[center][h3]Dawn Rising[/h3][/center] The sun was rising Rebecca was inside a tent. She was bound to a pole and gagged. The fighting in the distance had died down some time ago. Though the rustle and business outside never stopped. With the sun coming up now she could see the silhouette of her guards through the cloth of the tent. Sometimes someone joined them. All of them were silent, though Rebecca could recognize the mannerism of people talking. Then whoever had joined her guards left. Again someone joined her guards and stood there in silent conversation. This time the new one stepped inside the tent. He was an older man, though cleanly shaven. There were still splatters of blood on his bronze armor. Wrinkled eyes took a moment to observe Rebecca, before he grabbed the stool that stood in the corner of the tent and placed it in front of her. He just looked at her then, for almost five minutes. Then he pulled her gag down and asked: “Why do you fight for Benea?” “That’s a loaded question, now isn’t it?” Rebecca all but coughed in response, her mouth dry from the gag. “We’ve spilled blood.” The old man said. “So there is space now for loaded questions.” “Why are you asking?” Rebecca pushed. “What are you hoping to hear?” “The reason why you fight.” Old man was unphased by Rebecca. Another legionnaire stepped into the tent holding a pitcher and a wooden cup. Without taking his eyes off of Rebecca the old man took the cup and the pitcher and poured himself a cup of water. The soldier that brought it in left without saying a word; “Generally to kill things,” Rebecca answered. “You understand how a sword works, don’t you? You broke the quarantine, violently, and are subject to the pointy end.” “Do you know why the quarantine was raised?” “To prevent Anak’thas and his followers from leaving Node 14’s region,” Rebecca recited. “It’s no secret that Anak’thas’ doctrines and influences are leading the Crucible to its doom. The containment is important for the continued existence of mortality. What about you, why do you like licking boots? Wait..” A pause. “I don’t suppose Anak’thas has any boots, does he?” The old man released a grunt. “I fight for what is back home and for what you’re sitting on. Are you thirsty?” “I’m not sitting, I’m standing, tied to a pole,” Rebecca said. “If you want to know what I am, it’s a little more angry than just thirsty.” “Very well.” The Anak’thasian legionnaire got up and left the tent. Though he left the cup and the pitcher on the stool in front of Rebecca. [hr] From the walls, the defenders of Coldshanks could see the perfect, square formations of the Dawnblades moving to their positions. They stayed out of range for archers though, as the legion as a whole was getting ready. The large, looming tent remained unmoving at the besieger’s camp. The siege weaponry made, galleys and battering rams were moved to the front as well. By nine in the morning, with the sun already high in the east, everyone was ready. For a minute, nothing happened. The legions stood nearly completely still. Only the most perceptive Paladins could see the hints of movements. Certain flags were raised. Small kids, runners no doubt, made their way between the captains. Things were moving. Small groups at every formation of the Dawnblades moved a way to make a circle. A moment later rocks half the size of a man were hurled through the air. They streaked through the skies like falling stars, coated in golden glory. Behind the formations the mages – called the Auxis Arcanii – of the Dawnblades were chanting their invocations to ritualistically hurl the stones. At the same time the battering ram moved forward towards the gate. The remaining formations remained still and almost unnaturally silent and motionless. The falling stars were answered in kind. The legionnaires could first hear only a whistle on the wind. A moment later and a blast of fiery energy ripped through one of the formations. Another bolt came crashing down and ripped the ground assunder. The men and women holding the battering ram hurried forward. Left and right of them bolts crashed down with arcane, explosive energies. A galley exploded in lightning, killing everyone inside of it. The smell of burned flesh and smoke began to rise from the field in front of the fortress. The legions maintained their iron discipline. They marched forward in answer of the ballistae. The first ram crew were getting close. A fateless ballistae bolt shattered the earth in front of them. Ram and legionnaires alike were swallowed by the ground. Another crew mounted another ram and moved forward. The Auxis Arcanii were retaliating for each hit. Falling stones crashed down upon the walls of the defenders. A few lucky shots had hit some of the ballistae. One particularly lucky one had set of a great explosion atop the walls. Still, it would appear that neither side was winning. Until the roar of a titanic horn could be heard coming from the Dawnblades’ camp. The tent began to collapse in on itself. From the cloth and canvas a figure rose up. One that was so big that it dwarfed anything nearby it. The golem, a creation the size of two houses, marched forward. The Auxis Arcanii knew what to do. Golden-coated stones were hurled at the ballistae of one particular section of the walls. The barrage did its job. Another ballistae lit up like a lightning bolt charging upwards towards the skies. All the while the golem got in closer. At its feet were smaller, nimbler constructs. [hr] The gate groaned under another slam of the battering ram on the other side. Beams had been set up against it to buy the defenders some time. Most of them had already been broken. Another bang, another groan. Wood cracked. The sound of hurling rocks were muffled down here almost. The gates flung open as wood splinters and dust blasted over the defenders on the other side. The dust cleared and the Dawnblades’ shieldwall came marching through. Up top, someone yelled and steaming buckets of boiled water came pouring down from the ramparts, catching the first through with scalding burns and screams. After that, blue caped paladins closed in to contain the breach. Hale was one of them as he stood in an irregular line. When compared to the reforming shield wall of the dawnbringers, it almost seemed like a lazy excuse for a formation — but if someone who knew the Artack elite was watching, they would know such an accusation would be dead wrong. Captain Hale stared forward at the enemy as the dusty and steam was settling. The scalded soldiers were either dead or rolling on the ground in pain, but their comrades stood steady as stones, each hiding behind overlapping shields and a bushel of spears. In contrast, Hale stood apart from his fellow Artack, their kite shields covering their individual fronts and their longswords held off to the side. Like predators the Artack elites stared on, waiting. Above on the gatehouse, Amarcus was running through the plumes of smoke and dust from the exterior attack, a bag of crystals in his arms. The stones underfoot shook violently as the enemy barrage continued and at any moment he felt like he was either going to go flying off into bits and pieces or fall forward and throw up his breakfast from all the adrenaline. Sweat was beading on his face as he looked over his shoulder and down to the atrium courtyard where Hale stood. He knew they were waiting on him — then a copper glint caught his eye — the trigger. Not wasting any time, the kid tossed the bag of crystals under the strange copper rod that had been struck into the stone and uncovered the sheen of the xaviorian rocks. Using twisting wire he attached the volatile structures to the copper — a blink starting in the iridescent surface of the crystals. He gulped. Adrenaline found his legs as the blinking increased and before he knew it, he was sprinting back the way he came, his face red and a cold fear on his back. A loud crack sounded and then his hearing went numb as an explosion erupted behind him, knocking him forward in its blast., Back down in the courtyard, Hale and the other elites held their shields high as the gatehouse drowned in a ball of flame and blew into a dust of debris and rubble. All at once the stones and bricks of the construct came crumbling down on top of the invaders, cutting the head of their formation off from the exterior forces with a sickening crunch. In the confusion, Hale roared over the sound of stone and through the cloud of dust. “Frost cobra!” The surviving front line of the shield wall buckled back and held tight and orderly, but the elites started waving their swords in such a way to catch the sun over and over as they undilated forward and backwards, ever creeping forward at an odd progression. Eventually Hale picked a target and as a blur he struck forward. An Anak’thasian spear came thundering forward to intercept, but Hale was too fast with the kiss of chamomile and put his sword between him and the spear, his shield to his left between him and another. In one swift motion he pushed both spears back, two Artackian elites behind him pushing outward as well. Hale’s blade found flesh and tugged as it bit into the neck of the first soldier, his wingmen using the opening to take down the peripheral soldiers and their wingmen doing the same, the swords working better in close quarters than the spears. This continued until the cobra strike was complete and the elite forces collapsed the wounded line and turned the encounter into an all out brawl of sweat and blood. The intense fighting pushed backwards onto the hill of debris and Hale yelled out.“Secure the hill, break their lines on uneven ground!” Even under the heat of battle, Hale could feel a cold pessimism in his chest asking him if they would really be able to hold out long enough. The rhythmic clang of a marching front line could be heard from the other side of the debris. Then something else. At first it was just soft thumping. Then it became louder, and louder. The first few of the paladins rushing the debris were suddenly flung into the air with inhuman force. The Construct Knights scaled the debris with ease. Line across their frame glowed with silvery light. “Auxis Equis!” One of the knights bellowed, it was the first war shout ushered at the gates by the Anak’thasians. “Break them!” Hale could feel a snarl form on his face as his heart pounded poison through his veins. The wind picked up the dust of the fight and ringed him in with one of the knights. Staring, Captain Hale soaked in the strange construct of clay, metal and fiber, his feet defaulting to the general stance of the paladins. Slowly he started to circle the construct, his sword waving up and down in the sun. He turned his ankle and pushed off his back foot, lunging forward in a blink. He connected. A bit of clay-looking armor chipped away. A bronze glint caught his eye. Hale jumped away. Just in time. A large weapon came crashing down. It cracked the stone where Hale was standing. The knight didn’t relent. He pushed forward, swinging again at the paladin. Meanwhile, behind them, the first shields of the Legion could be seen coming over the debris, Hale cursed under his breath. A spear with a squirrel skill tied to it came blasting downward and into Hale’s vision. The streak of violence slammed into the knight in front of him and blasted out the back in a gorey mess. Karlene’s voice came bellowing behind Hale. “I thought you were from the Artack?” She quipped, already rushing past the stunned Captain. Without stopping she ripped her spear free and continued onward into the fray. Hale sucked in a breath and cracked a grin before rushing behind her. The battle of the debris was a heated one. Hale and the paladin line were first met by the knight troopers which proved a major obstacle. Luckily their bulky size in irregular terrain meant that the smaller paladins could use fast hitting pack tactics, which at the very least slowed their advance — the luckier groups managing to down one of the constructs, while the unlucky groups were splattered across the rubble. Past that the legionnaire lines were pushing forward, their order impeccable and eerily quiet. The jagged landscape of the collapsed gatehouse broke any idea of a shield wall but even still, the unity of the enemy was unmatched. Hale watched Karelene and the regulars slam into their forces with a ferocity. Even still, Hale could see past their ranks and at the ocean of soldiers still marching forward. They were stalled here, but only for as long as the paladins could keep fighting against a superior number. He knit his brow as he stood on his vantage point, the enemy showed no sign of fatigue despite the blood on either side — they were almost soulless in their advance, inhuman. Time played in Hale’s head as his mind churned out predictions until finally he swore and rushed into the fray. Ducking under spears, rising with his blade, cutting a gut, and sidestepping a khopesh, Hale found Karelene. Her brow was lined with sweat and her teeth grit as she fought an enemy. Hale rushed to her side and held up his shield. “We should sally port,” He hissed as a spear barely missed his shoulder. An enemy slammed their shield against his and he pushed back. Karlene didn’t respond right away, a streak of crimson flowing down her arm. Hale shoved with his shoulder and knocked his enemy backwards. “General Karlene, we should sally port!” “I know!” She finally hissed before falling silent. A violent second passed, any thought interrupted by the shaking ground and a plume of stone from the fall wall. A gigantic fist had plowed through the fortifications with a magical whirr, their giant had made it to the walls, opening a second breach. Karlene swore. “Call it! I’ll hold here.” “I’ll hold, you do the call,” Hale barked back. “Call it!” Karlene growled, she looked at Hale briefly, her eyes wide with adrenaline and fury. “I. Will. Hold!” Hale gave a final shove with his shield, pounding it against the chest of an enemy and disengaging the soldier before leaping backwards. His vision caught sight of the scene in its entirety. Knights slamming into elites, paladins cutting at an endless sea of enemies, a cloud of choking debris and the smell of blood. The second breach was already swelling with the enemy, his troops unable to contain them as they spilled into the courtyard. He could feel a chill in his chest as he backpedaled before turning into a run. “Sally port!” He roared until his throat choked. “Sally port!” He ran down from the hill of debris, any unengaged paladins and runners following his command. “Sally port! Sally port!” Hale ran past the new breach. “Sally port!” His legs pumped and his breath was heavy. “Sally port!” All at once the man stopped, the cold in his chest freezing his body and his eyes widening. He stared ahead at a pile of stone that was blasted from the wall. A pool of dark blood lapped at one of the boulders, the dazed eyes of Amarcus looking up at him — his legs hidden under the stones. The boy opened his mouth, almost smiling at Hale. The Captain felt horror in his belly, the smile stuck in his vision. “Amarcus.” No sound came from the boy’s mouth. A spear came shooting out at Hale, stabbing the dazed paladin in the back. The bronze tip bent against the steel cuirass and glanced off, giving Hale a shove forward. He turned with a wide arc and the head of an Anak’thasian legionnaire lobbed free from its body. Hale spun back to Amarcus, dropped his sword and threw his arms under the boy’s body. With a heave, he started to wrench the runner from the stones — the soundless mouth of Amarcus starting to scream in absolute pain. “Keep screaming.” Hale’s head was rocked back from the blast of sound. “Keep screaming, damn it.” Screams turned to loud whimpers, energy fading. “Scream, you little shit, scream!” Hale barked into the boy’s ear. Bone grinding on stone sent sickly vibrations up the Captain’s arm as he pulled the boy free. A sharp pain burned through Hale’s back. He knew he had been stabbed. His elbow shot backwards and shattered the shaft of a spear, the other half still protruding from him. In his peripheral vision he could see Fafnir coming to his aid. The sound of cutting flesh came from behind the captain and in a moment Fafnir was next to Hale helping him pull Amarcus free. Bubbling came from the boy’s mouth as the two captains finally yanked his limp body free. Hale cradled the boy close to his chest, blood smearing his armor. Amarcus’ shattered legs dangled loosely against him. “Sally port,” Fafnir said through a puff of exhaustion. Hale nodded and held Amarcus tight. Coldshanks had fallen. [hider=Summary]A captured Rebecca has chat with one of the Dawnblades. He tries to figure out why she fights but doesn’t really get much of substance. At dawn, after the attack upon the camp, Anak’thasian forces begin their siege. Battering rams are rushed towards the gates, while mages hurl rocks like falling stars through the air as siege weaponry. Coldshanks responds with their own siege weaponry: Xavorian Ballistae. Explosions ring from both sides. The Anak’thasian attacks also bring about their secret weapon: a huge golem, the size of at least two houses stack on top of each other, starts marching from the camp towards the fortress. One of the gates of Coldshanks eventually buckles under the attack. A Dawnblade shieldwall marches through, though is stopped soon by Captain Hale and his Artack elites. Above, in the gatehouse Amarcus. He tosses some crystals into some other crystals. This sets off an explosion that sunders the gatehouse, and kills most of the invaders underneath it. Though the Dawnblades are relentless and call upon their knights to break through the harsh fighting at the gatehouse. Karlene comes to the rescue. Between Hale and her, they manage to kill a few knights but the battle is quickly turning against them. Especially when the golem reaches the walls and starts tearing through it to let more troops in. The order is given to sally port. Though Amarcus is caught in a golem strike’s debris. Captain Hale and Fafnir manage to free the child, but his legs are mangled. Coldshanks had fallen.[/hider] [hider=MP]Anak’thas Start: 5MP - 4 MP >> Elevate the Verdant Realms to Iron Age technology Anak’thas End: 1MP [/hider]