[center][h1][b][u]Carnelian[/u][/b][/h1][/center]

[hr]
Carn slipped a stone into the sling, and took a deep breath.

Then, he let it fly.

The stone struck the target just a few inches off-center. Not too bad, given he had only recently started practicing.

He had picked up the sling out an idle curiosity. Then he couldn’t hope but admire the simplicity of use and the ease to reload. He had recalled the siege of Jalka, where he had stood powerless on the wall until the enemy began their ascent, and only then had he been allowed to start killing. With the sling, that would change. It provided some much-needed versatility in combat, so that he might be able to down one or two foes before being forced into a melee.

He wasn’t wearing Titania. Instead he had left her in his hut, under guard. Wearing armour all the time was frankly uncomfortable. Even more so when that armour was sentient and capable of speech. It felt as if his every action was being observed and judged. Furthermore, a rumour was spreading in the village that the armour was beginning to control him. So, with all those factors in mind, he tended to avoid wearing her unless it was necessary. That said, he still conferred with her for advice, or simply to see how she was doing. It would not do to end up on sour terms with a divine avatar.

“Lord Carnelian! Lord Carnelian!”

His head turned, just in time to see a man running toward him, face red and sweating. The sweaty man came to a stop before him, trying to speak but unable to form words. “Take a moment to breathe,” Carn advised, placing a hand on his shoulder.

A few moments passed, and at last, the man was able to regulate his breathing to a point where he could finally speak. “The scouts… are back!” he huffed. “The Ketrefans… they’re coming!”

Carn’s eyebrows rose. Already? He had sent scouts westward to watch the city and take note of troop movement, but still, he thought he would have had more time… “How many?” he asked.

“Five… Five hundred…” the man breathed.

Five hundred. Carn had expected a large number, but when he finally heard it, he was only now being hit by the reality of his situation. Between Thyma and the few villages that had allied with him, he had maybe less than a hundred warriors - assuming all the villages answered the call, which might not be the case. Of those hundred warriors, only forty were at Thyma right now. If all the scouts would back, that meant they had fifty. The rest would have to be summoned.

How was he to kill five hundred men with only one hundred? He had assumed he would rely on divine intervention, but would that be enough? Even with a sword and an unbreakable suit of armour, he was only one man.

He looked to the wall. That would give them an edge. Then a dark thought occurred to him. What if the commander didn’t assault the wall? What if instead, the commander burned and slaughtered the neighbouring villages? Villages which most of his army hailed from - they would not stand idly by while their families were slain.

Which meant Carn would have to take those families into the walls. But Thyma did not have space for them all, and even if they did… the attackers could simply surround the village and wait for them to run out of food. Then let starvation do the rest. The walls were not a shield, he realized in horror, they were a tomb. And in that moment he cursed Titania. The avatar of a goddess should have known better!

The man saw Carn’s expression and seemed alarmed by it, no doubt having expected Carn to already have a plan.

Carn let the worry fade from his face, and steeled his heart. It would not do to let his worries show. His followers had to believe he was confident in their victory. Otherwise, they would not hold. And if they didn’t hold, they would die.

But what to do? Fight them in the field, and they would use their numbers against him. Fight them on the walls, and there would be no fight at all - just a long gruelling wait while his forces slowly turned against him. Then he looked at the sling in his hands, and he had an idea. A desperate one, but it might work.

“Bring me Yarwick,” he ordered. “And also, every man who can use a bow or a sling.”

[hr]
“They’ll think you’re abandoning them,” Yarwick had warned him.

“They won’t,” Carn shook his head. “I’m heading [i]toward[/i] the enemy, not away. I’m taking men and women who are good in a skirmish, and I’m calling our allies to send their warriors here. If anyone still has doubts, I’ll expect you and Titania to settle them.”

Yarwick furrowed his brow. “You aren’t bringing her with you?”

Carn shook his head. “She’ll draw attention to me and slow me down. Better that I don’t stand out. I’ll thin out their numbers and slow them down. When I return, I’ll join the defense.”

“If you don’t return?”

“If I die,” Carn told him, “you will take up the cause.”

[hr]
And on that grim note, Carn and his party of twenty skirmishers had set out. Eight carried bows, while the other twelve - himself included - carried slings.

There was a mixture of nervousness and excitement among them. Some had been the scouts Carn had originally sent. They had seen the army with their own eyes - its size larger than the populations of entire villages - and they could not possibly imagine how any force might defeat it. 

Others, however, were excited. They were marching into battle, under the eyes of a god. They had never seen battle, but they had heard legends of glorious heroes and valourous warriors. This was their chance to become legends themselves. They had mixed equipment; whatever would serve as protection without impeding their mobility. Carn himself wore a mixture of hardened hides and leather, but his shining sword and sling were both at his belt.

Onward they marched. To freedom, and glory. Victory, or death.

[hr]
Eight days after departing from Thyma, they finally came upon Ketrefa’s army.

“Neiya’s heaving bosom...” one of Carn’s men had uttered quietly, upon seeing the massive column march along the crude dirt road. Just behind the host, a large plume of smoke could be seen. The only thing that could produce such a flame would be a burning village. “Bastards...” a woman had muttered spitefully.

They watched from a high hill, some distance away. Carn had to admit, he himself was somewhat daunted by the sight. He had not seen so many fighters in one place since the war between Jalka and Merok, and this was but a portion of Ketrefa’s power.

“Alright,” Carn said, breaking the tense silence. “Load your slings. Nock your arrows.”

They stared at him wide-eyed. “Are you mad?” one of them asked.

Carn glared at him. “We loose a few shots, then we retreat before they can hurt us. Slow their march, and fray their nerves. I’m not expecting us to kill the entire army on our own. Now, make ready.” He brought his own sling out and slipped a stone into it. The others reluctantly obeyed. “Loose your weapons in your own time,” he said, then swung the sling back and launched it forward.

The stone flew, eventually becoming so small he could no longer see it. Then, a figure among the Ketrefans fell to the ground. His nineteen archers followed suit, loosing stones and arrows, and a few more Ketrefans fell. Shouts of alarms rang out. 

Suddenly, Carn felt another sensation overtake him, similar to when Cadien had spoken to him in the temple. In that moment, he knew the god was watching, and based on the expressions of his skirmishers, he knew they felt it through. “Again!” he shouted, snapping them out of it.

Twenty stones and arrows were loosed. This time, twenty men fell. To Carn’s astonishment, every shot seemed to have hit. All his knowledge of warfare told him such a thing was impossible, and yet, it had happened.

This time, his people needed no prompting. They loosed their projectiles on their own initiative, and again, every single shot sent a Ketrefan to the dirt. Then Ketrefa’s archers, who had been stationed at the rear, turned toward them and drew back the strings of their bows. “Down!” Carn shouted.

His men threw themselves to the ground as one hundred arrows shot forth. The volley killed four and wounded two, but thankfully those two could still wield their slings. “Focus on the archers!” Carn yelled, and his skirmishers obeyed, loosing stones and arrows as fast as they could. 

Again, they could not miss. 

The archers began dropping at a rapid rate, their commander among them, and in the confusion they could not get another volley off. Instead, they broke, running for safety behind the spearmen who had formed a shield wall. Carn ordered his men to focus on that instead, and even despite the raised shields, Ketrefans continued to fall. Every single stone and arrow seemed to somehow find its way through a narrow gap in the shields, killing or wounding men, and opening up holes in the line which the others could continue to shoot into.

The Ketrefans shouted and panicked, as some men attempted to flee while others tried to close the gaps or carry wounded comrades to safety behind the shields. Bronze-clad officers shouted, and attempted to restore order. Then one voice cut above the rest; that of who Carn could only assume was the army’s commander. “Charge! Charge, you cowards! By Neiya, CHARGE!”

The Ketrefans then turned and began running up the hill. But it was a half-hearted attack. Only two thirds of them actually went forward, while the rest scattered for safety. Those who did go up the hill were more a mob than a disciplined force, and though they managed to kill over two dozen more, it was clear the rest would close the distance.

“Time to go!” Carn shouted. “Retreat!”

And with those words, he and his men turned and fled, leaving corpses and chaos behind them.

[hr]
As Carn and his men made camp that night, the mood was jubilant. Although they had lost comrades, and had been forbidden from setting fires for fear of being detected by the enemy, they were in high spirits. At the cost of only five of their own, they had killed nearly two hundred Ketrefans. Those unschooled or inexperienced in tactics knew such a thing was virtually unheard of, even in all but the most fanciful legends and songs.

They helped themselves to a meal of blueberries, evening bells, and some leftover meat from the previous day. The evening bells only served to increase their spirits further, and even Carn had a few.

“They’ll sing about us forever!” one man proclaimed.

“To the death of every Ketrefan!” another shouted, apparently forgetting the fear of their camp being discovered. In truth though, it was unlikely the Ketrefans would make an attempt this night. Who would willingly seek them out after the slaughter of the previous day?

Carn smiled. He had not expected to inflict such a crushing defeat. All he had wanted was what he had said; to thin out their numbers, slow them down, and fray their nerves. Instead, he and his twenty archers had shattered half the army. Between the natural euphoria of victory and the artificial euphoria of the evening bells, he was happier than he had ever been. “Tomorrow we finish them!” he vowed, raising a fist into the air.

[hr]
[hider=Post Summary]
Our post opens with Carn practicing the sling in Ketrefa. He’s getting the hang of it when a messenger shows up and informs him that an army of five hundred Ketrefans in on the way. Carn nearly loses his cool, because he only has one hundred men at most and the walls probably won’t be enough.

But he manages to compose himself and decide on a course of action. Taking twenty archers and slingers, he goes out to skirmish with the enemy. He finds them a week later, just as they have finished sacking a village, and he orders his skirmishers to start shooting.

Carn and his men then feel Cadien’s presence and realize the God is watching them. To their astonishment, every projectile they loose seems to hit someone. Turns out Cadien blessed them to make every shot lethal. That means twenty kills every few seconds. They inflict devastating losses on the Ketrefans, before finally being forced to retreat in the face of such superior numbers. All in all, they manage to kill nearly two hundred enemies.

That night they celebrate and, whilst high on evening bells, Carn thinks it’s possible to finish the enemy off.
[/hider]

[hider=Prestige Summary]
[u]Carnelian[/u]
[b]Beginning Prestige:[/b] 19
+5 for more than 10k characters.
-10 to gain the title Slinger I. Carn is an expert with the sling, capable of landing shots with impressive accuracy.
[b]Ending Prestige:[/b] 14
[/hider]

[hider=MP Summary]
[u]Cadien[/u]
[b]Beginning MP:[/b] 5
[b]Beginning DP:[/b] 5
-1DP to temporarily bless Carn’s slingers to ensure that every shot kills someone.
[b]Ending MP:[/b] 5
[b]Ending DP:[/b] 4
[/hider]