Selibas
Hero
The Little Wolf
My Word is Iron.
Posts: 455
Etruria Fame: -1
Bern Fame: 4
Illia Fame: -3
Profession: Khan
Guild: Tribe of Sacae
Affinity: Ice
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Post by Selibas on Mar 12, 2016 1:45:25 GMT -6
The sheep had forgotten why the wolf filled them with fear. Whirling through the fold, a bolt of green cut his way through the mass of enemies that lay before him at the head of a wedge that tore through the ranks of loyalists and mercenaries. His green armor was drenched in blood, covering most of its original color with a sickly red that dripped down from where it had first splattered, mixing with the young man's sweat before it hit the ground. The heat of his body rushing with adrenaline, the breath of his own lungs as well as the men around him, and of his rage dried some of the blood so that it became caked and hard against his skin, and as new sweat flared up and broke it the short khan became more aware of how sticky most areas of his exposed skin had become. Still, smelling of the blood and of dead and dying men, he pressed on, pushing his men to their brink to wade deeper into the killing field. The sheep would remember.
A lance came for the right side of the wolf's torso, but the hound shifted his weight onto his left foot, and caught the lancer unprepared and overextended. He shoved his sword through the loyalist's throat and heard the gurgle as the young man dropped his lance and fell to his knees. Selibas wrenched the light brand away from the neck of the loyalist, and as he pulled it free of the flesh, a shine came to rest white hot on the edge of the broken sword. As the blade broke from the very egde of the flimsy skin of the man's neck, a flash like a razor erupted from the blade and flew toward a batch of loyalists. As it sailed it flashed across the air it ripped against like beam from the blazing sun, and colliding with an Ilian soldier created a thick line of blood across his chest through his leather jerkin. The man should have worn plate, Selibas always hated men in thick plate.
A swordsman came at Selibas then, a swordsman on a horse, part of a cavalry charge that had begun as Selibas had only just reentered the battle proper. The man brought his horse to stand perpendicular to the Sacaen commander's shoulders, and brought his sword crashing down on Selibas. The short khan tried to step to his right, but he rammed into the side of another rebel soldier, and the sword managed to make some delayed contact with his left pauldron. It did little to the actual armor, but Selibas' arm felt as if a horse had been dropped on it. The short Khan attempted a swing at the man's hips just above the saddle with Curtana, but before he made contact a Javelin sailed down and into the man's chest. Selibas looked up just in time to see one of Stanley's sergeants take back to the air. He had thrown a Javelin, into a melee. Selibas would have Stanley's manhood for that after the battle. However, for now, he had loyalists to barrel through.
Armus placed his helm over his hair, and lowered the visor. This was unwise, but they were already overextended, and it didn't look to be working. The only way it looked Ilia would be able to hold the city was if there was another charge, and there was only one unit left in the military juggernaut if Larguz, and that was Ilia's Nineteenth Knight Battalion, Armus' personal unit. It was an odd force for a military occupation, for years they had been a mercenary unit that had fought in every conflict on whatever side under the command of a bastard son of an Ilian lord. Then one day the commander had died and the unit had signed a contract that officially merged them into the Ilian military, and placed them under Armus' command. In the short time he'd served with them, mostly fighting small rebel groups around the country side, he had whipped them into one of the finest cavalry forces in all of Elibe in his own opinion. In all of the skirmishes and battles they'd fought, he'd not lost more than forty of his men, which he was damn proud of. How he wished that he'd have followed rumors of Aidan Lowell sooner, perhaps he could have ended this little rebellion before it came knocking at his door. No matter, now was not the time for regret, it was time for the sortie. Time for the sweeping fire that would burn the enemy. He lifted his sword, and heard a horn blow. The gates were flung open, and the final charge of Larguz began.
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Post by Kelvin H. Calderon on Mar 15, 2016 11:24:52 GMT -6
The battle was going well. It was the largest battle the Rebellion had fought in some time, and Kelvin swelled with pride to see it was swaying in their favor. He had spent the fight riding from flank to flank, aiding Rebellion troops where he was needed and rallying other riders behind him. As the Rebellion had grown, Kelvin had been training many of the men and women of Linz from farmers and peasants into a competent and skilled cavalry force. And now, they were among the fiercest fighters the Rebellion had to offer. With the tide of the battle flowing their way, Kelvin had gathered his men and rallied them to a hilltop overlooking the battlefield. He knew that the battle would not last much longer and the winner would be decided here. If he could sweep a cavalry charge down the middle of the field and straight through into Larguz, the loyalists would be crushed and their morale would break. The only problem would be getting through those damn gates.
As if to answer his prayers, a warhorn rang out from behind the walls of Larguz and the gates were thrown open. It seemed the loyalists meant to make one last desperate push. Very well, Kelvin thought, it’s time. “Men and women of Linz!” Kelvin shouted, turning Kashmir to be perpendicular with the rows of soldiers behind him, “Your oppressors ride out to meet us on the battlefield! They will try to stop us from winning our freedom, but they will not succeed! We are the warriors of Bern and we will decide Bern’s fate!” With one last shout, Kelvin’s men called out their defiance and the charge began, with Kelvin at its head. His green armor glinted in the sun and he bellowed out a war cry all the way down the hill. They surged through the back of the Rebel lines and into the ranks of the loyalists, scattering soldiers every which way. In mere moments, they were through the main lines of both armies and barreling toward the opposing cavalry. Kelvin gritted his teeth, raised his shield, and pointed his lance directly at the chest of an enemy soldier. The lines smashed into each other, brave men and women being thrown from their horses on either side, screams ringing out as lives were ended. Kelvin did not falter as his lance drove straight through his opponent and their strike bounced harmlessly off his shield. He wanted to stop and check on his men, but there was no time. He pushed Kashmir all the harder and rode straight into the city.
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Selibas
Hero
The Little Wolf
My Word is Iron.
Posts: 455
Etruria Fame: -1
Bern Fame: 4
Illia Fame: -3
Profession: Khan
Guild: Tribe of Sacae
Affinity: Ice
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Post by Selibas on Jun 3, 2016 21:47:45 GMT -6
An axe crashed down against Selibas' left pauldron, and sent a shock through the commander's left arm. The short khan gritted his teeth, as he side stepped a quick thrust intended for his gut by an enemy lance. He turned into the step, and swept Curtana in a broad arc in front of him, sending a razor of light into a loyalist soldier with an axe. A sword came from his left, the blade cutting him just below the bracer. The Little Wolf cursed the man, and felt the adrenaline pump itself out of his heart, as his energy seemed to completely leave him. As his men came and swelled up around him, the men of the pack swarming past their alpha to fall upon the enemy, he allowed himself the time to breath. The longer he waited, the less energy he felt in his veins.
He had half a mind to fall back to camp, and allow himself to rest. In a day, he had been a beacon, cut through a substantial number of the enemy on his own, and taken out one of the highest ranking members of the occupation. They could win the rest of the day without him.
Armus’ sword bit deep into the soldier of one of the enemy infantry, a stocky fellow whose face made him look to be of simple mind in his death throws. He spurred his horse on then, using the change in speed to bring his sword sliding through the blood and sinew of the man’s shoulder out into the fresh air. He quickly parried a blow from a passing rebel knight, and looked about him as he realized how thin the enemy's cavalry looked. Damn! They’d gone around the battle completely, heading straight for the city. Hopefully the mercenary knight and his men could hold them at bay.
A wyvern flew down into the fray almost on top of him, and lifted an ally of the frosted commander into the air with its powerful jaws. Within a moments the wretched creature had thrown itself into the sky once more, and as the man’s scream died out, a raging fire welled up inside the commander. His sword found its sheathe, and his hand found his bow.
As he pulled back the string of his bow, arrow nocked, he eyed the sky, and looked around for a specific target. One of the mercenaries in the brigade that had fallen under his command had told him a story about something that Armus would have thought wasn’t something one would want to share. The man had told him of his time in a prison on the Western Isles, and that one day a young blond man had come in, he was very quiet, and seemed uninterested of joining any of the cliques around for some kind of protection. One of the groups had gotten cockier and cockier, and started messing with him and any of the other lone men more and more, until one day the young man seemed to tire of it. In the night, he’d picked the biggest toughest man in the little group, and broken his arm. The group had lost all moral.
So as Armus took aim, he looked for the largest, most frightening wyvern sailing through the sky. He found it, a massive one with dark blue scales, and riding atop it was an older man, missing an eye by the looks of it. Good, he wouldn’t see this coming. He loosed, then drew back with lightning speed and loosed again. [ARMUS ADEPT USED] One arrow hit the beast in the eye, the other ripped through its wing. The ugly creature lost altitude quickly, but tried to gain flight once more, but Armus drew once more and put another hole through its wing. The wyvern fell into a mass of the “wolf pack.”
There, an eye for an eye for wyvern commanders.
A wyvern fell onto the a large number of Selibas’ men, and crushed them with their lives whittled down to the screams that punctuated their death. There, he was needed again. His eyes focused on the crumpled body that had been sitting on the Wyvern as it fell. It was Stanley. He’d taken the enemy commander of the sky, only to lose his own. It wasn’t too likely the Wyvern Riders would fall into complete disarray after that, it was more likely that they would simply see a sharp decline in morale. The best way to avoid that was to kill the man who brought Stanley down.
His eyes only had to search for a few moments again before he found the man responsible, a broad loyalist atop a stallion holding a silver bow. Time to move. Selibas charged, but only made it a few feet before his fatigue set in. Suddenly it came rushing back to him how tired he was. Damn it! If they lost the sky they could lose the battle. He couldn’t lose, he couldn’t let an opportunity to take out one man, and cut off the head of the snake. His anger welled up inside of him, and he considered letting out a massive roar, but the wolf held back. In a sudden burst of euphoria, Selibas felt the familiar wave of energy he’d felt earlier, and suddenly he felt almost good as new. Or at the very least, serviceable. [SELIBAS IMBUE USED]
He charged again, immediately having to dive to the ground to avoid having a javelin crash through his neck. Quickly picking himself back up, he sprinted on once more towards that man whose horse wheeled about while the man’s eyes were trained on the sky. Selibas made a horizontal slash at the man in the air in front of him, and an arc of light erupted from Curtana’s edge, and washed over the man at the torso, as well as taking his horse in the back of the neck. The beast reared up in a rush at the pain, and the now wounded commander fell from his horse.
Selibas could tell he was more of a strategist than a field commander. In the thick of a fight, focusing on one enemy could leave your side or back open. Of course, sometimes you could have it out with your father for twenty minutes and not deal with someone else, but chaos was fickle.
The older commander crawled after his startled horse, but the rebel on his feet was able to reach him quicker than the man could make it to his horse. Standing over him, he willed Curtana to do something it hadn’t done in some time, and instead of simply taking in a small bit of light around it, it actually let all the light it had taken in with each use out at once, creating a full blade of light. “You picked the wrong side.”
The battle only lasted about another hour and a half. The forces outside the city quickly surrendered, and after a great many clashes between the rebel cavalry and the remaining Ilian mercenaries, the rebel infantry and air cavalry came in with a firm enough assist to secure the surrender of many of the enemy. Finally, the rebel commanders convened at the governor's house, sitting around a massive desk, with legs carved with scenes from the tales about the Scouring. There was an empty chair, but Selibas had a good idea on who could fill it.
They were discussing what to do next when all of a sudden a man burst into the office, followed by a five others. The man was Dale, Selibas’ cousin. Immediately after him was the man posted outside. He spoke in a hurry, “I’m sorry, the one with the mustache twisted my arm and brushed past me.” The one with the mustache was Dale. He wasn’t one to be told he couldn’t speak to his Khan.
“It’s fine, these men are of my tribe, why are you all here?” He recognized them all, the brother Khasar and Kaichun, as well as the broad Coke and Bekter the silent. Dale was the one to spoke, his voice was usually without any joy, but it was especially grave today, he said, “My cousin, Selibas Khan, I greet you. Our tribe was attacked by an Etrurian raid party three months ago, and we sought out aid from the Djute. Chlane was with the party we sent to negotiate. When...” he went quiet.
“The Etrurians attacked the hunting band he was speaking to, and destroyed them. They killed Chlane, and burned the children there with their families.” Selibas’ face went cold, and his mouth rested just barely open. “I am sorry my Khan.” The short Sacaen stood at his seat for a few moments. Looking over the table of commanders he sighed. “I can’t fight this war any longer. My place is with my tribe, I am sorry.” He looked at Zacharia, “To all of you.”
“I’ll choose the new leader of the pack, but I’m sorry, this war can be won without me. The one on the plains cannot. When the plains are one, I will ensure that Etruria does not march on Bern.” Without another word, ignoring the protests of the men behind him, Selibas made for the door, but stopped right at the threshhold. “I’d suggest the Devilslayer for Stanley’s replacement. He’d make a fine dragon general.”
As they walked, Selibas saw Hedrin his page waiting for him, and called him over. “Hedrin, contgratulations, you’re the new alpha of the Pack. Take any advice Zacharia or Mortell give you, and any the others give you that sounds good. Lead, you’re ready. Now go, adress your men.”
The man hesitantly saluted, then took off for the Pack’s camp. Selibas didn’t make for where Lightning was kept, but towards where the prisoners had been stowed. Khasar caught up to him, and said, “Where are we going Selibas Khan?” “To make a deal with a Knight Commander. I’m going to gift the plains with a regiment of heavy cavalry.”
[END THREAD]
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