Raleigh the Spirit in the Shadow of Victory

Discussion in 'Halidom of Ylisse' started by Knight_of_G, Mar 7, 2015.

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  1. Squishy

    Squishy tl;dr this is all, still, toko's fault admin

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    The two sides of combatants clashed together, the sound of steel ringing against steel filling the air, as well as battlecries and shouts of anger. Alaine soon engaged what appeared to be one of their leaders, drawing his attention away from Gilbert and allowing a smaller part of the group to push through to the tower gates.

    Gilbert stood his ground, brandishing his glaive with the finesse he had been trained in since he had been a boy. All thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind, thinking only of their goal: capturing whoever led this fortress and reclaim it for Ylisse. A lancer charged at him, trying to get at the Lord with a feint attack, but Gilbert managed to duck under his blow and respond with a slash of his glaive. The blade of the weapon caught the lad on the arm, freezing his sleeve solid against his skin.

    The doors at the bottom of the tower were left ajar, its guards having joined the battle outside. With a quick glance, Gilbert counted how many knights had made it with him. Not as many as he’d liked, the others caught up in holding off the force of guards outside. Still, the small group gathered around him would do.

    “Inside, now! We have to reach the top!”

    As soon as she had pushed the door open, the soldier next to Gilbert was blown backwards by an enormous fireball hitting her in the chest. She hit the ground with a thud, armour and helmet charred black. More fireballs rained down, causing panic amongst the fighters and raising clouds of dust wherever they struck the ground.

    “Be on your guard! Shields up!”

    Soon enough, their assailants showed themselves. Once the dust had settled, Gilbert saw two people standing at the bottom of the stairwell. One was a slender man, perhaps a little short, dressed in a long sheer robe and animal mask. The other was what must have been the tallest woman Gilbert had ever seen. Black hair framed one side of her face battle-marred face, the other side shorn short. A wicked grin split her face as she hefted an enormous axe over her shoulder.

    “Burn the men.” She said. “I’ll crush the lordling.”

    The mage nodded once, a sly smile curling his lips. Then, all hell burst loose. With a mere flick of his wrist, another volley of fireballs crashed into Gilbert and his group, the knights only barely managing to raise their shield in time. Battle erupted around them, archers appeared at the top of the stairs only to add to the chaos.
  2. Cloud

    Cloud friend admin

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    Targus' eyes were focused onto the... strategist? Tactician? As he turned around, seeming to head for one of the spires near them. "No you don't," Targus thought to himself, quickly closing the distance between himself and the pompous asshole that had just called him -- him, Targus von Cornwall, of all people! -- worthless. Fury burned within him like a fire on a dark night. "Sir!" He called to the Tactician again, just behind him.

    "If you don't--" he began to scream, turning around to face the shining bronze of Targus' blade. With one quick movement, a lengthy gash trailed down the Tactician's torso, easily cutting through whatever dress garments he'd been wearing. "You-- you're not one of my men, are you?" He spat, drawing his own blade from his side. It was shiny and well-made, unlike the dull bronze saber that Targus held in his right hand. The Tactician charged forward, before being wracked by pain spreading throughout his body. It felt like his organs were on fire. "What have--" He coughed up an unhealthy amount of blood.

    "What have you done to me," Targus toned in, clearly mocking the man's weak voice. "Well, see champ, the beauty of having such a shitty sword on my person at all times is just that. It's a shitty sword. Want to know something else? I find it to be of a certain brand of humour, as I'm sure you'll agree. See here, this sword is actually so shitty that it poisons whoever it injures. Kind of ingenious, honestly. I'm not even sure how you can be so bad at making swords, but it happened!" He noticed the man dragging out a book. "Ah, ah, ah, not so fast!" He hacked downwards at the man's hand, chopping three of his digits off with ease. "See, the... poison? Whatever you'd like to call it. It's pretty fast acting stuff, and right now, I'd bet you're heart's going a million beats a minute... You'll be dead in no time, regardless of what I do. Thankful for you, though, I have kind of a thing for this, now that I've done it a couple times."

    What's done was done, with something resembling ease, in fact. After he managed to surprise the Tactician-- and get the poison spreading through him-- he had lost most of his energy, and now lay dead on top of the battlements that several of his archers -- now also dead, Targus noticed -- had descended from. With no one to continue ordering around the grunts, they'd wind up dead and disoriented pretty quickly. At least, Targus had hoped so-- then that freak Mage started throwing around fireballs and frying everybody. "Damn it. It was almost a clean run, too." He knew no one really cared for the small guys, the regular soldiers and stuff. Or maybe they did. It didn't matter to him, too much-- but the Lordling had already stepped up to the Mage, and his Amazoness of a spouse. He closed in to the fighting too, noting that Gilbert -- who used a glaive -- was in danger of being overwhelmed by the Fighter. The weapon triangle sure was a bitch and a half, but there was nothing any of them could do about it for now.

    This was mostly because Archers were still lining the stairway. He thought they were a nuisance at best-- but, because they were just within the range of Gilbert, that gave them some essence of real danger as well. He came in real close to an archer who already had an arrow nocked, before pressing his blade to his back and leaning in to his ear. "You're looking real pretty today," he said. The Archer, eyes wide, suddenly loosed his arrow at the feeling of the blade in his back. It flew and landed squarely in the Mage's arm.

    He looked at it like it was a mild annoyance, before laying eyes on the most nervous Archer in the crowd of enemies. Another fireball blasted towards the Archer, with Targus pushing him forward and leaping to the ground. "Shit," he muttered to himself, looking around at the battlefield. There was still a lot of fighting going at the gate-- but Gilbert needed whatever help he could get here. If Gilbert could distract the Fighter for long enough, maybe... Yeah. That would work, but he got the feeling that they were far out of his own skill range. Instead of trying to help (and probably getting himself killed), he decided that the best way to help would be to start crushing the mooks around them. Besides, after they were gone, the rest of the Halidom's troops would be able to focus on the Fighter and the Mage.
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