Fantasy Nations RP

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
As Sailence saw the orc move forward, and quickly came to the realization that he wouldn't be able to avoid the blow, he directed a signficant amount of energy to heal what he suspected would be a serious fracture, even while shifting his weight ever so slightly to allow him to go on the offense. His surprise was evident when that was not the case, and what minor pain he felt was almost instantly washed away by the tide of magical power. All the shaman saw was a quizzical look on the young man's face (quickly replaced by a faint frown) and an intense, if rather short-lived, light spark to life beneath the now-dirtied cloth of Sailence's coat. The young man exhaled sharply and began to speak again, though his countenance was far less friendly than it had been previously.

"What do you want out of this? I understand that you don't trust me, but I don't like being toyed with. Either allow me to help, ask me to leave, or fight me sincerely. I would be more than happy to do the first two." He professed, his tone revealing that what had once been strained patience had given way to open frustration. Worse still, there was something of a hardness to his voice that sent the orc a very clear message, despite the linguistic barrier - as accomodating as he had been before, the human was now prepared to get very dangerous, very quickly.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
There were so many sails in the bay at Serenn that the morning sunrise over the eastern horizon was delayed by a soft quarter of an hour, where the denizens of the city were concerned. Had they been attached to warships, especially if they represented any other nation than the Kingdom of God, the diplomacy of this issue would be a great deal more complicated. Since they were actually merchant vessels that just happened to be carrying soldiers on them, their sudden overnight arrival was simply… rude. Somewhat exacerbating the impoliteness of the whole affair, it appeared that every ship was holding its own mass for the passengers and crew at the same time, so that their raised voices joined and carried over the water to the sleepy ears of the city in unison, annoying the residents in the way that early-morning awakening will combine with the reminder of religious obligation can annoy virtually anyone to experience it:


“Do you believe in the right and the truth of God, the divinity of His Word, in the authority of his most holy Church?”


“I do so believe.” The responses, swelled with a few dozen voices for every priest’s and uttered with the firm certainty of a regiment calling cadence, were if anything a great deal louder. The familiar devotions went on for the better part of an hour and then, with the sun now firmly in the sky, a rowboat detached from one of the ships to approach the agitated port officials clustered at the docks, who for their part looked only slightly relieved to finally encounter something like familiar ground in this matter. This lasted just about up until it became clear that the two figures who were to meet with them were as follows: first, a man of the clergy, looking well over sixty years old, with sun-browned skin, silver hair, white tunic, and the flowing cloth-of-gold cloak that marked his rank; Emrys, Bishop of Eximia. Beside him loomed a grim-faced orc in a cloak of samite, helmet under one arm, whose heavy plate gleamed as though wrought from polished silver.


Unsmiling, the bishop wasted no time in brandishing a bound and sealed canvas scroll. “Missive from the Word of God,” he said. “Safe conduct and westbound passage for five thousand men, in accordance with God’s will and the holy obligations of all righteous men.” Though his manner and tone did not want for formality or politeness, one could not help but notice the lack of anything resembling 'ask,' 'request,' or even 'permission' among his spoken words.
 
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Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
The Orc Shaman couldn't quite wipe the trace of mirth from his face, even as his pale features contorted back into anger. The unsettling, jerky movements of the being even at rest did little to calm Seryth and convince him that his intentions were peaceful, or sane. The thought occurred to him that perhaps this figure wasn't entirely in control of himself. More and more he saw the chaotic, miniature maelstroms emanating from the fog, almost fighting against it in attempt to keep the clearing vacant for this "combat." The background buzzing grew louder, resolving to audible whispers as the Shaman's eyes almost glazed over.

"Human animal like all. Need hunt. All perish if not hunt."

It was now beyond doubt that this being was not in its right mind, if it had one. The gnarled hands of the shaman clenched the staff, almost warping the wood with a strength Seryth would do well to avoid. It became apparent that this would not have a peaceful outcome the moment the Shaman screeched in his guttoral, presumably native tongue, and strode forwards towards Seryth on a cushion of wind, closing the gap in a single unnatural step. Holding the staff at one end, he swung it around with the most force his speed and stature could allow, the gale force wind ripping at the human's face and clothes as hard as a seaborne gale.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Though the appearance of dozens of ships carrying with them thousands of men was unexpected in Serenn, the Port Authority of the city acted quickly. A messenger was quickly sent to the fortress at the city's heart, bringing news of the arrivals to General Vemec, the shrewd mind in charge of the military operations and defense of Serenn; the presence of so many ships and soldiers had made this de facto a matter for his consideration. His response was as swift and decisive as one could hope for, and so the Port Authority was quite prepared when faced with Emrys and the warrior who stood beside him.

...Of course, preparation did not make giving demands to the two any easier, regardless how minor. The official that they first met with, one Renato Sienas (by and large usually a confident man), stumbled over the response. "Your Holiness, General Vemec has judged that your passage will be granted, but..." He cleared his throat gently, wishing that doing so would excuse him from speaking any further. "O-only on the condition that you meet with him in the castle. He says that it will be brief, and he will send a messenger with you when you return to confirm your presence. O-otherwise the port is to remain closed to your ships."

The most difficult part of the delivery over with, Renato took a slow, deep breath to calm himself before continuing, his trembling quickly subsiding. "The castle is in the city's center, at the end of the main road," he gestured along the length of a wide, well-maintained street, "if you would like, we can provide an escort. Otherwise, General Vemec will be waiting for you." His part said, the official waited for a response from the Kingdom's representatives, all the while silently praying that relaying the General's words wouldn't condemn his soul.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sailence's blade was uncovered the moment the orc finished speaking, his patience and goodwill toward the shaman both expended. No longer interested in the (im)possibility of avoiding a fight, nor in dealing his foe any less than a mortal wound, the prince moved with speed that would have seemed unimaginable but moments ago. He bobbed underneath the staff and darted around the towering orc, making a deep cut in the man's thigh as he did so; he quickly followed up with a thrust directly between the ribs and through the right lung, then pulled his blade free and backed away, still on his guard. Though those wounds were more than enough to incapacitate (and likely kill) any normal man, Sailence was unsure how effective they would be against a seemingly-possessed orcish shaman, and so waited for his enemy to collapse - or turn to attack again.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
For the space of a few heartbeats, the double stare of the warrior and the bishop weighed down on the hapless official like so many yokes of iron. Still, there was little comfort to be had of it when the orc finally spoke:

"You stand before the Crusader, boy, and your bishop beside him" said a voice like rolling boulders, that crushed all thought of lesser voices underneath. "You stand there on your own two feet, and your voice bears defiance to the Army of God. Will you not kneel?"

"Mercy, Crusader." Said Emrys, to the poor man's escalating panic. "We are all servants here. Yea, truly, our own master is the greatest of all, who holds dominion over all the world and all who dwell upon it, from the lowest of insects to the mightiest of lords. But we who live in service know this: a servant's mouth cannot condemn him in the execution of his duty; for it speaks his master's words, and not his own. Doubtless the general simply... misspoke, his haste to perform his holy obligations. Furthermore, I suspect it has been a while since the general's last Confession. It is well that I should hear it before leaving the city." He turned to Sienas.

"I will see the general at once. His Excellency the Crusader will escort me." Again, the tone was in every way both formal and polite, but never actually kind.
 
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Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Sienas' pulse raced at the Crusader's admonishment, and he would have no doubt fallen to his knees to beg the forgiveness of both the holy men had the Bishop not spoken in his defense. Instead, he remained standing (if only barely), though bowed low to the Bishop and Crusader both, and said in a hushed voice meant only for the two of them, "You have my sincerest apologies for the general's orders, but... I would be a fool to subvert him." Emrys, presumably boasting some familiarity with Vemec, knew that this was true - he tolerated disobedience only narrowly better than his Emperor did, but was far more devious in his punishment.

In any case, proceeding along the thoroughfare brought the holy men to the castle at the centre of Serenn, a towering, sturdy fortress which had in centuries past been the seat of power in the east of Eximia, now overshadowed by the Ascendancy's capital in Luscia. With high walls and soaring arches, it was even now an icon of beauty and architecture, befitting the vanity of the man who resided within. Though the fortress was well-guarded, no man made to stop them; their reasons for being there, of all places, were more than apparent to even the dullest sentry. They were halted only upon reaching the throne room, wherein Vemec sat upon an unadorned wooden chair a few feet before the throne itself; two more faced him, evidently for the clergyman and crusader to sit in.

The doors closed but seconds after the two passed through them, and the general rose, setting a hand on his heart and taking a knee, his lengthy blond hair covering his face as he lowered his gaze out of deference, or at least a convincing performance thereof. "It is good to see you, Holiness - and you as well, Crusader. I apologize for demanding you come here, but everything that passes through this city is an interest of mine, and I suspect your cargo will be of interest to the Emperor, as well. Please, illuminate he and I both on the Lord Bishop's reasons." He requested, raising himself once more to sit in the chair. He relaxed after gently pushing his hair back past the shoulders of his polished steel plate, regarding both men before him with impassive blue eyes which veiled any untoward intent.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
The bishop and the warrior exchanged a glance. "The Lord Bishop" said the orc, in tones of iron certainty, "is no more."

"The Voice of God speaks in his place now" the bishop explained. "Ours is not to question His word, but to obey. Rise, my son." He stepped forward, offering the scroll he carried in a businesslike manner. "For your eyes. If you wish to confess your sins, I shall delay only long enough to hear them. Otherwise, we intend to move immediately."
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
If Vemec was surprised by the reveal, he didn't let it show on his face - though his silence, which the bishop knew to be a rarity, spoke in itself. He stood and took the offered document with a quiet thanks to Emrys before opening the scroll and reading through it quickly but carefully, hoping to attain some insight into what the Voice of God wanted with passage for his men. As learned in the history of the Church as he was, he worried it was a third Crusade, though he knew not against who or what; in any case, the army doubtless heralded military action in God's name.
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
If the Shaman was phased by the blade's edge, it did not seem to show. His visage now twisted to an almost animal snarl, the bestial features of the Orcish shaman were now alight with a savage fury. Air seemed to rush in towards the towering figure, whistling through the bone chimes in a shrill, piercing shriek, as dark, purple blood ran down his leg and chest. Seemingly readying for another attack, the figure was taken by surprise when thunder clapped through the air loud enough to shake the trees in the surrounding area loose of a few more autumn leaves. Standing on a rock overlooking the arena was a short, withered figure, draped in rags and hunched over in front of a staff as desiccated as they were. Through long, ratty strands of white hair, Sailence could make out the short vestigial tusks and the avian beak like nose of the Orcs, though this one appeared much older, potentially female.

The staff crackled with energy, and the figure lunged forward with it. A brilliant bolt, splitting the night with an arc of blue, crossed the gulf between the tip of the branch and the possessed shaman within an instant, and sent the larger figure to the ground several feet away with a startled yelp but made no further movement. The smell of smouldering skin and hair soon permeated the air, as droplets fell from the sky again. The smaller orc seemed to glance at Sailence briefly, giving the man an inscrutable look as she was perched up high on the stone. Wind died down as the rain grew heavier, but a soft piercing glow emanated from her staff and the runes inscribed in them. She made no noise save to breathe as she looked down at the man.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Serenn

The wax of the burning-crown seal broken, the scroll unfolded to read the same words that, within a few days, every other major official in Eximia would be reading as well. They went:

Let it be known throughout the world, that the Voice of God has spoken to His faithful, and in accordance with His guidance the Council of Bishops has seen fit to declare

CRUSADE
Let the wicked repent, and the righteous rejoice. The evils to be addressed in this endeavor are as follows:

First, heresy and witchcraft in the West, where the heathen tribes collude in unholy ambition beyond great Eximia's borders. To this end, and in hopes of avoiding regretful and unnecessary bloodshed, the Saint known as Tuo-Hakta. has been appointed as Crusader for this endeavor. Having proven his faith, it is the view of the Council that he, having once counted among the heathen's number, is uniquely suited to enlighten his former brethren to the truth of God, that they may cease their evil doings and join the ranks of the faithful. May almighty God's blessing grant him the strength and wisdom to do so.

Second, the Demon of Galadon, whom the faithful in that nation still struggle to overthrow on this very day. God's blessing be upon Emperor Luscar I Vasa for his tireless pursuit of this endeavor, and upon all those who serve him in fulfilling it.

Third, the Dragonspawn of Oberland, whose cult of evil compels them to exercise the same hostility with guests in their homeland as with neighbors along their borders.

The Church looks toward the future with hope, to a time when all the world may be united in the light of God, and the faithful may finally know true, everlasting joy and peace.

I.N.D.


...and there followed a list of signatures, from the bishops of each of the continent's sovereign nations.
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
Cold winds swept through the vale, sweeping down from the North and rustling through the tall grass and the bloodstained amber swathes of the autumnal forest. The scouts were in position, the mammoths had been prepared, the warriors now as fully armed and ready as they possibly could have been. For Skysplitter, the wind was not merely unpleasant, but an urgent reminder of the necessity for speed. Any delay, any setback, and the howling Winter would likely claim his people before they even arrived in the southern lands of wheat and sun. Attended by his "squire", Branch, a younger Orcish adolescent he had been attempting to train in the ways of human swordsmanship, his armor was slowly donned taking on the appearance of some steel golem. The plates may have been gouged, dented in some places, but since his days as an adventurer the enchanted suit had never failed him in even the most dire of situations. Once finished, the plates gleamed amber as the sun rose slowly over a frosted horizon, the alien visage of the War-king in full plate and hidden behind a vizor drawing looks of bewilderment from the warriors and mammoth tenders as he passed by. Such looks soon changed to admiration and fear once they realized who it was behind the metal, but it reminded him of how far his people had to go before they were ready to hold their own against a more prepared army of man and magic.

Ambush tactics were hardly an unheard of strategy among the Orcish tribes, as giants and other unmentionable abominations of that far and wretched realm were far too fearsome for warriors of stone and bone to face head on. Notable exceptions aside, the default mode of warfare amongst the tribes was that of deception. As he strode around the war camp, whose preparations were almost completed, he couldn't help but share his men's excitement at the coming battle. If all went well, this would herald a new era, an era of Orcs uplifted from the cold and savage ignorance in the North and nestled within a heartland that would serve as home for generations to come. He shook his head, breathing out a sigh that misted against the cold steel of his helmet; such dreams were only those unless he could win the coming battles.

All that remained now was for this Count's army to cross the threshold of the forest and besiege the walls, and at last the trap would finally be complete. Once the men settled in to assault his garrison, there would be nowhere for them to run. With both the Baron, and the Count as prisoners, the Duke would be forced finally to commit with the entirety of the force available to him. There would the true test lie.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Though Sailence took notice of the older, smaller orc (and flinched at the sudden crack of thunder), he was too concerned by the warrior before him to be concerned with someone who was, at least for the moment, merely observing - though he kept a close eye on the woman, worried she was as fickle as his current foe. He leapt backward when his opponent turned, surprised that the shaman was able to ignore his wounds with such ease. This was a mistake; while he was doubtless more agile and better-trained than the orc, two advantages he decidedly did not possess were movement speed and reach. He cursed himself as the shaman lunged forward, and gathered still more energy to heal the arm he was raising to intercept the blow, which would doubtless be severely fractured - but pain was much preferable to death.

Yet again, his magic was proven unnecessary as the possessed orc failed to strike him, though this time not of free will, struck down by a lance of blinding blue-white light from... the other orc? Sailence was surprised (though pleasantly) that he would merit such protection - but utterly puzzled as to why that would be the case. The prince crouched down momentarily to pick up a few of the fallen leaves, carefully wiping the blood from his blade with them before sheathing it and meeting his guardian's eyes. "Thank you for the help, but... why?" He asked, prepared to sprint out of the way (at least, as much as he could be) were she to unleash a lash of lightning at him. While normally not the type to be suspicious, these were undoubtedly strange circumstances. - enough so, in his eyes, to warrant further investigation.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Vemec's hands trembled as he read the scroll, unable to help but find that a deeply-buried religious fervor was welling up from within him. He had known that the Emperor had sent a declaration to Galadon threatening war, but the idea of the war being upon them - and a holy duty, no less - had a certain appeal that was hard to find elsewhere, and especially so in Serenn. Though he was bound to the city for the moment, the General had hope that his sovereign would grant him the privilege of command, provided he could find a suitable substitute. As for Oberland... that beast, he suspected, would have to wait until the Emperor had secured Galadon, but was even more welcome a battle for Vemec. "Holiness, I apologize for impeding your passage. Please forgive me - the stores of Serenn are open for anything you might need, though... I humbly request the opportunity to confess."

It was but minutes later that Emrys' task was complete, orders from the General granting the authority for the Kingdom of God's fleet to dock and safe passage for all of its men through Serenn (and any other land in the Ascendancy save perhaps Luscia). Vemec had more than two dozen copies of the Voice of God's missive made, sealed, and sent to every corner of Vasan land, to reach only the eyes of the highest-ranking and most powerful representatives of the Emperor, with the original sealed again and delivered to Luscar himself - along with a letter penned by Vemec requesting temporary reassignment to active service. While knowledge of the Crusade was not made public in Serenn (at least, not by the General), no effort was made to prevent the spread of rumors; several hundred pious veterans were among those leaving Serenn with God's army, and the news had reached the common people on the heels of Vemec's letters. By the time the force reached Luscia, it had been reinforced with similar numbers multiple times, and their ranks were to swell further with the faithful upon passing through the capital.
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
The elderly crone did naught save stare at Sailence, as the rain pattered softly against the muddy ground. The small being turned her head slowly to gaze at the still smoldering form of the attacking shaman, clicking a curious noise, of decidedly non humanoid language. The harsh buzzing in Sailence's head slowly gave way to murmuring, and finally near inaudible whispering, as she ignored the human and closed her eyes, now in some kind of meditative trance. The air seemed to still, the supernatural wail of the fog barrier giving way to the rustling of leaves and more natural noises of the forest. A faint smile flickered onto her face, and what sounded like a quiet, mischievous cackle. Her eyes opened, and sky blue irises locked onto his own.

Her mouth opened, and she drew breath as if to speak to the man, but was interrupted by the shout of a human from beyond the copse facing Sailence's back.

"Watch the shadows, and don't let that lantern out for the God's sake!"

Torchlight and heavy footfall filtered into the clearing, signalling the imminent arrival of soldiers attempting to follow what they thought were footprints in the mud. Whatever she was about to say, Sailence would never know, with a frightening pace for an old one she shot up to her legs and sprinted off in the other direction, paying the man no more heed. Watching the small figure dart into the darkness, Sailence would also find it difficult to believe that the other figure had also disappeared in the split second it took for him to become distracted.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Sailence relaxed as the droning in his mind dulled, a smile growing on his scarred face as quiet came over the forest, presumably by some magic the woman had worked. He was thrilled to hear what she had to say, and hopefully get some dialogue going with the orcish tribes (and get on the path to understanding their magic, as well as what they wanted from these offensives). The arrival of the soldiers shattered any chance of that happening tonight, as the crone disappeared into the night with shocking speed - and, worse, the unconscious (or, so Sailence had thought) figure of the hulking shaman had done the same. He cursed under his breath; it seemed he had gained very little of the knowledge he sought, and it was time once again to return to life as Seryth the Scarred.

The young healer turned to face the group of soldiers with a gentle smile and a wave. "I apologize if I worried you by running off like that, I thought I had seen something in the fog, and figured I would be able to handle whatever came my way. Has something gone wrong, or has everything, er... died down?" He asked, neglecting to mention the stain on his clothing (or, for that matter, anything else that had happened since he left) as he walked toward the group of soldiers. They had no reason to know what, precisely, he had been up to - indeed, he would not tell the Count of what had transpired, nor any other member of the war party. He would instead wait to face the orcs yet again at Verthill, hoping they might spread the word of contact in his stead, and in the meantime put his magical talent to use keeping the Count and his warriors alive.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Unlike the night before, the day was cloudless and bright as the general set up Count Sighorn's forces about the gates of Verthill. As the fate of the castle town's human residents was currently unknown, as was the fate of its alleged barbarian occupiers, the Count had reluctantly agreed to hold off on firing the siege weapons for now, and resigned to simply waiting in the back for any defenders to begin showing themselves. At his orders, axemen were felling trees all around the encampment, while General Leto and his squire rode out, fully armored, to sit before the drawbridge bearing the plain black flag of parlay.
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
Life inside the walled town of Verthill was calm if unbearably dull for the now defenders. The townspeople began to grow restless once the original defenders left, but for now the Orcs ate sparingly and ensured the inhabitants had enough supplies to make it through the next week. Such behaviour seemed particularly puzzling given the previous day's excess of feasting and sacrifice. The bound Count, The Mammoth Man, as his captors had taken to calling him had been fed semi hallucinatory herbs for the duration of his capture to keep him more or less docile. The defenders made no early appearance on the wall, though the black and white banner of the Ashen hung draped over the side of the front gate somewhat possessively. After seemingly an age of waiting at the drawbridge reply, Leto was preparing to return to the warcamp when an aged Orc, hidden behind cloaks and shawls and banging an old staff along the top of the walls, finally made his appearance.

He looked down at the General, worn tusks protruding from a scowl that made no mistakes about the tone of the coming parlay. A chill ran down Leto's spine as the old being's gaze settled upon him, as he finished inspecting the army which was now setting up to take the walls. In a gruff tone, the elder barked down to the two humans.

"Speak now. Will not wait."
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
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With the full volume of a field commander's voice, the general called back his terms.

"By order of Count Sighorn, Lord of Ava, in the name of God and the Grand Duke Vysnovet, rightful claimant to the throne of Eximia, you are hereby ordered to release your prisoners and quit these holdings! He said. "Do so now, and your men- that is, your forces, will be allowed to leave with their arms and their lives! Refuse, and I cannot promise that you will be offered any quarter in the future!" Privately, of course, he was pretty sure that the count would be moved to try negotiating several more times through the siege, if they had to have one, but he himself wasn't sure that the man ever intended to hold up his end of it. Still, it probably would be best not to share that information.

"How do you respond?"
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
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The Orc sniffed apathetically, as if the General possessed an unpleasant smell and he had half a mind to simply walk away and avoid him rather than speak at all. Squinting as if looking at a gnat in his porridge. Clearing his throat of phlegm with a rattle, the wrinkled features of Third Root contracted as he hocked a discolored glob of some unmentionable substance towards the ground at the feet of the General and his squire.

"Sick-horn. Have heard tale of man chief from Mammoth Man and others. Say little man is coward. Tell why we would talk with knight-man who is champion for coward? Talk when all men of stone hold try to lie and trick even when beaten? No more talk." With a huff, he turned his back quite literally on the negotiations and proceeded down the wooden stairs of the wall. Out of sight, the old man furrowed his brow in concentration, and gave a signal to his acolyte who was waiting at the base of the stairs. The signal would inform the warriors and hunters that he expected a siege to start soon, and to prepare the best of their new steel weapons and armour they could bring to bear.

His visage of cool and uncaring complacency was a front he needed to display to the human, to convince him both that they were unwilling to talk and that the shaman was a fool and had not prepared sufficient fortification. Though his pride stung at having to parade like a fool, the element of surprise when the defenders proved both willing and able to turn the weapons of the fort against the men that used them was sufficient to delay them enough for the full vanguard force to descend on the besiegers.

The clang and bellow of the human forge grew louder as he strode into the town, the fire seers having learned to at least roughly copy the impressed human smith in making chain mail and arrows. He made his way to the gigantic armored figure currently swinging a large sword around a group of training dummies, Backbreaker using the last week to practice his swordsmanship.

"Are you ready?" He asked, not needing to explain further.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
The steel-clad colossus stopped his blade mid-swing and turned to greet Third Root, lowering his head slightly as a sign of respect. He had spent the week following their capture training and sparring almost constantly in the hopes of improving his abilities and those of the other defenders; while he was no doubt stronger than any human, Galiatus' skill had made a mental mark on him as well as a physical one. Backbreaker could no longer rely solely on his strength and stature to win his battles - instead, the giant would have to hone his skills and reflexes were he to meet with continued successes in waging war on the softskins. Though he was no master swordsman, he had made significant progress in so short a time owing to his dedication alone, and possessed strength enough to wield the count's blade with one hand and his own oversized mace in the other; a solid blow from either was enough to tear even an armored soldier in two. Verthill's stones and soil would be stained red that night.

"I am," He thundered, raising his gaze to meet the wizened shaman's eyes, "what do you need of me?" The warchief had an idea as to his duties that night, namely slaughtering those humans who were unlucky enough to face him, but did not know whether their defense would be limited to the confines of the castle. He thought it best; while the Mastodon was pleased by and rewarded valor, the streets of Verthill were wide enough for him to be surrounded and worn down by the attackers, whereas the narrow corridors of the castle would make going around him near-impossible while the Ashen Tusk's relieving force enclosed the human battalion. He did not voice his concern immediately, however - questioning the wisdom of a shaman (particularly one so old and esteemed) before listening to it was a great disrespect, enough so that even the undefeated warrior felt that it was not his place. If he anticipated flaws in his elder's tactics, he would address them, but only after they had been disclosed in full.
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
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Whilst Backbreaker's volume may not have entirely been necessary, it did go some way to enthuse the other warriors fighting in the training yard with newly acquired weaponry and armour. The clang of steel tapered off as all present turned their heads to listen to the old Shaman. Whilst some still doubted the strange, pale orcs from the North Shore, clad as they were in seal skin, they could all respect the great power the wizened seer possessed. The air was always colder when he was near, and some other spiritualists claimed they could hear whispers or the sound of waves. Even the frenzied, half blind fire dancers turned weapon and armour smiths, stopped their work to hear what he had to say.

Over the course of the next few minutes, the Shaman described in detail the strategy he would be employing in this Second Battle of Verthill, as he explained the human scholars would have it written as. The plan was relatively straightforward. He doubted the humans would have trouble simply massing over the walls and overwhelming any stationary positions the orcs would reinforce, even one as mighty as Backbreaker. The fort within the walls of the town would be used as a final redoubt as the full forces of the humans were fully engaged with the assault on the town. As he explained, the siege was more about delaying the army as much as possible and sapping the enemy's will to fight the orcs before the main vanguard of the Ashen Tusk could be deployed.

They would accomplish this by providing a fierce but brief resistance on the walls of the town, falling back quickly once battle had been made and a few of the enemy's numbers had been felled. Casualties were to be avoided, but the fight must be convincing enough to trick the enemy forces into believing the forces were smaller than they really were, and that they had routed. The gates, having already conveniently been broken, would be unable to be easily raised, especially in battle. As human forces would inevitably either wait to raise said gates, or stream over the walls slowly, accomplishing his goals of delaying the army. Once inside the walls, the attackers would find the town shrouded in supernatural fog, every street lined with traps and barricades to hinder their progress.

Hunters and warriors would repeatedly ambush the advancing soldiers, hopefully forcing a retreat of individuals and sowing chaos among the ranks of the attackers. To this end, Backbreaker and a few of his chosen armoured warriors would strike quickly against well armored or organized groups, savaging them into retreat or crushing them wholesale. If the enemy chose to continue his assault, he would find his hand ground to a bloody pulp, but he would ultimately gain control of the streets and the orcs would retreat to the hold. If they chose to retreat and co-ordinate a proper offensive, much time would have been bought in doing so.
 
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