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Frisch Voran


Started by Sordak
Post #63859
Banned

Likes Given: 46
Likes Received: 867
Faction & Race:
Ebonheart Pact (Argonian)

They had been marching for months.
Now stationed southeast of Elinhir, the mountains in their backs, wind howling through the crags.
Always alert, three times they were ambushed by Reachmen.
They have come a long way from Kambria.
But yet no sign of the Red Legion.

Nadja gritted her teeth. Raising her voice she ordered scouts, young boys from Kambria, black haired with mischievous grins, she was quite fond of them, to march ahead to look for Duke Radeks forces. They were behind schedule already. Would the scouts find them she would give this posh bastard a good beating, if they were to find the Legions, well she would not see them back in that case anyway.

A glance to the side.

Sergeant Fergus was inspecting the new recruits from Evermor. She heard that half reachman bastard shout all over the valley they were currently encamped in. “ You are a disgrace for your whole troupe!” she would hear him shout “I will cut the rations for your entire unit, we will see how much you will like slacking then!”
She could barely understand their responses, their accent sounded like the crying of an injured horse.
Nadjas mind was drifting off, looking down at her armor, adjust her posture.

Movement on the hill in front of them. She squinted her eyes and rose her hand to shield her eyes of the sun. Little shadows tumbling down the hillock.
It were the scouts, eyes filled with excitement and dread, they were out of breath.
Nadja made no effort to move towards them.
A lanky figure in light leather uniform crash landed in the mud before her. Private Tjaden.
He stammered incoherent words, before catching his breath, slowly looking up, realizing he was embarrassing himself in front of the Captain.
“Spit it out already boy” she hissed at him.
“pact forces! they are marching down from Falkreath” - an opportunity.
“How many?” - “a small platoon” -” How many!?” the Private started stammering, looking down, hiding his eyes. There was nothing more useful to get out of this mess. What a pity.

She raised her voice “Voran, we march east!” her Sergeants repeating, barking orders, recruits packing up, panicking. A smile spread across Nadjas face.

Marching over the Hill to the east, cavalry coming around the flanks, the Pact army was right in front of them. Tattered banners raised above dark, horned figures, announced by deep, resounding horns, a terrible sight to behold.
As Nadja observed their march grinding to a halt, repositioning themselves as they spotted the Covenant forces perched on the Hilltop above them, like an eagle ready to strike his prey.
She gave the sign to attack. Cavalry raced across the cracked surface of southern skyrim, crashing into the Ebonheart armies flank, men bouncing on the flanks of armoured steeds, spears piercing the mighty bodies of their horses, the battle was joined.
Like an avalanche of steel and spears the infantry charged down the hills, arrows zipping across their heads, striking their targets with deadly precision.
Screams could be heard as the first row, clad in hardened leather uniforms and iron helmets brought down their lances on the defenders.
Zifkovič, the man Fergus was chiding before was the first to meet the enemy, his face a grimace of terror and exertion, he held his spear too low. The Nord he was charging at, a bear of a man, knocked down his spear with a quick bash of his shield, Zifkovičs face filled with horror as the double bladed axe sunk deep into his chest, ripping through his sloppily adjusted uniform as if it was paper.
The unbloodied. The first man to fall. To charge into battle, weapon in hand. The first one to fall, the one to embrace death with unbloodied blade.

Nadja charge was grim and unrelenting, unhalted by the thoom. stemming against the breath of kyne, like a colovian Warlord would shove against a Khajiiti wench.
Swinging her Zweihänder over her head parting the throat of the wild Northerner that stood in her way. His face confused as with his voice, blood spurt out of his neck. She did not waste time studying the last moments of her foe, ramming him aside with her shoulder guard, screaming like a wild animal she emerged from under his slumped body rushing forward with great anger, smashing her iron gauntlet in the surprised face of the Argonian legionnaire that stood ready behind his nordic comrade. She gripped the handle of her Blade and pulled upward, beholding how the steel cut the scaled flesh. The sound it made dying was ringing in her ears.

the right flank was crumbling, ineffectively they died, the boys from Evermor, a waste of life, a waste of steel. The grey tide, clad in bonemold, pushed further against the ever incoming avalanche.

Sir Pavel stood beside Nadja, his tabard was coloured red, his bronze hair flowing from under his helmet, a spear protruding from his back, the northerner, who nadja assumed used to make his living on harvesting whale blubber, pulled out his sax and rushed in for the kill as Brave Pavel took off his shield and smashed it against his slayers head, sound of metal clashing, sound of bones cracking. He roared in triumph as he brought down his sword on the slumping body of the man who, so Nadja assumed, was once Bodil son of Herkel. Pavel felt triumphant as he was trampled to death by his following comrades in arms.

By the time the third row crumbled to red dust Nadjas armor was full of dents and cuts, her helmet lying on in the deep grass, her pale hair flowing behind her like a banner in a storm.
Formations were left abandoned as death took his toll around her.

With casual stroll a figure approached out of the haze in front of Nadja, crooked horns and leathery skin the creature stood erect in front of her, good two heads taller. “I am Struun Three-Tongue” he said “Son of Tibor” - “And i am the Sword” Nadja said calmly “To severe your head” her eyes full of malice, Struun seemed amused, his muscles flexed under those rags that passes for armorcrafting in the eastern provinces as he lifted his axe and bashed on his shield.
With determined he strode forward swinging his axe high above his head, letting it crash down like a bird of prey, the sound of clanking metal as it hit the sword nadja held diagonally, letting the axe slide off with ease, mobilizing the strength of her back she swung around her sword while doing a step to the side letting her sword cut open Struuns flank. He howled in pain.
Drawn from the bloodlust Nadja closed in bringing the hilt of her blade hard into Struuns gut, but his muscles held tight, she looked up as he let his metal rimmed shield crash down on her. For a moment Nadja was deaf, her face hit the floor and she smelled grass mixed with blood, blood that was running out of her nose. Struun kicked her to the side and announced “You will be the fifty third notch on my axe mongrel bitch” - “Liar!” nadja spat at him as she quickly rose from the ground, slicing upwards, cutting a large wound over Struuns chest “you would not have taken this many lives if it were the milkmaids of Anticlere” kicking with all her might against his stomache, sending him plummeting towards the ground. Blood streaming from his chest Struun tried to reach his axe that was lying beside him, he roared in pain as she impaled him on her sword, grinning triumphantly. “finish me” his breath rustling, blood running from his mouth “send me to sovngarde!” Nadja did not look down on him, her iron boot stood on his chest as she pushed forward and launched herself into the assault.
Hooves trampling from the west.
“Radek, son of a Daenian whore!” Nadja shouted as heavy cavalry brought their lances down upon the foe, routing them.
He could see his moustached face, with his fancy uniform, fur rimmed with beautiful stitches on his tabard. The battle was over.

Radek brought troops. From all over High Rock he brought Archers, Cavalry and Footmen, his own personal guard of battlemages and riders, even a contingent of Orcs, clad in Orichalc armor that, while not pleasing to the eye, could withstand even the mightiest of warhammers.
They dragged the enemy Captain over the field. “I shall leave it to you, my dearest” Radek said in his sweetest voice “as it were your forces that engaged first and as i have heard you have, uses, for prisoners of war” his voice was full of bile but his face was smiling like he always was. His long moustache hanging from his face. Right now Nadja wished she could pull him down by it and kick his ugly face to a pulp.
The Ebonheart leader, to her surprise, was a beastman, with beady red eyes that gleamed up defiantly. Nadja took his Bronzed helmet from his head, like his armor it was ornamented with all manner of blasphemous glyphs, on top of it two horns that could not belong to any animal she had ever seen. She put it on her head. “I was never fond of beastmen” she said as she severed his head with a single blow “but why waste a perfectly good helmet?” she laughed maniacally at her own cruelty while she felt the thrill of battle return slightly to her limbs.
The Duke made a snoot “Are you done wasting our options?” he said calmly, adjusting his posture “we march towards Kvatch tomorrow, my men are setting up camp, be prepared. The Legion will be more opposition than those few men. Get a hold of yourself Captain, if we loose men because of your foolhardiness again i will make sure you will never lead anyone but the army of fleas on your back anymore” he kicked away the still erect body of the slain commander.
Nadja turned on her heels, marching towards her tent that was being erected, stopping and turning for a brief moment “better watch your words, my duke” she said softly pulling a few inches of her blade out of the sheath “you do have a quite impressive Helmet there too”

Nadja was lounging in her tent. She had lost three fingers in this battle. Looking at the bandaged stumps she sighed shortly, but then turned attention to her glass of wine. Smelling, looking at it, taking a zip. Cyrodiilic, Colovian they had plundered it from a village they came across.
They paid for the use of wine, women and beds. But it would never had amounted the damage an army causes.
She emptied the glass, relishing the slight dizziness that was crawling into her body, she let the glass fall to the ground. shattering. Now reaching for the bottle nadja took a good swig, spilling on her cheek. She heard steps.
A figure appeared at the entrance of her tent, trembling. She had asked for him.
A special mission.
Tjaden.
He was shaking, his eyes fixated at a point behind her, nobody told him what the captain called him for.
A crooked smile appeared across Nadjas face.

The next day the Covenant forces entered the Colovian highlands, before them endless grasslands sprawled out, in the distance they could see White-Gold rising, they could behold the niben running in serpentines until it eventually disappeared in the dense jungles they could see on the far horizon.
They were making noise. Hiding an army in the open plains is a task so impossible that it is better not trying. Radek knew that. He enjoyed the blue sky, the warm weather and the plains that stretched out before him.
He knew the Red Legions were close. He could feel it. The smell of victory was in the air.
For the Covenant he thought with thoughts soaring high, for what it stands for, for humanity. For a new, old, empire. He drew his sword “Double time men! by dusk i want to dine in Kvatch!”
Cheering.
Nadja hated the cheering.
She did not have too much time to resent the Count however, the Colovians had been awaiting them, they had brought heavy machines.
Over the next grassy hill they could behold the Red Legion, men of the seat of sundered Kings. Once Jungled and armed to the teeth, those were no rabble. Standing tall in full Armor, the Dragon Banner above their heads.
Word has it the Legate Justus Varus, a young ambitioned upstart in the Legion had planned to stop the Covenant storm before they could even reach the gates of Kvatch.
A bold move Radek was going to exploit.
But the call of Victory had blinded many men today. In absolute determination Radek ordered all troops to attack.
Hundreds of men charging, riders racing across the flanks, Radeks knights ahead of the army.
The sky was filled with a deadly shadow of arrows, hailing down on the covenant troops like swooping vultures while red legionnaires advanced in testudo formation to avoid ranged retaliation.

In perfect formation the Legionaries halted their march halfway across the field, radek pushed the advance as canons thundered from the hills, raining down iron death on the approaching attackers, the furthest shots only a few feet away from the stoic guardsmen that formed an impenetrable barrier alongside the valley.
The knights retreating, circling for another strike while the infantry charges against the Legion.
Swords beating on shields. In perfect union the Imperials come forth behind their shields, impaling the desperate attackers.
Thus falls the first row.
Nadja sprinted past her comrades, a blade protruding from the man in the front row she raises her sword in full charge and impaling him a second time driving her blade through him into the defender behind him. A suprised scream.
Imperial blood was spilled.
With a quick motion Nadja disposed of the shield in front of her, finishing off the wounded colovian, swinging at his adjected comrades with savage fury.
Thus the line was broken.
Horrendous cackling and the following smell of burnt flesh herald the approach of the battlemages, trained in alcaire and wayrest the Breton Sorcerers draw attention on the battlefield, no matter how much their Redguard allies scoff at them.
The Right flank pushes deep into the Imperial lines.
Nadja leading them.
Screams. Not the sound of battle.
Unnatural sounds coming from their backs. Nadja did not care, she was lost to her fury. She could feel her blood rushing through her veins like liquid fire.
Chanting songs of Sex and Death she charged headlong in the bowels of the army, side by side with the brave men of Kambria.

Between the fighting men fingers began to twitch, fixed eyeballs began to roll, mouths began to grind teeth and hands gripping for the blades that have slain them.
Soldiers rose on conquered ground. Red shapes in midst of the blue tide.

The silent Legion arose.

Spat out by the bowels of the Void, followed by a chilling gust the dead arose to fight again. Mindlessly stabbing anything around.
The massacre began anew, conquered ground contest in the back rows, while the assault still pushed the frontline.
Stuck between bodies alive and dead the Braves of Evermor and Kambria held to nothing more but their very lives and the men beside them while screams of terror filled the air, as comrades arose again to raise their weapons against everything they had fought for.
“For the covenant” the Duke screamed, trying to drown out the sound of battle, but he knew he was not to be heard.
What covenant? What ideals? What people?
When the dead rose again from their slumber to hack down in unnatural rage? When the Red Legions slaughtered Heroes.
Colovia was painted red with the blood of western men.
Radek took the torn banner and raised it above his head, he turned his horse as that thing that was once his adjutant started gnawing on his boot. “Fall back!” he screamed. Knowing that all that were there to hear his commands were either dead or stuck in a grinder of meat and steel.

“Fall back” it echoed in her head. “That bastard departs”.
She could feel it. The end is approaching. Shes going nowhere, fast.
Seeing the things that crawl in dark, the blood around her.
“This is my nemesis” she whispered. Her blade drew more blood, it smeared across her face.
But a new feeling arose in her stomach, crawled up her chest, in her arms, tingling in her fingers.

“what are we when we take it away?” she asked herself. “Take away this covenant” she breathed “Take away these Ideals” a body slumped to the ground. Behind him a red figure. “Take away who we are” - “What remains?”
A tear of joy ran down her cheek. She had found her purpose. “Doom” she whispered reverently.
The ultimate fulfillment. Welcoming the downfall.
She looked at the man in front of her. His face is leathery, he looks almost bored, no, he looks accepting. Behind those dull eyes she could see it.
Soldiers, stripped down to the very core of what they are. No they are not different.
They are but instruments, their primal desire to bring Doom upon the world. With a cry of joy she raised her sword and charged.



The ground is drenched in blood. Bodies litter the floor.
Her body is aching, blood dripping from it, her blood. Breathing is painful. A few metres away she can see Tjaden. Staring upwards into the starry sky.
Nadja can hear steps. “I have found another living one” a moan. Then a *thud* silence.
That song is still stuck in her head. She looked to her blade, it lies broken next to her, she looks to tjadens body again.
Steps behind her.
Thud.
This post was last modified: May 4th 2013, 04:21 PM by Sordak
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Post #63863
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Likes Given: 146
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Faction & Race:
Daggerfall Covenant
Breton
my god... *dies from wall of text*


May the Shadows guide you unto the light...

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Post #64172
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Likes Given: 120
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Faction & Race:
Ebonheart Pact (Dunmer)
At first it seem a bit check list, but when it got to the good part i saw it did its job of painting the scenery.
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