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 Jul 6, 2015 0:03:14 GMT -6
Selibas squatted in the grass, the dew soaked blades laying lazily along his boots. They were a pair he hadn't worn in a long while. The red Ostian cavalry boots he had obtained so long ago. They were a relic now, something from a time so long past, remembering it was like looking into the life of another man. Or boy, he had barely been able to grip a sword then. Now, that was different. The world was different, Bern would soon free. Selibas picked a single blade of the grass, his callused hands meeting its moisture with his own dry skin.
The young Sacaen then stood, and looked about himself. Here the rebellion was, in front of Larguz. When he'd first met Kelvin, and his lot in this thing had started, this had all seemed so far away. The thought of attempting something this size had seemed impossible with nothing but a village's worth of Peasants and Farmers. Now, standing in the shadow of something so impossible as a city of stone, Selibas realized it had all been completely impossible. Everything they had done, had seemed like a battle up a hill that may has well have been a cliff. Yet here they stood at its top, ready to strike a blow to Ilia it may never recover from. It was a good morning.
They had been camped outside of Larguz for four days. Selibas' scout Hedrin had told him that the local villagers had seen three regiments of men leaving the city headed straight for Poliar, meaning that Saturos' plan had worked, and Poliar was taken. Now it was a simpler fight. Today was the day it would have to work.
It looked like the rebels were trying to somehow flank the city. Which would never work, but it was surely not a common opinion among the occupation that there were rebels who were truly competent. They were isolated, the Rebellion's mounted units, and not even the full force. Kelvin and Dredna had taken close to half the Cavalry, and Stanley had half his force. Ilheod had all the Night Wings he had chosen to take. Selibas was glad he had given the man full command of his men, it would do them well to serve together in the battle to come. So, without even the full rebel cavalry represented, they were an easy target.
Easy targets make easy targets. Out of sight were all the rebellions mages and archers, prepared to contain the cities Wyvern population as soon as the winged creatures fought about the rebels. Aside from the ranged fighters, everyone else was prepared to move at a moments notice. Selibas' own unit sat at fires in complete rank, weapons next to them, ready to attack. Selibas had made everyone, not just the pack seem prepared to attack at any time. With that, the Ilian forces would never suspect that the armor and weapons meant something.
Selibas had been walking around, big as you please. For now, he only had his plate, and pauldrons on, but most days he had walked about in his full armor, marking him as the Wolf who had escaped Ilian imprisonment, and possibly being enough to make the Ilians believe he was the commander of the whole army. He could at any point signal a command, so, the Ilian guards watched him like hawks up on the walls of the city. He had Hedrin close to him, carrying Zulfiqar and Curtana for him. That was the true signal, a beam of light thrust into the air by Selibas' sword.
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High on the walls of the city, two very different commanders watched the rebel commander strut around below them. One, was the Ilian military governor of the area around Larguz, Armus. Next to Armus was a man he could not stand, Yerna Cinderfelt, commander of the 57th Hawk Brigade. Or rather, he was. In a campaign against a group of bandits deep in the mountains of Bern some twenty years ago, it was treated as almost fact that Cinderfelt had killed all the men under his command. For a reason that was a mystery to Armus and everyone he'd ever asked, the man had simply been given command of another unit, and then another and another. Now, he commanded the largest Wyvern force in Bern outside of its Capital, all of them with him here now in Larguz.
Cinderfelt spoke, his voice like an angry wind brushing against the otherwise tranquil air, it came out like a whisper at a much higher volume, "Is that him then, over there amongst their wings. Is that Ilheod of the Night Hawks." Armus squinted at the assembled Wyvern units. "Yes, it looks like him from all the accounts I've heard." Cinderfelt's face split into a grin. "He must want to see how those little beasts will fair against more of their kind. If he's not careful, I may let him." Armus didn't say anything for a long while, merely looked down at the Rebel forces.
Cinderfelt spoke again, "Though, I have my eyes on something different. That wolf Armus, he's the only one they have worth bleeding." Armus' voice rumbled in his chest for a moment, "Well, you'll have to wait for the moment. They moved their Wyverns there to attack us, they must be willing to lose a few on the climb to our arrows if it means they'll have their way into the city. Your Wyverns have to take them." Cinderfelt smiled again, and disappeared without a word. None of the soldiers would miss that man if he died. Or any citizen of Bern for that matter. Armus put his hands over the wall. He couldn't just let the man be killed, regrettably.
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Post by Ilheod on Jul 7, 2015 9:05:38 GMT -6
There was a tension in the air that felt all too familiar. Almost a welcome familiarity. Upon the battle field where chaos could run rampant, there was a certainty. A man was bound to his own skill, and that of the men at his back. His live depended on himself and those he entrusted it to. Surround him with family, and he could become a dangerous weapon. One that knew not hesitation, for instinct enhanced by a lack of doubt became pure reaction. As the orange haired Wyvern Commander gazed towards his men, he felt that familiar confidence. All seventy five members of the Nightwings were present. Though they sat back in the distance, away from the occupied city they were set to siege, he knew they were simply waiting. Ilheod's gargoyle bone armor fascinated tightly to him created a different visage from what he usually wore. The crimson armor had served him well, but this armor had a significance all it's own. Dangling from his neck, resting on a small thin metal chin was the fractured tip of a fallen comrade's spear. A remembrance of Sacae.
As he gazed to the unit, dual shaded eyes drifting over them, he could see the gazes of his three younger brothers heading each squad their respective squads. Three twelve man squads, and three thirteen man squads. Ilheod had yet to strap the mask over his chin that would cover up to his nose, and protect the majority of his exposed face as well as the back of his head. From atop Astraeus, he sat, knee's bent and half poised to stand. His weight was that of a stone compared to that which the great wyvern could carry. As Ilheod turned once more to observe the assembled "bait", he noticed that his unit was certainly the smallest. Not surprising particularly since the Nightwings were no army in their own right. A simple unit.
Ilheod turned to his lads though, with a grin on his face. Seldom did he let emotion rile him. However he wasn't just a soldier. He was a commander. They'd all seen war before. In the war of aggression, to Sacae and Lycia. The siege of the City of Heroes. Countless skirmishes over their unit's life time against brigands ranging from a handful of the brutes to entire hordes it seemed. He spoke up, calling out in a tone that suited a man with nothing but a savage optimism.
"Brothers! How many times have we fought and bled together? How many times, have we flown into battle to return the victor?!"
He lifted the silver infused spear into the air. A sudden succession of grunts and cheers sounded out from the gathered unit. Seventy five voices in unison. Ilheod turned his spear to point at them all in a sweeping motion, to indicate the entire group of Nightwings.
"I would fight with any of you, over an army of thousands! Let none forget, these skies are ours by right!"
Another series of shouts and cheers sounded out. A snarl like cheer came from the wyvern lord as he clapped his closed fist to his chest over his heart, spear still held pointing skywards now. His men mimicked the salute of sorts, to a ringing succession of metallic pounds.
"Some would seek to ground us. To take that from us which we hold a birth right! No, we have claimed the skies of Bern. Now! Now we must assert that the lands are ours as well! Others would see that taken from our people! Our homes, taken from beneath us! No, I say! We will show them, brothers! Let no man see the fire in our veins and doubt that these lands belong to the men of Bern!"
If they were to look the aggressor then the part had to be played. Soon, the signal would come. Perhaps if they looked like they were about to strike, they could further bait out the cities forces. His heart raced within, spreading molten blood as the flames of war ignited. Ilheod thrust his spear into the air once more as he shouted with a war-cry that each man in his unit echoed. The resounding shriek like roars of their mounts added in unison to create a sight only presented by a unit ready to fight and die.
With hearts and minds set on war, Ilheod strapped the mask over his face. He turned and adjusted himself into Astraeus's saddle as he leaned forwards. The large wyvern's scales reverberated the snarling within his chest. He could see the wyvern's claws digging into the ground with anticipation. A gloved hand patted his meaty neck twice as Ilheod spoke, muffled through the mask.
"Soon boy. Soon. "
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Post by Euphemious on Jul 7, 2015 12:07:06 GMT -6
So this was it, thought Euphemious as he looked up at the walls. The Sergeant touched the hilt of his sword as his mind thought back toward home. This was the second major battle Euphemious was fighting in. The first was the conquest of the fort and now they were trying to take a city. Euphemious needed to make a name for himself in this assault. He needed for his valor to be undeniable and his honor unquestionable. More was riding on this than simply him. His family was riding on it. There pride, they future, and there past. The Lowlander Family had lost everything when Bern fell, now they had a opportunity to get it back. All Euphemious had to do was to overcome these walls. He was sure that this place was his destiny. Reaching his hand out Euphemious motioned toward the structure.
"Sergeant", a voice called out to Euphemious. The General turned and looked at the man and then put his helmet on. There was still some work to do. The General still needed to check the weapons today. They could order a attack at any moment and they needed to be sure that everything was in order. A little work now could save them a great amount of pain in the future. As the General walked by he noticed the commander biding his time. Selibas, Euphemious had heard about him. They called him The Little Wolf. He was known for giving Ilia hell and taking the fight to there enemies, and it was the first time Euphemious was under his command. Most of his time in the rebellion was spent under the command of Aidan. He had never fought under anybody else. It was going to be a new experiences for sure. He woundered what roll they would place him in battle. With Aidan he fought on the front, he preyed he had the same opportunity in this attack. There was somebody behind that gate that Euphemious had a score to settle with. A Great Knight and his horse, Euphemious did not know for sure if he was there, but he could feel it in his bones.
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Zacharia
Shaman
Kingmaker
"You fight for the promise of a better tomorrow for this country."
Posts: 172
Bern Fame: 3
Illia Fame: -2
Profession: Advisor
Affiliation: Bernese Senate
Affinity: Thunder
Profile: Link
OoC Alias: Zach
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Post by Zacharia on Jul 23, 2015 18:32:07 GMT -6
"Strategist, are you in there?" It was quite a stretch to bend over and open the tent flap with such heavy armor on, but Dredna managed well enough. Zacharia was sitting cross-legged on the ground, with his elbows outwards and hands pressed firmly to the grass. Even in his meditative pose, buckets of sweat dripped from his face and plopped into the cup of scrying water below. Today was the day they would strike Larguz, yet for some reason the mage couldn't bring himself to get up. No. Not for some reason, for the reason. Their fearless leader Daniel was recuperating back at Macendew and in his stead Zach had been chosen to lead. A young boy, in almost every way inferior to Aidan... his teachings, his demeanor, his strength... Needless to say, there was an outrage when it was officially announced back at Macendew. At the very least the Spirit of Bern believed in him, and so too the Fire Emblem, but it did little for the young man's conscience that one of the only things within a mile's radius that believed in him was a conceptual deity.
"Strategist!" the stout woman barked, snapping Zach from his doze meditative pose. "I get that you're scared, boy. No, 'Commander'. Save that fear, that anguish for later. There's an army's worth of men and women out there right now who are scared stiff just like you right now. And the only thing that'll convince them their bravado's stronger than their fear is their fearless leaders. Got that? Here, if you're going to act like a scared child, think of this as the last time you'll be treated like one. Give me your hand." The general set her blade aside and reached over, clasping the boy's trembling fingers in her gloves. Her piercing brown eyes bored holes straight through the mage's skull. For a moment they held gaze, but her eyes and her tone softened into the voice of a parent. "Don't worry, Zacharia. With all of us working together, everything will be fine. We will win. We will win. Don't forget that."
"Now," breathed Dredna as she looked away from their shared stare. As high spirited and brave as the warrior was, even she seemed tense today. "Cool yourself down and get your gear, Commander. It's time you headed out." With that Dredna's tight grasp loosened, and she ducked out of the tent to fetch her soldiers. Zacharia sighed, grabbing an old cloth to rub to his face. The woman was right. There were hundreds of people out there. People with families, with lovers, with hopes and dreams like his. And more than a few of those families and lovers were shaking in their boots at the mere idea of tackling Larguz' enormous walls. Some of them wouldn't arrive back at Macendew as heroes. Some of them would die a bloody, dishonorable death on the battlefield. The dark mage himself wouldn't be missed by most. But now that he had the Fire Emblem, Zacharia had a reason to survive on the battlefield other than his original motive. He had a duty to fulfill for those poor few who believed in him. And that duty was victory.
Zach moved his scrying tools aside and reached for his bundle of clothes where the Emblem was nestled safely inside. No one save for Daniel knew he kept it safe in the knight's place, and it was better that it stayed that way. So the brilliant gem was kept safe hidden behind his padded soldier's sweater on a chain. Had Dredna not come in to bring the mage to his senses, he would have forgotten just how much rode on whether Zacharia kept it safe or not. For better or for worse he was the field leader now.
Once he shrugged his clothes on and grabbed his Cipher, Zach was out the tent and on his way to the center of their camp. With luck, everyone would be gathered by the time he arrived. And with more luck, he could rouse the rebel soldiers and lift their spirits. "Gaea, Bern, help me..." he rubbed his temples, hustling off with a speech brewing in his head.
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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 Jul 24, 2015 13:11:36 GMT -6
Without warning, without a signal, one hundred and forty nine Wyverns poured over the walls of Larguz, They bore on their backs men encased in heavy gray armor, brandishing spears long enough to decimate their enemies from the backs of their massive beasts. At their head flew Namor, the second in command of the Wyvern unit stationed at Larguz. He was young, only twenty five, but he had been fighting rebels since the rebellion had started, and was not going to stop now. He was cocky, he was willing to go to bat that he was worthy of being called one of the Wyvern Generals. He had trained relentlessly since arriving at the training center in Larguz, the first one on the training ground and the last to leave. With years of training and experience behind his lance arm, he flew straight up into the open air, all of the men following him into the sky. For a moment, they stalled, then they dove straight toward the cavalry of the rebels, both its horse and its Wyvern. Namor and his Wyvern Bolla headed straight for a traitor to the skies. He dove at the Demon Slayer.
On the walls above the battlefield, Yerna Cinderfelt watched as the men of Bern cascaded down towards their kin, preparing to sink their spears and claws into the enemy. A smile split his face as he watched Namor choose his opponent. He had assumed he'd have to be the one to face down the demon slayer, but was happy to see that his competent second had risen to the task. He'd returned to watch the descent because quite simply he still enjoyed watching the beasts fly. Wyverns had held him in awe his whole life, and even at his age, he still thought them beautiful. As soon as the groups had clashed, he shook his head and walked away from the wall. He was going to mount up for this battle. Armus was by no means an idiot, but he had not noticed that this was a trap. One Yerna was willing to walk into, because he knew he could walk out.
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Selibas watched as the enemy fell into the rebels. There were a lot of them. Quite a lot. Enough that this strategy might truly have been the most effective. Selibas called to Hedrin, "Greaves, helmet." The scout hurriedly reached into the pack on his saddle and unwrapped the pieces of his commander's equipment. Selibas strapped the greaves on and then took the cloth wrapping for his head from Hedrin. He always forgot to actually ask for that part. Then, Selibas slid the wolve's head helm on, and called out at the top of his lungs, "WOLFPACK!" Two minutes later, the call had been carried far, and the roughly three and a half hundred men under Selibas had assembled in their full ranks.
Selibas turned to them, the battle now raging behind him. He tried his best to make his voice carry, but knew the men would inform each other on what all Selibas said. "Men, when you joined the rebellion, you were not soldiers. You were just men. A group of men who wanted their country to be their country once more. You were fighting soldiers. Soldiers who did not take you seriously, because you were peasants and farmers. That's what Bern is. It's not soldiers, it's not forts, or cities. It's peasants and farmers. You, men of Bern, are close. We have beaten these soldiers before, and today, we will beat them again. Do you know why?" Selibas paused, then thrust his iron sword Caladbolg into the air. "Because we're the army of Bern today, not them. We're the f****n' peasants and farmers!" The men lifted their weapons and gave a shout as Selibas turned and began running towards the massive clump of battling Wyverns and horses. He sheathed Caladbolg as he was running, and drew Epeeciel off his back. It was made to kill drakes, he was going to see to it that it did.
After some time running, the Wolfpack finally clashed with the enemy, as well as their allies. Selibas was singled out by a young Wyvern rider. The soldier's massive beast landed in front of Selibas, and tried to snap at the chief with its teeth filled mouth. Selibas leaped out of the path of its jaws, and ran towards the rider. The rider pulled back on the reins, and the thing lifted its head once more, turning with a flick from its riders hand, and attempted to bite down at Selibas again. Once more the chief managed to avoid the blow. Selibas made a swift cut at its neck with his Wyrmslayer, and the beast cried out in pain, as a shock of blood covered Selibas' sword in an instant. Then Selibas dislodged it and ran towards the rider again. The beast struggled back a few steps, but was too slow to keep Selibas from its rider. He parried a blow from a lance, clumsily done with the rider attempting to make his wounded animal retreat, and drove his massive blade into the man's chest with both hands. The man clutched at the blade as it went into his chest, but after only a few moments of cut off breaths, he died.
Selibas dislodged the blade just in time to be bucked off by the Wyvern. He slid down the beast's shoulder, and landed on his back, only barely managing to roll out of another attack by way of the things vicious bite. Selibas picked himself up of the ground just as Hedrin rode forward and drove his lance into the beasts eye. As the wyvern cried out, its shriek piercing th surrounding ears, Selibas swung his blade hard along its long neck, thankfully cutting something vital. It fell hard.
A few of the enemy Wyverns attempted to fly a ways above the battle, maybe in retreat, or maybe just to flee, but they were immediately bombarded by the archers in hiding. The ones who survived flew back down, the others fell back down. Selibas quickly sheathed Epeeciel, and retrieved his sword belt from Hedrin, strapping it around his waist before pulling out his Light Brand Curtana. He wrapped both hands around it, and swung it towards the sky, a ray of light emitting from it, and rising towards the clouds. If it hit anything, Selibas knew nothing would happen. Curtana was was capable of being used for a flare. That was it, the whole rebel force could now move. Now his part of the plan was up, and he was a warrior again. Selibas kept his eyes towards the sky. The white Wyvern had yet to take the sky.
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Post by Ilheod on Jul 29, 2015 6:17:11 GMT -6
The hanging silence in the air that passed for a few still moments was broken as a heavily clad armored man approached the Ilheod. Adorned in the armor of sundered demonspawn he'd labored to end within the City of Heroes, Ilheod turned to gaze at the man with a quiet nod initially. Having already strapped on his mask after his brief speech to his lads, he lifted his spear and adjusted it somewhat while he turned at the sudden sound of motion. The Devilslayer was the first to react as the enemy wyverns began to descend from the wall. No time to hold a friendly conversation now. War had come to pay them a visit. With the hollow echo staining his voice from the mask, Ilheod shouted to his lads as he tucked his knees and motioned for Astraeus to take off. "To flight lads! Let's show em how real soldiers fly!"
The ground was buffeted by a series of gusts blasting outwards from so many wyverns launching at once. He knew the standard. Couldn't fly to high, or they'd enter the kill zone by the rebels archers. They could fly around over the heads of the mounted, so the foot soldiers were safe. There was a brief exhilaration that rushed through the middle-aged wyvern captain as he rushed to intercept the oncoming wyverns. The battle field was home to him. It was where he'd spent a significant portion of his life. Preparing for it. Living it. Recovering from it. Searching for it. With wind racing past him, his breath caught in his lungs as he prepared to cast his first strike, and the faint acknowledgment of others around him through his peripheral vision, he could confidently say that this was where he belonged. As Astraeus pressed forwards, his wyvern rider flew to his sides in a formation similar to a pike wall charge; with wings. Ilheod let out a savage shout as Astraeus drowned it beneath his own echoing shriek of fury that resonated loud enough to split ones head asunder. The thunderous crash as wyvern riders collided was brutal, and the combat moments later even more so.
As Ilheod met his foe head on, a rider charged to him. Ilheod was quick to meet him, but not so quick to suicidally joust into him. As the opposing officer moved to bring his weapon down, Ilheod turned to the side and guided Astraeus to spin right. The Wyvern retracted his wings for a split second as he dove upwards. He hovered just under the "kill zone" before twisting and coming into a downwards dive. Ilheod's spear flashed with a brief glint as he moved to pin the rider downwards. He swept the weapon in a crescent like an arc, missing; but forcing him to buffet the air on wyvern wings. Breaking momentum could be just as disastrous as actually catching an enemy.
His spear crashed against armor plating as Ilheod moved in for a second pass. However the tip grated the edge of the plating on the man's wyvern before barely grazing the enemy riders shoulder. Astraeus and the other wyvern snarled and snapped at one another before the pair broke off to re-engage. Ilheod roughly tucked his heels in to Astraeus as he guided him in a loop for another pass. The colossal midnight blue wyvern was quick to grow frenzied in battle. One of their only flaws as a pair, was he had to force his scaled mount not to latch onto enemy wyverns. It threw off their synergy and gave too much risk to the wyvern himself. The enemy could strike exposed segments of his partner easily.
Wind whipped past them once more as Ilheod angled himself differently. He lined his spear as if to joust, and let every muscle in his body go tense. He could already feel the burning in his shoulders joint from the previous blow where he caught the enemy wyverns armor. It had been a bit jarring, and would take his muscles a moment to recover from. That wouldn't dull his power though, albeit his speed a tad possibly. Each rise and fall of the wyvern and rider from the wingbeats felt comforting, given the rhythmic patterns and speed to it. Where most would have their heart racing, Ilheod felt the odd serene which could only be supplied by a familiarity of that situation. Each passing moment he tried to glint some form of information. His opponents style. Their reaction timing. Extremity of retaliation. Favored side to use.
They were seconds from clashing. Ilheod waited. He inhaled sharply, and suddenly Astraeus dipped from the brief nudge of his heel on the left side. The Wyvern ducked under the enemy one even while Ilheod spun his spear around. Astraeus's wings extended to the sides at full length, parallel to the ground so he could maintain the glide; racing just over the heads of the solders bound to the surface. He felt his spear tip pierce the wyverns flesh. The grating resistance it offered as he gripped the shaft tightly and leaned forwards while bringing his spear out and down to complete the tearing motion. Hot fat droplets of wyvern blood cascaded downwards before the clashing pair raced away from one another. Ilheod found himself coming full circle once more however to see his foe ready for another bout. His gaze narrowed as hie spear leveled once more. This was war. How he'd missed it.
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Post by Euphemious on Jul 29, 2015 10:26:18 GMT -6
"Well everyone and there weapons are ready", spoke the General to himself after finishing a check. Now it was simply time to wait. From what he understood the Wyvern units had already lunched over the gate and the ambush had already been set. The wolf pack was tearing into the enemy and things where going according to plan. However Euphemious was a bit unsatisfied. He wanted to be one of the first in the battle, but instead he was a ambush. There was nothing wrong with being in the ambush unit, but Euphemious was a bit bloodthirsty today. This was mainly due to the stakes of the battle. The General needed to do well. If he did not then his family name would suffer. If Euphemious wanted to bring the Lowlander Family back to its former glory then he needed to not only be on the winning side, but also show that they where worthy of there title.
Euphemious simply stood with the rest of his soldiers and waited. There time will come and when it did Euphemious needed to perform. There was no point in thinking on what he should do, or what he has to accomplish. Euphemious just needed to wait till the battle started and do what he normally did. He had shown his strength in the siege of the fortress and his skill in single combat during that raid on the slaver band. He knew he could fight, there was no question about that. Now he needed to know if he could war. War was different from a fight. In battle one had to watch there surroundings and keep a eye on the man next to you. If you pressed forward to much you would make yourself a target, or you might leave a opening that gets the man next to you killed. Euphemious had to not only thin on his own ambitions, but also the ambitions of the men around him. They all had families, hopes, and dreams. If he was too busy trying to be a glory hog he would endanger them and the entire mission.
"Wish the enemy would hurry up", spoke the Black armored General to himself as he waited. Euphemious really hated to wait.
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Zacharia
Shaman
Kingmaker
"You fight for the promise of a better tomorrow for this country."
Posts: 172
Bern Fame: 3
Illia Fame: -2
Profession: Advisor
Affiliation: Bernese Senate
Affinity: Thunder
Profile: Link
OoC Alias: Zach
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Post by Zacharia on Aug 8, 2015 22:37:08 GMT -6
By the time Zacharia arrived, everyone and everything were already in position. Mortell, Daye, Boryn, the only commander that wasn't positioned was him. But his soldiers were, to a man every last one of them were waiting on the signal flare Selibas would launch. It was a last minute switch of plans for the Little Wolf to join the front lines but with Cinderfelt hiding inside Larguz, he wouldn't budge from joining the first offense. Not that he minded; if this flubbed spectacularly, it was for the best that his friend wouldn't be here to see him fail.
"Men, women, every soldier!" the vassal called out, walking towards the front of the mass of soldiers. Quickly he wrapped his hair into a ponytail, and stood tall amongst the misshapen lines. "Before we leave, there's something I'd like to say." The crowd turned, their armor and weapons clink-klanging together. His face was lost in the crowd, but Zacharia could still feel that beaming grin of old man Boryn's. It was reassuring, in a way. Okay, you've got their attention. Here goes everything.
For a moment, the mage was silent. Then as though the switch in his brain finally flipped on, he began to speak. "Some of us are simple countrymen, and some of us are veteran soldiers. Some of you were just like me: dazed, confused, but patriotic all the same. Some are freshly recruited right out of their homes in the countryside, and some that stand before you and I today have weathered decades of war. For long enough have the Bernese suffered the terror, the madness, and the hunger of kings and warmongers who wish to snuff us out like so many candles. For long enough!"
"Here, today, it doesn't matter who you are or where you're from, what matters is why you fight. You fight for justice! You fight for peace! You fight for all the good people in this country counting on us! You fight for the promise of a better tomorrow for this country." Zacharia paused to breathe. His face glistened with sweat, but it also glistened with pride. The butterflies that rampaged through his stomach before he left his tent had vanished. The mage felt invigorated enough to move the sky to the side and reach for the very stars themselves. For once, realizing that all these people were counting on him as a fellow brother and soldier made his eyes shine instead of his legs tremble. Was this what Aidan felt like before Macendew? It felt fantastic. "So come, all you proud warriors, and all you brave recruits! Today, we are as one; tomorrow, we are as one; and forever after, we will be as one! For we are Bern; we are its heart and soul. That's never changed, and it never will! My brothers and sisters..."
A bolt of pure light pierced the heavens, for all from miles around to see. There it was, that was the signal! No doubt about it; it was Curtana. "Let's MOVE OUT!"
A sea of metal rose upon Zacharia and roared its response.
Zacharia's legs buckled as he almost collapsed, and he was sure in that instant his heart stopped. His brave face during the speech was just a facade, but where had THAT come from? He only had a fraction of that speech in his head on his way here. With a performance like that, maybe it would be better if he stopped being such a worrywart and started doing what Daniel wanted him to do: protect the Emblem, protect his men, and protect himself.
Horses were mounted by their riders, armor straps were tightened, lines of command were formed, and weapons unsheathed. This was it. The riders of Larguz would never know what hit them, not when their attention was to the forces that would soon retreat.
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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 Aug 8, 2015 22:51:16 GMT -6
White wings flung themselves apart atop the walls of Larguz. With a great motion, the scaly hide of a massive Wyvern slithered into the sky, ripping the air with a shriek that pierced the ears of all on the ground like the breaking of a million pieces of glass. The reptilian beast circled over the heads of those engulfed in battle for only a moment before descending, all the while drawing a storm of arrows. Neither the beast or its rider fell from the shafts, which fell to the ground like leaves in the fall. The white Wyvern crashed into the ground, crushing one man of the Bern rebellion under its massive left claw. It’s long neck snapped from side to side, brushing allies and enemies alike aside. In its massive jaw, it grabbed a soldier with a green cloak, and within seconds had squeezed the life of the man, maybe seconds before his screams ended. The Wyvern threw its head into the air and let out another shriek. A brave young fool hurried towards it, and attempted to stab the beast in his wing with a spear. Instead, the wing flew up, ripping through the man before he could even come close to landing the blow. Several of the rebels began to run or at the very least break formation. One single rider had managed to shift a battle, however momentarily. Momentarily was enough when the rider was Yerna Cinderfelt, the Death Flash. He and his mount Fafnir were considered by many to be one of the deadliest duos, and cruelest in Bern’s current state, maybe ever. It is said by some that he once killed his entire battalion for not following a single order, and that he burnt down a village for harboring a fugitive. It is said, that he had a son with the Sister of a Sacaen chief close to eighteen years ago. When another Rebel approached Fafnir, this time at the Wyvern’s chest, he was taken in the chest by a Javelin. Yerna was in high spirits over the fight. He had heard of a few of their commanders, but one especially intrigued him. A young Sacaen, who had apparently defeated his son in both mind and body. Yerna was enthralled, ready to meet and kill such a worthy opponent. He had been born with White Hair, but had his hair been any other color, it might have turned white now. He was in his early fifties at least, but still built like a warrior in his prime. His body was an instrument of speed and a monument of strength. He had a face that showed his cruelty, however it was handsome after a fashion. His white beard covered his jaw and chin, but curled devilishly about his lips. His armor was orange, a color long associated with his house, but he had chosen not to wear too thick plate on this day. He had always hated fighting men who wore thick armor. He was going to kill them eventually, why prolong the inevitable? His helmet was open face, so that men could look their death in the face as it came with a flash. The beast he rode was one of the oldest of its kind in Elibe. It was a wyvern that had been hatched when Yerna was a boy, and the only mount he had ever ridden. It was as cruel as its master, but smarter and stronger than most other wyverns. Fafnir’s eyes held an element of malice that could almost be described as human. The two were quickly making piles of dead bodies all around them as Yerna began to call out across the battlefield. ”BRING HIM! BRING HIM TO ME! BRING ME THE WOLF!” Suddenly, the rebels gained something that might have been fear or courage, fear of death if they didn’t act quick enough, or courage because it was the only option. Either way they were driven to attack the pair all at once. At least seven men rushed at the great lizard and its rider. Onlookers could have seen Yerna’s hand go from the quiver of Javelins on his mount’s saddle to something else, something that looked like the hilt of a sword. Suddenly jutting from the saddle, there erupted into the battle field the sensation of a great fear. Tendrils of black smoke seemed to reach out and clutch the rebel soldiers by the chest, choking the life out of some, barreling through the others. Yerna’s hand and right arm had turned the color of blood as soon as he had gripped Nothung, his sword of darkness. His face wrenched in pain, he gave the sword a massive swing, and from the black blade sprung a swarm of tendrils, rushing towards any sign of life. One target was a Wyvern, one on his side in fact, that crashed into the ground, crushing its rider. The fall killed both beast and man, but when the beast hit the ground, its body fell in such a way that created a crescent opening toward the Death Flash. Only seconds after its fall, shadowy tentacles still whipping about and attacking those in the sky still, a pair of Red Ostian Cavalry boots stepped onto the scales, and made it over the Wyvern’s neck. Atop Fafnir, looking over his shoulder towards the bulk of the Bern force, Yerna roared still, ”BRING HIM TO ME! I WILL KILL HIM NOW! THE WOLF! THE LITTLE WOLF, I WANT HIM!” The Little Wolf answered, "Selibas.” Both Wyvern and rider swung their necks to look at the short boy in front of them. He had his hand on a sword that appeared ancient, but was still in its sheathe, only notable for some green jewel in the pommel. He had steel armor on his chest, shoulders, and arms, but his helm was the most shocking piece. It looked to Yerna that he was almost fighting a wolf, only a wolf whose lower jaw had been removed and replaced with the face of an impudent Sacaen child. Yerna could not make out the finer details of this ‘Selibas’ but he was sure he looked the same as any other wolf. The Sacaen drew the ancient sword, which Yerna now saw was one of four the boy carried, one on his back, three on his left hip. With lightning speed, the boy swung his sword in a horizontal arc overhead, shooting from his blade a razor of light, that flew up and cut the tendrils in twain. "My name is Selibas."
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Post by Ilheod on Aug 16, 2015 21:39:37 GMT -6
The wind whipped past Ilheod as he spun upon Astraeus' withdrawn wings. The Wyvern spun once more in an Aileron roll while briefly ascending above the man who had rushed for him. The Wyvern commander pressed his body flat as he felt his companion decelerate before the jostling surge of movement resume with heavy wings extending and seizing the currents once more. His fingers gripped at the lance firmly while he turned to lock on towards the man who had singled him out earlier for this bout. As Ilheod took to his best angled poise, he noticed the slight dip each time the enemy wyvern tried to ascend. The right side, it was most likely from the wound to the body earlier; the creature attempting to shift weight to its dominant side to compensate for bodily weakness.
That would be his angle. Astareus climbed even higher for a moment as the enemy rider attempted to turn to face Ilheod. There it was. The dip again. Which meant... Now ! Ilheod harshly leaned forwards and roughly tucked his knees as Astraeus leaned into a sudden dive once more. The colossal midnight blue wyvern let out a head splitting shriek as it charged. The opposing Wyvern attempted to shriek in return, but the thunderous crashing impact as Ilheod's mount slammed into it swiftly silenced this. Ilheod lifted his right shoulder not a moment before, and brought it down with every ounce of might as he slammed into the enemy rider. The impact reverberated through every inch of his body, but he could still feel the satisfying resistance of armor, flesh, and bone while he punched his spear into the enemy riders chest. Rooting the enemy with the angle and force of the blow, the man was unable to move as he had been bound by the saddle all riders wore.
A spray of dark crimson stained both the lance and a brief segment of Ilheod's gargoyle bone mask; splotches along the entirely covered lower jaw of his adding somewhat to the inhuman resemblance of the armor. Astraeus had his front claws latching onto the enemy wyverns side and his body effectively pressing the scaled mount downwards as they roughly slammed into the ground. A sickening crunch as the enemy wyvern's left wing broke from the compressed force being caught between its own body and the ground was deafened out by the wailing shriek it released while Astraeus viciously bit into the wyverns throat. Ilheod had to use almost as much force extracting his spear from the rider's body as he had used to impale the man; Shaking the weapon as the newly made corpse went limp only to lean backwards with leather straps keeping him attached to his dying companion. Moments later, a loud snap broke through the din of battle as Astraeus slammed it's upper left leg down onto the enemy Wyvern's neck before cranking his head to break the bones and end the creatures suffering.
There was little time to celebrate a victorious duel however, for the siege had only just started. Ilheod's free hand tugged at the reigns as he and Astraeus took back into the sky. This siege was far from over he felt.
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Post by Euphemious on Aug 17, 2015 11:50:51 GMT -6
Armor strapped on and helmet bound Euphemious was ready to fight and the weight of the world weighed heavily on his shoulders. This was the General's first major battle. He had fought countless of small skirmishes and battles between squads of men, but nothing like this. Not even the capture of the fort could equal up to this. Euphemious took a deep breath as he began to focus on his goals. He needed to be a leader in this fight, but he also needed to follow Orders. He needed to stand out, but also stay alive. This battle was not going to be a pick nick that was for sure. Zach gave a speech, it was a good one, but it did little for Euphemious. He had a mountain of things on his mind and getting pumped up was not on his agenda. Euphemious found out that he fights better when he is calm. The more he focused the better he was in battle. So while everyone else cheer and yelled Euhemious sat in a corner taking deep breaths and preparing his mind. He began to see the battlefield before him and the opponents he would face. It was a ambush, but he was expecting the enemy to fight hard. "Best to use my axe at the beginning", spoke Euphemious as he pulled his iron axe off his back and began to move into his position. His Guan Dao was his most effective weapon, but Euphemious wanted to save it for later. The first wave he would be close to other warriors on the battlefield. A Guan Dao needed room to be used properly. Euphemious did not want to risk hitting of his fellow warriors or having his attack range limited by movement. So instead he would use his war axe.
Moving into position Euphemious stood before the recruits he had helped train up to this day. He remembered each and every one of them. How they where so weak and stupid. He remembered how some of them where hiding behind there shields during training and did not know how to swing a weapon. Now they where soldiers. They knew how to properly use a shield and how to align there blades so they could make a proper cut. "Alright men you know your orders and you know what we have to do. Keep your formation and watch your partners back. Glory is to be had, but first you need to keep your head. There is no glory for the dead", spoke the General as he took up his own position in there lines and began to move into position. He preyed that Hartmut himself looked down upon them and gave his blessing, they where going to need it.
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Zacharia
Shaman
Kingmaker
"You fight for the promise of a better tomorrow for this country."
Posts: 172
Bern Fame: 3
Illia Fame: -2
Profession: Advisor
Affiliation: Bernese Senate
Affinity: Thunder
Profile: Link
OoC Alias: Zach
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Post by Zacharia on Sept 24, 2015 19:41:17 GMT -6
Thunder rolled across the fields of Larguz and lightning shook the clouds; the stomping of feet and the shrieking of beasts. If Zach didn't know better, it seemed like rain would start to pour at any moment. The Rebellion charged straight for the conflict with their own rally cries, not bothering to retain formation now that the true fight had begun. There was no way the mage could join the stampede without being trampled under boot and horseshoe, and getting behind the charge was out of the question. It was a sight to see: a general pumping his legs, desperately running ahead of his own soldiers. Stanley and Ilheod were already overhead; no doubt if they could see Zacharia now he'd never hear the end of it.
Like a sudden eruption, the cavalry were upon the dogs of Larguz.
Zach weaved through blade after blade, heaving for air and fumbling the pages of his book. Specks of light flowed from his sleeves to form into solid tendrils of magic - only to catch the brunt of a aimed lucky shot to his neck and dissipate harmlessly -- "Yowch!" the faceless opponent shifted their weight, striking him in the shoulder. No fair! How was he supposed to account for competency? Zach still held a shaky vise on his tome regardless of the searing pain staining shirt, and at a gesture a magic spiral reared up and slapped the spear from the assailant's hands, tearing it in half. Points-wise they were still Soldier 1, Zach 0, but in the person's stupor the spell pivoted back and knocked the person in the helmet, causing him to kneel. There was no time to waste, Zach had to move before someone else took advantage of his lack of breath.
"Zacharia!" Boryn called to him from atop his horse, carving a swathe through the brawl. "How are you faring? I lost sight of you in the initial charge, and you know how much of a hassle it is to dodge those stray arrows and falling bodies on horseback AND search for allies." Zacharia heaved a sigh of relief, and clasped Boryn's hand in his own. "I'm fine, just a few... cuts." The old man raised a gnarled stick to Zach, and a soothing numbness washed over his body. His breathing lessened, and his most serious blows were on the mend. "Be careful out there, boy; there's no telling what could- "
One voice boomed over the battlefield, engulfing all sounds in its wake. Even for Zach it didn't take much brain power to locate the source: Yerna Cinderfelt. And he wanted Selibas. His first instinct was to move past Boryn, and towards the booming man. But looking out at the flash of light clashing with a dark magic spell, Zach remembered just how out of his depth he was. The Little Wolf told him just how strong his father was, and he wasn't going to go dying just to look better in Selibas' eyes.
"Zacharia? Is everything alright there?" The mage snapped to. "Sorry, I um, I..." Boryn chuckled, and kneed his horse's sides. "Standing here won't help save lives you know. Come!"
"Yes, sir!"
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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 Sept 26, 2015 19:38:11 GMT -6
The Wyvern lifted its head, towering over the small Sacaen. Selibas pointed Curtana at his father, but bent at his knees, preparing to avoid a strike from the Wyvern. The beast was not the threat. Yerna thrust his sword of darkness towards his son, and from its tip leaped another flock of tendrils. As the shadows crept closer to Selibas, they formed a broad claw reaching for the short Sacaen. Selibas lifted his own sword, even higher.
Tightening his grip, with a single twist of his sword, he shot out a broad beam of light once more. The claw of elder magic made contact with the aura of Selibas’ light magic, but did not break through. Both fields of magic dissipated. For a moment both warriors looked at each other. ”Who are you?” It was a simple question, but it was one that Selibas had been hoping for. ”My name is Selibas Sacae. I am the son of a chief’s sister, and a Bernese nobleman.” Selibas wrapped his left hand around the lower part of Curtana’s hilt and swung down.
From all around Selibas’ hands, a burst of light shot forth, headed directly for Cinderfelt. With only a slight swing of Nothung, the tendrils of shadow ripped through the air again, dragging and pulling against the beam created by Selibas until it had shattered the burst. The shards of gold scattered on a sudden gust of wind, clinking as they hit the ground and turned to nothing. ”I’ve been looking to kill you for five years.”
With a roar from Yerna, and a number of movements with his blade, what looked like a cloud of black appeared over the Rider’s head. Too late did Selibas realize they were those same tendrils this time many, coming fast, too fast for Selibas to dodge. They left no tears in his armor or skin, but they felt almost the same as being pierced by an arrow. For a moment, Selibas screamed as they stuck in him, but then, the shadows were gone, and the pain changed simply to a feeling that Selibas had no energy left.
The little wolf fought against the feeling. With the effort it took to lift a mountain, Selibas managed to lift his sword, and swung in a wide horizontal swipe, flinging a razor of light towards his father. Fafnir shifted his weight before the razor would have hit the man on its back. The Wyvern was behaving itself, not having tried to kill the boy itself, but Yerna could feel it getting anxious to rip at something. He asked the boy he didn’t know was his son, ”Why have you been so desperate to kill me? Wanting to kill me for so long?”
Selibas rolled out of the way of another group of shadow arms which reached for his chest. The little wolf growled looking up at his father. There was definitely a similarity he could see to himself in the man’s face. Looking at him, Selibas knew that he had inherited his eyes from his mother, but the rest of his features could clearly be seen in the monster’s face. It angered him. It angered him to no end.
At once, both men lifted their weapons, and swung them in a downward stroke. A black mass of tendrils sprouted and flew from Nothung, and from Curtana leaped a massive beam of white hot light. The two flew towards each other, and upon impact, they wrapped around each other, forming a massive ball between the two physical combatants. For a moment, the light would overtake the darkness, shedding light in all directions, but then the shadow would envelop the entirety of the light. Then the light ripped through the darkness by making holes in the shadow, casting small circles of light onto the ground and corpses all around the duel.
The green jewel in Selibas’ pommel faded slowly, and the light involved in the battle fell to a nothing at just the same time as the darkness sulked into the shadows on the battlefield. Selibas felt it in the sword, it was dead, maybe just for now. He sheathed it, and saw that Yerna had done the same.
Now the little chief drew the blade from his back; Epeeciel, his Wrymslayer. The Wyvern’s face split with something like a grin. Holding the sword with both hands, Selibas called over the roar of battle, years of contempt dripping into his voice, ”When I was thirteen, you killed a friend of mine in battle, that's what cursed your name every time I spat it out. There haven’t been many places I’ve gone in Elibe that did not sound with stories of your cruelty, stories of Yerna Cinderfelt, a monster in the sky who left death behind broad white wings. For those reasons I wanted to kill you. More importantly, you abandoned a child in Sacae. You left a woman with her child behind in Sacae, and when she came with you, you did not claim him. I’m here to kill you, because I grew up without anyone. I'm here to kill you because I have long cursed the name Cinderfelt, and you are he. So am I.” Selibas sprinted forward, his ears pierced by a roar from Fafnir. The meaning of Selibas' words sunk in, as the father's eyes widened, for the first time seeing his youngest son.
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Cyril Schweitzer
Fighter
What's this then, eh!?
Posts: 53
Profession: Rebel Militiaman
Guild: Wolfpack Militia
Affinity: Wind
OoC Alias: Synkkis
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Post by Cyril Schweitzer on Oct 4, 2015 1:20:53 GMT -6
"SLAUGHTERRR!!!" the Sergeant Major howled, axe raised high and ready to be brought down upon the mercenary armies of the north. It was a horde of green, as if the hills were alive and rushing to meet their foes. The stampede of the charge, the clanking of the armor, and the battle cries of the men were all a tremendous show of force. The Wolfpack Militia were no longer a buffer for the regular troops, they'd developed their own style of warfare that would be unleashed on these well equipped fiends.
In the front, the axeman could see the wyverns dropping off regulars before zooming off to clash with their own air cavalry. The spectacle made the Bernese man shake in awe as he felt certain of death. He had been so close so many other times, but his calling brought him to push forward even if it were into a wall of pikes. The shrieks and shrills coming from the wyverns on the hunt added a much more hellish din to the ground-pounding of the two infantry forces rushing to meet each other in combat.
The initial clash was a cacophony of thunder, metal and wood meeting bone and flesh. Men already started to fall on both sides as it was a relentless brawl of killing machines.
"He's 'eeeeeeere!" Cyril growled with a devious grin. This is what he waited for through cold nights, sweltering days, being soaked on the march, dealing with all the mess that happens when you've got a whole covey of men together who'd rather be home with their families. This is what they were here for. The knew the significance of winning. If the Ilians lost, their government would be disgruntled and make a few changes in their parliament or have a few nobles fall out of power. If they lost, there would be relentless manhunts to squash out any rebellious sympathies and they would live under the icy foot of a northern tyrant. They were protecting what Bern truly was and would be.
All his thoughts vanished as he saw an opening. He felt reactive and in the moment. An arm was caught over their shield wall. Cyril reached out and heaved the soldier over his own men. The shocked and dazed was then a bleeding, breathing target for the brute's frustrations. The hefty axe Schweitzer carried acted more as a hammer as each swing came down, the fury of rending flesh and pulping of bone exhilirating the senses. Not even two minutes into the fight and Cyril was already covered in blood.
"Arise! Get off yer knees! Arise! Give 'em yer spears!"
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Post by Ilheod on Oct 9, 2015 9:32:52 GMT -6
Wind jostled and whipped past Ilheod as he flew through the air. The rising and falling sent a rush through his entire body that spread once over before lingering within his gut like a hole that did not wish to leave. This feeling, though second-nature to him after so many years, was a great sign. It meant he was still alive. As Astraeus and he dove up and down, flying above charging riders and dueling aerial combatants he did his best to strike out at every Larguz rider that he passed. Ground combat had a luxury that the flying combat did not. They could crash into one another, pressing against the ground or in rooted stance and fight admirably in single combat. Mass combat for wyvern riders however was different. The sky was constantly swarming. Moving. Changing. Wyverns were at the best in motion. Flying and weaving while building force behind their powerful wingbeats. It gave the riders extra momentum, more force behind their blows. It also made combat look more akin to two swarms of birds trying to kill eachother. Occasionally a rider would fall from the sky, tumbling downwards. The lucky ones would go right back into the skies a moment later. The unlucky ones didn't have such concerns.
Ilheod swept his spear in an arc, fingers tightly securing his grip on the silver infused weapon as he felt the satisfying resistance from another riders armor plating as the spear punched through the man's gut before Ilheod moved to retract his spear. With the wind whipping past him, he couldn't hear the metallic rings and impacts of war. Simply a loud deafening blast and occasionally wyvern shrieks. If they were going to win though..then they'd need to get more of an edge. Ilheod had seen the rather unique mount of Yerna Cinderfelt diving down the walls. No, as much as he wanted to try to strike at the man; it was already being handled. What he could do though..
Ilheod pressed his body closely to Astraeus as the colossal wyvern spun to avoid crashing into another. Ilheod lifted and tucked his spear close to the wyverns side above the wing bone, relying on his lower body being strapped to the saddle to keep him in place as he pinched his lips together and whistled as loud as he could. It had to reach Astareus, that was all. Luckily, over the din of battle and flight the wyvern managed to hear it. As Ilheod lifted his body from the creatures hide once more, he heard the bellowing shriek that Astraeus let out as it signaled to the other wyverns of the Nightwings. In an army of thousands of soldiers, seventy riders would seem like an poultry lot. However wyverns were far larger than men..and it was about to get a bit more noticeable.
Ilheod dove down just low enough for the other riders to spot him, and as he flew below the actual wide-spread cluster of fighting wyvern riders he began to notice the other members of his units falling in behind him. Similar to a reversed V in formation, good. They knew what he intended. Ilheod straightened and lifted his spear outwards in a jousting poise before extending it forwards. As he circled around and adjusted himself to face directly towards the rear of the Larguz ground forces that were still clambering to get into the midst with the rebels, he spurred Astraeus onwards with as much haste as the large wyvern could muster. By the time he had reached a point where the men could catch on to them not just flying overhead, it was a fully fledged aerial-calvery charge. Spear tips of the wyvern riders crashed into, and punched through the chest of the first ax-man he came cross, Astraeus flying further still as Ilheod did his best to hold on to his own weapon. Flying with an enemy impaled on the weapon added severe resistance.
The line of spears crashing into the side of the soldiers and fighters soon became just as chaotic as the rest of the fight. Wyverns snarling and tearing into the men as their riders stabbed at them. They could not linger though, lest they be over-run and butchered. Mere seconds of ground combat was good enough to make Ilheod take to the skies, the buffeting windpress of Astraeus taking off knocking down two men attempting to strike at Astraeus as the group of riders hastily scattered and flew back into the swarm of combat above. Not only was it effectively "safer" mixed among the enemy riders where archers were a bit more hesitant to fire, even if just a bit but also gave them a field of battle once more where they were not to be swarmed. Taking a moment to catch his breath, the orange haired wyvern commander took back to the twisting and turning of mid-flight combat. Perhaps they'd get another opportunity to charge and dive into the enemy without it being pure suicide. The rebels ground forces after all were providing the best distractions. It was like a mutual benefit. The wyvern forces and cavalry could cause distractions for the footmen to seize, and after a time when the focus shifted to them the cavalry and aerial cavalry could hit them hard again.
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