The Black Knight and The Pale Rider
Set up: Beatrice's army, the Damesmen, are all over Brentinor and Monsalvat, in Lyonesse. The Black Knight's scaled, humanoid army is set to invade north, through Brentinor and up towards Monsalvat. They've scouted ahead to find the best route, held by mere knots of men who are spread thinly over a large territory.
RPG: Igraine declares that she owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ bho ]----
Created via Pattern Walker (PAT-WA): bonus-token shadowfind story-token token-6 type-pattern walk walk-any walk-ship
Gift description:
The Pattern is a birthright reflected and drawn upon the royal family of Amber, and a frightening source of power for those of the Blood of Oberon. One who has walked the Pattern commands the following:
* Shadowfind mundane resources, such as troops and wealth, represented by up to 6-Focus tokens, for use at story scale and consumable for a bonus in conflicts with resource scope (such as in the resolution of a war).
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Token Description
A horde of scaly humanoids, their limbs longer than they should be and their knees jointed in reverse of normal, form the Legion. They are many, and they fight with long claws and sharp fangs. They wear no armor, and they march under no particular standard.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RPG: Igraine used the following +declare targets: Brentinor - Seaside
The army from Amber that has spread out over Monsalvat and Brentinor are largely in green, orange and gold. They are fast becoming a known quantity in the countryside, and now they are defending nearly every mountain pass or reasonable approach from the rocky shorelines. This means the area is well-defended, but it also means the strength of the Dame's Brigade is spread-out, and there are surely areas where their strength can only support a holding pattern while they wait for reinforcements; this means that a rapid attack in strength might be able to cut a line through their strength.
Having spent a day in a holding pattern, while Tariq did his job and scouted ahead, the invading army now approaches one of those spread out lines waiting for reinforcements that was identified by the scouting. The horde of scaly, long humanoids wears no particular set of colors, but there is a frightened looking human riding at their forefront with the standard of Princess Deirdre of Amber held aloft as they begin their assault on the defenders' lines.
In the slight distance, there is a rider in white, atop a pale horse. She is not dressed for battle, or at least so it seems. Her saddlebags are large, and they rattle with the stride of her mount. She comes from the west, closer to those on the scaly side of things. Seren closes in, fairly quickly.
Brentinor is mostly foothills and grasslands, which makes it harder to hold and easier to ride across. Traditionally this means they chiefly protect the fortified areas; cities, towns, castles. It was not hard to get past the one small force protecting the border, but that was the easy part. Once into Brentinor and marching towards Monsalvat, one has to make for the higher ground, and that is all protected, now, by the Damned Men. This particular approach is wider than most; the tricky part will be dealing with the archer on the rocky overhang to the east; the easier part should be over-running the pickets directly in front (to the north). The west is higher ground again, but high enough to afford no precipice on which to usefully put archers. All that is up there are scouts and a watchfire, which is lit, with warnings shouted down, as the distant, scaled army comes in sight. A wall of shields blocks the pass.
The deep sepulchral tones that come from the black knight's helm carry over the army, sounding nothing like Igraine's normal voice. "Charge the pickets!" The fiery hooves of her mount leave burning grasses in her wake as the animal carries her toward the lines of the enemy faster than any animal has a right to and her axe is lifted to swing down at the defenders. The scaly horde charges forward as if they have no concern for life or limb, using the additional reach of their long arms to attack past the shields blocking their way.
Seren has caught up with the scaled army, but she still has not drawn a weapon. There is a chill in the air around her, however, one that spreads and greatens, as hazel eyes shift to grey. Her mount is, seen closer now, nearly transparent, translucent skin over skeleton. Its eyes are the milky white of death.
Leages away, other alarm fires are being lit; warnings are going up.
The arrows are swift -- but the archers are not too many. Cursing their luck for being the one place the enemy should strike first, with hearts set with stone, the shield-bearers prepare to die. The archers can get off only two volleys of arrows at the front of the attackers' lines before they close with the front of the pickets....
The black knight reaches the shield-bearers without a single arrow striking her armor. "Die!" the deep voice of death calls as her mystic axe comes down to claim blood. A few of unarmored scaly humanoids fall to the arrows as they charge, but not nearly enough to make any difference and they quickly begin to overrun the shield bearers, giving no mercy, leaving no man alive. Blood flies as the defenders' bodies are ripped apart by vicious claws and teeth.
As the arrows take flight, Seren finally reaches for something. From within her pack, she removes a single bone that could have one been the femur of a human adult. The chill rises, and with that some other bones follow, forming themselves into a shield that deflects the arrows with ease. She hears the spirits of the dead and dying, but she offers them no final peace.
The spears are in with the shields, but it is a difference of scale of one to twenty; no common soldier, no matter how well-trained, could do more than slow down the invaders at these odds, not in this terrain. It is not a question of if they will die, but how, and the Damesmen die with as much dignity as any soldier could muster in such circumstances, taking as much of Igraine's front line with them as they can. Their discipline is tight; the second wave behind the first has melted away, up the mountain. To stop and give chase to them would mean slowing down, and possibly lingering long enough for reinforcements to arrive. To move past them means taking more arrow fire, but probably not enough to even decimate their strength.
Those that run are allowed to run. The black knight's forces have their orders: Brentinor does not matter. Push for Monsalvat! The bodies of the dead are trampled as the army pushes on through the pass. Leaving the fleeing troops may expose their rear, but it is clear that the black knight does not care. She's out for the blood of Graal Knights and she means to get as close to it as she possibly can this day.
Very distantly, the keenest of ears could now make up the thunder on the grasslands as reinforcements start from other positions. The watchfires are carried; this means that the next guarded position the scaled army approaches is already on guard, and the arrows rain more rapidly from a steeper guard. They will have to go up a narrower path, but that just means there are fewer men across to hold it.
The sense of death is everywhere, and Seren drinks it in like the finest of wines. Her shield held in her left arm, she draws a sword that glows faintly, that seems to scream as it cuts through the air. Joining in the slaugher, finishing off some soldiers that would have, perhaps, survived their injuries. There is no hope for survival, now. Her white gown is splattered with blood, and this too pleases the Feldane.
The bannerman has fallen to the middle of the army now to try and avoid arrow fire, but Princess Deirdre's standard continues to fly above the attackers as they move quickly up the pass. Those who fall on among the scaly warriors are ignored as easily as the dead they are leaving behind in the obvious bloodlust of the scaly horde.
Between the first pass and the second, peasants are passed. Cries of 'Abomination!' and 'Monsters!' rise up through the relentless, scrubby countryside. The soldiers of Brentinor are back on the borders or further away and of no use here (which is part of what made this route so favorable to the invaders). This time, the arrows rain down with fire; at least a dozen are aimed at the banner itself.
Seren doesn't seem overly concerned with the fate of the banner, or the one who carries it. "Abomination," she laughs, darkly, turning her horse towards the sound of one of those voices. "Do you truly wish to see such? Perhaps you will become one for me?" The chill rises, and there is a sense of evil truly in the air, now.
The black knight gives a moment of interest to the standard as it catches fire, but she isn't about to sacrifice ground to rescue a standard. There's a reason it's being carried by someone forcibly enlisted from outside her army. The knight's shield is raised to block any fiery arrows that might come her way as she charges toward her next target. The bannerman continues to carry the burning standard until an arrow finally takes his life and he is trampled by the army around him.
This time, the shield-and-speer men are in a better position and can inflict more pain and death before they go down themselves. Once their line is broken, again, they melt away as if like butter. Too easy. In fact... exactly too easy. It now becomes obvious that if the army keeps charging forward they'll end up in a suicide canyon in the mountains -- one lined with arrow and spearmen who have built in in such a way to ensure the invaders would need to thin into a long, vulnerable line to press on into Monselvat; a line that would never emerge intact on the other side. They've come this far; they are on the border, but there is no obvious way forward to victory at the moment.
And the orange and green clad reinforcements are beating up the grasslands and foothills.... if the line back is not reinforced, Igraine's army will be boxed in.
Seren's head lifts, at the change of tides. Her expression gains a frown, and she lowers her shield of bone in favor of grabbing a nearby peasant. It is only a child, and so lifted easily by the throat. Her voice raises, as much as it is able to do so, though surely the soldiers will pass her words along. "You will let us pass to our destination, or I will inflict a darkness on this land that will not be lifted. And I will unleash it through the death of this child."
The charging hellsteed is reluctantly pulled back from it's course and the black knight's fist is lifted to call out, "Hold and reinforce to the rear!" to her troops to give them a chance to consider the threat Seren has made.
This pass was not that well-manned, but still, there has been surprisingly little death here. The men have melted away unexpectedly to hold the pass from the cliffs, which makes going forward surprisingly difficult.
After Seren speaks, there is a brief murmur from the Damesmen. They hear her, and one captain can be half-seen assessing her with steely eyes and a lowered brow. Will they ask for parlay? The captain shouts down during a lull in the noise of battle. "You will kill that child and unleash abominations of magic and nature with its death if we do not surrender?"
"There is a difference between surrender and stepping aside," Seren says, looking to the captain. "Death is my gift, and I will gladly grant it to this land, if you keep me from the one I wish to reach." Her fingers tighten around the neck of the child.
"What one would that be?" The captain challenges back.
Seren glances to the Black Knight leading the charge, for the captain's answer.
The deathly voice of the black knight echoes out, "We seek the fortress of Monsalvat. Stand aside."
The captain speaks to the bowman immediately to his right. These men are grim; grim and steadfast. But then the captain's answer comes back down, "Not on your life, or the life of this child."
Seren's head tilts, and she smiles. "You would leave her, then, to an eternity without peace? Bound and tormented? Her soul my plaything, her blood the catalyst to the dying of this land?" She doesn't sound like someone that is bluffing. Her hold of the child changes, making it all the easier for the possibility of neck snapping. To the child, she muses, "Life is a horrid thing, my dear. You should be grateful that yours will be shortly over."
"I would not," the captain calls back. He gives the nod, and the archers fire: They are all aimed at Seren, and consequently the child.
The black knight's hellsteed is guided with her knees as she moves with unearthly speed to place her armor and her shield between Seren and the arrows as the deep deathly voice calls out, "Defend the Necromancer!" The army isn't entirely keen on self-sacrifice without the chance of drawing blood, but enough respond.
The order to reinforce the lines to the rear was issued just in the nick of time; more of the Damesmen (and probably some native Brentinor troops) are arriving. From here on out it is going to be defend-what-you-have for a bit.
Seren takes an arrow to the shoulder, and there is a cry of pain from her that becomes a dark laugh as she slides off of her horse. The child goes down with her, and Seren does not fail in her words. She takes one of the arrows that had reached the ground, and ends the child's short life. With her own blood, and that of the innocent, she begins to draw symbols on the ground.
Eventually, to be continued....
RPG: Igraine declares that she owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ bho ]----
Created via Pattern Walker (PAT-WA): bonus-token shadowfind story-token token-6 type-pattern walk walk-any walk-ship
Gift description:
The Pattern is a birthright reflected and drawn upon the royal family of Amber, and a frightening source of power for those of the Blood of Oberon. One who has walked the Pattern commands the following:
* Shadowfind mundane resources, such as troops and wealth, represented by up to 6-Focus tokens, for use at story scale and consumable for a bonus in conflicts with resource scope (such as in the resolution of a war).
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Token Description
A horde of scaly humanoids, their limbs longer than they should be and their knees jointed in reverse of normal, form the Legion. They are many, and they fight with long claws and sharp fangs. They wear no armor, and they march under no particular standard.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RPG: Igraine used the following +declare targets: Brentinor - Seaside
The army from Amber that has spread out over Monsalvat and Brentinor are largely in green, orange and gold. They are fast becoming a known quantity in the countryside, and now they are defending nearly every mountain pass or reasonable approach from the rocky shorelines. This means the area is well-defended, but it also means the strength of the Dame's Brigade is spread-out, and there are surely areas where their strength can only support a holding pattern while they wait for reinforcements; this means that a rapid attack in strength might be able to cut a line through their strength.
Having spent a day in a holding pattern, while Tariq did his job and scouted ahead, the invading army now approaches one of those spread out lines waiting for reinforcements that was identified by the scouting. The horde of scaly, long humanoids wears no particular set of colors, but there is a frightened looking human riding at their forefront with the standard of Princess Deirdre of Amber held aloft as they begin their assault on the defenders' lines.
In the slight distance, there is a rider in white, atop a pale horse. She is not dressed for battle, or at least so it seems. Her saddlebags are large, and they rattle with the stride of her mount. She comes from the west, closer to those on the scaly side of things. Seren closes in, fairly quickly.
Brentinor is mostly foothills and grasslands, which makes it harder to hold and easier to ride across. Traditionally this means they chiefly protect the fortified areas; cities, towns, castles. It was not hard to get past the one small force protecting the border, but that was the easy part. Once into Brentinor and marching towards Monsalvat, one has to make for the higher ground, and that is all protected, now, by the Damned Men. This particular approach is wider than most; the tricky part will be dealing with the archer on the rocky overhang to the east; the easier part should be over-running the pickets directly in front (to the north). The west is higher ground again, but high enough to afford no precipice on which to usefully put archers. All that is up there are scouts and a watchfire, which is lit, with warnings shouted down, as the distant, scaled army comes in sight. A wall of shields blocks the pass.
The deep sepulchral tones that come from the black knight's helm carry over the army, sounding nothing like Igraine's normal voice. "Charge the pickets!" The fiery hooves of her mount leave burning grasses in her wake as the animal carries her toward the lines of the enemy faster than any animal has a right to and her axe is lifted to swing down at the defenders. The scaly horde charges forward as if they have no concern for life or limb, using the additional reach of their long arms to attack past the shields blocking their way.
Seren has caught up with the scaled army, but she still has not drawn a weapon. There is a chill in the air around her, however, one that spreads and greatens, as hazel eyes shift to grey. Her mount is, seen closer now, nearly transparent, translucent skin over skeleton. Its eyes are the milky white of death.
Leages away, other alarm fires are being lit; warnings are going up.
The arrows are swift -- but the archers are not too many. Cursing their luck for being the one place the enemy should strike first, with hearts set with stone, the shield-bearers prepare to die. The archers can get off only two volleys of arrows at the front of the attackers' lines before they close with the front of the pickets....
The black knight reaches the shield-bearers without a single arrow striking her armor. "Die!" the deep voice of death calls as her mystic axe comes down to claim blood. A few of unarmored scaly humanoids fall to the arrows as they charge, but not nearly enough to make any difference and they quickly begin to overrun the shield bearers, giving no mercy, leaving no man alive. Blood flies as the defenders' bodies are ripped apart by vicious claws and teeth.
As the arrows take flight, Seren finally reaches for something. From within her pack, she removes a single bone that could have one been the femur of a human adult. The chill rises, and with that some other bones follow, forming themselves into a shield that deflects the arrows with ease. She hears the spirits of the dead and dying, but she offers them no final peace.
The spears are in with the shields, but it is a difference of scale of one to twenty; no common soldier, no matter how well-trained, could do more than slow down the invaders at these odds, not in this terrain. It is not a question of if they will die, but how, and the Damesmen die with as much dignity as any soldier could muster in such circumstances, taking as much of Igraine's front line with them as they can. Their discipline is tight; the second wave behind the first has melted away, up the mountain. To stop and give chase to them would mean slowing down, and possibly lingering long enough for reinforcements to arrive. To move past them means taking more arrow fire, but probably not enough to even decimate their strength.
Those that run are allowed to run. The black knight's forces have their orders: Brentinor does not matter. Push for Monsalvat! The bodies of the dead are trampled as the army pushes on through the pass. Leaving the fleeing troops may expose their rear, but it is clear that the black knight does not care. She's out for the blood of Graal Knights and she means to get as close to it as she possibly can this day.
Very distantly, the keenest of ears could now make up the thunder on the grasslands as reinforcements start from other positions. The watchfires are carried; this means that the next guarded position the scaled army approaches is already on guard, and the arrows rain more rapidly from a steeper guard. They will have to go up a narrower path, but that just means there are fewer men across to hold it.
The sense of death is everywhere, and Seren drinks it in like the finest of wines. Her shield held in her left arm, she draws a sword that glows faintly, that seems to scream as it cuts through the air. Joining in the slaugher, finishing off some soldiers that would have, perhaps, survived their injuries. There is no hope for survival, now. Her white gown is splattered with blood, and this too pleases the Feldane.
The bannerman has fallen to the middle of the army now to try and avoid arrow fire, but Princess Deirdre's standard continues to fly above the attackers as they move quickly up the pass. Those who fall on among the scaly warriors are ignored as easily as the dead they are leaving behind in the obvious bloodlust of the scaly horde.
Between the first pass and the second, peasants are passed. Cries of 'Abomination!' and 'Monsters!' rise up through the relentless, scrubby countryside. The soldiers of Brentinor are back on the borders or further away and of no use here (which is part of what made this route so favorable to the invaders). This time, the arrows rain down with fire; at least a dozen are aimed at the banner itself.
Seren doesn't seem overly concerned with the fate of the banner, or the one who carries it. "Abomination," she laughs, darkly, turning her horse towards the sound of one of those voices. "Do you truly wish to see such? Perhaps you will become one for me?" The chill rises, and there is a sense of evil truly in the air, now.
The black knight gives a moment of interest to the standard as it catches fire, but she isn't about to sacrifice ground to rescue a standard. There's a reason it's being carried by someone forcibly enlisted from outside her army. The knight's shield is raised to block any fiery arrows that might come her way as she charges toward her next target. The bannerman continues to carry the burning standard until an arrow finally takes his life and he is trampled by the army around him.
This time, the shield-and-speer men are in a better position and can inflict more pain and death before they go down themselves. Once their line is broken, again, they melt away as if like butter. Too easy. In fact... exactly too easy. It now becomes obvious that if the army keeps charging forward they'll end up in a suicide canyon in the mountains -- one lined with arrow and spearmen who have built in in such a way to ensure the invaders would need to thin into a long, vulnerable line to press on into Monselvat; a line that would never emerge intact on the other side. They've come this far; they are on the border, but there is no obvious way forward to victory at the moment.
And the orange and green clad reinforcements are beating up the grasslands and foothills.... if the line back is not reinforced, Igraine's army will be boxed in.
Seren's head lifts, at the change of tides. Her expression gains a frown, and she lowers her shield of bone in favor of grabbing a nearby peasant. It is only a child, and so lifted easily by the throat. Her voice raises, as much as it is able to do so, though surely the soldiers will pass her words along. "You will let us pass to our destination, or I will inflict a darkness on this land that will not be lifted. And I will unleash it through the death of this child."
The charging hellsteed is reluctantly pulled back from it's course and the black knight's fist is lifted to call out, "Hold and reinforce to the rear!" to her troops to give them a chance to consider the threat Seren has made.
This pass was not that well-manned, but still, there has been surprisingly little death here. The men have melted away unexpectedly to hold the pass from the cliffs, which makes going forward surprisingly difficult.
After Seren speaks, there is a brief murmur from the Damesmen. They hear her, and one captain can be half-seen assessing her with steely eyes and a lowered brow. Will they ask for parlay? The captain shouts down during a lull in the noise of battle. "You will kill that child and unleash abominations of magic and nature with its death if we do not surrender?"
"There is a difference between surrender and stepping aside," Seren says, looking to the captain. "Death is my gift, and I will gladly grant it to this land, if you keep me from the one I wish to reach." Her fingers tighten around the neck of the child.
"What one would that be?" The captain challenges back.
Seren glances to the Black Knight leading the charge, for the captain's answer.
The deathly voice of the black knight echoes out, "We seek the fortress of Monsalvat. Stand aside."
The captain speaks to the bowman immediately to his right. These men are grim; grim and steadfast. But then the captain's answer comes back down, "Not on your life, or the life of this child."
Seren's head tilts, and she smiles. "You would leave her, then, to an eternity without peace? Bound and tormented? Her soul my plaything, her blood the catalyst to the dying of this land?" She doesn't sound like someone that is bluffing. Her hold of the child changes, making it all the easier for the possibility of neck snapping. To the child, she muses, "Life is a horrid thing, my dear. You should be grateful that yours will be shortly over."
"I would not," the captain calls back. He gives the nod, and the archers fire: They are all aimed at Seren, and consequently the child.
The black knight's hellsteed is guided with her knees as she moves with unearthly speed to place her armor and her shield between Seren and the arrows as the deep deathly voice calls out, "Defend the Necromancer!" The army isn't entirely keen on self-sacrifice without the chance of drawing blood, but enough respond.
The order to reinforce the lines to the rear was issued just in the nick of time; more of the Damesmen (and probably some native Brentinor troops) are arriving. From here on out it is going to be defend-what-you-have for a bit.
Seren takes an arrow to the shoulder, and there is a cry of pain from her that becomes a dark laugh as she slides off of her horse. The child goes down with her, and Seren does not fail in her words. She takes one of the arrows that had reached the ground, and ends the child's short life. With her own blood, and that of the innocent, she begins to draw symbols on the ground.
Eventually, to be continued....