Upon Fell wings[Don/Perun]

[Ilheod]

The numbers were thinning within the winged fiends. Each one felled by multiple hands. Some felled by point of lance, as the small wyvern squad broke into pairs or trios and fought furiously. They had some small notion of advantage, because Wyvern Riders trained with one another frequently. Especially with the events of the Bernese Civil war, and the Rebellion, they'd trained extensively against enemies with aerial mobility. It was a matter of height. Utilizing angles and gravity against the enemy. Maneuverability as well. Every time a gargoyle tried to ascend, so that it could dive, a flurry of spears stabbed for its wings. Those that tried to ascend regardless, found their wings poked with holes that made flying impossible, or to difficulty to adequately remain airborne. Those that descended were set upon by the rallied guard of the village forces, while barbed arrows rained down upon the ones distinguished as different from the wyvern riders.

Ilheod, however, found himself still reeling from his wounds. He was not, after all, invulnerable despite his persistent nature. Had it simply been a single blow, he could have endured. he felt it though, the fatigue within his body. Each one grotesquely inflated the sensation of pain and weariness. He knew he wouldn't lose consciousness..but he could not afford to fight another bout like that. Not if he could avoid it. Pivoting, and shifting his weight once more, he climbed atop his Wyvern as he clapped an armored hand to Astraeus' side. The colossal wyvern flapped his wings twice in heavy wing-beats before taking to the skies, the lurch that followed within the pit of his stomach causing him to grimace as pain followed.

His other hand tightly gripped his spear, and locked it to his side as he took to rejoining his unit. Until this threat was over, he could not allow himself rest, even if his body insisted. He would simply have to rely on Astraeus for a time, longer than he'd have liked. Thankfully, and to much relief by the aging commander, it wouldn't last too much longer by the rate at which they were routing the winged fiends.

[Donovan]

The silver tongued mercenary saw that the last of the gargoyles were falling to the guard, the wyvern riders, and the mercenaries combined efforts. He still had bags under his eyes from the days of travel, but the bastard was as alert and attentive as he had ever been. He had seen a fair few friends fall to the folly of phoning it in for the few moments before the end of a battle. Any enemy with a weapon in their hands is a threat to your personal life, whether they are losing as a whole or not. He saw a gargoyle flying toward him and Perun, its wings damaged and riddled with arrow holes. He spun Fragarach in his hand once, before spending a heavy blast of air at the monster, knocking it into the stone wall of a smithy. It fell to the ground, dazed, and he quickly, purposefully walked toward it, looking like an exhausted angel of death in his gray knit hat with furious, storm green eyes.

Pushing itself up by its front arms, the sky devil looked up in time to see a flash of green flying into its eye. For good measure, Donovan slit its throat, gargoyle blood spilling into the street. "We have them by their stones!" He called out to the guards, raising the blood soaked blade in the air while he stood on the body of the dead beast. "Keep pushing! Keep fighting! Tear these creature's rocks off and send them back to the bowels of the nether where they belong, impotent and afraid!" He heard a gruff laugh from Rowan and saw the man fell another beast. The fighting would end soon.

[Perun]

The giant kept his eyes on the sky as his friend shouted something or other about double entendres. Perun didn't make words of agreement, but he roared yet again. That was a good enough answer he had to think. Keeping his eye on the sky, he kept hid sharp eyes on a gargoyle that flew into his line of vision from the darkness. It's skin was a fierce red, and though it wasn't of the same kin as the gargoyle that seemed to be the head of the monsters, it was of a particularly large size. It was almost big enough that it looked like it should have had some type of trouble with flying, in the way that it took great effort for Perun to swim. If you had a surplus of flesh, it could be hard to move it around when you were off your feet.

The massive creature seemed to take note of Perun, two uniquely giant warriors on opposite sides of the conflict. As it made its first pass, it flew head first at the orange haired warrior of the frozen north, spear down, wings tucked. It was like facing down a charging bull, and Perun knew what to do. When it was almost upon Perun, the orange giant leaped out of its path, and it sailed past him, making a lazy thrust at the warrior who was now out of its reach. It came back around, and Perun repeated his trick, but acted a bit too soon, and the Gargoyle was able to turn fast enough to aim a thrust at Perun's meaty shoulder. However, Perun dropped his axe, and attempted to grab the spear out of the fiend's hands. Perhaps he would pull it down, perhaps he would simply take the weapon from the ugly beast.

It pulled Perun up into the air, and for a few seconds the orange giant sailed with his feet a few yards above the ground. However, the massive red gargoyle could not manage to generate enough force with its leathery wings, and after only a few moments, the were back on the ground. Before the thing had a chance to attempt to shake Perun off of its spear, the huge Ilian choked his hands up on it, and began to apply pressure with both his arms, but also by leaning against it with all his might. The ashwood snapped in his hands. With a roar, the gargoyle took a swipe at Perun, and dug its claws into the Ilian's meaty back. With a twist, the orange haired warrior managed to break free of the grasp of the monster, and hurried with his back bloody over to his axe to take it up in hand. As he dove to pick it up, he heard the beast behind him, and when he had turned, he had only narrowly avoided a swipe that could have taken off his head.

Before he rose, a stroke of luck occurred, or perhaps something entirely different. An arrow fletched with a robin's feather tore into the beast's left eye. It roared, and Perun rose reminding himself to thank Janum later. He dug his axe into the monster's neck from his own right side as it clawed at the arrow in his eye, and pulled another shriek from its throat. He brought the axe out, and with another mighty blow, he felled the beast.

[Ilheod]

The fighting was drawing to a closed. Every aspect of the battle looked to be that way. The guard had rallied in full. Archers worked together to bring down the few winged fiends remaining, or some were forcibly lowered by the other squad members of the nightwings through group attacks until they were within pressuring range both above by the wyvern riders and below from the village guard. This was of great relief to the wyvern commander, for his wounds made the act of wielding his spear to its fullest capability almost impossible. Every time he rose or lowered the weapon, it was followed by a jarring surge of pain and a rather horrible tightness in his lower abdominal section. The slick warmth he felt was almost certainly a steadily accumulating pool of blood as well. Either way, he was thankful for the reprieve as the last of the fiends fell from the sky, and to the ground with a gurgled grunt.

Most of the town guard was still hesitantly combing the roof-tops or streets below. A smart thing. The nightwings though, after a second pass regrouped with their commander near the alley where the battle against the larger gargoyle had taken place. Ilheod was already off of Astraeus, and propping himself up against the wall as he tried to brace the weapon. There was a rather severe risk given it wasn't fully off to the side above his hip but somewhere in the middle. Were it not for the shock he was likely in to numb the pain of the wound itself, Ilheod would've been nearly crippled from pain. That was the human body though for you. When in too much pain, you felt almost none.

It was only a few seconds after he'd finished pressing his back to the wall, that three of his riders came sprinting over to the aging commander. The others, though assembled were gazing about with eyes glued to the skies and the corners of the alley. Alexander, Seth, and Horst though were to Ilheod in brief long strides. Already working to help him as he tried to extract the weapon. Seth had extracted from his bags a large amount of wrappings which were used to bind wounds and dampen bleeding. Alexander and Horst were assisting Ilheod remove his armor, and Ilheod himself was trying his best to remain standing while battling the side-effects of being in shock once his adrenaline lessened.

It wasn't a very heroic image compared to prior when he'd been fighting with it in. The commander swearing under his breath in a chain of varied curses that blended together to weave a tapestry which would likely hang above the small town in suspended time for years to come. Removing the armor was difficult, with the spear inside him but since Ilheod had broken part of it, they were able to make do.

"Hells take the fiends. That they rest within our home is beyond infuriating. If we killed every last one tomorrow it'd be too long to wait. Gods damn it all, that bleedin' hurts. "

The rest lowered in volume before dying away as he snarled and braced himself. The riders pulled, hard. The spear was extracted with a fleshy ripping sound and Ilheod swore once more before instantly leaning forward so Seth could wrap the wound as fast as possible. Thick trails of sanguine blood stained his lower abdominal section and the armored gargoyle bone plates that guarded his thighs and waist. The first layers of the bandaging quickly darkened to a crimson shade, but after enough tight layers it became less noticeable. Astraeus approached, once the three riders backed away. The monstrously large wyvern pressed his snout to the wound, as if to inspect it personally while the commander rested his hand atop it and turned his gaze to his men. A quiet nod. Enough to signify his state of health before he shifted his weight to his spear and stood up once more, away from the wall. His tone was gruff, back to normal.

"Alright lads. It looks like that's enough for one day. Immen, do another sweep above to ensure we didn't miss any. Seth, Horst. With him. Alexander, take the rest of the lads and comb the streets to be sure. I'll catch my breath and join Immen and them once I do."

With practiced unison, every member crashed their right hands agaisnt their breast plate twice before shouting "Sir!" in affirmation. Wyvern wings flapped in varied patterns as the three took off, and the others began to patrol along side their mounts on foot. Astraeus however, kept near Ilheod, almost observantly watching and eyeing all within sight. His hostility was evident.

[Donovan]

It was high time that this battle ended. As the guardsmen, wyvern riders, and mercenaries worked together, having turned the tide of battle entirely in their favor, Donovan saw a gargoyle had cornered a young guardsmen, it’s wings destroyed, but the man’s weapon no where to be seen. A surge of energy flew up the silver tongued mercenary’s arm and he flew into action. Releasing a gust of wind from the sword that was heavy and brunt, then, faster than should have been possible with any normal blade, a second attack that was sharp and biting. The creature was slammed into a wall by the first blow, then saw it’s chest opened by the second. Its attention diverted, the young guardsmen ran as fast as he could.

A fierce shriek filled the air, but no gargoyles answered it’s cry. It was alone. It was cornered. Fragarach sent a course of energy up Don’s arm and his urge to slay the monster rose once more. The Gargoyle began to sprint forward, bleeding from the chest as its weapon rose to strike, one last desperate attempt at murder. Don began to run forward, feeling the urge to meet it in its last bid for life. Just before they made contact, he cut the air, and severed a muscle in the monster’s arm. The beast’s lance dropped, and Don easily pushed it out of the way, Plunging Fragarach into it’s chest and compelling the blade to lash out wildly and violently with razor sharp wind. When he pulled the ancient sword out of the Gargoyles chest, there was a circular hole 6 inches across, where the heart should have been.

Looking around the battlefield, Don spotted the Devil Slayer, leaning against a wall and holding his abdomen, guarded by an immense wyvern. He approached quickly, but saw the creature eyeing him with hostility and decided it would be best to take his final approach more cautiously. He stopped a good ten feet away.

“Are you alright, Devil Slayer? Do you need a healer?”

[Perun]

The flames of battle were settling to embers. The gargoyles fell, the last having gone down to Donovan with his sword of gales. Perun surveyed the field, looking for his fellows, spying Janum unstringing his bow while standing by himself. The Orange giant rushed to his side, and saw that there was a deep gash in the archer's shoulder. The steel eyed man didn't seem too affected by it, but it was an ignorance to pain Perun was familiar with. One of his cousins had lost his leg for ignoring a similar cut, with the same glassy look in his eye. "HELP! MEDIC!"

Janum shot Perun an angry look as a stout man swaggered over to them and started to look at the wound on his shoulder. Perun moved past him and started to look around for Tristram and Dorril. As the chaos died down and the grieving began, he saw the balding bard carrying the slumped young swordsman. He could barely manage to move the young man, Tristram himself wasn't particularly large. Perun hurried over and took the young man on his shoulder, then patted Tristram on his back. There was a look in the old bard's eye of thanks, the man was still breathing heavily from the fight.

Then the massive Ilian man walked over to Donovan who was approaching the leader of the Wyverns in the sky, who was on the ground clutching his side. Perun wrapped his arm around Dorril, and came to stand behind Donovan, waiting for the Slayer to answer his companion.

[Ilheod]

By the time Donovan and Perun had fully approached, and Donovan asked his question, Seth and the others had finished helping bandage up Ilheod's wounds and were moving away. The other riders were taking to the skies or moving on foot to ensure that the small Lycian town was in-fact, secure. Ilheod himself now stood upwards, supporting himself with his back to the wall before collecting himself and leaning off it to stand up straight fully. The pain in his expression was evident, but while his body could move...he would stand. He was not so down as to be accepting of a foot in the grave. Though Astraeus had began to snarl at the sudden close proximity these strangers took, bathed or stained in blood and with unfamiliar scents as they were, Ilheod slowly moved forwards to rest an armored hand atop the wyvern's neck. That gesture was all it took to convey his understanding and calm the monstrous mount who did not cease eyeing them with mistrust evident; hostilities ceasing regardless.

His gaze turned to Donovan, before briefly sizing up the monster of a man next to him. Ilheod was silent for a few moments longer as he slowly pulled his eye-patch back, peeling it from his duel-hued gaze and examining them both fully. In the shadow-cast alley his single eye was not enough to adequately see. The flash of light that over-took his vision as his more sensitive crimson hued eye rejoined the other in paired vision allowed him to examine them far more thoroughly, at the expensive of a brief minuscule sensation of vertigo. Ilheod then removed the mask covering his face that had been primarily used for combat while flying. The plate of ornately carved gargoyle bone cut to look like fangs within a monstrous mouth, a touch the sacaen smith had worked into almost every aspect of the armor. Monstrosity.

When he did speak, he did so with a heavy measure of discipline, drowning any amount of pain within his voice with strong breaths and a steady tone.

"No magic should be necessary... I should be fine. I just need time and I'll mend up. As for you lot..."

He eyed them up again, before speaking once more. All the while, keeping a hand on his wyvern's neck. Now, partially for support as well. The large scaled beast sat upright, almost like a large statue, diligently observing the unfamiliar faces.

"I must commend you. Gargoyles are no meek foe. Me and my lads might've felled them eventually, but at a much greater cost to this village. Your arrival and actions have saved dozens of lives. Given that these fiends were our charge to hunt, I thank you for helping clean up our failure."

Ilheod made no attempt to stifle the blatant distaste he had for the fiends within his voice. As if spitting our their kind's name like a poisoned curse.

[Donovan]

Doogan swaggered up to his commander with his latest trophy. Black blood trailed from the hacked off wing. The Halberdier had tried hacking the wing off himself, but found the bone to be too dense for his strength, and so recruited Reagan and his oversized axe to finish the job. Throwing the wing down at Donovan’s feet, Doogan completely missed the enormous wyvern only a few yards from him. “How’s this for a trophy? Eh bos— ST. ELMINE AND ALL HER MINSTRELS!”

A snort from the wyvern had the soldier falling on his bum faster than any gargoyle had. His lance fell to the ground as he scrambled to shove his helm back onto his head, and when he went to retrieve it, he rose with the severed wing in it’s place. “Something tells me that wouldn’t do much against that beast, Doogan.” The Silver tongue couldn’t help but laugh. Doogan was a great fighter, a better drinker, and had the single dirtiest jokes the world had ever seen, but the dishonored soldier was also impossibly unperceptive. How he managed to smuggle so much gold out of Santa  Cruz was beyond Donovan’s ability to understand. “Did we lose anybody?”

Doogan shook his head. “Kendall got her leg cuts something fierce, but the healers got to her pretty quick. And Reagan’s always getting about an inch away from death with how much blood he’s always losing, but he’ll be fine as per usual.” Don nodded. Business as usual. He was glad he’d brought along some of his best for this particular mission. Brandon or Ally wouldn’t have stood a chance against these creatures. Had it not been for the Devilslayer’s forces, he wasn’t sure any of them would have survived.

Perun walked up with Dorril in his arms. A sudden fear gripped Don’s stomach. “Is he…?” A small groan from the young swordsman signified otherwise, and his fears dissipated. A warm sensation bled from Fragarach. The sword had taken a liking to Dorril, due to his frequent acts of bravery despite his obvious terror. Donovan could feel a strong sense of… pride radiating from the sword. As if Dorril pushing himself so far that he fell unconscious was the most commendable thing he could have done. Don was going to have to keep this sword as far away from the boy as possible.

Huh, so the great Devilslayer was thanking him. That was… unexpected. “My people and I do what the military aren’t willing. Protect the people. For a… small fee, of course. I need to go have a chat with the mayor of this town, actually…” Don’s voice trailed off wistfully, when a sudden realization occurred to him.

“I’d offer you a drink, but I doubt your wound would appreciate that much, so instead, I’ll buy you a bite to eat. After all, who says that Bernese and Lycians can’t work together and share a meal?”


[Close Thread]