Avshar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
princeofskotos) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
imperial_stage2012-04-30 01:07 pm
princeofskotos) wrote in imperial_stage2012-04-30 01:07 pm
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.
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.
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Thousands and thousands of small biting flies, normally a minor nuisance of the battlefield, descended. A man in a pitched swordfight would be distracted at a key moment by a sudden bite on his neck or fly in his eye only to get skewered. A horse bitten in a sensitive spot would panic, leaving the rider too focused on controlling his mount to notice the enemy coming for his head. And somehow, the flies seemed to completely ignore the nomads in favor of their Dagarian foes.
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Perhaps he should send Loken a message, voicing his concerns? Though Mitchell wasn't certain if the man had shared his concerns or not.
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"Damn blowflies." Loken snarls, raising his bolter to send a burst of magically destructive energy into the first rank of the horsemen as he advances with his "Turtle", the formation resistant, if not immune to the hail of arrows, several men lying wounded or dead as the rest of the formation marches around or even over them, suggesting the piercer arrows are having SOME effect.
"30 more yards and into them!" He brandishes his chainsword.
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He was told to wait for his orders and he would do as told, no matter how much it irked him. Hurry up and unleash his horde, Angel of Death.
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"INTO THEM." Loken bellowed, clamping his bolter to his leg, and charging headlong into the now-bombarded mass of cavalry, shoulder-charging a pony so hard that the skull bursts like a melon, and following up with a sawing motion that evicerates the rider. "Gladius and knives now! For Dagaria, for the Rose empress, and for humanity!"
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"FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR OF MANKIND!"
With a loud roar, they charged, not caring that their enemy was mounted. Sure in their faith, their lack of armor wasn't even a determent from their charge.
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Oh, they died by the droves but for every one that fell, two more stepped up in place, climbing over the corpses of their comrades. If they couldn't plunge their primitive weapons into horses, they climbed up to drag down the riders, fanaticism burning sharply in their eyes.
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They also made way for a trio of twelve foot tall black beasts. They walked on four squat legs that resembled nothing so much as those of a gorilla, and yet had another pair of arms that ended in massive claws like those of a lobster. The demons bellowed in unison as they lumbered at the legionaires.
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Loken growls as arrows pierce his men through, downing Legionares, beastmen, and cultists with equal abandon, and then he sees the demons striding towards them.
"Throne..." He growls, "Fall back. Now. Reform at 300 paces. This is my fight."
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Her eyes first dart around the battlefield, assessing the enemy and assuring the fact that she's standing far away from any Sawan troops. Once she's sure of that, she turns to address Garviel.
"Well, 'Cerberus', I'd say it's time for that favor I offered you, don't you agree?" Archer says with a smirk, drawing a sword.
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They beelined towards the two of them, roaring a challenge and batting aside or crushing underfoot any ordinary human that got in their way.
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He raises his bolter, unleashing a torrent of explosive magical bolts down range, cartridges of Belkan make spiraling out of the shell ejector in a brass rain.
"And honor." He brandishes his chainsword in response to the Demons' challenge, and stands beside Signum.
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With that, she launches herself forward in a flight-assisted countercharge, sword slashing at the first of the demons and smashing back its clawed appendages.
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And then they reached the heroic spirits, and anything resembling strategy went out the window, replaced by instinct and trained reactions. The demons are far faster than their large size would suggest, snapping at limbs with lightning fast speed.
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Concentrate on offense, you have the mobility advantage here. I'll do my best to keep their ire occupied.
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Then the pressure lessened as one of them lost an entire arm to Archer's sudden flanking assault. It switched its focus to the woman, letting up the pressure on Berserker.
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"You misbegotten spawn of darkness, die!"
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Now that she has the demon's attention, Archer loads a Cartridge into her sword and invokes its first Noble Phantasm. Pausing for but a brief second in the face of the attack, Archer waits for an opening and intones "Fiery blade - SHIDEN ISSEN!"
As the demon's remaining claw strikes down at her, Archer charges inside its reach at blinding speed, cutting and charging through the demon itself, or so it appears, trying to cut it apart with one strike of her fiery, mana-charged Noble Phantasm.