Upon wings not so foul [Solo]
Nov 25, 2015 21:08:45 GMT -6
Post by Ilheod on Nov 25, 2015 21:08:45 GMT -6
Fire crackled in the night. It projected radiating orange and red shades upon everything within distance to be revealed by its light. Within the mountains of Bern, a circle of Wyverns rested around a small and hastily established camp-site. Ilheod was leaning with his back pressed leisurely against Astraeus' large scaled side. The monstrous wyvern lay curled around his rider, to the point where the Wyvern Lord had his heels resting against the creatures tail that curled out before him and towards the snout of the slumbering mount. His arms were lifted on either side and it was a rare moment of full relaxation despite the circumstances that had brought him there. The steady breathing of his wyvern in long deep inhales slightly pressed him away, only for him to ease back in with every blustery exhale.
His silver spear was resting against his right shoulder, with his weapons tip propped against the side of his shoulder pauldron. The protective plate was shaped like, and carved from a gargoyle's skull. Every time he saw it, he thought of them. Gargoyles. Repulsive creatures. Though his armor repulsed him just as much, it had indeed been a gift from one of the artisans within the city of heroes. He knew that it singled him out, and in Sacae, as well as a few other places backed the title people had associated to him. Devilslayer. Honestly, he simply wore it out of hopes that when he battled the horrible winged voidsent, it would show them who they faced. and that they were not the first of their kind to fight him. Hopefully it might even warn them that they wouldn't be the last he fought. It was a small satisfaction, but then again it wouldn't have been a surprising one if anyone would've seen his desk back at Fort Redoran. Littered with notices and reports brought in for gargoyle sightings and attacks. Anything he could do to further close the distance between himself and them. He'd battled them several times now. Each time, he began to recognize more about them. Their patterns. Habits. Tactics. Methods.
The real thing he was trying to discern though. Location. As winged creatures, they could fly about idly. They could move freely. He was certain they had a central den though, or nest. Which ever word applied more aptly. As the Wyvern Lord eased his eyes shut and focused on the relaxing pattern of his mounts breathing, his thoughts drifted. He thought to the two things that had taken up his focus almost entirely. Both being war plans. One against man. The other against monstrosities that were in dire need of a healthy dosage of genocide.
With the Nightwings committing to the Bernese Rebellion now, Ilheod had been planning how best to contribute. How to optimally serve the rebellion. This ranged from services such as nocturnal reconnaissance, and patrol, to simply participating in raids and attacks. It was comforting, to a degree, to be back to working like a military man. He loved helping others, but living isolated from the chain of command and military surroundings had been softening him up. He didn't like that.
Then there was the Gargoyles. Oh he planned to root them out. A war to purge them. Winged fiends terrifying the Bernese from the skies. Not an okay thing. In Bern the skies were supposed to represent hope. Safety. A sign that you were in Bern, was to see wyverns in the sky and know you were protected. Knowing something else could descend and cause great harm would ruin this ideal. Ilheod would sooner find himself dead than allow that to stand. He had to figure out where they were living. He also had to figure out what their numbers were at. These small scouting forays and skirmishes were all dedicated towards that very purpose. He knew they'd fled the city of heroes and into Bern, so the north western mountains were the only likely place. At-least within Bern. In the morning, they'd find out a little bit more. With each expedition, the wyvern commander felt like he was getting closer to his ultimate answer. At-least..he hoped he was. Within moments beyond this final urging sentiment he fell into a slumber. Blank. Restful. Deep. Simply to rejuvenate and prepare himself for the day to come.
--------------------------------------
The next morning fell upon them. Fog. Thick clouds in the distance threatened to wash upon them. The cold crisp mountain air gave the lungs a sharp greeting that made waking up easy enough. Dark cinders lay dead, or embers barely glowing orange as they threatened to die. Those of Ilheod's unit that hadn't already been awake from morning watch had stirred swiftly enough. Brief minutes adjusting saddlebags and assuring they were tightly packed passed easy enough, before the squad found themselves racing through the skies. The Devilslayer looked downwards to the fog fast approaching, before gazing up to the lingering mountains in the distance. He shook his head a bit at their luck, before urging them faster. Astraeus's slow rise and falls from each wing-beat was an all too familiar motion. Sometimes he felt more at home atop his wyvern than he did upon the ground. It wasn't unheard of, but he couldn't honestly imagine life without the large brutish beast.
Behind him, eleven of his Nightwings flew with him. Each one a member of his original squad. The other five squads were all skilled flyers as well, but the eleven with him had been at the City of Heroes. They knew how to fight gargoyles. They knew what to expect. The dangers. The risks. It'd been an offer, to join him, not a command. An offer they'd all accepted. Most still harbored a grudge that would likely last until their graves against the beasts. Their fallen comrade. William. Though it was Hargus who had dealt the fatal blow, it was the gargoyles that had distracted the lad. He'd been so focused on the winged fiend he dueled that he'd no way of knowing the nether blast which would end up rendering him naught but a lifeless mass of pulped meat. A sight that would forever be engraved into Ilheod's mind. Much like that of his cousins, upon their deaths during the sieges in Lycia. Much like the countless countrymen that flickered and flashed through his minds when he stared absently into the fires of a hearth or campsite. Like the Lycians, Sacaens, and now his own countrymen he'd had to fight for his own preservation.
It was an endless cycle. A lifetime of death and killing. It had it's reasons. Orders. To protect another. The ironic sanctity of life. Countless justifications to claim anothers. Yet he knew, as he always had, that no matter how he felt about it; he would keep on fighting. Every day. He would keep claiming more lives for more reasons. It was a soldier. His was but to do and die, yet never to ask why.
His attention shifted as he saw them. Though he wore a single eyepatch over his stronger eye, matching that of most his riders, Ilheod recognized those wing-beats well. He held his breath beneath the gargoyle bone mask along his jaw. Tens of them. Heading towards the northern most mountains. Was that the general direction? It had to be. Thus far they'd avoided contact. A sudden attack would work best. Panic them, and give them less time to actually react. Spurring Astraeus forwards, Ilheod lifted his spear as the wyvern let out a sudden loud shriek. A dozen wyverns shrieked in primal hunting intent as the riders dove into the clustered flock of gargoyles. Though outnumbered, their advantage of surprise and first strikes would likely set the tables for a definitive win.
Heavy wings sent them hailing forwards and down as they dove into the horde of bat like fiends, granting them a small taste of Bernese Shock tactics. His was the first weapon to spill voidsent blood. The silver spear plunged into the back of a panicking wailing gargoyle as it slid inbetween rib bones of the tainted monster. The weapon easily sundered its skin, and impaled it while pinning it to the spear as it slid along it's length and crashed into the right side of the wyvern lord's arm and shoulder as he performed the dive. Gripping and scrambling wildly as it was at the silver spear, the creature was helpless to prevent the damage the weapon had caused. Ilheod snapped his arm back and threw the creature from his spear before it was caught in the jaws of Alexander's wyvern. Shaken furiously like a rabbit within the jaws of a fox, it was left to fall lifelessly to the mountain below.
Almost every rider had managed to strike a devastating blow on the initial pass, and as the combat broke into a scrambled and crazed frenzy of aerial dog fights, Ilheod noticed that the gargoyles were far easier than they had been in City of Heroes's siege. They were still dangerous. With hides like hardened leather armor, and bones like iron, they were tough even for his silver weapon to kill if not angled properly. Were he to catch it upon bone, he could not kill one instantly with ease. He needed enough force to drive it through the bone entirely.
Ilheod was not one to deter however. Nor shy away from the more dangerous tasks like this very one. However even he was not without error. The fog had been approaching all the while, of their approach and even while they fought. So it was that the gargoyles took to fleeing when the fight began to shift within the favor of the wyvern riders more heavily. Moving in droves within the fog, the wyvern riders attempted to follow them. However they had to remain in a closer group and fly slower. They could ill afford to be picked off. For all they knew, the creatures could possess supernatural senses that allowed them to hunt unhindered by the lack of vision.
Wind and fog raced past them, and as minutes ominously passed Ilheod began to notice an offsetting lack of attacks. Ideal counter attacks and ambushes not seized. It gave him pause. Worried him even. He knew the gargoyles were more like beasts now than not, but to hide entirely? Or had they kept moving? Descending further would yield the shocking, and horrifying revelation as to why he could not find them. Inbetween intense clouds of fog, Ilheod saw into the distance. They were past the mountain borders. The faint blotches of green in the distance to the north and south between western fog was not of Bern.
It was of Lycia. The pack of creatures that they had foolishly battled into the fog as opposed to away from it, had just fled into Lycia. Snarling, Ilheod dug his legs into Astraeus's either side and plummeted into a sharp dive down. Lycia wasn't aware of such creatures most likely, not expecting them. Dozens, if not hundreds could die if he didn't catch them. He'd have to. Lives were not upon his shoulders. Every body. His responsibility to protect. With this in mind, they too, entered Lycia and flew off in search of their prey.
[End topic]
His silver spear was resting against his right shoulder, with his weapons tip propped against the side of his shoulder pauldron. The protective plate was shaped like, and carved from a gargoyle's skull. Every time he saw it, he thought of them. Gargoyles. Repulsive creatures. Though his armor repulsed him just as much, it had indeed been a gift from one of the artisans within the city of heroes. He knew that it singled him out, and in Sacae, as well as a few other places backed the title people had associated to him. Devilslayer. Honestly, he simply wore it out of hopes that when he battled the horrible winged voidsent, it would show them who they faced. and that they were not the first of their kind to fight him. Hopefully it might even warn them that they wouldn't be the last he fought. It was a small satisfaction, but then again it wouldn't have been a surprising one if anyone would've seen his desk back at Fort Redoran. Littered with notices and reports brought in for gargoyle sightings and attacks. Anything he could do to further close the distance between himself and them. He'd battled them several times now. Each time, he began to recognize more about them. Their patterns. Habits. Tactics. Methods.
The real thing he was trying to discern though. Location. As winged creatures, they could fly about idly. They could move freely. He was certain they had a central den though, or nest. Which ever word applied more aptly. As the Wyvern Lord eased his eyes shut and focused on the relaxing pattern of his mounts breathing, his thoughts drifted. He thought to the two things that had taken up his focus almost entirely. Both being war plans. One against man. The other against monstrosities that were in dire need of a healthy dosage of genocide.
With the Nightwings committing to the Bernese Rebellion now, Ilheod had been planning how best to contribute. How to optimally serve the rebellion. This ranged from services such as nocturnal reconnaissance, and patrol, to simply participating in raids and attacks. It was comforting, to a degree, to be back to working like a military man. He loved helping others, but living isolated from the chain of command and military surroundings had been softening him up. He didn't like that.
Then there was the Gargoyles. Oh he planned to root them out. A war to purge them. Winged fiends terrifying the Bernese from the skies. Not an okay thing. In Bern the skies were supposed to represent hope. Safety. A sign that you were in Bern, was to see wyverns in the sky and know you were protected. Knowing something else could descend and cause great harm would ruin this ideal. Ilheod would sooner find himself dead than allow that to stand. He had to figure out where they were living. He also had to figure out what their numbers were at. These small scouting forays and skirmishes were all dedicated towards that very purpose. He knew they'd fled the city of heroes and into Bern, so the north western mountains were the only likely place. At-least within Bern. In the morning, they'd find out a little bit more. With each expedition, the wyvern commander felt like he was getting closer to his ultimate answer. At-least..he hoped he was. Within moments beyond this final urging sentiment he fell into a slumber. Blank. Restful. Deep. Simply to rejuvenate and prepare himself for the day to come.
--------------------------------------
The next morning fell upon them. Fog. Thick clouds in the distance threatened to wash upon them. The cold crisp mountain air gave the lungs a sharp greeting that made waking up easy enough. Dark cinders lay dead, or embers barely glowing orange as they threatened to die. Those of Ilheod's unit that hadn't already been awake from morning watch had stirred swiftly enough. Brief minutes adjusting saddlebags and assuring they were tightly packed passed easy enough, before the squad found themselves racing through the skies. The Devilslayer looked downwards to the fog fast approaching, before gazing up to the lingering mountains in the distance. He shook his head a bit at their luck, before urging them faster. Astraeus's slow rise and falls from each wing-beat was an all too familiar motion. Sometimes he felt more at home atop his wyvern than he did upon the ground. It wasn't unheard of, but he couldn't honestly imagine life without the large brutish beast.
Behind him, eleven of his Nightwings flew with him. Each one a member of his original squad. The other five squads were all skilled flyers as well, but the eleven with him had been at the City of Heroes. They knew how to fight gargoyles. They knew what to expect. The dangers. The risks. It'd been an offer, to join him, not a command. An offer they'd all accepted. Most still harbored a grudge that would likely last until their graves against the beasts. Their fallen comrade. William. Though it was Hargus who had dealt the fatal blow, it was the gargoyles that had distracted the lad. He'd been so focused on the winged fiend he dueled that he'd no way of knowing the nether blast which would end up rendering him naught but a lifeless mass of pulped meat. A sight that would forever be engraved into Ilheod's mind. Much like that of his cousins, upon their deaths during the sieges in Lycia. Much like the countless countrymen that flickered and flashed through his minds when he stared absently into the fires of a hearth or campsite. Like the Lycians, Sacaens, and now his own countrymen he'd had to fight for his own preservation.
It was an endless cycle. A lifetime of death and killing. It had it's reasons. Orders. To protect another. The ironic sanctity of life. Countless justifications to claim anothers. Yet he knew, as he always had, that no matter how he felt about it; he would keep on fighting. Every day. He would keep claiming more lives for more reasons. It was a soldier. His was but to do and die, yet never to ask why.
His attention shifted as he saw them. Though he wore a single eyepatch over his stronger eye, matching that of most his riders, Ilheod recognized those wing-beats well. He held his breath beneath the gargoyle bone mask along his jaw. Tens of them. Heading towards the northern most mountains. Was that the general direction? It had to be. Thus far they'd avoided contact. A sudden attack would work best. Panic them, and give them less time to actually react. Spurring Astraeus forwards, Ilheod lifted his spear as the wyvern let out a sudden loud shriek. A dozen wyverns shrieked in primal hunting intent as the riders dove into the clustered flock of gargoyles. Though outnumbered, their advantage of surprise and first strikes would likely set the tables for a definitive win.
Heavy wings sent them hailing forwards and down as they dove into the horde of bat like fiends, granting them a small taste of Bernese Shock tactics. His was the first weapon to spill voidsent blood. The silver spear plunged into the back of a panicking wailing gargoyle as it slid inbetween rib bones of the tainted monster. The weapon easily sundered its skin, and impaled it while pinning it to the spear as it slid along it's length and crashed into the right side of the wyvern lord's arm and shoulder as he performed the dive. Gripping and scrambling wildly as it was at the silver spear, the creature was helpless to prevent the damage the weapon had caused. Ilheod snapped his arm back and threw the creature from his spear before it was caught in the jaws of Alexander's wyvern. Shaken furiously like a rabbit within the jaws of a fox, it was left to fall lifelessly to the mountain below.
Almost every rider had managed to strike a devastating blow on the initial pass, and as the combat broke into a scrambled and crazed frenzy of aerial dog fights, Ilheod noticed that the gargoyles were far easier than they had been in City of Heroes's siege. They were still dangerous. With hides like hardened leather armor, and bones like iron, they were tough even for his silver weapon to kill if not angled properly. Were he to catch it upon bone, he could not kill one instantly with ease. He needed enough force to drive it through the bone entirely.
Ilheod was not one to deter however. Nor shy away from the more dangerous tasks like this very one. However even he was not without error. The fog had been approaching all the while, of their approach and even while they fought. So it was that the gargoyles took to fleeing when the fight began to shift within the favor of the wyvern riders more heavily. Moving in droves within the fog, the wyvern riders attempted to follow them. However they had to remain in a closer group and fly slower. They could ill afford to be picked off. For all they knew, the creatures could possess supernatural senses that allowed them to hunt unhindered by the lack of vision.
Wind and fog raced past them, and as minutes ominously passed Ilheod began to notice an offsetting lack of attacks. Ideal counter attacks and ambushes not seized. It gave him pause. Worried him even. He knew the gargoyles were more like beasts now than not, but to hide entirely? Or had they kept moving? Descending further would yield the shocking, and horrifying revelation as to why he could not find them. Inbetween intense clouds of fog, Ilheod saw into the distance. They were past the mountain borders. The faint blotches of green in the distance to the north and south between western fog was not of Bern.
It was of Lycia. The pack of creatures that they had foolishly battled into the fog as opposed to away from it, had just fled into Lycia. Snarling, Ilheod dug his legs into Astraeus's either side and plummeted into a sharp dive down. Lycia wasn't aware of such creatures most likely, not expecting them. Dozens, if not hundreds could die if he didn't catch them. He'd have to. Lives were not upon his shoulders. Every body. His responsibility to protect. With this in mind, they too, entered Lycia and flew off in search of their prey.
[End topic]