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Old May 1, 2004, 04:11 PM   #1 (permalink)
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Bombardment from the West (Sabar, Arkahn)

Timestamp: Morning of Solaria, Brightening 1 of the First Cycle of Optia.
Spring of Era I of the Celestine Mandate.
Era X post fractum in the age of the darkening.
Paradigm: Springtide.


ooc: Sabar, Arkahn and anyone who may have anything to do with these two are expected to interact in this thread somehow. The cannons NC had are now trebutchets, for reasons the GDs only know, oh, and all chatters. I'll figure something out about the firearms, but they sure ain't carrying firearms anymore. Things might also be a bit confused, but if you really Really need some help understanding what's going on, please PM.

It was that morning that winter became spring. Arakano knew his troops would gain no experience, lest he let them use their weapons on real targets. He wasn't prepared to rush in just yet though. He had no intention of seeing his men slaughtered due to inexperience. He wanted to see his men in what he would consider a drill in comparison to the true test. Sabar was expected to be somewhere nearby the general, who always walked. Horses were apparantly not his style. That, or he simply had difficulty getting his hands on a couple of horses.

"Sergeant Sabar, give the order for a single volley of arrows and rocks to be unleashed upon our enemy. Make sure to motivate these men, show your worth!" He practicly yelled out that command, but not enough to allow everyone to understand their orders. Currently, he and Sabar were at the second line of defense, among all the archers. His first duty wasn't really to give the order, it was finding a way to give the order. A couple of flags carrying the Aelyrian colours and symbols could be seen in their reversed positions. These had been set unto poles and then stuck down onto the mounds. There weren't many of them in relation to the length of the mound, but one certainly wouldn't be missed.

In a calmer voice, the general continued after he had given his orders "This will not turn into a melee fight, but should the orcs return fire or charge us and should I be killed in the results of any such action, then know that you've already been chosen to take my place. Another reason for you to do your best already is so that I know whether or not I am confident in continously having you as my aide. Make New Coldmoon proud. Oh, and I am certain Arkahn will hear either your order, the arrows and rocks being released, or the latter striking the stinking orcs. Give em' Aeternia." There wasn't much else to be said, and clearly Arakano had been preparing for this day, which he himself had wanted to mark with the spilt blood of orcs. All the archers had been lined up and the first line of defence had become priority for the spearmen, who were backed by the drafted soldiers, all armed with halberds. Behind them in the camp, the trebutchets were quite capable of firing over all the three lines and hitting down somewhere on the orcish trenches, but it would take good luck and favourable conditions to strike at the fortress itself.

ooc: please assume that the defences are as stated in the original NC camp thread: Link
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Old May 7, 2004, 05:29 AM   #2 (permalink)
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The catapults made heavy grinding noises as they were wound up to send their heavy load to the Malician orcs in their trenches. The Daltina longbowmen manouvred into position with practised finesse, though sweat stood on their faces; fighting always makes a man nervous, however many battles he's been in.

When the catapults mangonels and trebuchets had been loaded with rocks, and the Daltina longbowmen had taken position, things got silent for a while. That is, untill the first commander gave the order to fire and the two trebuchets, the catapults with the longest range fired their load of stones.

Immediatly one of the towers on the western front collapsed, hit by a large rock just above the base. A plume of dust replaced the ramshackle fortification. The other stone went somewhere in the camp. The orcs seemed to be taken by surprise and they seemed to hurry to their defenses just when the six mangonels shot their load towards their lines. It was unsure what damage they had done as immediatly the sky was blackened by a hail of arrows. The Daltina longbowmen had closed to about two hundred and fifty yards, and as they too had loosed their volley, they began a hasty retreat covered by the shortswordmen. The orcs wouldn't take long to cover this distance, but a single hail of arrows could do enough damage to a system of trenches, where the troops were in dissarry due to the massive stones dropped on their heads. A few arrows were shot back in return, and a single stone, but no coolition forces were reported as injured or killed.
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Old May 7, 2004, 11:16 AM   #3 (permalink)
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Arkahn had been up for quite a while already when things started. He was used to getting up early, a habit he had learned in service of the Alyssan Guard. He didn't even have breakfast yet and was already working, planning possible further attacks on Malice. He had raided the orc encampments but wasn't about to give the vile creatures any rest before they were sent to their shallow graves. The sound of rocks that had been lobbed into the air and now came crashing down on the orcs interrupted the Tigron General's thoughts. Quickly he stood up from his chair, greeting a soldier that rushed into his tent to tell him an artillery strike had come from the New Coldmoonian camp. Arkahn cursed under his breath. Couldn't that arrogant General have informed him? He was in charge of a large amount of siege weapons, an artillery attack without his help wasn't as devastating as it could be. The Katta seriously started to doubt some of the General's competence as he walked outside, sheathing his kopesh and hanging his shield from his back in the process. From a nearby table Arkahn snatched his plated leather gauntlets, quickly putting them on before adressing the nearest officer.

"You, get to the commanders of the siege weapons and tell them to strike at the same target the forces from New Coldoon are attacking." The Katta's yellow eye dashed from left to right, looking for Coulter Minith, his sergeant. Where was that blasted dwarf when one needed him? "Somebody, go get me Sergeant Minith, I need him and his regiment. Also tell the officer in charge of the New Coldmoonian archers to stand ready and shoot at everything that's moving in range of their bows."

Arkahn crossed his arms in front of his chest, a slight smile curled around his lips. It was a great morning for shooting orcs. Spring had just started and Arkahn could feel it. He had missed the suns of Telath's warmth but now it all came back to him. The Tigron stood there, waiting for Sergeant Minith and the sounds of artillery fire impacting on the Orcish encampments. It was good to be a General.
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Old May 9, 2004, 03:48 AM   #4 (permalink)
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Double Axe Ordering the second wave.

Turning to one of his nearby messengers, commander Himmir told him "I need you, to send a message to commander Arkahn. Tell him that we're sorry of our abrupt bombardment without warning him first, but that we couldn't risk the orcs noticing our communication. Go now, take the passageway that's been dug in the second line of defence." Himmir glanced once more upon the battlefield next to him and in front of him. He saw the longbowmen retreat back to the second line of defence, using the 'temporary' wooden bridges that had been set up to allow them to man the mounds that had been created from the earth, that had been dug up when the ditches had been created. If they managed to get up on the mounds, they would be in a better position to fire their arrows And they would have some cover by the earth itself, as the mounds included an earthy wall that still allowed longbowmen to shoot their arrows without too much bother.

Meanwhile, the few siege weapons Himmir had did their work wonderfully and his melee soldiers were good to carry out their unwritten orders. Now Himmer merely needed to give them orders again and that would be a bit tougher than it had been before, nevertheless, he was confident in his abilities to guide an army in a simple bombardment, as long as the orcs didn't return any serious firepower. turning to a couple more messengers, recruits from New Coldmoon, he told them "Get the daltinan longspearmen and the new coldmoonian shortswordmen on the front line, the primary line of defence. Tell the officers to man the mounds there and do not allow any orcs to breach the defences if they try."

Turning to another messenger he told her, as it happened to be a female one "run back to the siege weapons, tell them to reload and wait for the next wave of arrows that should accompany Arkahn's first wave of rocks." at last, he turned to two daltinan longbowmen officers and told them "I need you two to get your archers to get ready for another single wave of arrows. It should be unleashed when Arkahn unleashes his first wave of rocks." Himmir was confident that the longbowmen could shoot well beyond the first line of defence that was a mere fifty meters in front and also that the siege weapons could shoot furthern than the hundred to two hundred meters that they happened to be from the primary line of defence. Then, at least to all his troops, he cried out "Enamorians, prepare yourselves!"
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Old May 10, 2004, 03:21 PM   #5 (permalink)
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OOC: For the record I only have a company of 50 men.

IC: The noises of siege weapons were clear and unique in the early hours of the morning, and the sound of destruction that immediately followed was a clear sign that the siege weapons were being used to their full, deadly potential.

To the ears of the young dwarven sergeant it was just another day in never-ending Siege of Malice. However, the sounds of the siege weapons did disturb the young dwarven sergeant’s morning in one way. It was not the noise that was disturbing his morning, or even the thoughts of death, but the fact that he had been unaware that a bombardment of any kind was taking place this morning. Having developed something of a working, friendship type relationship with Commander Th’alashar, and the dwarven male was positive that he would have been informed of any such bombardment was planned for this morning.

Therefore having come to the conclusion that perhaps Commander Th’alashar’s had no prior knowledge of this bombardment left the dwarven sergeant with two possibilities; either Commander Arakano’s detachment of siege weapons where firing, or Malice’s had finally showed some of it strength to its enemies. Having learned the hard way to also expect the worst, the dwarven sergeant quickly issued orders for his company to arm themselves, and prepare to fight.

His small company of harden veteran had instantly reacted to their sergeant’s orders, and the messenger from Commander Th’alashar found the dwarven sergeant and his company of fifty soldiers fully dressed and waiting for orders. The orders from Commander Th’alashar were short and simple, there were needed, and after a quick and to the point questioning of the messenger the dwarven sergeant learned the location of his superior officer.

With this information the dwarven sergeant and his company set out towards the location of their commander. Hopefully reaching their commanding officer without incident, the dwarven sergeant would salute and say, ‘Sir, company reporting as ordered!’, before standing back to attendance.

If Commander Th’alashar, or for that matter anyone, had it in them to look towards the dwarven male, they would see that the dwarven male was dressed in a Daltina Armed Forces’ tunic with several strips marking him out as a sergeant, and a plain black pair of trousers. More importantly, the observer/s would see that the dwarven soldier was armed with two short-swords, which where sheath and attached to his belt.

However, unbeknown to any observer the experienced dwarven warrior was also wearing his Daltina Armed Forces’ vest of maille under his tunic, and had a boned handled dagger sheath in his right boot. The only other objects of note that the dwarven male was carrying were his standard metal round-shield and a somewhat dinted steel helmet. The fifty other soldiers that formed the Coulter’s company where dressed and armed the same as their sergeant, although not as dinted or well used.
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Old May 18, 2004, 01:32 PM   #6 (permalink)
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Again the arrows and rocks flew; impacting with the orcish lines. The large rocks from the mangonels and catapults most likely destroyed some towers or small forts; it wasn't clear because of the dust that covered the orcish side of the battlefield.

Just as Coulter and his men arrived to protect the archers, lined up neatly and well, the orcish horde surge forward. These greenskins weren't going to take it anymore. No soft bellied pinkskins were going to shoot at them without some bashes to the head. None.

A couple of large spears propelled above the heads of the orcs, then over the forces of Coulter and skewered straight into the archers just behind the dwarven sergeant on the hill. A wicked barbed bolt at least six foot long had impaled two men, of which one was still alive, albeit barely. The others had inflicted less damage, taking six other men in total. Moments later, stones popped out of the orcish camps, and all hell broke loose. There was no organisation in the horde that surged forward, but what they seemed to lack in tactics, they made up in numbers.

At least hundreds of orcs, if not thousands surged towards the lines, propelling themselves as fast as they could on their long legs, taking long strides accompanied by savage howls. Arrows seperated themselves from the bows of orcs; the archers ran alongside the warriors. A soldier next to Coulter fell to his knees, hands clutching his throat where an arrow had pierced the unfortunates armour. Blood guzzled out fast; he was beyond saving unless by magic.

Whips of energy cracked within the orcish forces; spellcasters ran alongside the warriors too; it would be unable to say what kind, but any at all were enough trouble, especially on the morale of the warriors. Under them, Malice was seen as a city of sorcerors and wicked magic-users as well as thieves. The wizards now assaulting would be trained by an obsidian order, or something of the like. Mumbles of concern were noticable among Coulters troops. They liked facing magic even less than facing a horde of savage orcish warriors.


OOC

please give me a pretty much exact and clear disposition of your forces everyone.
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Old May 18, 2004, 02:08 PM   #7 (permalink)
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OOC: Invited by Jonaleth; I’m going to bunny slightly in my assumption of knowledge on several counts although none of it really affects my actions in this thread itself..

IC:

His first ‘chance’ to take part it seemed. Given the chaos around the city itself Duncan’s existance had been comparatively quiet, eating, sleeping, Arcane practice and reviews of the situation from various perspectives. Now though? Now he’d seen something that he supposed would be an ideal time for him to call attention to his existence, hopefully giving those outside the wall something else to think about; they had no Archmagi after all. Duncan’s presence was hardly something to wave away – not if anyone in the Enamorian forces had any sense and Elanara certainly did, if and when his presence got back to her…well, it would prove interesting when the two next met.

Making his way from his rooms where he’d been observing things Duncan was calm, a few seconds would make little difference. Dressed in slightly more casual attire than heavy travel wear the Mystic with his strange Psionic eyes made his way to a room where he could safely look out at the chaos beyond the city, smoke rising from the west where he’d sensed the disturbance, yes, an attack.

Shutting the door and locking it behind him Duncan opened the window and looked out more carefully, nodding slightly to himself. It was time, with the coming of Spring he needed to take a more active role than he had before, Magnus had yet to seek him out. Seeing him instead as a passive observer perhaps, an independent to act when asked but never at any other moment, no, he would not stand idly by, he had a goal here; even if it wasn’t what either side particularly wanted in the end.

Moving away and to one side of the window Duncan sat on a nearby chair, reluctant to engage in the folly of standing and waiting for some infiltrator to put an arrow through him; instead he relaxed himself, eyes closing, mind falling into ease, into the pattern he knew from long Eras of practice; Meditation.

Searching out the chaos in the patterned silence Duncan drew on Essence, mixing it with Vis to hopefully form mana with which he re-created the spell he’d been using to spy on the Enamorian’s to begin with; Astral Transcendence a simple implant of mental into magical, drawing on energy to keep it functional as Duncan’s presence hurtled out towards the location of the disturbance.

Provided he arrived there without incident the human Archmage of course sensed the Orcish spellcasters and saw the troops on both sides, for a moment a profound sense of sympathy for the soldiers washed over the mental consciousness. A sadness perhaps at the nature of the fear plain on their faces as the visual crack of magic made the Orc’s presence clear to anyone, be they mage or not. Moments later however the sadness was gone, replaced by resolve.

The first thing to do was to establish a presence he supposed, before anything else he could at least make it known that there was another; non Orcish or Enamorian player on the board. So he set about altering his spell, giving it a divined shape and substance, a visual element.

That element was not exactly ‘carefully thought out’ but of course there was an aspect of risk involved, a very inherent one, for Elanara would certainly know of him given the eyes, Nashkel also if things were discussed and the giant put two and two together about the general manner of clothing and attitude; ultimately though the Archmage could make a thousand Identities and this was the one people did know him by, the one that would influence thinking in one way or another – although he suspected most would be confused by his agenda, which was good.

So the Illusion he portrayed, a couple of meters clear of the battlefield, among the projectile shower, was of a glowing, visual beacon of a person – of himself; a human male – clad in black with a black hat, white hair, Psionic blue eyes prominent. It was a useless gesture but one that would at least gain enough of the Enamorian’s attention to get the message of his existence relayed if nothing else; there would be more after all, already he was thinking of further ideas as the illusion formed and the ‘mental’ version of words were boomed out over the battlefield, a mental Suggestion on a large scale, simple in complexity but powerful in the amount of energy required.

Enamorian’s: Desist and return to your lines, I will not ask again.

It was simple; that was the trick on this level, Duncan didn’t need anything inherently complex, simple one or two modulation spells worked perfectly on large scales since the amount they affected made up for the individual effect on certain individuals, for now though he merely held the illusion there along with his presence and let the words drop, dispelling that particular element, waiting to see what sort of reaction his presence got – if anything he was half suspecting few would pay much attention, they would look, they would wonder but only the more intelligent might suspect he was not an Orcish mage – namely because everyone else would be too busy looking at the problem right in front of them; still it had to have some effect.
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Old May 18, 2004, 03:35 PM   #8 (permalink)
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Arkahn watched the bombardment with great interest. I wasn't something he had ever seen before, at least, not this well. Suddenly though the hair of his neck rose as he saw hundreds, maybe thousands of Orcs rushing out from the cover of the dust that had been thrown up by the attacks. Immediately the Tigron moved, drawing his kopesh from his back as he grabbed his shield with his left hand. He started running while roaring orders over the battlefield. "Archers, fire at free will. Now!." His head turned around as he started looking for officers to command. In all his speed he couldn't find one quickly and decided to give his orders to anyone who wanted to hear them as he rushed on towards the front lines. "All infantry, move to defend the front lines. Do not engage, defend!"

Arkahn's mind raced to find a good way of defending. His archers were lined around the siege weapons, infantry defending them when needed. If the orcs were in range, which they obviously were, they would fire. All he could do now was retreat the siege weapons, have archers fire and have his infantry defend. "Pull back those siege weapons. Make sure they remain undamaged!..." The command was quick and simple, but something took Arkahn's breath away for a short moment.

He had seen the spells that were flung into his lines by Orcish spellcasters, but his eye caught something different. Hanging in the air above the Orcs was a beacon, a living beacon. As he kept running Arkahn blinked. There was something familiar about the figure floating above the midst of chaos, but what exactly? Arkahn couldn't quite grasp what had been so familiar, most likely because he had different things on his hands, like killing orcs. Sometimes he hated being a commander.

Finally the Tigron reached the front lines where he already saw Coulter and his men. A few men had died, and Arkahn had the odd feeling a lot more would die this brightening, but he hoped that his men would be inspired at least somewhat by his presence. He hoped that they would understand that they weren't dying for a commander who just sat back and let his men do all the work. "Archers! Fire!" Again he issued his orders, his voice loud and rumbling. "Infantry, hold this line. Do not charge or break formation." Arkahn's eye focused somewhat more on the orcs as he waited for them to reach their lines. His grip on his kopesh shifted somewhat as he flexed his gauntleted fingers. He was nervous, but then again, who wasn't? Being nervous was always a good thing according to Arkahn. It kept your senses sharp and your will to survive peaked. Entering a battle without being nervous usually meant over confidence, and ultimately; defeat.
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Old May 28, 2004, 01:24 PM   #9 (permalink)
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On the front line there was a two meter wide and two meter high mound, which had been dug up during the winter. There were simple wooden, if not earthen, defences on the mounds that allowed spearmen and others to stand on the mound, while being protected by cover. In front of the mound, a 2 meter deep and 2 meter wide trench was present, it, like the mound, spanned the whole of the New Coldmoonian front, although there would always be the occasional weakspot due to some lazy soldier. 2 to 3 meter long wooden poles had been dug 1 meter into the earth in front of the trench at irregular positions. These would slow down any charge or injure anyone stupid enough to run straight into the wooden poles. Furthermore, sharp wooden poles also stuck up at a diagonal angle from the trench.

This front line of defence was the first out of three lines. On it, there could currently be seen a thousand daltinan spearmen along with one thousand and twenty new coldmoonian shortswordmen, the majority of these wearing studded leather armour and wielding round wooden shields on the side. That line was all that seperated the orcs from the archers.

On the second line of the defence, a thousand daltinan longbowmen presented themselves. These stood side by side with nine hundred shortswordmen, equipped the same way as those on the front line. The initial part of the defence was alike to the first, even including the wooden poles, both those meant to slow down enemy movement and those meant to kill enemies. Unlike the first line though, the barricade on the mound was created in such a way to allow the longbowmen some vision, while ducking should be able to provide good, if not excellent cover.

Behind the mound, about 3 meters down, the earth appeared once more. Of course, the descent was gradual, but not very gradual. This was because a trench had been dug there too and over this trench, all the wood that was left over from the wooden poles was placed over, in order to provide cover to the messengers that were to run from camp to camp. It was three meters wide as soon as the gradual, although fast, descent ended from the mound. On some spots, the wood that had been placed across the trench to allow troop movement and cover was sturdier and flatter, since these were the main entrances for the longbowmen. Occasionally, these sturdy brigdes would be built inside a watchtower, that enabled some longbowmen to get a better vision and range, while also enabling for good watch posts from whence orcs could be spotted.

Thirdly, there was the camp. It's mound and trenches were like the first and second line, but instead of spanning the battlefield, it circled the camp. Watchtowers could be found there too, but there was no trench for the messengers. Inside the camp, two great mounds, five meters high if not more, had been raised to position the 2 trebutchets and the 4 mangonels, in the camp, there remained 180 shortswordmen to defend the most prized possession, for they did not expect any Malician soldiers outside of Malice to be in any great number. Along with these soldiers there were the 36 heavy crossbowmen that stood guard along with the 24 artilerists that worked overtime to get the artillery shooting.

No troops had been ordered beyond the first line of defence, knowing the danger of the orcs ahead and the longbowmen were once again given the order to fire, seeing the great number of orcs approaching. Each line of defence was a hundred meters apart, although the camp was further away from the secondary line, as it lay an additional fifty meters away. The entire span from one end to another was about three hundred fifty to four hundred meters. Sabar needed to take action as well, though considering his inactivity during the start of the battle, it was unsure whether that was ever going to happen. It was somewhat unfortunate for Duncan that all the soldiers were still at their lines, as they had never left them to attempt an invasion, afterall, it was merely a bombardment.

ooc: i'll leave it to Jonaleth to decide the consequences of Duncan's actions. I hope you can see from my description the numbers and positions of my troops/defences.
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Old May 30, 2004, 06:09 AM   #10 (permalink)
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Old May 31, 2004, 01:15 PM   #11 (permalink)
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OOC: Sorry for the wait.

IC: With the instincts forged on several training grounds, by half-a-dozen drill instructors, reinforced by numerous fields of battle, the veteran dwarven sergeant look on unemotional as the hordes of orcish warriors surged towards his position. With a professional glance at the ground ahead of his company and the hordes of thousands of orcish warriors, the veteran dwarven sergeant instantly calculated the situation and was not impressed by with the answer.

The soldiers under Commander Himmir’s Division had provided adequacy defensive positions for his own troops, and unknowingly for the company of Daltina Armed Forces regulars under the dwarven male’s command as well. Therefore instantly after one of his soldiers is downed by a orcish warrior’s arrow, the dwarven sergeant issued his first orders of the engagement.

Seeing no other option than to add his small, but perhaps necessary, weigh and numbers to the first defensive line the experienced dwarven sergeant issued orders for four ten-man squads to bolster the defensive line. The other nine-man squad he placed under the command of his most senior private with instructions to counter attack any breaches in the defensive line.

With his orders issued and with no other responsibilities, the dwarven sergeant with his standard metal round-shield in his left hand, unsheathes one of his short-swords from its worn, black leather sheath with his right hand and heads towards his company and their new defensive line. Knowing that his men would look for him for encouragement and stability the dwarven male places himself in the centre of his lines with his grey coloured eyes looking onwards.

Like any truly great and natural leader of men whatever their races, the veteran dwarven sergeant could instantly feel and understand his soldier’s thoughts and concerns on the battlefield. Therefore standing on the simple wooden platform in the centre of his forty men line, the dwarven male would feel and understand his troops concerns about the orcish mages. Without even thinking about it, the dwarven male would shout in a confident and challenging voice, ‘COME IN AND DIE, YOU TOOTHLESS GOAT! I AM HERE AND I AM DEATH!’
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Old June 1, 2004, 01:02 PM   #12 (permalink)
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IC
The soldiers under command of Arkahn hurried to complete their orders; troopers moved to reposition the closest siege weapons as if the orcs were breathing down their necks already. His archers rushed to take up good positions to fire at the unrushing orcs. As the first volley of arrows was loosed and inflicted it's toll on the nearing orcs, those who were moving the siege engines stopped to watch the image of Duncan Sythe in the sky. They stood, transfixed by it's powerful suggestion. A few dozen of the archers moved away too, retreating to their tents, telling their friends that it was useless to keep firing at the orcs. Better to return to home and heart than fight.

Those soldiers that stood ready to receive the brunt of the attack -the spearmen of Daltina, those of New Coldmoon, Coulters group and those Arkahn had commited to the attack, a glorius 2070 troops, plus whatever Arkahn had managed to summon with him; It was unsure how many had actually followed the order and how many were distracted by Duncan Sythe's magics*.

The Daltinans weren't the only with bows however; the orcs shot back with ferocity as they surged forward; Arrows and balls of fire were lobbed in the direction of the main line, impaling men on arrows which ranged from little more than wicked sticks to cunningly crafted barbed arrows coated with poison. The magic that was made by the orcish shamans was perhaps even more disturbing as globes of fire incinerated men, and bolts of lighting fried others where they stood.

The horde was close when, a mere hundred meters and closing, two summoning circles were made by the cunning orcish shamans. Walls of earth were risen up by their apprentices whilst the most powerful began chanting loudly; so loudly it was easely overheard above the din of battle as the first orcs jumped at the Daltinan shortsword men, some clutching arrows in their body as they threw themselves against the wall of steel that they presented to the green tide. These adepts chanted and chanted untill a large green light erupted from the ground at two such positions and behind the wall it was visible what they had been up to : both groups had summoned a large humanoid figure of earth; Each of the giants towered above the lines as they received their orders by their masters. Huge cheers went up from the orcs as they spotted the abominations stalking to the ranks of the Daltinan and New Coldmoon footmen.

Coulter could see it too, the green lights; but he was quickly enough busy with other things, namely orcs. They had closed rapidly, very rapidly in fact. He had lost quite some men to the arrows and magics of the evil creatures; he had been able to deflect many with his shield. The waiting was over as a wall of orcs presented itself to the dwarven sergeant and the other men at the front of the line. Two immediatly closed in on Coulters position, one with two wicked swords, a steel cap and a vest of hard boiled leather, the other presented a barbed whip and a dagger and wearing a loosely fitting shirt of chain to protect himself. Next to him, his soldiers steeled themselves for battle, protecting each others backs by positioning themselves close. Arrows still flew overhead, hitting in the back ranks of the orcs. Return fire was minimal, those orc archers had mostly drawn weapons for close combat, though the dwarf could spot an archer taking cunning shots here and there.

Then, visible to all but those occupied in the brutal hand to hand combat before the trenches, a thin beam of blue whitish energy streaked from one of the towers of Malice. Apperently the masters that be had not completely forgotten their servants the orcs. It took the troops only a moment to realise it had specificly targeted a single man on the field. Commander Himmir’ uttered not a word as he cllapsed with a single bloodied hole in the front of his helmet, and as he fell face first down into the muddy ground, the back of the helmet as well.
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Old June 2, 2004, 10:04 AM   #13 (permalink)
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Not as good as he’d hoped but not as bad as he’d feared, that was all that could be said about the response his initial appearance had gained, to be expected really given that these were fairly professional soldiers led by competent men who probably thought he was nothing more than a conjuration of the Malicians designed to intimidate. They’d need something a little more concrete in regards to ‘proof’ of ability to affect things, he could give them that. It wasn’t like he was reaching out over a province after all, sure it would be energy intensive but nothing on the scale he hadn’t used before.

In the end it was unfortunate to see how the toil was effecting both sides; the Enamorians at least given Duncan’s general opinions of Orcs, still casualties of war were inevitable and this war had begun long ago, the battle now was merely a continuation. Indeed it seemed Magnus and the other Master’s had provided their own demonstration with the efficient death of one of the Commanders, it wasn’t necessarily ‘beyond’ what Duncan could achieve but it was along the same lines, still it wasn’t going to have much effect on the front line forces. Certainly it would begin to weaken the resolve of the commanders to continue with this but to create a general route and stop this foolishness Duncan was going to have to do something a bit more personal.

Possibly removing their missle fire for a while would prove helpful?

The idea hovered in Duncan’s mind for a moment before the Mystic began to weave his spell, drawing simple essence, mixing it with Vis and layering it in a field of mana that covered the ranged sections of the army he could reach, allowing it to build and increase in a steady flow the Mystic finally prepared to make some use of it, altering the flow to add evocation, Psionic damage to the mix, the area he was reaching couldn’t be fatal he considered unless he really taxed himself but his Psionic Blast, a blunt name for a simple spell, would at least cause a little chaos to add to the mix, a general withdrawal would be advisable.

Cease

He sent out again, meanwhile pumping energy into the damaging field he’d hopefully errected among the second line of defence; the longbowmen ‘guarded’ by the shortswordsmen, both of which were now hopefully writhing in painful agony, or at least suffering from something that could only be magical.
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Old June 3, 2004, 07:41 AM   #14 (permalink)
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Surveying the rapidly approaching hordes of orcish warriors, the veteran dwarven sergeant, with death all around him, could not help but wonder where so many orcish warriors came from. It seemed that with each new engagement the forces of orcish warriors attacking the Army of Enamoria multiplied, and no matter how many casualties were inflicted more appeared to take their place.

However, what was even more worrying was that the opposite was true about the numbers of the allied forces, with each new engagement their numbers seemed to dwindle without any reinforcements in sight. In spite of this ever-decreasing number of soldiers for the Army of Enamoria, the dwarven sergeant knew that the first to die were the least trained and/or the ones with the least amount of luck, and that the soldiers remaining were more experienced and luckier than the dead, and would ask a large price for their own death off the hordes of orcish warriors.

As battle was joined all other thought vanished from his mind as the veteran dwarven warrior considerate on his opponents and his surroundings. It had come to the dwarven male attendance that there was little coordination in any of the attacks made by the orcish hordes and that the personnel weaponry of any particular orcish warriors were different depending upon that particular orcs personnel choosing. Therefore as he positioned himself in the standard defensive position for a short-sword/shield combination, the dwarven male would again shout in a confident and encouraging tone, ‘Daltina, Hold The Line!.’

With battle now truly joined, there was no other opportunity to shout encouragement as the veteran dwarven sergeant found himself facing two orcish opponents and his concentration was now fully upon their movements. Having position himself in his standard defensive position, which he had perfected to an art form from continual use in battle. His defensive position consisted of covering the majority of his body behind the relative safety offered to him by his metal round-shield, and to position his short-sword at waist height readying to parry any attack made against him, or to attack his opponent if any opportunity arose.

Being faced by two opponents was nothing new to the experienced dwarven soldier, who was perfectly aware that the odds against his two opponents having fought together before were in his favour, and that was just the opportunity the dwarven sergeant was looking for.

Having quickly thrown a quick glance at his opponents and their weaponry a defensive instantly came appear to the dwarven male. The main threat to his person was the orcish warrior armed with the two wicked swords. The other orcish warrior armed with a whip was less of danger, because his weapon at best could only be used at a safe distance from his opponent. Therefore the plan was simple, he would try and always position himself so that the orcish swordsmen was always blocking his companions view and therefore weapon.

Hopefully accomplishing this manoeuvre the veteran dwarven sergeant would engage the orcish swordsmen. Closing down the distance between himself and his opponent the dwarven male would try and block any attack made against him with his metal round-shield. If the opportunity arose by any mistake by the orcish swordsmen the dwarven male would counter-attack towards the orcs low body.

Whatever occurs, the dwarven sergeant will try and always position himself behind the safety of his metal round-shield, so that he would be in his standard defensive position should his opponent try and attack him. As usual when in this position the dwarven soldier would observe his two opponents, looking for any opening in which to exploit, and/or any possible threats towards him.
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Old June 6, 2004, 09:43 AM   #15 (permalink)
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For those at the front line, who were fighting for their lives to avoid getting chopped into pieces by the charging orcs, it was a large, noisy and seemingly endless battle. Fortunately for them, very few actually noticed their commander falling, dead. If they had, they might all have run. There was a good deal of experienced Daltinan spearmen who, just like the less-experienced New Coldmoonian Swordsmen, suffered grave wounds and even fatal ones, but the line had to be held and those that still could, that is, those that weren't struck by orcish weapons, magic and those that weren't affected by Duncan's massive use of arcana, had much motivation to stand, defend and fight for their lives and the lives of those at their flanks.

This was not the case at the second line. Not only could they not fire their arrows to great efficiency anymore, but they had suffered both from Duncan's use of arcana and from the sudden and rather disturbing death of their commander, Arakano Himmir. The general and natural response was to duck behind the cover that the upper mound provided. Muttering about their arcana users not being present because of Nashkel could be heard almost everywhere, but confusion was the worst effect. Sabar had not yet shown whether he had leadership quality or not and that meant that one of the other officers would have to take over, unfortunately, Sabar had been chosen as second in command, meaning that no officer could actually take the position.

Some medics did act quickly, attempting to save the commander, but it was hopeless. Obviously, whoever had shot him had both luck and the gods on his side, along with skill and much experience. This too got people to mutter about the arcana users not being present, since they included some thaumaturgist who might just have been able to rescue their commander, with as much luck as the one who had just killed him. Eventually though, an officer did make a move to get the leadership and none challenged him, at least, that was unless Sabar took it from him. He did not rise from his position, since he liked the cover he had, when he looked over at his commander whose surprised and astonished face was all that was left of him, if the lifeless body wasn't taken into account.

Pulling back was not an option, that would cause far more casualties for the enamorians than continuing the fight would. Afterall, the orcs had yet to fully breach the first line and get a proper access route, until then, they had the advantage of height and cover, but running back would make them easier targets for whatever was slung at them, rocks, arrows, bolts, even magic would probably be able to hit them more easily. Therefore, the only real problem was the two large creatures of earth, which the officer had seen. He therefore gave a message to one of the messengers, a message that needed to reach their camp, about a hundred or two hundred meters away. Fortunately, he would not be an easy target for the orcs, since he was too far away. The real battle was taking place a hundred meters in front of them.

"Go back to the siege weapons, We need them to target the huge earth creatures, without risking the lifes of our soldiers or the mound for that matter."

Up on the front line, there were several sergeants, the platoon leaders of the 12-men platoons, who were trying to defend the most vulnerable locations, lest they became overrun by orcs. Over such a large stretch of land, these locations were numerous, but so was the amount of soldiers positioned at the mound. Meanwhile, the archers could only attempt to unleash a volley at the orcs that came to reinforce those already at the line, anything else would incur too much friendly fire to be of any use. Since no retreat had been ordered, anyone caught trying to run back to the second line from the first would also be shot down.
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