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Post by Riva Harel on Jun 18, 2015 20:34:00 GMT -6
Riva gave a small smile and a shake of her head as Hawthorne boomed his approval of the fire-bombing plan. The enthusiasm was appreciated and necessary, as it was quite clear the room responded to his approval of their go-forward strategy. Riva had never been one for the spotlight, anyways - Uri had been more influential as a High Officer than Riva had been, but that was because of how brilliant he had been. While Riva did her best to fill Uri’s shoes, men like him and Hawthorne were the ones who struck inspiration into the officers. As always, Riva was more suited to the men on the ground, though as of late she’d barely had time to do anything of the sort. She’d need to change that, considering how much she’d volunteered her men for.
The meeting drawing to a close, Riva felt confident in their plan. It wasn’t perfect - not many were, after all - but it was strong, and they had surprise on their side. Remi wouldn’t see them coming until fire and smoke filled the sky on their horizons, and then it would be too late. Good, she thought. Riva was a dutiful officer, but she had grown weary of the constant patrols. Expanding the motherland’s influence when Ilia was distracted by its fruitless campaign in Bern was exactly what they needed to be doing instead of ensuring their borders were locked tight.
With a swift nod towards Alranus, the High Office looked over the room. “Prepare your men to have the camp packed up and ready to move at 0800 hours. We’ll debrief them as we move. Dismissed.” With that, the officers began to disperse; there was a lot to get done in little under 24 hours, but Etruria’s soldiers would manage. They always did.
Urban approached Riva as the other officers began filing out of the canvas tent, arms crossed. Riva grinned, finally showing a bit of excitement in front of her own low officer, and he returned the smile. “Patience always pays off, Officer Urban,” Riva commented as she leaned over the map, taking a piece of graphite in hand and carefully marking the points and moves they had just discussed in place of the physical markers they had been using.
“Indeed, ma’am,” Urban replied as he gathered the discarded markers, stashing them in their rightful storage container. It was time to get moving; the camp wouldn’t pack itself, after all.
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Post by Alranus Aurilia on Jun 26, 2015 14:41:50 GMT -6
Time-skipping to "bombing"
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There had always been something captivating about the soft, pale glow of a full moon. What was its purpose? Did it even have one? Where the sun’s rays brought life and morning, the full moon’s light provided nothing save for its own beauty. It was bright enough to shine upon the ground, but too weak to illuminate the sky. Instead of driving away the shadow it courted it like a lover, sharing in a night that was equal parts light and dark. It was a coward that only came out when it's better had gone to sleep, knowing it couldn’t compete, because when it did try to combat the sun it turned into little more than the black shadows it normally hid within.
As Alranus Aurilia pulled himself onto Azazel’s back, he swore to himself that he would never be like the moon. He would never be a coward, hiding within the darkness. He would not shield himself from the light, no matter how much it dwarfed him. Tonight he would be like the sun: a brilliant agent of fire, a bringer of both light and death. When the filth that slithered within Modlin looked to the sky tonight, they would see not the moon, but fire, their end, and it would consume them whole. And when Remi looked to Modlin this night, they would not see darkness but a brilliant, cleansing pyre, the harbinger of their destruction, and when they did so they would repent and accept the Prophet’s judgement, or they would burn as well.
“By the Light of St. Elimine who strengthens me, and for the glory of her Eternal Prophet do I ride tonight,” began Alranus in prayer as he slipped his riding helmet over his head and tightened the chinstrap. “Let me be a bringer of Light to Elibe, so that I may change the world and usher in an era of everlasting peace so that others may not have to suffer in this ruined world within which I have suffered. Let me show Elibe Etruria’s might, and may the world put down its weapons in awe, and turn its eyes to the Prophet.” The wyvern rider put his right hand to his forehead, held it there for a brief moment, then pulled his spear from its holster on Azazel’s saddle. It’s red runed steel glittered in the moonlight.
“Men of the 1st Wyvern!” he shouted, hoisting Uruloki over his head. The head of the spear burst into flames. “Each of you have sworn an oath of service to the Prophet, and once again I call you to make good on that oath. Prepare yourselves now, for tonight we fly in Etruria’s name, and that is a name that shall not be sullied! Ignite within your breasts the fervent fires of faith, so that you may stand in the face of endless darkness and live and bring light to those lost within!”
The mages High Officer Harel had assigned to his troop began to clamber aboard the backs of the scaled beasts that would lift them to the skies this night. Many looked unsure of their footing as they were helped up, as they had never ridden wyverns before, but most if not all stifled their fears with feelings of eagerness. The mage who would ride with Alranus, a young man named Jerome, slipped into the straps that had been attached to Azazel’s saddle for his use and flipped back his hood. His face was a whirlwind of excitement and fear. Alranus had requested that they only take volunteers.
“Mages of the Inquisition! Tonight you ride on the backs of dragons!” he continued, brandishing Uruloki in a long sweeping motion directed at the wyvern riders who had been selected and prepared to fly tonight. “Let that not bring fear to your hearts but gladness, for from the sky you shall rain purifying magic upon those unworthy of the Prophet’s grace! Let Etruria’s name be a thing to strike fear into the hearts of those who would prey upon its people!”
“Now fly!” Alranus cried, thrusting his spear towards the sky above Modlin. “Fly and let these brigands tremble at the sound of beating wings!”
With that, two dozen wyverns launched themselves from the grassy plains and into the air, their wings creating a discordant rhythm that bore them closer to the soon to be desolate ruin that was Modlin with every beat.
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Post by Remus on Jun 28, 2015 12:05:34 GMT -6
Perhaps it was the knowledge that he could have attempted to stop this plan. Maybe it was the notion that he was about to watch tens of unsuspecting men burn alive. Remus couldn't be sure...but as the blue haired priest stood in the radiant soft illumination from which the moonbeams graced, he gazed on with a somber expression. The zealous flames of Etruria swept up most. Even within the healing company, many were abuzz with the fantastic sights of this "fire-bomb" tactic. Where others harbored a feverish fanaticism to purge these souls, he felt a churning nausea that threatened to entirely consume him. It was just shy of the outskirts to open plains that the robed priest stood, watching the wyverns take to the sky. Behind him, a small unit of assorted healers congregated. It wasn't particularly part of the over all plan, but Remus had opted to treading upon caution. Three healers stood beside him. A mixture of staves complimenting them, between one to help lessen wounds, one that could mend injuries over great distances, and one which; like Remus'es own stave specialized in healing multiple wounded at once.
A quiet sigh left him as he tried to ignore the zealous clamourings to one of the priests behind him. Remus found himself a bit more ragged than usual, despite the ever lingering trace of a kind smile on his expression. Being the second in command for this healing unit was ceaseless work. Constant matters drew his attention. Every injury, every chore, every last issue was drawn to him. The bishop who ran the healing company was a talented man, albeit one to embody sloth in it's very essence at the most inconvenient of times. The man was oft found enjoying a more luxurious aspect of the tour through Ilia, aiding in prayer and visiting various units of the force to serve for stand in sermons. As a consequence of his absence, Remus had been shouldered the work load of it all. From sifting out what capacity of wound they were expected to tend as opposed to naturally bandage or heal, to helping with the lesser experienced healers.
"The prophet's hand strikes at the impure! Tis' an honor to see the glory of divine justice brought down upon the lesser!"
Remus bothered not with turning to address the male who found such pleasure in others torment. He lowered his head quietly in solemn prayer. Not however, for the success of the mission like the rest had prayed for; he prayed for the souls about to be lost. The unsuspecting who would be caught in a storm of fire and fury brought upon wyvern-back and religious flame. Would it be that he could shield all from harm...but again, his conversations with the brown haired woman who had saved him came back to recollection. None could protect the world from burden and pain. It was folly to attempt it. It did little to lessen his regret. Parted lips let the final part of his prayer slip into the quiet of the night air, where the world lingered still in a cloak of darkness and slumbering peacefully.
"May Saint Elimine watch over them..."
The other priests blindly agreed with his prayer, assuming no doubt that he prayed for some divine intervention to strike down the brigands and all of Ilia. It left a bitter touch to his heart, masked by the same soft expression he always wore. Fingers coiled tightly around the ruby stoned staff which he had often used more as a walking stick than anything, and shifting his weight, the Priest began to slowly walk out of the clearing from the tree line. He was far too distant in the nights embrace to be noticed, and if anything did happen to the Wyvern units by some small chance, he'd have preferred to be able to notice it. Remus spoke back to the other three as he tried to maintain focus.
"Keep an eye out. If anyone is wounded, we aid them as best we can. "
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Post by Riva Harel on Jun 28, 2015 20:19:43 GMT -6
While their campaign so far had gone according to plan, Riva knew there was no time to rest on their laurels. While the rest of the brigade no doubt anxiously waited for the night sky to be alight with flames, the fully-armored high officer stood with a small reserve of soldiers further in the forest, waiting for the remainder of the Third Inquisitional Ranged Unit scouts to return with their final count. The battalions were stationed far enough out to not be noticed by the brigands holed up in the fort, but in case anything went awry, they’d determined a squad needed to be on standby in case of trouble. Each of the battalions had volunteered a fire team of willing soldiers, all of whom stood under Riva as the squad’s leader, with Officer Urban overseeing the brigade while they were gone.
Alexander Marcus stood next to Riva as she sat mounted atop Zuriel, eyes worriedly looking out over the dark forest in front of them. He had been skeptical of his men’s safety amidst the firebombing plans, despite constant assurances from multiple officers that the wyverns would not take off without the express command that the forest was all clear. Even then, Riva could understand his concern for his men; anyone who was a leader of any kind felt a duty to those who served under them, and the fact that half of his unit was still out there had him on edge. Riva would have been the same way, just not as openly. Showing fear simply gave the soldiers reason to feel more fearful than they already did.
“No need to fret, Marcus,” Riva said simply, looking down from behind the silver helmet atop her head, lifting her visor so he could see her calm expression. “The wyverns won’t lift off until they have the go-ahead, and the last report was they were still assembling the mages. Your men will make it back.” The man simply nodded his head, a shaky “yes ma’am” his only reply as he continued watching for any sign of life.
Unfortunately, a few moments later they heard it: the unmistakeable sound of wings beating against the stale night air. Riva’s head snapped up, looking towards the sky to see the far-off wyverns rising into the pitch-black starry night. She would have cursed if it wouldn’t have been unbecoming in front of the soldiers. Had someone mistakenly given the signal? Or had their calls to hold until the second group of scouts gone unheeded by 1st Wyvern?
Either way, Riva recognized now that the wyverns were flying with haste to the fort, which meant the firebombing could very well begin with their scouts still in the tree-cover. “Private Renald,” Riva commanded, looking back at their own scout, “Go to the healing unit, and tell them to have a team on standby.” The private saluted before quickly heading off, leaving the squad. Riva looked over the men, whose eyes were all on her as they waited for instruction - all save for Alexander Marcus, who looked sickly as he stared desperately ahead.
“Follow my lead, soldiers! We have half a unit to evacuate from the trees before the Wyverns complete their approach, so no time to dally!” With that, Riva dug her heels into Zuriel’s heels, eliciting a whinney from the black horse before shooting forward, the squad following close behind. If they weren’t able to get the men out of the forest in time… No, there was no use thinking negatively. There was no other option but to recover their men.
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Post by Alranus Aurilia on Jul 4, 2015 10:56:07 GMT -6
There it was. Modlin. As the stories went, this fort, long ago, had been a resting point for travelers journeying between Ilia and Etruria, and the first line of defense against any of Etruria’s enemies that would dare attack from the north. It had stood steadfast through the years, weathering any storm. It had been a proud monument to the stability that Etruria could provide to its people and those willing to submit themselves to her care. A beacon of hope. A symbol of security.
But now it was nothing more than just a den of thieves, overflowing with vermin that would sully the Prophet’s good name and wage war upon the livelihoods of his people. Alranus had no mercy, no patience for such villains. He was a servant of hard work and a soldier of sacrifice. He had grown up in the slums. He knew what it was like to be preyed on by people who were too lazy, too stupid, or too cruel to make their fortune by honest means. He knew what it was like to be victim of the alcoholic, the burglar, the murderer, the rapist; It was hell, but a hell that, by his own mettle and by the grace of St. Elimine, he had pulled himself out of. But these cretins? These cretins scoured the countryside, preying on the weak, ready to create fresh hell for unsuspecting innocents to further their own ill-gotten gains.
But no longer. Villains had no place in this world. A new era was coming, overflowing from the heart of Etruria. Just as how Ostia had represented the stagnancy of the status quo of this flawed world, Modlin represented the taint of its corruption. Both needed to be purified.
Modlin was within range of mage fire, and from his skytop perch Alranus could see torches being lit in alarm. With the moon at their backs, no doubt his wyverns had been spotted by the fortress dwellers. But the time was not yet right. If they attacked now, the brigands would respond in kind, and in an effort to minimize casualties, Alranus wanted to wait for the exact moment when they passed over the fort, the exact moment when the bandits would assume they were just passing over, to unleash the Prophet’s fury upon them. They would die instantly. A clean victory for Etruria.
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Post by Remus on Jul 6, 2015 6:33:25 GMT -6
Private Renald had done a fine job to find the healing unit so quickly. However, once again the slothful head of the healing unit was enjoying personal affairs at such a time. Such a time was optimal that he might enjoy a nap after a hard day's march. One of the other healers, though notified pointed out that someone in the chain of command should preside over the proper preparations. A somewhat thin cleric, with raven hair tied back into a ponytail informed the hasty private that they would be prepared; sending someone to fetch the blue haired second in command. Luckily...he wasn't far away.
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Remus gazed towards the dispatched wyverns quietly, his quiet breaths stiffed as if to listen for some distinguishable detail as to how things might progress. It would avail him little to wonder it really. He wouldn't know how the operation went until things were already over. Until an entire fort if unsuspecting souls had been burned to the ground. A wave of disgust threatened to take him as the priest looked to the side and slowly made his way over towards the side of the forest line. In all his struggling to hear more, he was too focused to notice the approaching messenger. Another priest, but young enough that he looked like he'd just joined the Eliminian faith. Few were actually younger than Remus here. He had felt relief though to learn he wasn't the only youth present.
By the time the approaching healer grabbed his attention, he noticed only to look in concern. The fact that the boy had sprinted to find him could not bode well. With a slowly dawning expression of horror, Remus learned of the pending situation and that the healing unit had been assigned to prepare for receiving wounded. Lifting his stave over his shoulder he started to run back to the camp(Closer to a steady jog for others) while beckoning for the others to follow. The young messenger, who had already been out of breath, turned with exasperation and panted as he moved to follow them. Remus wasted no time in trying to help set up "beds" as he instructed a few hands to empty out one of the larger tents. Not knowing how many wounded to expect, he could only pray that it would be a handful. Had things gone wrong? Was there some unforseen threat that the enemy had hidden about?
A focus seldom seen in the priest came out as he effectively micromanaged the group of ten healers that was moving about the tent. The three from before were still with him, as they made ready. White sheets were laid out over top of the light cushions they could space out on the ground. Remus lifted his head as he knelt by to ensure the spaces were properly spread out. "I want buckets of water set up now. Use some from the stores, bring wash clothes as well and small towels. Depending on how many we are to receive, prepare more sheets to be rolled out. I want them as comfortable as we can manage out here. Brother Miciah, if they are in critical shape then you and I will rotate trying to lessen majority wounds. Brother Samuel, I want you to focus on individual wounds. Sister Lydia, please assist him in this. Everyone be ready, and do not forget yourselves. Focus. The harder you do that, the easier the task! "
It wasn't much of a speech. Just words he felt himself to be true. They waited, ready and slightly on edge. In the battle plan they had opted for it specifically out of a lack of danger. What went wrong? That lingering concern kept nibbling away at him.
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Post by Riva Harel on Jul 12, 2015 15:46:33 GMT -6
The sound of the mounted unit barreling through the trees was a thunderous one, which would no doubt be heard if any of the bandits were out and about on a patrol tonight. But at this point, there was no time to worry about alerting the rapscallions to their presence - with the wyverns already launched, the fort would no doubt see its doom regardless of their knowledge of an attack coming. But the Etrurian scouts wouldn’t, and having half of Marcus’s unit killed before even reaching remi wouldn’t reflect well on anyone.
The crisp wind rushing through her open helmet, Riva looked with narrowed eyes for any sign of the scouts - which, unfortunately, if they were doing their jobs right, there would be little to none at all. So tonight, she hoped they would be clumsy, forget to cover their tracks, anything that would tell them their position.
“Officer Harel!” Riva’s head snapped to the sound of one of her soldiers calling out over the hoof-fall; Riva held her hand up in a tightly closed fist, bringing the stampede to a halt. “Officer, up there!” The helmeted man pointed to a small group of cloaked, leather-armor wearing men quickly rushing towards them. Riva lightly tapped Zuriel’s ribs, moving them to the front of the squad just as the men on foot met them.
“Officer.” One of the scouts stepped forward, giving a quick salute. There were five of them total, which was not as many as they were expecting.
“Where are the rest of you, soldier?” Riva didn’t have time for formalities right now; any moment now the mages atop the wyverns would likely begin their devastating attack, while they were still inside of the forest.
“Private Meleedy went ahead to get a better view of the fort, ma’am; he hasn’t reported back, so he’s still within a stone’s throw.”
Riva shook her head; they’d told the scouts they didn’t need to get that close. If the fool died it would be on his own hands, but Riva never abandoned a man if she had the opportunity to reclaim him.
“Alright, soldiers,” Riva said, looking out over the men she had with her, “Each of you take one of the scouts on your horse and make it back to camp as quickly as you can. Grein,” she continued, looking over to a man just to her side, “you and I are going to get the Private.”
With a simple nod, Grein moved just next to the high officer as the scouts were helped atop the horses before the rest of the squad began galloping back towards the forward camp. As soon as they were all clear, Riva again dug her heel into Zuriel’s side, beckoning him to ride them further into the forest to find the missing Private.
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Post by Alranus Aurilia on Jul 23, 2015 16:10:48 GMT -6
“For St. Elimine! For her Prophet!” cried Alranus, lifting Uruloki high above his head. “Unleash the first volley!” The order was given and the tip of the red spear flared in response, creating a streak of flame that chased after the wyvern rider has he flew. The shouting itself was barely audible over the wind, but all in the 1st Wyvern knew what to do when the Low Officer’s spear spat fire! Simultaneously all of the wyvern riders in the troop raised their own weapons, signaling to the mages that rode behind to begin the bombardment.
But before any flame could be loosed, a blinding flash streaked up from the walls of Fort Modlin, an ear splitting thunderclap tearing through the air. It lasted less than a second, but that was all it took to command Alranus Aurilia’s attention. The Low Officer’s head swiveled about, his eyes wide with surprise under his helmet as he just managed to spot one of his brave wyvern riders plummeting from the sky, mount thrashing and roaring as it went. What!? Thoron magic!? Powerful too! What sorcery was this?
Alranus looked down at the fort just in time to see another two spots on the wall beginning to crackle with lightning. Surprise quickly turned to anger as he quickly realized that he had misjudged the situation. There were no bandits taking refuge in this fort. Bandits didn’t possess this level of magic! These were separatists! Rebels! Heretics!
“Split formation!” he commanded, drawing a v-shaped symbol in the air with Uruloki’s flame, and immediately his troop split right down the middle, two halves diving in opposite directions. The command was well timed. Two lightning bolts were released not a second later, with one shooting aimlessly into the night sky. But the second struck a mark just where Alranus had been just a beat previous, tearing through scale and armor and taking out the wyvern and rider flying behind the Low Officer. They were targeting him! Likely they were aiming at the flaming spear. That would be a problem.
“Disperse and return fire! Fire at will! Fire at will!” Alranus shouted, repeatedly jabbing Uruloki’s flaming tip towards Modlin, before allowing the spear’s fire to dissipate and flicker away. There was a moment’s delay as the riders scattered their ranks, then dozens upon dozens of fiery missiles began to descend upon Modlin from the backs of the flying wyverns. The deadly orbs struck the walls of the ruined fort, exploding in a brilliant display of spark and flame. The fort’s inhabitants could be seen leaping from the battlements in a desperate attempt to save their own lives. Meanwhile bolts of lightning, and now fire, began to throw themselves from the depths of the assaulted ruin.
It would be difficult to command his men in the dark of night without the light provided by the magic lance, but he wasn’t about to let himself be taken out by painting a target on his chest. He looked down at the ground, but could see very little given the bright flashes of light occuring over at the fort. Hopefully the medical corps were in position, because this would not be as bloodless as the Low Officer had previously believed.
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Post by Remus on Jul 27, 2015 12:22:44 GMT -6
They had the small medical station set up, and a few other healers had gathered to him by then when he saw the first bolt of forked lightning arc into the sky. Remus turned and averted his gaze quickly as the bright flash crackled a second time. This time he saw the dotted figure briefly in the ghostly imitation of day the lightnings flash provided; wyvern and rider descending down from the heights of the sky. Everyone had stopped for a moment, frozen mid poise as the dawning realization washed over them. Something had gone wrong. VERY wrong. Remus didn't want to wait for bodies to start piling up however if he couldn't help it. It would take them a moment to get there from their overlooking position...but they had a few options. Remus looked over to the small group with him. Fortify staves, Physic staves, two barrier adepts, and a warp adept. Actually...they had two...that..could work. Remus stood up suddenly and pointed to the others as he began to try to scramble a plan.
"Everybody listen up. Listen! The expected number of injured has just increased. We must adapt to this appropriately. The plan that may work best. Sister Josephine, get three others and begin laying out more blankets for us to gather more wounded. Prepare to receive them then, and tend them as best you can to stable conditions. Brother Marcus, you and Sister Elspeth are the only ones adept with transportation staves. Elspeth will come with me, stay a short distance behind us, and as we find wounded she will transport them to us. You will then bring them closer to the station here so they can be treated easier Brother Marcus. Brother Eli, please do your best to keep a barrier over us so that the wounded we receive from the field can have some level of safety. That is dangerous magic, and we'd be best on the cautious side. I expect a barrier at both the medical camp and the reception point where I will personally over-see given its proximity to the field. Everyone, you have your assignments. The rest of you with me. Let's go!"
Remus turned around to jog off towards the carnage. He knew that there was a chance they could be focused from the distance of the walls. He remembered some of the long range lightning magic; both from his sister and the talented crimson clad mage Elias, when he gave Remus a thorough explanation of Anima. Thus his insistence on the barriers. As the groups of healers broke into their various teams and began to split up, Remus saw the blue light like dome project around the group near the medical camp. Getting as close within the vision of the fort as they dared, Remus signaled for them to set there. Crouching, he readied himself. It was dark, and staff magic often produced intense or bright lights. They would stick out. Like a beacon. A bolt of lightning split the sky, and into the horde of wyvern riders. Remus saw a dotted pair descend, and as he watched them drop; they vanished. Winked into a fizzling light before suddenly appearing upon the ground not ten feet behind them. The first injured victim warped. They had to act fast however.
Remus took the first round of healing even as the second barrier spell went up around them. The light glittering like a lapis-lazuli after being polished; rounded like the stone as well with it forming a protective bubble. Remus lifted his staff and quickly began to generate the intense effort required to ensure the man was healed out of critical condition a short yet daunting series of seconds. Not moments after he had healed the sundered body of the rider and wyvern, Remus lifted his staff and waved it to signal he be moved. Instantly the Wyvern Rider and Wyvern vanished before a winking light indicated their arrival at the camp, the light created by the warp magic over in a flash.
Remus had never been working in tandem with other healers, or staff users, to such magnitude. That they could practically use the staves in such unison. Would it be that he could manage it, he would attempt to think on the matter later. First however..came healing the wounded.
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Post by Riva Harel on Aug 20, 2015 18:15:54 GMT -6
Riva and Grein rode hard, further into the forest and towards the looming fort ahead, all the while watching for the missing private. In her mind, Riva was counting the seconds they potentially had until the fire-bombing began, not to mention whatever retaliation the bandits would be able to muster before they were burnt to a crisp. When Etrurian mages were loosed with an objective to leave nothing standing, they took their mission to heart. Riva had been in Ostia, so she expected nothing different here.
“Anything, Grein?” Riva shouted over the stomping hooves of their horses. Through her helmet she looked towards the man, who had slowed ever so slightly as he stood in his saddle, looking around and trying to spot Private Meleedy. It was worrisome that they hadn’t found the man yet, and Riva wondered if he might have wandered too close to the fort. The bandits could have happened upon him in the woods, realized they were coming… The officer’s heart sunk, hoping their approach hadn’t been spoiled. Their mission would still no doubt succeed, but there could be even more casualties that way.
Suddenly, Riva heard what sounded like a crack of lightning. Zuriel skidded to a halt, rearing up beneath her as the unexpected strike seemed to shatter through the air. What in Elibe was happening? The sky was cloudless, no storms were approaching. And their mages wouldn’t have used Thoron magic, no, it didn’t catch things on fire quickly enough when it came to razing a target.
Only a stone’s throw from the fort, Grein’s voice erupted over the crackling sky. “Meleedy!” Riva spun around, looking in the direction the cavalier had his horse sprinting. There in the trees, the woman spotted a lanky-looking soldier perched precariously on a lower-hanging branch. The missing private, no doubt. Riva looked up to the sky, but the forest-cover was so thick all her eyes were met with were leaves. What she did see, though, was the orange-red light that illuminated the sky through the trees, and what she heard, was the distinct “whoosh” of fire barreling overhead and towards the fort.
“Grab him, it’s time to go!” The officer shouted, and Grein wasted no time. Pulling the private down, he galloped again in the officer’s direction, with Private Meleedy on the back of his horse. It seemed they would be able to make it, but then embers and burning leaves began raining through the trees. They couldn’t wait any longer.
”Damnit!” Riva shouted before she kicked Zuriel’s ribs, starting her mount in the direction of the forward camp. Looking back only once at Grein and the private, she noticed the way the private’s head was lolling to and fro. He wasn’t in good shape, but they didn’t have time to assess. Their horses were becoming anxious with the fiery rain around them, so they needed to move fast.
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Post by Alranus Aurilia on Aug 24, 2015 15:33:22 GMT -6
Though the moon still ruled the night sky, the earth below had lit up in a blaze that rivaled the light of the sun itself. The dry grasses of the low plain had burned suddenly and spread rapidly, yet standing strong amidst the growing lake of fire was the tiny Fort Modlin. By covering the fort walls with water and dirt, the rebels were resisting the relentless fiery barrage that rained down upon them while continuing to belch bolts of lightning at the wyvern riders that circled above. Alranus realized there were only a handful of mages in that fort, judging by the frequency of their attacks, but the mages had created for themselves the superior position, and, as bewildering as it was, would cause far more casualties to Inquisitorial Forces than they would sustain, even if every last one of them would be wiped out.
Alranus could only hiss in displeasure as he looked upon the expanding hellscape below him. He had intended for this to be simple, a show of Etruria’s power, but it was quickly turning into a disaster. The cogs of strategy began churning within the wyvern officer’s head. The prudent thing to do would be to retreat, to regroup and let the blaze die down before re-approaching the fort with a different battle plan, but in this case even the soundest of strategy would be disastrous if it did not result in victory. Lives might be saved, but at what cost? To think that somehow they could be beaten back by some lonely, ruined, old fort filled with nothing but disgruntled soldiers and renegade mages? No, Alranus would not have it! He would not give the rebels reason to believe themselves strong, nor Ilia reason to believe Etruria weak. The Inquisition was not so weak! He was not so weak! This was to be his chance to redeem himself, to draw the Prophet’s eyes upon House Aurilia and grant it great honor! Then he would hunt down Janus and make him recognize that Alranus had been in the right, that he had always been in the right, that Henri had not died for nothing, and that St. Elimine truly was with him this day!
Just the name of the Saint in his thoughts bolstered Alranus’s faith, from which sprang forth his courage, and that was when the Low Officer knew what he had to do. High Officer Harel’s forces could no longer safely approach, not through a field of fire with eyes of lightning trained upon them. Likewise, High Officer Marcus and the Medic Corps would be busy minimizing casualties. Only the First Wyvern could see this through to the end. Continuing to bombard at a distance was out of the question, but Alranus and his men were not so one dimensional.
Nothing about what Alranus was about to do was advised, he realized that. Even now he could hear his sergeants and instructors shouting in his ear, telling him how foolish this was. But the loyal Etrurian paid those voices no mind. Fear was a wasted emotion; it could cripple even the greatest of men. And the worst of all fears? The fear of death. But what did Alranus have to fear of death? If he perished this day, he would be welcomed into the open arms of St. Elimine.
The wyvern rider trained his eyes upon the upper level of the fort. It would be tight, but there was just enough room for it: a drop.
It was a bold maneuver, crazed even, but not unprecedented. The Low Officer had trained his men to deploy to foot from the backs of their wyverns. True, he had never attempted it in battle, much less upon the top of an enemy fort, but Alranus trusted his men. He trusted them more than anyone, save for the Saint herself. If anyone could perform such an attack, it would be them, the First Wyvern, Etruria’s finest wyvern riders.
The sky was in chaos, his riders out of formation, but they were trained to look for Uruloki’s flame. “No matter what happens, you must hold onto Azazel!” Alranus shouted to his rear-seated mage. “He will fly you to safety!” And so the wyvern rider held his spear high, allowing it to burn as bright as it was able, then without another moment’s hesitation, spurred Azazel into a dive.
They fell. Fire streaked behind the white wyvern like the tail of a comet, while wind deafeningly rushed past. Jerome’s eyes widened in fear as he gripped the rider’s saddle for dear life, but Alranus remained unfazed. There was too much adrenaline flowing through his system to panic now. So the Low Officer worked quickly. He tucked his lance under his arm and gripped onto the horn of Azazel’s saddle with his left hand, while unfastening the straps that secured him to it with his right. Slipping his feet out of the stirrups, his thighs squeezed his wyvern tightly, realizing how close he was at any given second to certain death. But he was ready.
And as Alranus committed to his descent, nearby riders spotted the streaking light of their commander’s spear. Some watched on in bewildered awe as they continued to circle the sky, while others followed the Low Officer’s lead, realizing what they were being called to do. But Alranus took no notice. All his attention was trained upon the top of Fort Modlin, and all his focus dedicated to sticking this landing. Through the slit of his visor, Alranus could see the soldiers that stood atop the battlements of the flame quenched fort, and did his best to identify the mages. He wouldn’t allow himself to be struck upon approach, and indeed, one mage made herself readily known by hurling a bolt of lightning in the Low Officer’s direction. But Azazel slipped just out of the way, dodging the spell while doing his best to avoid rolling so as not to throw off his rider.
Alranus smiled with wild energy as he so narrowly avoided death. His first target had presented itself.
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Post by Remus on Sept 1, 2015 7:15:00 GMT -6
The pale beams of moonlight that sent a soft white tone through out the land gave a pinkish hue as twisting orange flames grew around the field. Parched strands of mostly dead grass were left as ashes while the fire swept outwards in ever-constant voraciousness. The dark field found the orange glow of flames spreading to be a primary source of light within the night, save for the bright and intense flashes as lightning thunderously crackled out of the fort, save for one other. The radiant blue dome of light that continued to project from one of the priests staves as it was held aloft. The blue haired priest leading the unit kept scanning feverishly around them. They had to be careful of the flames. With two proficient users of the warp staves, they would have more leeway to work before they'd have to fall back. However if they fell back too far they wouldn't be able to retrieve falling riders from the sky and tend to their wounds.
Frustration overtook the healers otherwise calm mind as he looked towards the sky. Each bolt of lightning seemed to either miss entirely, or strike more than one rider. Sadly, they could only retrieve one at a time with the warp staff to heal; and the time it took was not greater than the lethal decent from the skies above the fort towards the wounded. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth as Remus set about healing the rider that lay before them. He shook the distraction from his mind and focused on bathing the man, and mount, in the blue warmth of healing magic. As soon as the man's condition was stabilized, Remus lifted his staff and let a burst of light blossom from magic. The rider vanished in a single instant, the light of warping magic flashing in the darkness further towards the camp; indicating he had been extracted safely.
Small beads of sweat already traced from the priests chin as they anticipated the next rider. Instead of focusing on how many riders they couldn't save, the priest would focus on on how many they could. If they hadn't tried to pull off this gambit then none of the riders would have received healing till afterwards. With them all riding over a sea of flames at this point, it was unlikely many would live. If any at all. Remus saw another forked blast of lightning magic breach the sky and turned to gaze at the small spot where the warped wyvern riders were brought to when ever the magic had been cast.
A flash of light preceded the rider before the man appeared, screaming in agony and attempting to grip his shoulder wildly. As he tossed about, Remus looked to his wound with a slight grip of dread. The man's armor was a bright cherry red, as if melted by the intense blast of lightning. A portion of his shoulder had been destroyed by the bolting magic. His wyvern lay eerily quiet. Remus pressed his palm to the scaled creature's side, and could barely feel the faint motions of its hide expanding and contracting which luckily indicated breath. One of the female healers quickly pulled the man's arm away from his injured shoulder as the other priest held his injured side down to keep him from flailing. Remus snapped back to reality from the brief speculation as to the wyvern's condition and moved closer to crouch over the man. He lifted his staff as he examined the man before closing his eyes. He quietly inhaled and focused himself. The blue haired priest let the singular focus of mending wounds take hold and began internally reciting a prayer of clarity to Elimine. It was all he could do to hope he helped the man along. The wound was not horribly bloody, cauterized by the searing heat of the lightning magic. It was appalling to look at though.
Remus forced himself to examine it as he let the jewel like sphere of his healing stave rest mere inches from the man's wound. It began to pulse before glowing an intense blue, the sphere of healing magic bursting into a steady stream between the tip of the stave and the wounded shoulder. Flesh slowly knitted itself back together while he focused further, ignoring the dip in stamina as he mended the internal portions as best he could. He didn't have to heal the wound entirely, just to the point where further healing would prevent permanent damage. As the man began to quiet himself, and struggled less; the other two healers joined in. One working on the mount, the other helping with the blown apart shoulder.
It took a full minute of constant healing to stabilize, and even then it was still in need of more serious attention. For now however, it would do. Remus shifted his staff and lifted it to let another beacon of light mark the readiness of this man to be transported to the medical units station. It was then that a voice caught his attention. "Brother Remus. The flames. What do we do?"
He turned to the woman who had been warping in the wounded before looking around at the growing flames. "Sister Elspeth..Warp to Brother Marcus and inform him to bring Brother's John and Samuel with him. I will stay here, you are to come back to me and we will continue this until the flames are too close for us to continue. Then we shall fall back. It will take far less if it just three of us here as opposed to five, when it comes time to evacuate."
The woman hesitated, before nodding and turning to gaze at the other warp stave user, and vanishing in a blink of light. Before John and Samuel could protest, both men vanished in a flash of light; the corresponding light that flashed in the distance was all the confirmation he needed before the priest turned his gaze back to the skies. They had a few minutes at best before the flames reached them. As Sister Elspeth returned to the now trio of healers, Remus knelt to catch his breath. Such intense bursts of healing had left him heavily winded after the fatigue had fully washed over him. It was grim work...but someone had to do it.
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Post by Alranus Aurilia on Oct 4, 2015 0:31:11 GMT -6
Another dying scream. Another fallen corpse.
As the mages still hurled thunder at the wyverns above, a group of men had gathered around this skyborn warrior, their swords drawn and their eyes wide. And Alranus looked up, silent amidst the chaos that consumed the fort. Rising, his hand slid up the glowing shaft of Uruloki, and he silently slid the visor of his helmet down over his face. His eyes danced with flames, reflections of the fire that burned around him, but with them obscured his passion was hidden. To these heretics, his visage was empty, emotionless, and cold. He was a white sentinel, an unfeeling avatar of justice, a servant of the Prophet, and as the pale, form of Azazel alit upon the fort, the denizens of the fort could only look on in fear.
Low Officer Aurilia looked down at the man who lay at his feet. His body, still twitching, lay splayed out like bird that had been stricken from the sky, and at the sight, Alranus’s heart filled with pity. He had been a rebel, a heretic, and a villain, but this was still a cruel fate for any man. He was yet another victim; a victim of a world bereft of St. Elimine’s light. Behind his mask, he looked up at the others. He could see the terror in their eyes. They too were victims, slaves of their desires and baser natures. Why could they not see? Why could they not take heart in the Prophet’s message? Why did they reject the teachings of the Saint? Why did they continue to sow such pain in the face of peace and order?
“Men of Etruria!” shouted the visored wyvern rider with an authority born of faith. Behind him Azazel lifted its head, staring out at the enemy with snake-like eyes. He looked a demon amidst the billows of smoke. “Why do you continue to resist? Put down your weapons and every last one of you will be spared!”
“Piss on you!” shouted a particularly belligerent looking man. His face was wild with anger. “We know of the Prophet’s false ‘mercy’.” He raised his sword above his head and shouted to his men. “Down with the Inquisition! Never trust the Prophet!” The rest of his men cheered and raised their weapons in kind. Alranus would have shaken his head, but the enemy fighters were already upon him. Azazel roared and Uroloki burst into flames.
So be it. May the Saint defend me in this time of darkness.
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Post by Riva Harel on Oct 26, 2015 17:11:10 GMT -6
Even though Riva and Grein were retreating to save another’s life, the high officer couldn’t help but feel guilty for running away from the action as opposed to towards it. Their horses’ gallops were frenzied yet focused, wild yet determined to reach their destination. And as they burst through the tree line and into the field that housed their forward camp, Riva could not help but breathe a heavy sigh. They had made it out of the fiery forest, yet the battle still raged. Riva could not stand idly by while there were men under her command making an advance.
“Grein, take the private to the medical tent!” Riva barked before ushering Zuriel to carry her towards her own low officer, who was on standby with a small group of soldiers also at the ready.
“Officer Harel,” Urban’s greeting came, though it was clearly preoccupied with the situation at hand. Riva couldn’t blame him; they’d likely been sitting and waiting for orders since she’d run off to alert Marcus’s scouting group of the impending firestorm. A slight oversight on her part, but not one that couldn’t be remedied now. They would find a way to assist in the 1st Wyvern.
“Officer Urban, tell me you have a status on the 1st Wyvern's advance.” Riva quickly dismounted from Zuriel, removing her helmet and holding it beneath her arm with baited breath.
The low officer attempted to remain stoic, but a slight frown betrayed his true sentiments. “Sir, I don’t know much, but there seem to be a lot of casualties. The healers have been doing their best to warp out the injured, but it seems the resistance from the brigands has been greater than expected.”
Officer Harel pursed her lips, but she kept her focus on the task at hand. “Are the men still ready?”
Urban’s curt nod was all the high officer needed before quickly placing her helmet back atop her head. “Alright men, the 1st Wyvern need our help! Let’s not dally any longer!” As she shouted to the men, the lot of them readied their weapons and called out affirmatively. They were warriors, through and through, and they would not shy from the battle. They had come ready to fight, and it was time.
Quickly mounting Zuriel again, the officer unhooked her axe from her hip and raised it above her head with an uproarious cry:
“For the Saint, and for her Prophet!”
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