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I have posted many well written warhammer 40k pieces, and quite frankly im getting sick of writing them and nobody responding. seeing as though people are only reading stories about chaos sm or dark eldar, and not paying any attention to the officio assassinorum, adeptus astartes, or the craftworlds' points of view, i decided to right about medieval warring and stuff, having nothing to do with warhammer 40k. i hope that you appreciate this and maybe i'll get some replies or people wanting more.
Once there was a world known as Eleusis, in a galaxy millions of lightyears away. This world was ravaged by wars for 1000s of years, and it eventually destroyed itself. The planet was plagued by tyrants and heretics, dictators and bloodthirsty rebels, and mercenaries and marauders, all greedy for self-prospering and power. Eleusis's wars eventually led to it's own destruction through weapons of unimaginable terror, but there was once a period during this battle-torn world where it seemed peace would overcome and the lands would be washed of the blood and sweat of the dead. This period was known as the White Ages, where the storms finally ceased and and clouds parted to let the sun shine in and the blue of the sky show it's glory to the radiant peoples. But all good things must come to an end, and the peace was once again quenched by the unstoppable power that the land's wealth offered turned the souls of good men wicked, and the hearts of the pure to evil. This is the story of four generals, who's actions brought a continent ruled by one power, and it united all of Eleusis under their flag, bringing peace to the lands and rest for the weary.
Chapter 1: The Rebellion of Galiolus
King Arksil strolled hastily down the stone pathway in the garden of the royal palace of Galiolus, with his military advisors following behind questioning and, of course, advising, him on his actions. Arksil was a strong, powerful man, of good morales and greater skills. He was clothed with a red tunic and white, slightly baggy pants. He wore shining, polished black boots, that were so clean their sheen would cause glare. Over his clothes he wore a chainmail vest and leggings. Atop his chainmail was gleaming golden armor, laden with dragon designs curling from his chestplate to around his shoulders, ending at his golden gauntlets, crafted so perfectly he rewarded the blacksmith by letting him live forever in the palace, which he much appreciated. He wore armored leggings, which were golden just like his chestplate. His face was tanned to a degree of brown, even though he was born in northern and colder Galiolus, the powerful yet treacherous continent of Eleusis. His hair was long and blonde, which curled slightly as it fell untied or braided to his shoulders. His eyes were blue, and his features smooth and rounded. Along his waste was a red leather sheath, and in it was the finest sword said to ever be crafted, which Arksil named The Eagle. The Eagle was named after the majestic bird of prey because of its beauty and grace, yet fierce attacks and skilled hunting, which equally described Arksil's swordsmanship. It was a perfectly smithed longsword, light yet long and graceful, and durable beyond all belief.
Atop his golden hair was a great crown, which as the rest of his body, armor and skin, was golden. The crown was embedded with rubys, which decreased in size as they circled to the back. On the front of the crown was a large opal, dwarving the rubies in size. The opal stood for Arksil's teachings as a paladin, a mighty warrior who lives by virtue and strength, pride and battle, kindness and war. He was the shining example of a king, fair and powerful. Yet there were those who despised Arksil, wishing for his power and wealth, even though Arksil gave most of the money his armies received to the people. One month and 3 days back from this day, a general by the name Kalith rallied almost eighty percent of the military forces of Galiolus and led them against their King Arksil. Kalith's men were angry after a grueling campaign against a foreign enemy. The soldiers had grown bitter of the king, for this campaign was a long and grueling one, fighting guerilla forces of an overseas continent which were merciless and cruel. Kalith was said to be a swordsman to rival Arksil, but people who had seen the two in battle knew that this was untrue. Kalith had already sacked 3 towns and 1 city. Morale was dropping for the outnumbered Arksil's forces, and he knew it. Kalith was advancing to the very palace itself, and his army of traitors' morale had skyrocketed after sacking the city. Galiolus's capital city, Magnadiok, was in an upstart of fear. They would be upon the palace by nightfall.
"King Arksil, the defences must be fortified greatly, Kalith's forces are advancing fast." one of the advisors said.
"No your Highness, we must set up a trap. Deploy a cavalry regiment to the forests that surround Galiolus, and once Kalith's forces arrive, they can charge in and Kalith will find himself fighting a battle on 2 fronts."
"They're both wrong Sir! We must set up a counter-attack. Let the traitor and his men think they have the war won, and then we will strike with full force from our defences, he will be forced to retreat, we need time to gather men! Survival is the only necessity in this battle."
Arksil was growing frustrated from the constant barrages of suggestions, all of which contradicted the plans before. He stopped and turned around. "Listen, I have united Galiolus under the banner of this palace, and I will not let it fall! We will set up a fortified defence. If Kalith's forces cannot get in, they cannot sack this city, and they will not step their foul feet on this rich, pure soil!" he yelled, angrily. The advisors shrunk back now, dumbfounded by their peaceful and kind king yelling. "Yes King, your plan is indeed great, will you let us help you on the fortification strategies?" the third said, clearly unsure of the outcome of his boldness. The Commander's red face returned its tanned, golden color, and he smiled, flawless white teeth showing.
"We will need an effective siege and ranged attack while his men charge, to break up and scatter most of his forces, I would recommend placing the archers in towers, and focusing mainly on the gate because our walls our rounded so ladders will not rest on them, to prevent entry into the city. Boiling oil would also be effective at halting infantry." the shortest of the 3 said. Arksil nodded approvingly. "Once Kalith sees the siege and range massed up, he will likely rush as fast as possible to avoid unnecessary casualties. We should set a wall of fire in the front. Pour oil in a straight line in front of the castle wall, and when Kalith is about to cross the barrier, have archers with arrows set aflame ignite the oil, halting Kalith's forces, allowing maximum casualties on his side." Again Arksil nodded approvingly, but he cringed at the thought of men, even though traitors, burning alive in flame. "Eventually Kalith will secure the walls, and make it to the gates, during which he will obviously use battering rams. We must destroy the battering rams." Another advisor looked disgustingly at the previous speaker and said bitterly "And how would you suppose we do that, do you not think that Kalith will be defending the battering rams?" The advisor turned back and stated, matter-of-factly "Yes, he will be. But this is where the scalding oil will come into play, you cannot defend yourself from oil, it's a liquid. We should pour the burning oil, and then have the gate opened and a sea of soldiers will pour out, attacking the dying soldiers. They will be pushed back. Then the battering rams can be attacked and lit on fire, forcing Kalith to retreat." Again the bitter advisor questioned his plan "Do you think you will find men who will be willing to sacrifice themselves in that manner? Nobody will do it. Nobody." At this point Arksil had picked a rose off of a bush and smelled it. He sighed, and then his eyebrows into an intense curl. He turned around and looked at the men and said "I will do it. I will lead my people into the counter-attack."
i like it, its pretty cool. good story, nice set up. have u already written a 2nd chapter? is so post it, im pretty intereseted in the storty now. :w
The very nature of firearms anywhere and everywhere restrains evil interference - they deserve a place of honor with all that is good. They are the American people's liberty teeth and keystone under independence."
- George Washington
<img src='http://www.rock.com.mx/images/motorhead.JPG' border='0' alt='user posted image' />
King Arksil strode down the palace's spiral staircase, hastily yet calmly. He was led to a long corridor, where the walls were covered in paintings of great kings of the past, none of which were kind or helpful to the people, were known for their military prowess. Eleusis was never a planet of poets or bards, but of battle-hardened knights or bloodthirsty pirates and criminals, all hell-bent on the others destruction. Most of the kings of Galiolus were assassinated by treacherous foreign enemies' spys, but nobody mourned for their deaths. Everyone saw the kings demise as either a relief of a terrible burden, or a chance to rise higher to power. He reached the end of the long, narrow hallway which brought terrible and shameful memories upon Arksil's pure mind. He had always believed that eventually he would become corrupt and evil as all the other kings of history were. Arksil opened the door and entered a large foyer, decorated with fine rugs and great paintings, and a glimmering, majestic chandelier hanging from the high, marble ceiling. Straight in front of Arksil on the wall about 10 yards away, was a large mahogany double-door. He stepped toward it and opened it, and was overwhelmed by a heavy smell of sweat, spit and blood.
Before Arksil was the training grounds, where the barracks, armorys, smiths, fletchers, stables, and the wide open dirt training field, where countless soldiers had once honed their skills, was near barren. Few loyal soldiers had returned to their rightful king after Kalith's treachery. Arksil walked forth, near a large tent labeled "Officers". As he made his way to the officer's tent, infantry, cavalry, archers, spearmen, and so on bowed to him, not out of just tradition, but of pure respect. Those who had remained loyal to the king were the most dedicated, skilled soldiers of all. But Arksil still knew that this much quality could not defeat that much quantity. Kalith was a charismatic, skilled general, but his morals were far from honorable. Kalith was the youngest of two sons, and as was common during this place and time, the father favored the eldest son. Kalith grew jealous of his fathers affection, so when his older brother was sleeping one night, he went to the fields and caught a poisonous snake. He made his way back to his house, and walked up the stairs to his older brother's room and laid the snake in his bed. Later that morning Kalith was awoken by a scream. He ran upstairs, putting on a facade of surprise. When he entered the room he saw his father weeping by the bed of his brother. Kalith cried tears of lies, and his father never did favor Kalith, but spent most of his time alone drinking. "Better than having to see that father of mine spending time with him." Kalith thought.
Arksil entered the tent and in front him was a large, rectangular wooden table, with the shorter side facing the entrance. On the left side of the table sat a large, muscular, bearded man. His hair was blond like Arksil's but it was much curlier, instead of falling nearly straight down. His beard was short and well-kempt, but often the man would have greasy bread crumbs or other such items in his beard so he that could tell you everything he had for the previous meal and you'd already know. He wore dark silver armor, much similar to Arksil's but more scratched and scraped. He wore a leather headband around his head which said "Bairmul", his last name. On the right side of the table was a thinner, yet still very muscular man. His hair was short and brown. He wore a chainmal tunic and baggy brown leather pants, with plate shinguards and black boots, covered in mud. On his right hand was an archer's wristguard and and black leather gloves. He too wore a leather headband, reading "Strahoth". And at the end of the table was another man, similar in figure to Strahoth, yet with a black eyepatch over his left eye.. However his hair was paper white and he had a small goatee. He wore plate armor like Bairmul's yet it was much lighter and less scratched. His headband said "Fenmar". They were all in their late 20s yet looked like their middle 30s. They were sitting around the table drinking ale from large wooden mugs. As Arksil walked in they stopped their drinking and turned to the entrance, with fire in their eyes.
Bairmul put his ale down and stood, showing his true height. He must've been seven and a half feet tall, if not more. "King Arksil, I wish to die by your side for this battle! Let us meet that ***** Kalith with a vengeance! He will rue the day he betrayed the mightiest king of Eleusis!"
Arksil smiled grimly. "Sir Bairmul, you have always been a loyal and powerful general, as have you Strahoth, and you Fenmar. But I fear that Kalith will still have the upper hand. He and his men ride with numbers and confidence, we are without both." Bairmul then frowned, and dropped to his knees and said "What would you have me do, O king?" Strahoth and Fenmar dropped their mugs and so too dropped to their knees "Yes King Arksil, let us repel the traitor Kalith." Fenmar pleaded. Arksil motioned for them to rise. "You will play your roles, and all of them shall be glorious. Where are the officers, the others, that have not betrayed Galiolus?" Strahoth kept his humbling gaze at the dirt floor and said "They are assisting the soldiers get ready and instructing them." he said. Arksil motioned again for them to rise, this time they did so. Arksil walked to Bairmul and raised his hand high to put on his shoulder. Arksil was not a small man himself, but the giant Bairmul was much taller. "Ponjis Bairmul, you must go to the woods that lie to the east, and remain there until you see a burning arrow fly vertical, then you must charge, and only then." He turned to Fenmar and said "You must go to the west woods and do the same." Then he stepped back towards the exit of the tent. "Strahoth, when I tell to you, I need for you to shoot a burning arrow vertically with all your might, to signal for the charge." Strahoth nodded and raised his eyes to the king. "Where should I look for you king?" Arksil hesitated a moment and then met Strahoth's eyes. "On the battlefield, by the gate."
Fenmar ran forth, even though it was only five or six feet. "King! You cannot fight on the battlefield! You could be killed? Who would those still loyal to you follow? I must ask you not to participate here king! Please!" Arksil smiled weakly and stated "Fenmar, I know I will not survive this battle. If I do not lead my people in battle, they will fail, and I will die a coward's death. There might be hope if me and my personal retinue charge out. Kalith and his men will attempt to fall back once they see yours and Bairmul's attack from the woods, for their numbers will be decreased from Strahoth's men and his bow." Bairmul raised leaned down and raised his mighty double-sided axe from the bench of the table and said "I will not let you die King Arksil! As long as I have one breath left in my body I will not let you fall!" Arksil unsheathed his sword and extended it. "For the empire of Galiolus!" Bairmul extended his axe to meet his sword, as did Strahoth's bow, and Fenmar's lance. "Arksil sheathed his sword again and strode out of the tent. "Gather the troops!" he called back, his face looking at the clouds, unwavering. "Here I come Heaven" he said to himself.
Chapter 3: Kalith's March:
Lord Kalith was sitting upon a large black horse, whose tail whipping was getting on his nerves. Kalith had always been a tempermental man, and now this long, tedious march before his ascension to the throne was making him eager and impatient. Kalith was an average heighted man, about 6 feet four inches. He was possibly one of the most muscular men of all of Eleusis however, which was part of the reason nobody ever questioned his power. He had dark brown, medium length hair which fell halfway between his jaw and shoulders. His eyes were almost silver, which gave him quite an eerie daemonic look. His nose was thin and pointed and his face boney. He used to have a long beard, but he had cut it for the battle, taking every edge he could get, and now only stubble remained. He wore a near white chainmail suit, and over that he wore midnight black plate armor, with a large skull on the chest, with sapphires for eyes. On his back was a large sheath, which held his gigantic broadsword. Most men could not even lift the sword out of its sheath, yet Kalith handled it with astonishing ease and grace. Etched on the front side of the sheath were the words "Welcome Your Death" and on the back "It Will Be Your Relief". Kalith had always been cocky, and this writing was no exception to his usual demeanor. Cold, cruel, and maniacal were common things people called Kalith, and he took it as a compliment. King Arksil never trusted Kalith, but he did welcome his charisma and strength, yet ever watching of his actions, and this rebellion was no surprise. Arksil knew it would happen, but he needed Kalith to unify Magnaviok, and the inevitable took its place afterwards. Immediately after Kalith's rebellion he had the greatest smith he knew craft him a helmet. The helmet was a dark red, unlike Kalith's black armor. It had a long horizontal slit for eyeholes, and in the middle it turned vertically down to make a T-like opening in the helmet. It looked like a normal helmet, except for one feature. On the top of the helmet were two large horns which jutted out diagonally and then jutted in diagonally, and then bent back out just a little bit at the end. The horns were bone colored and sharp at the end, not meant to gore somebody, but if the opportunity arose, Kalith almost definitely would've taken it.
Kalith, the menacing looking shadow knight, and his legion of traitors and heretics marched toward Arksil's city of Galiolus. A small hooded man riding a little brown horse sped up to Kalith's left. "Lord Kalith, greatest of all men, I feel the need to discuss your current strategy with you." he said, in a whimpering voice. Kalith turned his head to him, slowly, clearly skeptical of this little man's benefit of life to Kalith. "What is it you would question?" a cold, deep voice asked through the daemonic mask. "Lord, I do not feel an all out attack would best suit us. You see, you are the greatest general ever to bless Eleusis, but even with your skill, an all-out attack against the continents most powerful city would not be wise, we mu-" Kalith grabbed his throat and said "Do you believe I am not wise?" The small man was growing purple "No...sir...I believe...you are wise..." Kalith's grip lessened "But...our strategy must...be changed..." At this moment Kalith's grip grew stronger than ever and the man felt as though he'd suffocate. Kaltih's right hand darted to his back and within a moment the man was decapitated. The whole army had watched, and Kalith now turned to them. "Let this be known! The next person who questions me will find himself in the same predicament as this man!" he yelledas he pushed the man off the horse. "You! Ride this horse! Everyone else, do not hesitate to trample this man's corspe!" he bellowed.
The man he pointed to hastily mounted the horse and slowly edged away from Kalith, fearing the advisor's fate would be his own.
After a long march, Kalith's bloodlust had grown unbearable. He craved for King Arksil's head and the power that would follow afterwards.
From behind him he heard a small, whispering voice "Kalith, I am growing thirsty..." He whirled around. "Who dares complain to me about petty thirst!?" he bellowed to his men. Everyone was silent. "Confess or I will start killing you one by one!" Everybody remained silent, looking at him as though he were crazy. Again the voice behind him "Let me drink Kalith...I wish to wet my throat." He whirled again. The whole march had come to a stand still. Nobody behind him. A lieutenant stepped forward "Lord Kalith, perhaps this long march has made you weary, do you wish rest for a little bit?" he said, daringly. Kalith pulled out a knife and in a split second threw it at the man's head, right in between his eyes. "I need no rest! We march!" he bellowed again, and they continued their march. He grew paranoid. Everyone looked at him like he was crazy. He constantly was wondering about that voice that told him it was thirsty. They must be plotting against me he thought. All of them still serve Arksil, this is just a cowardly trick that they would ally me, they're going to kill me. I won't let them, I am the greatest man alive, and not a whole army can defeat me. Kalith then came to his senses. He began to believe that maybe that lieutenant was correct, maybe he was growing tired. But that voice. It was growing thirsty.
Kalith had marched for a long time and it had grown dark. He guessed it was about one in the morning. Finally after walking on barren, desolate dirt and dead grass, he came to the city of Galiolus. It was surrounded by mountains to the east, and a uninhabitable large swamp to the north and west. The only entrance was from the south, making it a very strategic position, which was why this place was chosen for the capital city. "Kalith, I'm becoming parched, you must let me drink." Shut up, he thought. The city was alive with lights, and they were clearly prepared for the battle, or, as prepared as they ever would be. Having only about twenty percent of their mighty army, they would not pose much of a threat to Kalith's massive force. He stopped about five hundred yards in front of the castle walls and turned around. "Men, here's what role you will play. Cavalry to the right, and infantry to the left, bowmen behind both." he bellowed, the army hastily rearranged itself, each group of men getting in formation with their superior, who would then get in formation with the other leaders under their superior, who would then get in formation with his superior, and so on until they were all in perfect formation, as Kalith wished.
"Siege! Get as close as your range allows and batter their forces, aim primarily for any siege weapons they have!" he yelled. All the siege men sprinted to get into range, fearing Kalith's wrath if they didn't. Trebuchets, catapults, and ballistaes all got as close as they could to the city, and fired. Most missed, with the night time minimizing vision and their long march and fear making their hands shaky, but every now and then one would connect and destruction would be next. Not a single wall nor the main gate was destroyed, but numerous siege weapons and soldiers were killed. "I am dying Kalith, you must let me drink!" the voice said again. Kalith had grown agitated, but he knew it was just the long march, and after he got a good rest he would stop hearing that voice. It didn't make any sense. Why would it be parched and wanting to drink, it's just a voice in Kalith's head, and it does not feel anything like that. Kalith's thirst has been quenched the whole march, he always had a full canteen to drink from when he needed it. "Alright! We will charge to battle! And Arksil's head will be ours! No more shall you serve under a weak and pathetic king who does not know how to manage his own people! Let us rid the world of this disgrace! Chaaaaaaaarge!" And the massive army charged forth, cavalry advancing fast, footmen just behind, and archers nearing their firing position.
nice story dude. kalith is one crazy mofo.
post the next chapter! now! :w
The very nature of firearms anywhere and everywhere restrains evil interference - they deserve a place of honor with all that is good. They are the American people's liberty teeth and keystone under independence."
- George Washington
<img src='http://www.rock.com.mx/images/motorhead.JPG' border='0' alt='user posted image' />
yeah kalith is *****ing nuts, but every crazy ass dictator has to be insane to be cool. anyway, here it is.
Chapter 4: The Battle's End
Bairmul was covered perfectly in the woods, his men closed in the shadow behind. Fenmar was hidden in the woods to the opposite side, and Strahoth and his bowmen were picking off Kalith's forces hastily, occasionally losing an archer to enemy fire. Arksil and his personal retinue were waiting behind the solid, metal gates. Everything was going well and Kalith's forces were in full charge. If the battering rams could be destroyed before they breached the gate, Kalith would be deflected with ease, but Arksil knew this was impossible. If he broke through, Arksil would signal to Strahoth to fire the vertical flaming arrow. That would undoubtedly happen, but Arksil hoped for the best, waiting silently behind the gate. Slowly the dark clouds covered the sky. The night went very black, and lightning struck, followed shortly by a boom. It started to rain. The ground on the battlefield grew muddy in wet. "All the better." Arksil thought.
Kalith was riding at full speed, with his sword in his right hand. He turned around and screamed to the battering rams "Listen men! Wait until the path is clear to break the gate or I'll break your skull!" and then turned around back. Hails of arrow fire shot down at him, constantly banging against his hard armor, only to be deflected by his steadfastness. But the nonetheless he was getting annoyed by the clanging. Seeing the men on foot dropping every second by his side even he began to have his doubts about the welfare of this battle. "Who is leading these archers!?" he cried to nobody. A shout from behind him said "Lord Kalith! There! The man with the chainmail tunic and brown pants!" and pointed to the precise man, Strahoth. Kalith looked at him and grinned a wicked smile underneath his daemonic helm. "He's mine...Get the battering rams here now!" he yelled. The battering rams sloshed through the wet fields and mud, slipping occasionally but totally focused on their task at hand. Kalith reached on the left side of the belt as he heard a voice to the right say "Please Kalith! Let me wet my lips!" the whispering, small voice said. This angered him, his insanity was getting worse and worse, even when he thought that the joy and exuberation of battle would rid him of his schizophrenia. "Shut up!" he bellowed at the voice. "You cannot silence me with your words Kalith, only your actions." the voice replied. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" he cried again.
Strahoth heard a man cry out some words that he could not understand under the tumult of the battle and he looked over, and saw a large man with black armor on a black horse with a dark red helmet. "That's Kalith, right there, the traitor!" he yelled to the men on both of his sides as he shot an arrow at the man. It hit right on his chest, but just bounced off. "Damn it! His armor is too strong for your arrows, leave him to the swordsmen! Focus on the men...no! Focus on the battering rams! There!" Strahoth yelled. He pulled an arrow from his quiver with his right hand, placed it against the string hastily, and pulled back and released. The arrow flew at the front man carrying a battering ram with amazing speed and hit him right in neck. He flailed wildly for a second and then dropped into a large puddle of water and blood. He repeated the actions until he and a few men brought down the first of 6 battering rams. "Keep shooting the men carrying the rams! We can not let them reach the gate!" Strahoth shot another flurry of arrows at the battering rams. His squad shot hails and hails of fire, taking down 3. Strahoth pulled an arrow out of his quiver when a small knife flew at his right arm and hit him in his tricep. "Aaagh!" he yelled out and clutched his upper arm with his left hand. He looked to see who through it, it was Kalith. With Kalith's left hand he raised his helmet off and said something, but Strahoth could not hear him. Kalith put his helmet back on and quickly pulled out another knife. Strahoth too pulled out an arrow, despite the agonizing pain. They both pulled back to release their missle, and both shot at each other. Strahoth ducked behind the wall and watched the knife fly by where his head had been. Kalith stood still, and the arrow bounced off his helmet. Strahoth heard a pound on the wall and looked over the wall. Battering rams were pounding against the gate. Kalith had been a distraction.
Arksil heard a pounding on the wall right in front of him. He saw Strahoth ready to leap down, but Arksil shook his head, telling him not to. Strahoth was a brave, loyal, faithful man, and he surely would've given his life to try and stop the battering rams from breaching the gate. Instead Arksil yelled "Fire the arrow!" Strahoth nodded, and let back to shoot. He dipped his special arrow in fire, and pointed the arrow vertically. He pulled his arm back, and slowly went forward again. He clutched his arm. Arksil looked at Kalith's arm and saw it was bleeding profusely. "DAMN!" he yelled. Strahoth looked at Arksil with a look of sadness, and then determination. He pulled back with his right arm, and let go. The arrow flew straight up, and nearly reached the heavens. Strahoth fell back on the floor of the wall, and went unconscious. "Strahoth!" Arksil cried. But he knew that there was nothing he could do since Strahoth was on the wall above. He pressed his back against the wall next to the gate, and ordered his retinue to be ready to pounce out from the shattered gate, like jackals on an injured animal. The gate broke open, and Arksil leapt out, screaming. One by one he slew the traitors, the Eagle, his sword, was flying back and forth from man to man, causing screams of agony and gasps of death. This was Arksil's finest hour. He fought like an injured tiger, attacking every enemy in sight. His retinue was fighting incredibly as they could too, with the strength of at least 4 men each. "FOR GALIOLUS!" he bellowed, and leapt forth, eyes afire and intent on Kalith's wicked and sinister shadow, atop his black steed.
Bairmul sprinted as fast as he could through rain, mud, and puddles. His men were behind him, just as dedicated to reaching the king and saving him as Bairmul was. He glanced over to the woods on the opposite side and saw Fenmar carrying his giant halberd running as fast as himself. The two generals saw the arrow, and bolted from their hiding spots as fast as possible to the clamor of the battle. Bairmul screamed "Once we get to the battle, fight in my wake and make your way to the king! I said I would not let him die, and if I break that oath because of you I will have all your heads! Fight as hard as you can men, and you shall indeed prove yourself worthy in the eyes of God!" He grew closer and closer to the battle, running about 24 miles per hour, fully armored. Bairmul had always been extremely physically fit and everyone knew it, which was one of the reasons they respected him so much, but also because he was a strict general, but not a cruel one, like Kalith. The enemies were fixed on the city of Galiolus and had not noticed Bairmul's and Fenmar's approach. He was happy about this, because the traitors would be more afraid if they were suddenly attacked, and they would fall back, creating a type of domino affect in the whole army as long as they kept pushing them. He looked over to Fenmar and realized he must've been thinking the exact same thing.
Fenmar was near to the enemys, and the rain beating down had covered up their charge. Fenmar, with his halberd in his right hand leaning against his shoulder, pulled a horn from his left and blew it as he was about twenty feet behind the enemy traitors. The men turned around just in time to be cut down by his halberd, four men with one swing. He swung horizontally again and again, cutting down multiple people at a time. Fenmar always favored the halberd because of it's range and its power, able to break through the strongest armor possible. The halberd required lots of determination and training, but that was what Fenmar had. He was born premature, and his parents didnt think he would make it, but even as a baby he showed incredible determination, fighting to survive, and then even becoming a general serving under the greatest empire of Magnaviok. He swung the halberd with incredible speed and cut down another multiple people, as they tried to get out of the way but couldn't. They didn't bother using their shields. One had just before and the halberd sliced right through the shield and impaled the man, another reason Fenmar favored the halberd, a large pole with a blade on the end, which he was using to cut his way through the wave of men to get to king Arksil. "Hopefully I will in time." he thought.
The enemy had burst through the gate, just as Kalith's men broke it down. But there were not as many enemies as Kalith had thought, not nearly enough to pose a threat to Kalith and his men. But there in front of him was king Arksil, the man he despised most, and he would soon have the great power that Arksil had as king. He lifted his blade to cut down his first enemy in a long time now and he heard the voice again say "At last!" as he cut down the enemy. "Again!" the voice cried. Kalith now figured it out. It was the sword talking to him, the sword. Kalith had not lost his mind, somehow the sword was enchanted, and it had a mind of it's own. The voice was not asking for water or ale, but for blood. It was growing thirsty. Whatever the sword was saying, Kalith still appreciated it's power, for it was indeed great. It sliced through enemys as if they were air. It was effortless, even the minor fatigue he had to work with when using the large broadsword was a great burden compared to this. "See Kalith? We can work together, you and I. The more I drink the more powerful you become!" the voice said, loud and demanding now.
Arksil's kill count was now so high he had lost count, and the number of rain drops in the sky was probably close to it. His beautiful, golden armor was now crimson red, and each time he moved some would slide off, almost immediately followed by the spatter of blood that one of Arksil's victims would cause. He had made his way to Kalith, and was standing before him, breathing heavily. Although the battle was a tumult, and an ever moving, violent one at that, he had noticed no more than Kalith now, and the men around him seemed to have never existed. Kalith was sitting atop his horse, and he too had noticed Arksil as he beheaded a soldier. But Arksil was too quick, he ran forth and swung a crushing vertical blow on Kalith, who deflected it with his sword. Even though the attack was parried, the strength of it was malevolent. Kalith fell to the ground, and the back of his dark armor was now brown and red. Arksil stabbed the horse in the side, and it let out a moan and fell, blood mixing with the dark mud. Kalith rose up and held his giant sword in front of him. Arksil did so too. Arksil leapt, and struck at Kalith with inhuman speed. Kalith parried, rolled across the ground, and lunged out at Arksil. He ducked, and batted the sword to the side with The Eagle. Kalith stepped back and charged at Arksil. After trading blows for at least twenty minutes, they stood at a stand still, each one trying desperately to get a good breath. Kalith removed his helmet quickly, and tossed it to the ground. Staring wildly at Arksil, in shock that anyone could manage to stay alive against him, he began to speak. Arksil stared back.
"Arksil you dog! Why do you try, you know you will lose. Look around you, you're outnumbered, and you're weary. You're too old. You can't keep up at this pace much longer, and I know you will fall. Spare yourself the energy and just drop to your knees." Kalith spat. Arksil held out his sword "There was once a time we fought together Kalith, and now you have betrayed me. That is unforgivable, and I assure you, you will fall. Those who reject their situation find themselves in a worse one, and I guess that's true. Prepare to die, boy." Arksil said, enraged. At that remark Kalith was baffled. Nobody had ever spoken to him like that, and now this old man was questioning his power. "I'll be the true king, and you will be ashes! Ashes Arksil, Ashes!" he screamed as he charged at Arksil. The voice in his head yelled at him "Do away with this man! Kill him!". Arksil charged back. They both let down a monstrous swing, the sound of the metal of their swords crashing together was deafening. "Enough of this idiocy, Eleusis is mine!" Kalith cried as he stepped back. Arksil tripped forth, caught off guard by Kalith's retreat. Kalith seized the moment and brought his sword against Arksil's side. Arksil spat blood, and dropped The Eagle. Kalith grinned and Arksil fell to his side. Arksil's face was barren, emotionless. "You see Arksil, I am the true king of Galiolus, and this is the end for you."
Arksil's life flashed before him. An image of his father cradling him in his arms when he was young. Flash. He is running on a dirt road, a carriage is riding off, and his mother is waving to him from it. Flash. Arksil is in the church as a teen, being handed a sword. Flash. He reads a letter saying that his father was killed in battle, and his mother was not found after the funeral. Flash. Arksil is in a lone, dark room, his expression barren, like a black void. Flash. Arksil is leading men into a battle on a bright sunny day. Flash. He returns home from the battle and is praised by a man with a large, red robe and a crown on his head. Flash. Arksil is at a funeral, and afterwards he is handed a crown. Flash. Arksil is in a burning village, a boy with dark brown hair runs up to him with pleading eyes. Flash. Arksil is watching the boy train in the royal training grounds, and he is beating a soldier. Flash. The boy is older now, nearly twenty, and Arksil is inducting him as a general. Flash. Arksil and the man, mature now, are arguing. The man storms off and Arksil pleads with him to come back, but his words are unheard. Arksil sat in the mud, rain beating down on him. Kalith stepped towards him. "Well, what do you have to say old man?" he said. Arksil looked up at him. He recognized his face, it is the boy. "Kalith..." he squeezed out. He saw Kalith raise his sword. A tear rolled down Arksil's cheek. It was the first time he had ever cried. The child he had taken in and trained had betrayed him and was now looming over him, sword raised. Kalith was the last thing Arksil saw.
Strahoth had come to. His right arm was agonized in pain, and he opened his eyes to see a dark sky and rain pouring down. He lifted himself up with his left hand and gazed out over the wall. The archers were still firing constantly. He looked at the battlefield. From the front Arksil's personal retinue was beating the enemy back, amazingly. From the back Bairmul and Fenmar were beating their way through the enemy, each heading in a straight line to the gate. The gate. Strahoth looked amongst the crowd of people to find Arksil. He searched with his keen eyes for some time before he came upon him. He was lying on the ground with blood spilling out of his side. Kalith stood over him, standing triumphantly. "Noooooo!" Strahoth cried. Kalith turned around, and smiled evilly, his helmet lying in the ground. He was looking at Strahoth with incredible glee. He raised his arms and cheered. The sword he had carried was embedded in Arksil's chest. "This will not go forgotten Kalith." Strahoth said to himself. He reached to grab an arrow. He grabbed it and loaded it into his bow, unhindered by the terrible pain in his right arm. He pulled back and Kalith's eyes opened wide. He looked at his helmet, it was about ten feet away. He bolted for it. Strahoth released the arrow and it flew. Kalith picked up the helmet, then dropped it and fell back. The arrow was imbedded in his right eye. He flailed wildly and let out a bloodcurdling scream. He was bleeding terribly.
Bairmul and Fenmar had made their way to the gate. At it they found Arksil's body, his holy blood mixing with the watery mud. Bairmul knelt down beside him and looked at his face. Arksil's blond hair was brown and red, and his eyes half open. Bairmul stuck out his right hand and with two fingers closed Arksil's right eye. He stood up and looked at Fenmar, snarling. "Take Arksil to the palace. I'll deal with Kalith." he hissed. Fenmar picked up Arksil's corpse and walked through the gate, cleared of Kalith's men. He looked back at Bairmul, and their eyes met. Without words they communicated. Bairmul knew that Fenmar wanted as much to kill Kalith, but Bairmul was the stronger of the two warriors, and Arksil was a much better man to be left out in the rain and mud. Bairmul looked around for Kalith and found him clutching his right eye about fifteen feet away. He walked over to him, axe firmly in his right hand. "Kalith! You son of a bitch! Stop crying to yourself and let me avenge my king!" Kalith looked up and dropped his right hand. A hole spat out blood where his right eye had been. "You will pay for this pig!" he said. Bairmul advanced and Kalith stepped back. "RETREAT!" he cried to his men, "RETREAT!" Bairmul chased after Kalith, but Kalith knocked a man off his horse and rode off, outrunning Bairmul. "You will pay for this pig!" he yelled out again. Bairmul looked at the sword against Kalith's back. It gave off some malevolent feeling to Bairmul. But the battle was won. He raised his axe and bellowed "VICTORY!" The rain continued to pour, but it's downfall was drowned out by the cries of triumphance and the beating of the retreating force.
REPLY DAMN YOU! REPLY!
I'm not even going to bother to read it until you block paragraph it, and have each new character speech on a seperate line. No one wants to read massive blocks of text with no breaks.
"It fits like clothes made out of wasps!"