imperial_stage | The Battle for the Capital

Who: Avshar and warriors from everywhere in the Empire
What: All the kingdoms of Dagaria gang up to tear Avshar down from the throne.
Where: Directly outside the Imperial City
Warnings: Violence, blood, death, etc

[The night before the final battle]

The various kingdoms of Dagaria have, for once, put aside their differences to march on the Capital and take down Avshar. The two armies are close enough that if you climb up a hill in the Dagarian Encampment, you can see the thousands of camp fires of Avshar's army in the distance. The nomads aren't letting you get any sleep either. Occasionally one of them will wheel his horse just out of bowshot range to shout insults or even to just give wordless shrieks of hate. Even more distracting, though, is the drums. Somehow their sound is traveling all the way here, in an endless one-two beat like the heart of a demented god. It may not be enough to distract hardened determined warriors of fame, but among common rank and file, tensions are high and men are nervous. It's also very difficult to sleep.

[The morning of the battle]

Contrasting the grim business of the day, the sun is out shining merrily, and there isn't a cloud in the sky. If anything, it looks like today is going to be uncomfortably warm.

The two armies are lined up. Avshar's forces formed in a mostly disorganized swarm, anchored on one flank by a series of forested hills that were difficult to get through, and by the ruin of a small fort that had a few archers and a large dart thrower stationed in it. The army is slightly larger than the forces arrayed against it, and there are various demonic creatures spaced throughout it, but overall it looks like the average quality of troop may be a bit lower than the opposition.

Avshar himself is leading from the very center of his army, beneath a large battle standard of Skotos' emblem. The Standard waved back and forth three times, and the army came to a halt. You can dimly hear Avshar's voice in the distance. He appears to be giving a speech to his men to raise morale right before the fight.

If any of you want to do the same thing or make any last minute confessions, now is the time to do it.

[The battle!]

Avshar's cavalry flowed towards the Dagarian army like a tide. As they got into bow range, the nomads abruptly turned aside in a huge confusing mess that none the less seemed controlled somehow. As they turned, they started firing arrows, emptying quivers as fast as they could into the Dagarian forces in a deadly hail of needle pointed arrows. Occasionally a band of Nomads would run closer to unleash a few heavier arrows that were more suited for piercing heavy armor. Thus was the battle style of the steppe nomads. Eventually arrows ran low and scimitars came out, flashing in the sun, as the nomads charged in for melee range. What their fighting lacked in military precision, it made up for in sheer ferocity.

Avshar himself stood at the back of the army for now, considering his options. He had some truly horrifying spells he knew, but if he devoted too much power to a single spell and it somehow failed, he might be in trouble. Eventually he nodded to himself, coming to a decision. Let it be something minor, for now. The Dagarians would surely see it as the forerunner of something greater and more terrible. It will make them nervous. He reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a tarot card. "For thine gifts, Skotos, I thank thee."

He crushed the card in one hand and started chanting. As he did, the card burned in a blue flame until nothing was left in his hand. An almost imperceptible wave of force spread across the entire battle, multiplying the power of any magician present. Avshar himself, at the card's focal point, was no exception.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Think I'd be a little more put out than you, but sure. I'll do my best, cap'n." Levin glances out towards the campfires of the enemy.

"Where do ya think he even dug 'em all up?"

"Would that I knew, I'd find the source and cut his access off at the source." He looks to the nomads for a moment, "His human followers, at least, are mostly from the outlands. Pony-people, specializing in mounted archery. I've fought them before and sent a spy after their information."

"Pretty darn sure there aren't even that many people in Dagaria, let alone pony-country." Levin chuckles and shakes his head a little.

"Don't you go dying now, either. Who'll give the rousing speeches if we lose ya?"

"Someone better suited to making them, no doubt. My humor by nature is phlegmatic, but a war-captain must sometimes play up bravura to inspire his men, particularly if he is dealing with a mixed bunch and not everyone is a professional soldier."

"You need a handkerchief?" Levin queries blankly for a few moments before laughing again at his own terrible jokes.

"What do you show to the world? Isn't that what's important in the end? Your men will remember you as inspiring and bold, no matter what you really think. So, you're the best speecher we've got, even if you're just faking it. That's the way it works sometimes."

"I don't like showing a false face."

"It's not."

Levin seems thoughtful for a few moments. "Well. Maybe it is. But sometimes, there's nothing wrong with being something you're not for a while."

"So you say."

He pauses, for a moment, and asks Levin.

"If we win, how will history remember us, do you think?"

"Epic heroes. They'll call you the Hellhound and sing about how your roars bring the enemy to their knees."

Levin nods in self-affirmation.

"I know because I already wrote the songs."

"You would do that, wouldn't you?"

Garviel snort with amusement.

"No good being a bard if you can't change history the way you want it. You'll grow wings and fly before I'm done with ya."

"Leave that to the sons of Sanguinius. I was never happy with being called an Angel of Death."

"...Yeah, the only wings that'd lift you up would be a roc's." Levin shrugs.

"So. I should probably be askin' you about your strategy or something, right?"

"Find the demons. Fix them in place. Kill them all, and scatter the horse-nomads. Trample Avshar's banner into the dirt whilst the actual heroes and paladins of this land slay him."

"Fix them in place? You mean engage 'em long enough to stop 'em from movin' out? And what's the point of getting the banner again?"

"Yes, that is precisely what I mean. And as for casting down the banner, I intend to break the morale of his cultists, of course."

"Cerberus. ...You're the only kind of guy who cares about whether or not a banner is still standing. His cultists have been following Skotos for centuries; pretty sure a ripped banner won't make a difference to 'em."

"We shall see about that."

Levin shakes his head with a smile and sighs. "Do what you want. ...You want me to just take out the banner before we even start?"

"No, that would defeat the purpose. We must be seen to cast it down. It is an issue of morale."

"Alright, alright." Levin laughs a little. "You've got some weird priorities, Cerbs. Any commands you want to give yours truly, then?"

"Yes. Don't die. Tomorrow will bring more than enough martyrs."

"We went over that already. I'll die when I'm good and ready to die." Levin stands and stretches a little.

"Won't be for a while, I'm afraid... Too bad for Avshar."

"Too many songs to sing and women to bed for you, I'd expect."

"Please, Cerberus." Levin looks affronted. "I've got more than a hundred wines to go before I've tasted every vintage in Dagaria."

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