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Part 2!
Though the Astrologians couldpredict the movements of the horde decades ahead of time, what they gained in foresight they lost in precision. In the grand scheme of a thousand years of battle, being a week or a month off was never truly unheard of but the window of opportunity for this attack, for the return of Sarkany to poison the fields of Coerthas, was coming to a close. Sarkany had been canonized into the enchiridion as one of Nidhogg’s commanders near nearly half a millennia ago, making the serpent at least an extra hundred years older than that. He had favored terrorizing further south than most, emboldened by relative youthfulness and fueled by the rage of his forbearers, his breath wilted the grass, choked the life out of man and crop alike and so Sarkany’s bitter bile would pour south of Skyfire Locks, cutting off the lowborne from the safety of the shelters and ruining the farmlands. Sarkany sought the blood of commoners, not of those who could fight him.
The plan was set the day theassault was divined from the heavens.Â
However, in what Orrin had begun to understand as prohibitively singleminded focus, no Astrologian could foretell that this particular assault would come after the calamity. Such an assault during the currently endless winter would be even more devastating than any that had come before and so the Holy See’s hand was forced to relay a larger, more spectacular force south: The dragonkillers at Camp Dragonhead would be calibrated southwards to prevent retreat once Sarkany overextended, the soldiers would emerge from the locks, already beneath their soft underbellies to drive their spears in and upwards. From there Sarkany and his brood would be forced further south or risk crashing against Camp Dragonhead, and men from house Durendaire would come from Whitebrim through St. Daniffen’s pass to properly close them in.
Orrin’s role was to cut throughfrom the south, ignore all others and go for the monster himself. This was nearly standard procedure, Dragoons were best used strategically, bringing down the more troublesome and aged dragons so the footmen could stay and fight, nothing emboldened men than seeing several centuries old lives extinguished, struck down from the sky in righteous judgement. However this time, Orrin was to act alone, not with a squad or even bolstering an existing one, it was his responsibility alone to ensure Sarkany choked on its own poisoned breath. Given an opportunity for glory? Ordered to die? Neither made sense to him. No lord would give over the glory of slaying such a beast to the Mutt of Ishgard of all men. Nor had he knowledge of whom would see him to troublesome to be kept alive especially at his age, none others than those that saw Ser Aymeric as an obstacle and Orrin thought them all too craven to ever be able to act against the Lord Commander. Regardless, the rage that hadboiled within his blood from the result of the moons long campaign in the shroud could finally find chance to be quenched by the blood of a dragon he found truly reprehensible, one that razed villages just like the one he was found in.
Orrin walked along the pathwestward of Fallgourd, into the dead and razed ground that even the elementals could not breath life back into again. Even so, he knew the Dragons avoided the shroud even now, either in fear, or accordance with the elemental’s whims. He figured that it would be another bell’s march before he would hear even a hint of the battle. His footsteps carried him northwards, the dead granite mixing with scattered patches of snow.
Kshhhhht…Ser..Ha…†his linkshellpinged again, amongst the static came screams of death and carnage “Wou….-ushed..back!†The aether garbled the message, his movement quickened in hopes of getting a better signal “Fleeing south! Towards you!â€
Orrin’s attention is quicklycalled to the flap of leathery wings and a deafening roar. He draws his weapon and his eyes instantlydraw heavenward By the Fury, the creature is to seek shelter so far south? The heavy forked lance held at the ready, he breaks into a sprint. This would be troublesome, he had hopes to catch Sarkany amidst the chaos and strike from the flank or behind, but this meant he had duty to fight the commander head on. It drew into view now, the blackened silhouette against the azure skies taking more definite form. It was low to the ground, the flapping of its wings favoring one side over the other and protesting howls of anguish and rage would echo through the valley that linked the highlands to the Northern Shroud. The figure changed direction and dived at him. It was a near streak of light, the massive form of the dragon spiraling down at him like a loosed arrow, all the while unleashing a fluorescent, greenish ichor from its maw. Orrin plants his foot and pushes off to dive to the side but the sheer impact of Sarkany with the ground tossed Orrin onto his back a few feet further from where he intended to land.
Orrin is left with his earsringing, head rattled within his helm. He had the empty sky in full view, how many must have witnessed that sight before they breathed their last. He gasps for air and his lungs and nose burned. The impact kicked up the snow and dirt of the borderland and clouded the battlefield. He rolls onto his belly, curling onto hands and knees, coughing into the mouth guard, the sound of blood or phlegm or something smattering against the inside. He heard rumbling footfalls and the batting of wings. Get up, Hells damn you, get up. His hands grip the haft of his weapon and he drives the back end into the blackened soil and pulls himself up with it. What little greenery, like lichens and mosses that dotted the ground were browning, wilting, submerged in the thin green blanket of poisonous gas that came up to Orrin’s ankles. His gaze turns to the impact crater made by the dragon’s dive bomb.
The dirt and snow began to settleand so Orrin would get to witness the half-millennium old dragon for the first time. The unblinking red eyes of his visor hid his surprise. The Enchiridion described the Sarkany as an unholy terror, whose visage was as poisonous as his breath, claws wrought from steel, but even its flowery depiction failed in properly capturing what he saw approaching him. It stood upon two legs, like a wyvern, but its gait was more humanoid than that. Also, unlike a wyvern, the creature’s wings, one tattered and torn, were folded upon its back as opposed to being draped beneath its arms. The claws seemed to be elongated to lance-point, far too big to be walked upon. It stood tall, thrice as high as Orrin and many more times as thick, upon its shoulders writhed a myriad of heads that moved like the mane of tentacles upon a morbol’s maw. Each rise and fall of the dragon’s chest forced a puff of noxious gas from the mouths of all its heads, save one that was firmly planted at the center, glaring at the oddly garbed dragoon that fought to stand back on his two feet.
It raised its two massive clawsto either side and tossed all its heads back in what could called a chortle. Orrin readied his weapon, body aching, strength draining. Aye, death here would be fitting for one such as him, he let out a cry and charged, each step kicking up the low hanging fog at his feet, cutting a swath through it towards the beast. He strikes.
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((News of tainted ground near thenorth of the shroud could be heard among the chattering of hearers and wailers, the area dead and brown, blood soaked into the soil. I didn't want to bum this page of an entire, lengthy combat scene))
Though the Astrologians couldpredict the movements of the horde decades ahead of time, what they gained in foresight they lost in precision. In the grand scheme of a thousand years of battle, being a week or a month off was never truly unheard of but the window of opportunity for this attack, for the return of Sarkany to poison the fields of Coerthas, was coming to a close. Sarkany had been canonized into the enchiridion as one of Nidhogg’s commanders near nearly half a millennia ago, making the serpent at least an extra hundred years older than that. He had favored terrorizing further south than most, emboldened by relative youthfulness and fueled by the rage of his forbearers, his breath wilted the grass, choked the life out of man and crop alike and so Sarkany’s bitter bile would pour south of Skyfire Locks, cutting off the lowborne from the safety of the shelters and ruining the farmlands. Sarkany sought the blood of commoners, not of those who could fight him.
The plan was set the day theassault was divined from the heavens.Â
However, in what Orrin had begun to understand as prohibitively singleminded focus, no Astrologian could foretell that this particular assault would come after the calamity. Such an assault during the currently endless winter would be even more devastating than any that had come before and so the Holy See’s hand was forced to relay a larger, more spectacular force south: The dragonkillers at Camp Dragonhead would be calibrated southwards to prevent retreat once Sarkany overextended, the soldiers would emerge from the locks, already beneath their soft underbellies to drive their spears in and upwards. From there Sarkany and his brood would be forced further south or risk crashing against Camp Dragonhead, and men from house Durendaire would come from Whitebrim through St. Daniffen’s pass to properly close them in.
Orrin’s role was to cut throughfrom the south, ignore all others and go for the monster himself. This was nearly standard procedure, Dragoons were best used strategically, bringing down the more troublesome and aged dragons so the footmen could stay and fight, nothing emboldened men than seeing several centuries old lives extinguished, struck down from the sky in righteous judgement. However this time, Orrin was to act alone, not with a squad or even bolstering an existing one, it was his responsibility alone to ensure Sarkany choked on its own poisoned breath. Given an opportunity for glory? Ordered to die? Neither made sense to him. No lord would give over the glory of slaying such a beast to the Mutt of Ishgard of all men. Nor had he knowledge of whom would see him to troublesome to be kept alive especially at his age, none others than those that saw Ser Aymeric as an obstacle and Orrin thought them all too craven to ever be able to act against the Lord Commander. Regardless, the rage that hadboiled within his blood from the result of the moons long campaign in the shroud could finally find chance to be quenched by the blood of a dragon he found truly reprehensible, one that razed villages just like the one he was found in.
Orrin walked along the pathwestward of Fallgourd, into the dead and razed ground that even the elementals could not breath life back into again. Even so, he knew the Dragons avoided the shroud even now, either in fear, or accordance with the elemental’s whims. He figured that it would be another bell’s march before he would hear even a hint of the battle. His footsteps carried him northwards, the dead granite mixing with scattered patches of snow.
Kshhhhht…Ser..Ha…†his linkshellpinged again, amongst the static came screams of death and carnage “Wou….-ushed..back!†The aether garbled the message, his movement quickened in hopes of getting a better signal “Fleeing south! Towards you!â€
Orrin’s attention is quicklycalled to the flap of leathery wings and a deafening roar. He draws his weapon and his eyes instantlydraw heavenward By the Fury, the creature is to seek shelter so far south? The heavy forked lance held at the ready, he breaks into a sprint. This would be troublesome, he had hopes to catch Sarkany amidst the chaos and strike from the flank or behind, but this meant he had duty to fight the commander head on. It drew into view now, the blackened silhouette against the azure skies taking more definite form. It was low to the ground, the flapping of its wings favoring one side over the other and protesting howls of anguish and rage would echo through the valley that linked the highlands to the Northern Shroud. The figure changed direction and dived at him. It was a near streak of light, the massive form of the dragon spiraling down at him like a loosed arrow, all the while unleashing a fluorescent, greenish ichor from its maw. Orrin plants his foot and pushes off to dive to the side but the sheer impact of Sarkany with the ground tossed Orrin onto his back a few feet further from where he intended to land.
Orrin is left with his earsringing, head rattled within his helm. He had the empty sky in full view, how many must have witnessed that sight before they breathed their last. He gasps for air and his lungs and nose burned. The impact kicked up the snow and dirt of the borderland and clouded the battlefield. He rolls onto his belly, curling onto hands and knees, coughing into the mouth guard, the sound of blood or phlegm or something smattering against the inside. He heard rumbling footfalls and the batting of wings. Get up, Hells damn you, get up. His hands grip the haft of his weapon and he drives the back end into the blackened soil and pulls himself up with it. What little greenery, like lichens and mosses that dotted the ground were browning, wilting, submerged in the thin green blanket of poisonous gas that came up to Orrin’s ankles. His gaze turns to the impact crater made by the dragon’s dive bomb.
The dirt and snow began to settleand so Orrin would get to witness the half-millennium old dragon for the first time. The unblinking red eyes of his visor hid his surprise. The Enchiridion described the Sarkany as an unholy terror, whose visage was as poisonous as his breath, claws wrought from steel, but even its flowery depiction failed in properly capturing what he saw approaching him. It stood upon two legs, like a wyvern, but its gait was more humanoid than that. Also, unlike a wyvern, the creature’s wings, one tattered and torn, were folded upon its back as opposed to being draped beneath its arms. The claws seemed to be elongated to lance-point, far too big to be walked upon. It stood tall, thrice as high as Orrin and many more times as thick, upon its shoulders writhed a myriad of heads that moved like the mane of tentacles upon a morbol’s maw. Each rise and fall of the dragon’s chest forced a puff of noxious gas from the mouths of all its heads, save one that was firmly planted at the center, glaring at the oddly garbed dragoon that fought to stand back on his two feet.
It raised its two massive clawsto either side and tossed all its heads back in what could called a chortle. Orrin readied his weapon, body aching, strength draining. Aye, death here would be fitting for one such as him, he let out a cry and charged, each step kicking up the low hanging fog at his feet, cutting a swath through it towards the beast. He strikes.
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((News of tainted ground near thenorth of the shroud could be heard among the chattering of hearers and wailers, the area dead and brown, blood soaked into the soil. I didn't want to bum this page of an entire, lengthy combat scene))