DracoLunaris
Lord Zee
sly13Dawn of War
The Dawnblades did not march in silence. They sang their songs loud as they marched through the open plains. Drums dictated the rhythm, both of the march and the song. Heavenly lyrics ascended and turn to faith for their lord. Those songs echoed through the bond the legion had as well, elevating the spirits of every single warrior as well.
When they crested the final hill and stepped inside the area of Teul’Velik the column stopped and broke apart. The first soldiers secured the ridge, while the others began to construct the camp. From atop the hill Immedras, one of the captains of the legion, looked across the light vale towards the other hill. There a fortress build by the paladins stood. The legionnaire felt a very intense hatred for the structure and everyone around him could feel it through their bond.
In the past days he thought Anak’thas should simply sunder it, as a projection of their power. Now that he looked at it and at the legion that was preparing for the battle he realized that Anak’thas would sunder it. He would, through the Dawnblades. They would break apart the fortress like an orange. From the corner of his eyes he saw the Auxis knights arrive. Their clay-for-flesh armors were being transported by heavy carts pulled by four oxen each. When the walls were breached, they’d prove to be invaluable. He was sure of that.
That night he gave the order to prepare the siege weapons already. Galleys and a ram would be constructed, together with ladders to scale the walls. However, under the cover of darkness the Artificer-Priests hauled in another construct. Ten ox-pulled carts came rumbling into the camp. They haul was covered by canvas. All of it was hauled into a large tent constructed with the camp. The Artificer-Priests were uncharacteristicly secretive about what the tent contained beyond telling Immedras that it was a weapon of great import for the war.
Immedras never pushed. He did send a messenger boy towards the fortress with a very simple message: Surrender and live or fight and die. You have until tomorrow morning. The Dawnblades, the whole legion unified, desperately hoped the fortress would not surrender.
Two days prior
Amarcus ran through the streets. His leather-bound feet slapping against the dusty road. Chickens bawked at him as he cut through a crowd and older pedestrians hollered after him to slow down. Cutting through the low buildings of Callum, a town that sprouted near the border following the quarantine, he held a vellum note close to his chest. Finally the young boy came to a skidding halt in front of two paladins, their spears barring his entry past a low stone wall gated with iron.
“A message for Captain Hale,” Amarcus lied. Grimble, the older paladin on the right shook his head.
“Oh is it now?” His voice was like a grindstone. Amarcus nodded his shaggy head. Grimble stamped his spear to the ground and stood up straight.
“What does it say?”
Amarcus tightened his grip on the letter. “It’s for Hale’s eyes only, as per the runners.”
“Oh ho!” The other paladin, Ferdinand, finally piped up. “Three days as a runner and you’re already feeling a bit big for your britches, aren’t you boy? How old are you, twelve?”
“Fourteen, sir,” Amarcus grinned. “But the message?”
Grimble rolled his eyes and with a speed Amarcus wasn’t expecting, he snatched it from the boy.
“Hey!” Amarcus protested, but Grimble was already scanning it’s contents. A gentle pink brushed Grimble’s cheeks and he gave a cough.
“Let him through, Ferdinand.”
The other paladin looked back at Grimble with shock. “Was it truly for Hale?”
Grimble shook his head. “Just let him through.”
A wide grin formed on Amarcus’ face, “Thanks, Grimble!” He leaped forward, only for Ferdinand’s rough hand to halt him midair. His voice came down.
“Don’t make us regret this.” He let go.
Falling back to his feet, Amarcus beamed up at Ferdinand. “You won’t, I promise!”
Amarcus was already through the simple garden that acted as a buffer between the gates and the keep of Callum, having darted by other guards and rounded around the back to the kitchen entrance. There, a sandy haired girl named Faelee was holding the door open with a wide white smile and coal marked cheeks. Amarcus didn’t stop, running right into her and pushing them both through the door. A giggle sounded as the door slammed shut.
In the kitchen, a stew was bubbling and a grumpy old woman was looking over the steam at the pair, a disapproving or perhaps envious look in her eye. “Keep it down, would ye.”
Faelee hiccuped an apology through her laugh. “Sorry Merrill.”
Amarcus ignored her completely, pushing his letter into Faelee’s hands. “For you, Lady Faelee.”
Faelee sniffed another laugh. “Oh so old fashioned.” She folded the letter. “I’ll save it for later, first you have to tell me if it’s true.”
Amarcus’s smile faded and he tilted his head, “If what’s true?”
“I hear that you’re going to Fort Coldshank to run for them.”
“Oh.” Amarcus swallowed a thought. “Yeah.”
“They asked you specifically?” Faelee crossed her arms and Merrill was already shaking her head.
“Well, not exactly.”
“Not exactly, what?” Faelee’s joy was gone now. “Did they ask for you specifically or not?”
“No.” Amarcus admitted.
“Then why are you going?”
“I volunte-”
“Amarcus!” Faelee slapped her sides. “Running is fine but for Coldshanks, do you think this is a game?”
“It’s for the Queen!” Amarcus protested.
Faelee bobbed her head mockingly. “Oh is it? Really?”
Amarcus scoffed. “What do you mean by that?”
“You fetishize the paladins.” Faelee jabbed her finger into his chest. “You just want to be one.”
“So what?”
“SO THERE IS AN ARMY ON ITS WAY!”
Merrill stopped stirring and blinked. A second later and she was scooting out of the kitchen, an awkward cringe on her face. Amarcus stared down his opponent, who only gave him the most wicked squint.
“It’s for the Queen.” He insisted.
“Hale.”
“Fucking what?”
The voice game from a dark haired man who sat at a sticky table. His face was hidden under a long cut, his fist clenching an empty mug. Hale wore a long blue cape that spilled to the floor, giving him more dignity than a regular drunk, but instead insisted he was a noble drunk. The one who had provoked him stood off to the side, in a simple red cape.
“Is this really the state you plan on marching?” The criticizer, Leonidas, demanded.
“Who gives a shit.” Hale lifted his face to reveal red eyes and a snappy mustache. “We will get there, the bastards will show up, we will draw swords and people are going to die. Who cares how they showed up.”
“What the fuck, I do!” Leonidas shouted. “You’re supposed to be the captain, from the Artack!”
“And in the Artack you learn to stop caring about the details,” Hale squinted up at Leonidas. “Draw swords, something dies, whatever doesn’t die draws again later, then dies, or something.”
“A regular Vatarr,” Leonidas shook his head. “Philosophy aside, the army is ready to march to Coldshanks… and I imagine Karlene will be expecting a sober captain.”
Hale stared long and hard up at Leonidas, his jaw flopping open as if he was surprised or perhaps to shout a retort. He lifted his hand from his mug and in one fell swoop, he collapsed piss drunk to the ground with a clatter.
Present Day - Coldshanks
Hale looked over the ramparts, his eyes scanning the horizon to the distance. The enemy was a happy one, he could give them that — they must have never killed before. He bit his thumb and sniffed. From his position on the fort, a cold shade covered him and his outlook, the sun massing the fort in such a way that the shadow formed a big arrow. Coincidentally, that shadow was pointing at the hill the enemy was camped on.
Slowly he could feel his fingers traveling down his hip and finding the cold pommel of his sword. It was smooth, cold, metallic — nothing like how it was back in the Artack. Back then it was fiery hot, sticky with blood of who knows, and pulsed and beaten like a heart. His weapon was him and he was a weapon — or at least for Karlene, he was still a weapon.
“Captain Hale!” Amarcus’ voice came bellowing from a doorward that lead to the long stairs to the rampart. Hale let go of his blade and turned to the boy.
“What is it, lad?”
“The enemy sent a message to General Karlene.”
“So they do intend to take Coldshanks, well that’ smart of them at least — don’t want an exposed flank as you march into enemy territory.”
“They offered peace if we surrendered.”
Hale cocked a brow. “So are we going home and they can fester in this tomb or is that too much to ask for?”
“We aren’t surrendering.”
“I thought as much,” Hale turned from Amarcus and looked back at the enemy. “Oh well, it was a nice thought.”
Amarcus was taken aback. “How can you say such things?”
“Ha!” Hale chortled. “You walked right into the ‘have you ever killed a man’ speech, you poor fuck.” He turned to the boy and gave him a deadly stare. “So… you ever kill a man?”
“No…”
“Then you and the enemy have something in common,” Hale gave the boy a strange smile. “You just stay safe, you have a little cook to return home to.”
“It seems bloodshed is less than a night away,” Karlene announced. She stood in the meeting hall of Coldshanks. It was a tight room of stonework and little decoration. By all means it kept up with the fort’s namesake. The only thing that wasn’t stone or worn fabric was a pine table that sat in the center.
Hale nodded at the founding paladin and general. Other captains sat to either side of him. By all means Karlene mustered up a sizable force to hold Coldshanks and prevent entry into Node 13. Upon arriving yesterday, Hale found out he was the last captain to arrive and the forces from Callum were simply there to bolster the larger armies marched in by Captains Fafnir and Rebecca. Being so late to the operation, Hale missed out on the screening and skirmishes that were launched to size up the enemy as they marched into the area, but at least all his troops were fresh and ready.
“We understand it’s a sizable force,” Captain Rebecca started. She had one discerning eye and the other was patched away by a dense fabric — lost to a wolf-king while doing some community service for the 12th recruitment. “But a sally should be how we open this. Turtling will only give them positioning.”
“I agree,” Hale surprised himself with his voice. “We should sally to give them a final screening and see how much guts they have. If they want this rock, they will have to die for it.”
“We have the walls, we should use them right away,” Captain Fafnir disagreed.
“It puts us in a bad spot,” Hale said. “Supply tunnels can be collapsed and General Larissa’s army won’t be here for a week.”
“Exactly,” Fafnir pointed a finger. “A week! We have the stores for half a year in Coldshanks.”
Karlene laced her fingers together. “Captain Rebecca.”
“General?”
“Is it not true that your army trained in Maelite?’’
“Yes, General.”
“So how do they feel about the darkness?”
“They don’t know the difference between the darkness and the light, General, it’s all the same to a paladin of Maelite.”
“Good,” Karlene nodded to herself. “We will sally tonight, interrupt their sleep with some blood, and then…” She looked at Fafnir. “We will wait in Coldshanks for Larissa if they choose not to leave.”
The Dawnblades’ camp was made in a large rectangle, with neat rows of hundreds of tents within. Towards the northern part of the camp was the gigantic, mysterious tent of the Artificer-Priests that harbored their secrets, while the commander’s tent was located in the middle. It was surrounded by stakes. Only two watchtowers had been built in the dusk light.
The grass that carpeted the hills was long and in full plush from the spring days, and even now they radiated a soft heat from the day now that the sun was gone. Hidden like wolves, Rebecca, Hale, and a medley of the more elite troops Karlene managed to round up were crouched in the grass. Above them, the night sky was dark; the moon was only a slit and the stars seemed dull — but compared to Maelite, it was a sunny afternoon.
A cold night breeze rustled through the grass and threaded by the troops. Their usual bulky armor was replaced with jackets quilted to hide metal plates, and their spears were replaced with crucifix hilted blades. Of course there weren’t nearly enough troops behind Rebecca to disable the entire encampment, not when the enemy army outnumbered them significantly even when at full force, but the idea was to give them a taste of death in the hopes that it broke their will.
Rebecca held up her sword, the tip catching the light of the moon. “Remember how to best decapitate a creature with a hard carapace?”
A few nods from those who could hear her harsh whisper. “Should be easier when they are asleep. Show no mercy to the bugs, they are diseased and lower than the insects of Maelite.”
Hale closed his eyes and readied his blade, something about her words didn’t quite ring true in his chest, but he knew the purpose of them. “I’ll take the watchtower closest, you take the camp.”
With little else, Hale slipped from the group. He moved effortlessly through the tall grass, seeming more snake than man. Even in a deep crouch he kept an amazing speed, the power of the kiss blooming in his stomach and sending energy down to his legs. Eventually his eyes mapped out the best route and becoming a blur, he unleashed the energy of the blessing of the Queen.
Much like a winter wind, Hale was already at the base of the tower, his calloused hands gripping the wooden pylons and launching him upwards. As he approached the wooden rampart that sheltered the tower pinnacle, he noticed the chin of a lookout peering outwards. Hale grabbed one of the cross beams he was climbing and with an impressive tug, he lunged himself upwards, sword shooting upwards.
The tip of his steel blade punched through the bottom of the lookout’s jaw and shot upwards with a gruesome crunch as it pieced into his skull. Feeling the blade lodge, Hale tugged downward, slamming the deadman down against the lip of the lookout and using the force to launch himself upwards.
The impressive feat saw Hale leap the rest of the journey to the top of the tower, gliding over the ledge and planting him on the platform. Two bronze clade legionaries were staring at him with a wide look of confusion, their faces aglow by a nearby fire. Before they could react, Hale turned into a blur and sent his blade in a wide arc. The edge of the blade cut the throat of the closest soldier, while the other got the point. The steel ripped through the bronze scales and stabbed deep into the man’s chest, summoning a dark pool of red.
Suddenly Hale’s ears perked. Sound was coming from down below — there was no way? He rushed to the edge of the lookout and peered down at the camp. The entire encampment was on the move already! Somehow it seemed every soldier down below was aware of the fight and were on the move to the watchtower. Hale squinted.
“Shit.”
Out in the corner of his eye, he could see Rebecca and a clump of shadows hit the other flank of the camp. In his heart he wished he could tell her to retreat, but right now he knew he needed to withdraw first. “Ah well,” He clenched his jaw, they were all already awake. He sucked in a breath. “WITHDRAW!”
Rebecca perked up. Hale’s words rang across the hill. Her troops were already spilling through the corridors made by the tents. While a few managed to sneak in and slaughter some sleeping innocents, she too noticed the rest of the camp stirring into action. There was some ward, or some secret the Dawnbringers had that allowed them to coordinate so quickly, it was the only explanation. The captain swore under her breath and ducked under the white cloth of a massive tent on the northern end.
Falling into the dark, enclosed space, the sounds of the night were dulled by the canvas tent. Already she could see the shadows of her troops retreating as per Hale’s orders while others engaged the enemy. From her strange vantage point she could tell the enemy was having trouble against the steel of Xavior, but their numbers were too much all at once. Turning away, she looked inward.
A large silhouette covered in cloth dominated the center of the soil smelling tent and every second of her impromptu investigation caused her stomach to tighten. Slowly she was becoming isolated as the paladins retreated back to the fort. Even the sounds of clashing steel was beginning to fade, but she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of weapon or resource this tent was meant for.
“Captain…” A whisper came. Rebecca froze.
“Captain!” The whisper was slightly harsher.
“Who?”
A gruff hand grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into the darkest shadow of the tent. She fell next to Hale, his handprint was sticky and wet. Her face contorted with confusion. “How did you get her so fast?”
Hale let go of Rebecca and put his hand back on his hip, a glistening of blood on the unprotected area. His sword was in his free hand, too densely covered in gore to refract any light. “I cut my way here. The troops are heading back to Coldshanks to regroup for the morning, what are you doing in here?”
“I ducked in when we were spotted…” Rebecca cocked her head and whispered. “Why are you here?”
“To get you,” Hale admitted. “We have to go.”
“Agreed,” Rebecca said but then looked over her shoulder and at the clothed silhouette. “But first, I want to check that out.”
Closing his eyes, Hale groaned. “Make it quick.”
Rebecca pushed back to her feet and slipped over to the cloth. Gripping it in her fingers, she tugged it.
The Cloth fell. Rebecca found herself standing in front of a face that was bigger than her entire body. Her eyes widened at the grotesque. It was the visage of a warrior carved onto a head that dwarfed both her and Hale.
“What in the…”
“Hey!” An alien voice came calling from the entrance to the tent and the pair whipped around just in time to see a set of soldiers with khopesh and spears glaring down at them.
Without thinking, Hale and Rebecca kicked up some speed and blasted by them. The flaps of the tent billowed at the exit and the crowd of Anak’thasian soldiers turned on them. Wind whipped as the two cut through the encampment, using the most of their speed blessing to get by the enemy.
Spears were tossed and arrows zipped by but just as the two hit the downward slope back to Coldshanks’ valley, a white feathered arrow cut by Hale’s nose, barely missing him. He saw the whole thing in slow motion, his adrenaline pounding through his veins. His head turned to watch the arrow and his eyes widened along with Rebecca’s. She was stuck in the air, juking a spear and heading right into the path of the arrowhead, she could see it coming the same as Hale, but could do nothing.
Time caught up and with a quick thunk of flesh, Rebecca went spinning to the ground — a loud and pained growl on her lips. Hale started to slow down, but the arrows came in thicker, provoking him to speed up. He looked back over his shoulder — he could see Rebecca’s shadow wriggling on the ground, and could hear the sound of her blade rasping from its scabbard. Other shadows started to crowd her and he could see the glint of her blade swinging from her down position.
He turned back to Coldshanks, a siege was to come — he shouldn’t think of anything else. But what was that face, and will Rebecca be okay? He frowned, his drunkard heart aching.