For Gorethar

For Gorethar

Late in the morning, a horn reverberates through the ears, signaling an advance. The Shaahesk's Western Force has fought through the bridge and continues its march against the allied forces. The horn tells a young warrior that it is his turn, his time now to go forward and attempt pushing the enemy force back across the bridge. Saying a prayer, he takes the blade from the scabbard on his hip and holds his shield high and tight, looking to his left and then his right with nods of confirmation to the dwarf and man on each side. With that, the small company of 75 strides forward amidst the line of Nanshi and M'Chekian forces, chanting prayers to their Lord.

Two hundred paces and the lines become clearly visible, large scaled warriors slowly slogging their way through the allied resistance, long scythes and terrible halberds cutting through elf and man alike, as smaller kobolds scramble about stabbing wildly from their low vantage points. Each side seems to give just as well as it takes, but the Shaahesks size and numbers prevail as they push through the line, with the next wave of allied resistance now just fifty yards away.

The young warriors chants of prayer swell with his brethren as they near the enemy lines, the last few of their allies ahead either laying with mortal wounds or managing to scramble back through their ranks to safety and hopefully a healing hand. The new line of forces come to a stop twenty yards out, and the chanting stops. It all goes very quiet, as the Reapers across from them regard their new foes, spittle blowing from their snouts creating the only noise. Until a familiar twanging rings out, and arrows rain down upon the lizards, even as Shaahesk bolts drill into the allied front lines. The next sounds are sounds of arrows and bolts thunking into flesh or deflecting off metal, and the screams of the dying. The dwarf to the young warriors left goes down with only a low gurgle as a bolt pierces his throat. Noise then returns in a deafening cacophony as both sides challenge their enemy with the sounds of weapons thumping the ground, banging on shields, and the yells of those carrying them.

Seconds seem to slow to minutes, until an elf down the line charges forward screaming out curses in his tongue. It sounds like a dark song, condemning the other side as he approaches their lines, his friends and allies now just a step behind him, as the lizards, a bit weary now, dig in and await their new opponents. The sounds of battle engulf the area, and to the young warrior, it seems he is right in the middle of it all.

Scythes sweep through elves at a time and halberds seem to cut men in two all around him, as he kicks a kobold from his blade as he removes it from the creature's eye, moving forward and raising his shield just in time to move a lizards blade from striking him in the chest, before spinning round and depriving it of its head with a backward strike. In the moment he takes to breathe deeply, trying not to choke on the smells of battle, he witnesses two of his brethren, a man and dwarf, working in tandem, the man deflecting a large halberd high with his greatsword as the dwarf goes low, cutting the tendons in the lizards leg with his axe, dropping it to a knee and causing its halberd to falter, allowing the man to finish the move with a downward strike to the enemy's skull. The pair then move to their next foe, as a large Reaper comes into view. But the young warrior comes back to his own predicament as two lizards charge him.

He manages to sidestep as much as he can in the mess of the melee and take one lizards leg out from him, and engages the other. He failed to miss the kobold trailing them however, and gets a dagger in the thigh for his error. Lashing out, he manages to brain the thing with the pommel of his sword, but with his defenses down the Shaahesk in front of him strikes down at his neck. He barely manages to raise his shield, but the force of the blow shatters through and sends him flying. Laying there, the lizard strides over and raises his blade high, but it never falls. The young warrior looks up to see the tandem from before, the man's blade now carrying his would be killer's blood. He reaches down to help the shaken and jarred warrior up, but is stopped by steel ripping through his chest. The dwarf turns to strike this new aggressor, but is summarily flung from the immediate area missing an arm and a leg for his trouble. A tall Shaahesk covered in blood and holding a dripping double bladed sword towers above him now, ready to finish the job. He scrambles, barely rolling to one side to avoid the first strike of the wicked sword, and manages to find his fallen brother's sword, raising it to deflect the next strike. The third however comes from a spinning of the blade, rending the flesh of his forearm and causing the blade to drop. His chest is then met with a large, breath stealing thunk as he is kicked a few feet back.

Grasping his forearm, he is surprised to see the tall lizard not striding to end him, but instead seems to be focused on something standing over him. Lolling his head back and looking up, the young warrior can't help but smile a bloody smile. Standing above him was an old dwarf adorned in battle scarred silver armor, now covered in the blood of many lizards. On his shoulder sat a large hammer, and on his breast sat the holy symbol of his Lord, Gorethar.

The dwarf only looked down at him and nodded, reassuringly, before stepping across him and charging the Shaahesk, shouting in his native tongue. The two engaged there where the lizard stood, sword against hammer, dwarf against lizard. The lizard's blade spun and jabbed at the dwarf, but nothing more than a glancing blow on his armor landed, as the old Paladin deflected the strikes with the shaft of his maul, or dodged completely. Sidestepping one strike, the warrior of Gorethar brought up the back end of the hammer, cracking it across the lizards snout and dazing it a moment. A moment was all that was needed as the hammerhead then arced down and into the legs of the enemy, cracking bones and sweeping its feet from under it, causing it to crash to the ground. It managed to barely look up from what happened before the hammer arced down again and reduced its head to an unrecognizable mess.

The young warrior felt proud watching this, but soon started to feel faint from blood loss and knew he would not last long on this field. The dwarf however returned, and laying a hand upon his head, healed his wounds and renewed his fighting vigor. Standing tall again, and taking up his fallen brother's greatsword once more, he stood to do battle anew, as the lines were holding firm now.

The old dwarf asked his name, to which his dry mouth could only barely reply, "A..Arthur, sir..of Bachwood." "Well, Arthur o' Bachwood, 's lookin t' me loike thars a lotta fightin' left t' be done," was the reply. With a short nod of his head and a "Yes, sir," young Arthur charged back into the fray alongside the one who had rallied this small company of 75 to his call, the Arch Paladin of Gorethar.

Hours later, with scores dead on both sides, word was echoing among the allies that the Western Shaahesk Force was breaking as the cavalry forces charged through their flanks. The fighting around what was left of the small company of Gorethites soon degraded into chopping down fleeing Shaahesk as they ran back across the river, but for a defiant War Leader and his retinue at the end.

With roughly 40 of their 75 brethren still standing, the young warrior Arthur and the rest of the Gorethites stood behind their Arch Paladin, and charged . Both sides, tired and bloody, crashed into each other with as much power as they could muster. Shaahesk blades rang off shields as hammers and swords alike were turned away in the melee, until defenses on both sides sagged to fatigue, and blood began to run like a river. In the thick of it, Arthur parried and slashed back with the large sword he now carried, spraying gouts of lizard blood into the air, as he himself began to falter and his brethren fell around him. Through the haze of battle, he was able to make out the Arch Paladin next to him, sweeping lizards aside with mighty blows from his legendary hammer, a gift from Gorethar himself it was said. He did not seem to slow down, as a white holy fire was now burning from his eyes, as he rained the wrath of Gorethar down upon the Aarilaxians. He disappeared into a throng of lizards with a few others as Arthur fended off another Reaper with his blade, bolstered by his Arch Paladins presence.

What seemed like hours later, though was likely only minutes, the young warrior had managed to fight his way through to the defiant Leader of this band, who was screaming madly in the lizard tongue. His lieutenant next to him answered his screams by charging forward at the young Gorethite and those around him, a gleaming halberd in his hand, he fought them all off, as impossible as it seemed, cutting down two then three, then four of Arthur's brethren. A reversal of his halberd brought the back end of it into the young man's gut and the wind was knocked from him. But again he was saved by that large hammer. Though this time it came screaming through the air, launched end over end from somewhere to the side as the old dwarf emerged battered and bloody from the still ongoing last stands. The hammer connected with the chest of the lieutenant, crushing it inward and knocking it away and to its death.

The old dwarf was charged by the large War Leader without the opportunity to recover the maul however, and was forced to meet the first flurry unarmed. Managing to dodge and then deflect the first few blows with his gauntlets, he was soon struck by a glancing blow to the shoulder, before a more solid connection to his side that sent him flying. The fighting around seemed to stop as the combatants viewed the old dwarf slowly raise to his feet, a bit broken, and wounded. From his belt he unlooped an old warhammer, and withdrew a gleaming longsword from the scabbard that has always hung, largely unused, on his left hip. Crossing them in his Lord's symbol, he bellows a "Fer Gorethar!" and charges back into the fray, as the rest of the fighting resumes. He meets the War Leader now with both weapons, deflecting blows, but taking many more as he is limited now in his ability to move. He however manages to deflect one last blow with the sword in a way to give him an opportunity, sneaking his warhammer down under the deflection to connect with the kneecap of his opponent. The knee shatters and the shaahesk falls forward, as he loops the sword back around and up, stabbing upwards as gravity brings the lizard down. The enemy dies, skull pierced from underneath and through the jaw, as the Paladin also gives in to his wounds and falls.

With the death of their commander, the rest of the shaahesk are soon routed. The surviving Gorethites cheer to victory, but are soon brought down to earth as they notice their leader has not risen. They move to where he fell and return to their camp of the previous night, carrying him with them.

When asked about his condition, their answer is simple, "He lives," but few are allowed to see him, as he is quickly spirited away to the nearest Temple.