01-21-2018, 01:52 AM
Two armies clashed as one’s commander was nowhere to be seen - a leaderless disgrace. It was cowardly of their leader to not march into battle with their men Artoria thought as she was forced to leap off of her steed. Hengroen would die today, a necessary sacrifice that she hated every second of the way. It was necessary for her to be the very first in the fray today.
For if she wasn’t, her men wouldn’t have followed her. Today, her leadership was the only thread holding the loyalty of her army together. Should their king be perceived as a coward, they would simply turn their blades.
Rhongomyniad found its mark, skewering some poor soul as the King of Knights rolled into the already-trampled grass. Her shining armour no longer quite as shiny as specks of dirt landed upon it, the King unleashed her power. The lance shone golden as her thrusts found their marks one after another, forcing her sword-clad adversaries to retain their distance or receive a lethal wound from the holy lance.
Occasionally, Artoria allowed the lance to cleave before her, sweeping away multiple knights at once. Of course, this was a battle of numbers. And eventually, the advantage of sheer numbers overwhelmed the reach advantage of the lance. The knights crept closer ever so slowly, each one replaced with another as they fell.
“Foward!” the lion king roared, even as her eyes caught the sword coming to claim her crown. Her fingers unwrapped from the hilt of Rhongomyniad as she left it into the poor sod who’d been unfortunate enough to be in the receiving end of the holy relic as her hand went for Excalibur.
In a flash the king drew her golden blade as the sword clanged into her shoulder. Her armour held as she struck the man down, unleashing a flurry of quick cuts toward any who were brave enough to place themselves within her sword’s reach.
“Drive them back!” she bellowed to her companions as the before her knights fell. With a quick yank the woman retrieved her lance, leaving Excalibur into the miscreant whose life it had claimed. Much akin to a spear, the woman hurled the lance into the crowd of adversaries before her. Rhongomyniad thundered as it flew, eating through the armour and flesh of several knights, before the armament was lodged into the hill.
“Gh..!” the knight groaned in pain as she swung her gauntlet toward the unfortunate soul who’d managed to find a gap in her armor, leaving a delightful cut into her calf. Up until now, her armour had warded off most blows, at best her cloth-decorations caught by blade and spear alike. With a quick step forward the knight affirmed that for now, she was ‘merely’ bleeding. Of course, would she not tend to it, even such a minor wound would eventually be her demise.
Yet the King could see the hilltop within mere meters.
FOR CAMELOT!
The red dragon of Britain bellowed, her voice reinvigorating those around her with new fervor and hope. Their King was with them and they wouldn’t fall to such treachery. Camelot would be theirs, only if they fought for it.
And so they pushed forward. Soldier by soldier, meter by meter. Until finally, the frontline stood atop the hilltop.
“No…” she whispered. In the distance, Artoria could see the one thing she had dreaded to witness. Smoke arose from beyond the walls of the castle, the surrounding town oft joining with its own clouds of smoke. Camelot was burning.
And honestly? There were barely a dozen men left for her to rely on. And even if the traitors of Camelot were not doing much better...
They were fighting for the ruins of a fallen kingdom.
For if she wasn’t, her men wouldn’t have followed her. Today, her leadership was the only thread holding the loyalty of her army together. Should their king be perceived as a coward, they would simply turn their blades.
Rhongomyniad found its mark, skewering some poor soul as the King of Knights rolled into the already-trampled grass. Her shining armour no longer quite as shiny as specks of dirt landed upon it, the King unleashed her power. The lance shone golden as her thrusts found their marks one after another, forcing her sword-clad adversaries to retain their distance or receive a lethal wound from the holy lance.
Occasionally, Artoria allowed the lance to cleave before her, sweeping away multiple knights at once. Of course, this was a battle of numbers. And eventually, the advantage of sheer numbers overwhelmed the reach advantage of the lance. The knights crept closer ever so slowly, each one replaced with another as they fell.
“Foward!” the lion king roared, even as her eyes caught the sword coming to claim her crown. Her fingers unwrapped from the hilt of Rhongomyniad as she left it into the poor sod who’d been unfortunate enough to be in the receiving end of the holy relic as her hand went for Excalibur.
In a flash the king drew her golden blade as the sword clanged into her shoulder. Her armour held as she struck the man down, unleashing a flurry of quick cuts toward any who were brave enough to place themselves within her sword’s reach.
“Drive them back!” she bellowed to her companions as the before her knights fell. With a quick yank the woman retrieved her lance, leaving Excalibur into the miscreant whose life it had claimed. Much akin to a spear, the woman hurled the lance into the crowd of adversaries before her. Rhongomyniad thundered as it flew, eating through the armour and flesh of several knights, before the armament was lodged into the hill.
“Gh..!” the knight groaned in pain as she swung her gauntlet toward the unfortunate soul who’d managed to find a gap in her armor, leaving a delightful cut into her calf. Up until now, her armour had warded off most blows, at best her cloth-decorations caught by blade and spear alike. With a quick step forward the knight affirmed that for now, she was ‘merely’ bleeding. Of course, would she not tend to it, even such a minor wound would eventually be her demise.
Yet the King could see the hilltop within mere meters.
FOR CAMELOT!
The red dragon of Britain bellowed, her voice reinvigorating those around her with new fervor and hope. Their King was with them and they wouldn’t fall to such treachery. Camelot would be theirs, only if they fought for it.
And so they pushed forward. Soldier by soldier, meter by meter. Until finally, the frontline stood atop the hilltop.
“No…” she whispered. In the distance, Artoria could see the one thing she had dreaded to witness. Smoke arose from beyond the walls of the castle, the surrounding town oft joining with its own clouds of smoke. Camelot was burning.
And honestly? There were barely a dozen men left for her to rely on. And even if the traitors of Camelot were not doing much better...
They were fighting for the ruins of a fallen kingdom.
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