's forearm cutting and tearing tendons. The creature seemed unaffected yet perhaps there was enough humanity left in it as it threw Vincent through the air as if to rid itself of a nuisance. Tumbling across the ground he came to an abrupt stop against the wall. The beast was still not done with him. It carried a spear with one hand now but it charged for him.

A quick survey of his options proved to be fruitless. He did however see that several gargoyles had fallen by now but many men were mowed down as well. The fighting was hectic and they were flanked on two sides. There was no one coming to each other's aids at this time. The situation was dire.

The gargoyle rushed and in turn so did Vincent. As he came closer he threw his dagger straight into the arm with the lance as he dodged to the right. The sharpness of his movements only made his wounds worse and he toppled to the ground in pain. The attack did its job well. The creature had dropped its lance incapable of wielding it further. It took to the skies with its feet talons spread wide and its head low. It still had options and Vincent was dwindling his quickly.

Clutching his side the warm sticky blood covered his gauntlet causing it to grow slick he stood and faced the beast. He could not contend with the creature as he was now but he had an idea. He ran from it prompting it to chase him. He quickly found a lance that was on the ground. He had no skill with such things but he was desperate. Diving down he took hold and pulled it back towards the monster as it dove headlong into the shaft. It impaled itself upon it and shrieked and thrashed about on top of Vincent. The wild flailing nicked the boy a few times leaving scratches until it remained silent and still.

With a great deal of effort he pushed the carcass from on top of him and weakly began to stand. Surveying the battlefield he saw his lancereaver. Jerking his dagger from the beast's arm he regained his gear. He had won the fight but all around them more gargoyles flew and dove. These things were beyond the average man and there were so many. Vincent's morale was beginning to waver.

Another step and he felt his side screaming for healing. He was beginning to feel unwell. Was the thing poisoned? Quickly as he could he called out to the healers and moved for the healing tents. The beasts ignored him at the present but how long would it last? He needed healing.

[Minerva]

The young woman looked up, and, seeing the mass of blackness converging on the battlefield, smiled in grim anticipation of the battle to come. These were gargoyles... Must be some hellish byproduct of Hargus. After all, a guy who's come back to life must have a few tricks up his sleeves, right?

"Charge! Take heart, Raiders! Hargus has sent us reinforcements... The cavalry has arrived!"

With a roar of new-found and newly-inspired confidence, the bandits redoubled their efforts and began to push the defensive line back. The catapult fired again, but this shot missed its mark, the weakened section, and slammed into another part of the wall, doing no discernible damage, before dropping like an anvil near the Heroes' reserves and healers.

Minerva raised her hands, bluish fire swirling excitedly around her fingers, and barked an incantation before releasing her energy and sending a blast of flame into the defenders, watching as one man's hair caught in the fury of her blaze. But this wasn't enough; she needed to get closer, to do more damage. She had to move into the fray proper.

Cautiously moving forward, the rest of her 'battalion' of mages -- all six of them -- moving with her, the mage woman arrived at the rear of the bandit lines before fanning her group into a V formation and sending a volley of fireballs forward, which arced over the main contingent of fighters in crisscrossing and curving paths and rained down upon the rear portion of the Hero line.

"Keep the flames going, my dears. We'll give them Hell and Hargus! Fight on, Bandits, FIGHT ON!"

[Vincent]

Vincent cringed and clutched his side. Those blasted monsters are far too powerful it is simply absurd. As he approached the healing areas he saw a large wrecking ball crash into a building and fall on top of a tent demolishing it. "Blast!" He cursed wincing as his side sang to him of his wounds. Getting over to the site he collapsed onto his knees barely able to keep going. To his relief the healers took note of him and began to tend to his wounds.

Slowly, far too slowly. Why couldn't they take care of him faster!? Suddenly he found his body was shaking violently as another man came over and shoved a bottle of vile liquid into his mouth. Though he never used it he recognized it as anti venom. He was poisoned after all. The woman tending with her staff spoke to him. "We must get you inside the tents. You need to rest. You may never heal properly from this beating if you don't."

Rest? Now? Was the woman raving mad? That was no option for him. The men were dying and facing MONSTERS. Standard procedures were out the window for him. The bandits seemed to be rallying themselves and pushing back, and where were the BLASTED CAPTAINS!? The men are without direction and being overwhelmed. Vincent felt his rage growing more and more.

A voice began to speak to him then. "Kid, you've grown since you found me. Into a splendid young man at that. You've proven yourself worthy of my power and yet you choose to refuse me. Why?"

Vincent was being ushered to the tents his feet practically dragging. His eyes were void and he was weak from the battles and lack of sleep. He heard the voice and the question. Was it not obvious? The answer? "People don't need heroes and you are a blade fit for a hero. I used to think that is what I wanted to be. A beacon to those around me. A powerful figure that all look upon in awe. I wanted to be known by the masses but I have learned that is not what I want. A hero is nothing more than a man on a pedestal. I've spoken to several 'heroes since coming here and I realized they are just like me. Normal men and women that i and others glorified for what they accomplished. Anyone could be them. If only... if only they could see it."

"Kid, I think you misunderstand what a hero's worth is. A hero is not some figure head that you describe. They are no god in the minds of others. If they were a god they would all be like Hargus. Fools blindly following power and influence. A hero is those that will never yield. Those that have the courage to keep moving on. To make the hard choices and willing to give their lives up for those too afraid to do so themselves. A hero is often too humble to see their own self worth. A lot like you I'd say."

Vincent's body was unmoving but his mind was awake and he was left in shock by Phoenix Heart's words. "What do you mean?"

If a weapon could sigh it would have just now. "I mean to say that a hero is not a person that stands above others but rather stands with them. True, they are often superior in some way to the average man but they are always human. You have befriended the men out there and they are left without a figure to look to. Your speech roused them for a moment but you kept yourself on par with them. Do not say you stand above them but give them a show and spectacle to rally behind."

"How? You are just a sword for me now? I have not managed to release your powers since the incident?"

"No, you haven't but I can still put on a show. Now go. Your wounds are healed and you can walk again. Go back to the battlefield with me in hand. Show them what you believe. Show them that a hero stands and rises from among their numbers. Prove your words now that any of them can become like you by rising up."

"But you are still just another sword when in my hands," Vincent argued.

"Just let me worry about that."

When the talk ended Vincent left his trance-like state to find they had him resting on a cot. He felt a tingling sensation from his hand. A pulsating throb that filled his body with heat. He felt strangely refreshed and his will was as strong as it had ever been. Rising from the bed he was confronted by a bishop insisting he sit. Vincent placed a hand on the elderly healer's shoulder and smiled. "Not until victory is ours."

He walked out finding strength and desire for battle. 'He was a hero, so said the sword.' Hardly a hero, he thought. He drew his lancereaver in his left hand. They chaos unveiled itself before him. The sight was grim and the battle dire. His blade had a plan and he would be the instrument to carry it out. To strike fear in the enemy and to give strength to his allies.

Closer and closer he crossed the battlefield until the heart of it was upon him. Now was the time. Looking across the lines he saw many flames dancing and flickering searing his comrades and destroying the defenders. There she was again... the bandit woman from his earliest adventure and she was in charge of the northern bandits. It would seem that destiny would have them settle this score one way or another. Would she remember his face? Not likely, but after today she would never forget it.

"Now. It's time." Vincent breathed deeply the sigil on his hand lighting up brightly to the point of even shining through his gauntlets. He grabbed hold of Phoenix Heart the pulse in his hand shooting into the blade itself awakning it. As he drew the sword forth the black blade revealed golden etchings that burned within its length. His eyes became consumed by a pale blue light, like flames. The sword gave off an odd wispy blue mist and glow. This must be what the blade meant by making a show of this.

From across the field Vincent's eyes locked with the crazed mage's. "I challenge you to a duel, between the leaders of the northern forces!" Where was this coming from. There was no time for duels with monsters flying around. Still, if he could win this then the battle would shift in their favor. Suddenly as his voice now full of confidence shouted his challenge wings of blue flames burst forth from his back each six feet in length and yet no heat came from them. All show and no power. Still, he was skilled with his blades and now he must have looked like a savior. Was this enough to instill fighting spirit again? He could only hope. Especially after making himself a target in such an absurd way.

A gargoyle took note of him and dived. Vincent was ready this time. He would put his all in this clash and make it short. Appearance was important now. Dodging at the last second he lashed out with his reaver catching the hook into its flesh making it rip its own side open. Now its back exposed he brought the glowing blade high and with a swift swing sent the beast's head flying from its body. He then turned back to the challenged as the men around him cheered at the display.

His heart was pounding faster and faster. It was a thrill and terrifying.

[Gabe]

Gabe had awakened from an uneasy sleep to find himself lying in a small bed. His leg was bandaged and a wet rag was on his head. "I must have passed out." He mumbled to himself. He looked around and saw healers running around treating the wounded and sick. He could here the sounds of battle from outside ravaging the city, but he could do nothing but watch as his allies fought for the safety of everyone behind the broken walls of the city. He tried to get up but when he tried to walk a terrible pain ran through his wounded leg and he fell to the ground holding his leg in pain. One of the healers came to him and helped him back to bed and told him he couldn't fight until his leg recovered. Gabe knew this but he didn't want to accept it. As he laid on his he couldn't help but worry for the safety of the others he clenched his bow in his hand and prayed for a swift recovery so he could try and help again. He knew The defenders needed all the help they could get with all those monsters about but for now all he could do was lay down and wait.