[b][u]Gorgon, The Swamp of Sorrows[/u][/b]
They were tired and weary; they just wanted out of this damn swamp. They longed to get to the city gates and get home to their own beds. Patrolling the swamps was the worse placement a guard could get; it meant going out for days at a time to patrol and try to find the group of guerrilla fighters that were fighting back against King Thomas Briar. A lot of patrols came back damaged and missing men, men who died at the end of the swords and arrows of the rebels. Sometimes, the patrols would come back with a few heads of the rebels to put on the pikes next to Arthur Blackwater’s head. 

It all depended on if the rebels could get the drop on them, if they had enough cover, and if they had Lucien Blackwater or the heavily armored fighter with the green feather on his helmet. Those two usually turned the tide of the fight, especially when they used their magic against them. Lucien could sway their minds with illusions, and his armored friend could use curses on them.

A guard near the back of the procession turned his tired gaze to the left slightly and saw a stump halfway sunk into the ground with the carcass of a deer rotting next to it in the swamp. He turned back to the right, his gaze more alert and spoke to the man marching, more like sleepwalking, next to him.

“Am I crazy, or have we passed that same stump before?”

“Don’t be stup-,” the guard broke off due to the arrow protruding from his neck and went down gurgling and spurting blood. The guard who had noticed the stump stopped and yelled out the word none of them wanted to hear.

“AMBUSH!”

As if his voice were a signal cry, arrows suddenly began raining down on the procession from the trees flanking the path they walked; they had been going in circles, but how? They knew the swamps, they lived here all their lives and trained to know these swamps. There was a break in the arrows as the surviving guards formed a tight circle with raised shield on all sides to fend off the storm from the rebels’ bows. The guard captain was in the circle trying to not show that he was as terrified as his men around him.

Out of the swamps on either side of the king’s men suddenly came the ranks of rebels, some were charging, others seemed to be limping their way toward the guards. The rebels met the guards on the path with swords and spears drawn, the two sides of the rebels’ forces slamming into the guards’ defensive circle. The guards broke rank and began fighting the rebels one-on-one or at times two-on-one or vice versa. Among the rebels fought their leader, Lucien Blackwater. He took down two guardsmen as he made his way to their captain; his own men had made sure he had an opening.

Lucien charged at the man, swinging his sword down at his neck. The man dodged the blow and pulled a small whistled from under his tunic and blew a sharp note from it. A moment later and there came a storm of arrows down on the skirmish between rebels and guardsmen.

“Move,” Lucien yelled as he managed to dive into the cover of the trees as arrows fell upon both rebels and guardsmen, completely uncaring whom they pierced and took from this life. Some of his men had been able to raise a shield or duck under the trees, but a lot of them fell to the ground with arrows jutting from their necks and chests; some of them, oddly enough, stayed standing completely oblivious to the arrows sticking in them. Some of the guardsmen stopped in their tracks, hesitant to go near the undying rebels.

“Don’t be fooled, they’re just more of his illusions!”

The yell came from the guard captain, but his yell only fell on less than half of his men now. This didn’t seem to be a problem, and a moment later Lucien knew why; Gorgon Rangers came charging from their previous firing position to attack the rebels that fought against their king. Lucien stood from he had dove and charged once more into the battle, crying for his men to follow. The rebels now met the blades of the elite of Gorgon’s military force. The whole thing was an ambush for him; the captain had waited to see if he was among the rebels before making the call for support from the Gorgon Rangers, who must have been following them nearby. Lucien had ex-rangers among his rebel force, but not nearly as many as the actual military force had.

The outcome of this battle looked bleak for the rebels, but they fought on for the rightful heir to the throne of Gorgon. Lucien crossed blades with one of the rangers. It pained him to fight the Gorgon Rangers; he had led them after all and fought alongside them, but many them felt as if he had betrayed them. He may have, but the fact remained that he had come back with power they couldn’t imagine, power he intended to turn upon his uncle for the slaughter of his family.

Lucien ducked a slash from the ranger before him and made a simple gestured with his left hand, a slight glow about it. The man’s vision blurred for a moment and then there were two Lucien Blackwaters coming at him with a sword. He chose to block the left’s sword. He chose wrong, and because of this got a sword caught in the side of his neck. Lucien pulled the sword free with some effort, noticeably panting now from the effort of the large illusion he had used against the guard force, the strain of battle, the strain of keeping the reanimated soldiers going, and the illusion he had just used. One of the Gorgon guards noticed this and charged at him from behind. Lucien turned at the man’s yelling, but the man never made it to him as a rebel fighter jumped in front of Lucien and crossed blades with the guardsman.

With a glance, Lucien assessed the battle; they were losing thanks to the appearance of the Gorgon Rangers. His living men were being cut down, as where his undead soldiers. He couldn’t risk them finding out he was using Necromancy, so he broke the connection with the soldiers in positions of death and let them fall and stay dead this time. He continued doing this as more and more were struck down. The Gorgon Rangers were just too much for his forces.

“Retreat,” he called out to his forces, waving his sword toward the treeline. Lucien brought up the rear as his men made for the trees and the wilderness beyond; many of them were caught and struck down by the Gorgon Rangers. Lucien followed his men into the swamps, knowing full well that the Gorgon Rangers were pursuing them. All they had to do was make it to the checkpoint where he had men lying in wait to prevent a retreat from being followed back to their camp.

Arrows flew from behind the retreating rebels, catching a few in the back or legs; one lucky arrow found its place in Lucien’s calf, sending him to the ground. He slid forward in the mud, covering himself in the black goo. Those who saw him go down stopped to fight the Gorgon Rangers getting closer and to lift him up and carry him.

“No. Just run!”

“Can’t do that, your grace. Get him out of here, you two.”

The two men hoisted him up from under his arms and started making their way back toward the camp. The Gorgon Rangers met the rebels who stayed behind with drawn blades and arrows. Two Rangers managed to slip by them and continued their pursuit of the rebels, firing more arrows at the two rebels carrying Lucien through the swamp. One of the two went down with an arrow in his back, and the other fell to the ground from the sudden weight of Lucien being entirely up to him to carry; the arrow snapped as Lucien hit the ground, digging the arrow further into his calf. The two rangers fell upon them, killing the rebel next to Lucien and casually walking up to Lucien as he tried his best to drag himself away.

"Look how the mighty have fallen," one of them said as he brandished his sword.