Post by Retrograde on Dec 8, 2017 18:03:39 GMT
There's thunder in the grasslands, but the skies are clear. A great army marches, glistening in the early sun. Fog lays heavy, so much so that one can barely see their feet. The great ouroboros flies in the form of a banner, held on a gilded staff. Countless dracos hang limp, eager to flutter in the wind to show off their masters' speed. Men of many nations are here, all loyal to one empire. They call it Izhen, though in the North the name is the Ettinlands. A palanquin rises out from the middle of this great mass, from which ambitious eyes peer. There's an energy, an eagerness to begin the bloodletting.
--
From the other side, an army of horsemen rears up, watching the advance of their great enemy with rising panic. Shargad, Lord of the Getad Confederation, had been told they were great in number but he did not know there were so many people in all the world. He finds himself clinging tighter to his horse, his eyes wandering back to the men behind him. They look to him for guidance, and he finds his resolve is steeled. His men rely upon him, and he cannot let them down. His eyes swivel back to the enemy, and he grits his teeth. The oracles had told him that he was to be the Great Sun King, the one to unite the tribes of Drivishda and crush the false kings in their petty palaces. They were weak, all of them and he was blessed. He would not fail. He looked to his lieutenant, his half-brother, and nods for him to begin the assault.
It was a standard tactic. To send forward some lighter horse archers and have them pepper the enemy with arrows. The speed of their horses would allow them to retreat and drag the enemy into a slaughter. With so many tribes arrayed under him, all bearing horse and bow, he knew that he would be more than able to take these overfed fools and water the ground with their blood. The horses begin surging forward, and the uneasiness in Shargad's belly subsides.
I will win, I am destined.
--
A wry smile crosses the lips of the woman inside the palanquin. She gives an order, and one of her attendants obliges by giving the signal.
--
Raja Selay, lord of the Badri, receives the signal. He nods to his riders, and throws back his head and releases an ululating wail. The men beside him join in, before it becomes a rattling howl that fills the ears of all on the field. Light horse archers throw themselves forward, followed lancers armoured in scale coats. Their horses are similarly barded. Their hooves kick up dust behind them, and they tear across the field.
The enemy looks surprised at how quickly they make it to them. They try and turn, but arrows are loosed into their backs. The tribesmen wail and push harder, firing behind them in the Ettin style. They clearly had not expected to be facing other horse archers, but they are still more than familiar with this form of warfare. They do what they can to try and regain composure. The Lord's brother is there with them to give them strength.
--
Shargad watches, frowning. His throat is drier than it was a few minutes ago. Why was he so thirsty? Still, his half-brother is doing a good job. Steering the enemy horse archers towards him. Yet... Then, the enemy horse archers swing hard left, wrapping around his half-brother's, forcing them to turn. His eyes go wide as the enemy lancers crash. He doesn't need to get a good look. He can tell that his half-brother is dead already. He cries out to his men, and calls for them to join into the fray. He would not allow this to stop him. He was going to be the Great Sun King. None would stop him.
--
Selay smirked as he drove his lance into the belly of the commander of those horse-archers. The man was thrown from his horse by the impact of the lance charge, his belly split open. Selay lived for moments such as these. The salt of blood is thick in his mouth now, and he swallows. Once, when he was a boy, such a thing would have sickened him. Now as adrenaline seared his veins, he can only revel in the moment. He laughs, throwing himself further into the melee.
--
Shargad races forward. He can still salvage this. Yet as he runs he notices something out of the corner of his eye. The unfurling of banners. At first, he doesn't even think about it. Then, to his horror, he realizes what each banner bears. A great snake wrapped around a sun. He howled. When had this treachery happened? He watches as the arrows from what he thought were his allies sink into the horses of his honour guard. He tries to turn around, only to find himself boxed in. He howls his challenge, spitting. He would not go down easily.
He manages for a while. But his bones get tired. Sweat pours down his face. He bleeds from many places. Consciousness is going. Then, someone claps him on the head with a club. He bends, his head swimming. He feels vomit rise up from his throat. Then, he topples into darkness.
He awakens later, sitting before a palanquin. A woman sits before him, draped in finery. He glares up at him, but she only responds with a smile. She leans down and grips his face. He's amazed at how soft her hands are. He tries to struggle, but she holds him there. He's too tired to fight. He gives up and his body strains. Her smile grows broader, and slowly her hands climb up into his face. He notices she has the most beautiful golden rings on her fingers, like claws... And then she drives them into his eyes. He screams as all goes black once more.
--
Shanvi turned to the others, having a servant wash her hands for her. "Well," she says. "That went well. Hopefully, we'll be back at the old capital by no time." She looked down at the weeping mess on the ground before her, and then turned to one of her barbarian advisors. "What is he saying?"
The advisors grimaced. "Something about a prophecy. He was supposed to be the Great Sun King."
She giggled at that. "Well, that's sad." Gently, she prodded him with her foot. "Guess not all things go according to plan, hm?"
--
From the other side, an army of horsemen rears up, watching the advance of their great enemy with rising panic. Shargad, Lord of the Getad Confederation, had been told they were great in number but he did not know there were so many people in all the world. He finds himself clinging tighter to his horse, his eyes wandering back to the men behind him. They look to him for guidance, and he finds his resolve is steeled. His men rely upon him, and he cannot let them down. His eyes swivel back to the enemy, and he grits his teeth. The oracles had told him that he was to be the Great Sun King, the one to unite the tribes of Drivishda and crush the false kings in their petty palaces. They were weak, all of them and he was blessed. He would not fail. He looked to his lieutenant, his half-brother, and nods for him to begin the assault.
It was a standard tactic. To send forward some lighter horse archers and have them pepper the enemy with arrows. The speed of their horses would allow them to retreat and drag the enemy into a slaughter. With so many tribes arrayed under him, all bearing horse and bow, he knew that he would be more than able to take these overfed fools and water the ground with their blood. The horses begin surging forward, and the uneasiness in Shargad's belly subsides.
I will win, I am destined.
--
A wry smile crosses the lips of the woman inside the palanquin. She gives an order, and one of her attendants obliges by giving the signal.
--
Raja Selay, lord of the Badri, receives the signal. He nods to his riders, and throws back his head and releases an ululating wail. The men beside him join in, before it becomes a rattling howl that fills the ears of all on the field. Light horse archers throw themselves forward, followed lancers armoured in scale coats. Their horses are similarly barded. Their hooves kick up dust behind them, and they tear across the field.
The enemy looks surprised at how quickly they make it to them. They try and turn, but arrows are loosed into their backs. The tribesmen wail and push harder, firing behind them in the Ettin style. They clearly had not expected to be facing other horse archers, but they are still more than familiar with this form of warfare. They do what they can to try and regain composure. The Lord's brother is there with them to give them strength.
--
Shargad watches, frowning. His throat is drier than it was a few minutes ago. Why was he so thirsty? Still, his half-brother is doing a good job. Steering the enemy horse archers towards him. Yet... Then, the enemy horse archers swing hard left, wrapping around his half-brother's, forcing them to turn. His eyes go wide as the enemy lancers crash. He doesn't need to get a good look. He can tell that his half-brother is dead already. He cries out to his men, and calls for them to join into the fray. He would not allow this to stop him. He was going to be the Great Sun King. None would stop him.
--
Selay smirked as he drove his lance into the belly of the commander of those horse-archers. The man was thrown from his horse by the impact of the lance charge, his belly split open. Selay lived for moments such as these. The salt of blood is thick in his mouth now, and he swallows. Once, when he was a boy, such a thing would have sickened him. Now as adrenaline seared his veins, he can only revel in the moment. He laughs, throwing himself further into the melee.
--
Shargad races forward. He can still salvage this. Yet as he runs he notices something out of the corner of his eye. The unfurling of banners. At first, he doesn't even think about it. Then, to his horror, he realizes what each banner bears. A great snake wrapped around a sun. He howled. When had this treachery happened? He watches as the arrows from what he thought were his allies sink into the horses of his honour guard. He tries to turn around, only to find himself boxed in. He howls his challenge, spitting. He would not go down easily.
He manages for a while. But his bones get tired. Sweat pours down his face. He bleeds from many places. Consciousness is going. Then, someone claps him on the head with a club. He bends, his head swimming. He feels vomit rise up from his throat. Then, he topples into darkness.
He awakens later, sitting before a palanquin. A woman sits before him, draped in finery. He glares up at him, but she only responds with a smile. She leans down and grips his face. He's amazed at how soft her hands are. He tries to struggle, but she holds him there. He's too tired to fight. He gives up and his body strains. Her smile grows broader, and slowly her hands climb up into his face. He notices she has the most beautiful golden rings on her fingers, like claws... And then she drives them into his eyes. He screams as all goes black once more.
--
Shanvi turned to the others, having a servant wash her hands for her. "Well," she says. "That went well. Hopefully, we'll be back at the old capital by no time." She looked down at the weeping mess on the ground before her, and then turned to one of her barbarian advisors. "What is he saying?"
The advisors grimaced. "Something about a prophecy. He was supposed to be the Great Sun King."
She giggled at that. "Well, that's sad." Gently, she prodded him with her foot. "Guess not all things go according to plan, hm?"