Fall of Albion

[Iskander]

Litli Viglundr

The Aelflaed pack had been bedding down for the night when the sky was torn apart. Their tents had gone up, with shields placed at each entrance to declare which of the Knights dwelt there. The Knights of the pack were full of food and wine, and many had women hanging off an arm. And the sky opened to spew forth a swarm of Edija. The bugs were terrors in the night, falling upon the drunken warriors of Albion as they slept or fucked.

Litli's head was buzzing from the wine he'd guzzled at the feast, but he found his axe quick enough when the screams started. He stumbled out of his tent and stared up the hill to the city walls, where he could see the glow of fires within the city itself. His jaw dropped and he turned to shout back into the tent, "Brandr! My armour, now!" His pack brothers were stirring themselves and calling to their own squires. Oeric was already clad in a hauberk worn over leather and quilted padding.

"Ser!" Brandr emerged from the tent with a well oiled hauberk and Litli's helm, shaped like a wolf's snarling face.

"Here," Litli slipped his arms through the hauberk and took the helmet. Brandr belted his swordbelt around him and then hefted his round oaken shield. Litli took his shield and lifted his axe once more. "Prepare the horses. If we don't return by dawn, flee. If the enemy comes for you before we return, flee." He turned from his squire and made his way over to Oeric and Hrothgar. "Bring the pack, we need to find out who's the bloody idiot who decided to attack the Lancasters now."

Litli moved away from his two pack brothers, and ahead of them, toward the city walls. The Aelflaeds had gathered here, at the seat of Lancaster power, along with the rest of Albion for the first tourney since the Tyrants had gone from the world. It had been declared a time of peace by all the major Houses, including Lancaster and Pendragon, but that clearly had not been enough. Most of the city was drunk from the feasting, and what few men weren't full of wine were busy with women. It had been a perfect time for an opportunistic House to attack.

"Hold!" The shout came down from the city wall and Litli stopped near the gate.

"I am Ser Eadricson, of the Aelflaeds!" He called back up, "I come to defend the city, along with my pack."

There was silence for a time, and then a small side gate creaked open. "Hurry, wolves. The fighting is thick in the streets."

"Who attacked? Was it the Pendragon?" Oeric had his mace out and resting on his shoulder, ready to jump into the fray at a moment's notice.

"No, Ser. They say..." The guard looked left and right, his eyes wide, "They say it's the Tyrants themselves, come back to wage war on us."

"Don't be stupid," Hrothgar snorted and shook his head. "Who holds this gate?"

"House Ansgard," the guardsman closed the gate when the pack was through. He grasped a spear tightly as soon as the gate was closed, and huddled against the wall.

"Which way to their commander?" Litli frowned. The Ansgard's were a minor House compared to the Pendragons and the Lancasters, but they held enough respect to be invited to stay inside the city's walls for the tourney. They held some land across the isles from the Aelflaed pack's homelands, and he didn't know anything about them at all except their name.

"There, Ser." The guardsman pointed and Litli thanked him before leading the pack down the street toward the Ansgard Knights.

[Paroxysm]

Had Ser Eadricson made the effort to track down the commander of the Ansgard knights, the head of the family, as it were, he would be saddened and welcomed by the sight of a fierce-eyed, blonde haired woman barking out commands as though she had been born into it.

“Get those fortifications up,” the woman walked as she commanded her soldiers, gesturing to a nearby alley, where debris had been piled up, and spears jaggedly jutted from seemingly random places. “Keep them out of the market and keep them away from the people,” streets were lined with corpses, some elven, some not, and likewise barred off in much the same way as the alleys. The woman and her knights, of whom she commanded, were protecting key areas, blocking off any access that was ground level, and dropping those who took to the skies, whenever possible.

Truthfully, most of their barricades were hastily erected, they weren’t too structurally stable, but they’d serve their purpose well enough. Near a building, off to the side, were the wounded, civilians were mixed in with the knights, but the vast majority wore at least some bits of armor. A lone figure, off by himself, would be sure to draw an eye, as he wore a very specific crest; he had a short-trimmed beard, blue eyes, and graying hair; this was the head of the Ansgard family, and he had been wounded in the very first skirmish.

“Don’t sit there and gawk, you fool, keep moving, or you’re going to the front with the rest of them! I’m missing their report, anyways.--Someone find out if the forward scouts died!”

If the men had any qualms taking orders from a woman, they didn’t voice their concerns, most likely for the best, and continued moving. Meticulously they worked and set up their defenses; the woman-commander was especially fidgety, however. She wanted to be out in the front and make a difference, but there were still things that needed to be done, and she’d need her father to relieve her of command, anyways. No, right now she had a job to do and it was just as important, she kept reminding herself.

Figures, she thought to herself and started to march back towards the bulk of her forces, directing individuals as she did so, and keeping an eye on the streets.

It had all happened relatively quickly and she hadn’t really gotten time to go over things; hell, she still hadn't time to change into her armor, but she had brought out a large swore in which to help her direct the knights.. In fact, she probably should have changed already, but it was an after thought; first, first she’d have to set up a concrete perimeter that her knights could react from, with ease. There was no need to be sloppy.

[Nayt]

Albion was in a blackened state . . .

Ser Geyers Pendragon heaved to stand. Breath was hard 'pon a weighted chest, borne hard with steel oft fragmented by the blades of fallen foes. Torn plate clad upon his chest and knit rings about his form, he'd all but a head's armor and his mount. Tufts of youthful brunette matted his skull in cold sweat and tired eyes of harmed emerald fell to the men of his house's preparedness. A battle was fought and for they, a battle was won, but without cost it was not: the corpse of friend and foe alike piled the streets, carried by a promised return of offense; soon, their insidious foes would return. Soon, their banner would burn.

Ser Geyers was but a youthful knight whose charge of these men was of inheritance alone, gathered from the death of his lord, with naught but the young Geyers to call for prepare.

"Hail, Ser Geyers," called a distant voice.

Geyers recognized the voice. He levied his gaze from blood laden cobble at his feet, and up to the steed that approach readily. For the burden of strength, he breathed deep and inhaled his fears. The mounted approached with men at his flank, allies in arms, with axes since drawn and smitten with the scarlet of tyrants' pawns. In plates, the frightful knight bore the banner of Aelflaed.

Haersten be his name--a knight of formidable aptitude, quality with the blade and quantity in his charge. Aged was he o'er the greenly Geyers, but mockery was not a thought in his mind; in earnest he approached the newfound lord Geyers, and in respect of position gained, halted his steed and guard at reasonable distance.

"Ser Haersten . . ." spoke Geyers 'pon the knight's approach, "Prithee, report'st thee of the front."

With not a hesitation, Haersten replied: "Thine kinsmen are slain."

Eyes agaped and Geyers leveled disbelief upon Haesten. "Dost thou jest?"

"Tis ne'er the moment for jest, Pendragon."

Geyers drew a hard breath. So many were lost. He thought back on this, to the battle's introduction, to the beginning of the afeared tyrants' return. Houses of Albion, separate, could bare not the curse of their antagonists alone. The front was fallen and soon the gates might suffer. Screams and fire terrified the evening, and even the moon withdrew behind a gray veil.

Albion was burning.

People were dying.

There was only one thing left to do. Geyers straightened his spine. Hard faced was he despite his youth, and the men of Haersten regarded him with honour.

"Very well. We must stagger no longer; our fall will't witness the conclude of free Albion," spoke Geyers of his heartful conclusion, "Will'st thee bare our faction?"

It was, in truth, a thought which Haersten shared. Of equal sincerity, he withdrew the plate before his face and met Geyers' with his own unshielded eyes. Their gaze intertwined, they sought each others thoughts. With a hardened, chiseled face, he acknowledged the wish of the Pendragon. Haersten nodded, then, with the utmost sincerity.

"We art but cousins in arms, fair Pendragon," said Haersten to the relief of Geyers.

[Iskander]

The Aelflaed pack had barely entered the streets when they were accosted, not by the enemy they expected, but by a knight dragging himself across the street. Blood leaked from his left leg, which hung useless behind him as he clawed over the cobblestones. Litli trotted forward and knelt beside the man, placing a hand on his armoured shoulder. The man was encased in steel plate, and only his head was visible; he had lost his helmet somewhere on his way through the street. "Ser," Litli began, but was interrupted.

"The red... It burns..." The man groaned and his eyes rolled crazily in his head.

"What red?" Litli frowned and examined the man over. He didn't see any marks to indicate the man had been caught by fire, but he also saw no damage to his armour. It looked as though the knight hadn't even taken a blow, yet his leg was clearly injured. "What happened to your leg? Oeric, check his leg." The Aelflaed Knight bent down to open the wounded man's armour and turned away, retching. Beneath the armour there was no leg, only a soup of red tissue and bits of bone. It had been largely kept in place by the armour, and what remained of it flooded out onto the street when the knight's greeves were opened.

"Oh... Dear God... Protect us," another of the knights whispered and made a sign of protection over himself. Others were retching, like Oeric, while those who had managed to hold onto the contents of their stomach were staring wide eyed and pale faced.

"God did this. It was the work of his Angels, the damned bugs," Litli snarled as he stood. He had heard legends about the Edija's most devastating weapon, but he'd never witnessed its effects himself. He was horrified with what he saw. Just how many more of these men are we going to find? He shook his head and pointed down toward the Ansgard position, "Hrothgar, go, bring the Ansgards. Tell them we have injured here." The big man grunted acknowledgment and started off down the street at an easy jog.

[Paroxysm]

“H-Hilda?”

A strained, but distinctive voice called out across the street and gained the attention of the blonde haired woman, who had continued relaying orders to her men, and was now just about finished setting up the perimeter.

Immediately, the woman rushed to the man’s side, calling out to him as father, and discussing something intimate enough to warrant keeping their voices to a soft, barely audible whisper. After this, the man staggered to his feet, felt at his beard, and proceeded to resume command of his forces, thanking his daughter’s efforts.

Several minutes would pass and eventually, Litli’s messenger would come to Hilda Ansgard, and give his message; the woman would appear visibly appalled but reassure the messenger that her arrival would be as soon as possible, sending him back on his way.

“Cousin Sigibert!” The woman called out to a large knight and gestured for his approach; Sigibert was a heavily built man and commanded the respect of many of the Ansgard knights, he was decorated in full-plate armor, and carried a large war-axe easily in one hand.

“We’ve wounded down that way,” she gestured towards the way that the messenger had arrived from, and pulled the knight closer to herself, “get the old guys; the ones that won’t panic,” her voice was hardened and she spoke coldly. “Or vomit. I’m told it’s a sight.”

Faking a smile, the woman sent the large man away, to gather those who would be able for the task, but she wouldn’t wait on their start, she’d start heading that way, herself. Her father was awake now and had retaken his role as commander and she was free to do as she pleased and help out where needed.

[Iskander]

"Ser," Hrothgar panted, leaning over to catch his breath after running back through the streets, "The Ansgard are coming. Their commander herself is coming." Litli arched a brow in surprise; he hadn't expected a woman to command, but the Ansgard were a strange family.

"Good wor- Oh... Shit." He stared, his eyes wide, as ropes of green fire snaked down through the clouds to vanish behind the city's buildings. A low humming filled the air and bits of the wounded knight's armour rattled across the street. "That can't be good," He shook his head and edged back away from where the light vanished. It was across the city, but he couldn't help but look about for a way to escape. On his list of things to run from, fire from the sky was one right at the top. Nothing good ever came of such fire.

Hilda's arrival coincided with a sudden increase in the volume of the hum. Litli caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, while he was pressed against one of the houses that lined the street. "Ser," he shouted over the humming, fighting to be heard, "there are wounded here. We need to get them out of the city!" He was still looking at her when there was a brilliant flash of viridian light, and the castle at the heart of the city shattered. The humming ceased, but was replaced with the roar of the explosion.

Litli fell to his knees as a wave of concussive force washed over the city. He saw that Hrothgar and Oeric had had gone down as well, and looked over to check if the Ansgard woman was still standing. "Ser," Oeric called across the street to him, "the entire castle is gone!"

"The city is lost," Hrothgar added. His eyes were wide, and his pupils had grown small with fear. "We cannot fight that power with swords and spears. We should take the wounded and leave. Now."

[Paroxysm]

Instinct; the explosions caught the woman off guard; the fire, too, went unnoticed, it was the explosions that had her full attention, and all of her senses. No, that was wrong, too; it wasn’t the explosions that had her attention, but a noticeable degree of effort she was displaying and for no obvious reasons, at that. Indeed, as the explosions occurred, her body reacted, and her mind called out, to what, she would not have been able to describe in many words, but almost immediately after it had occurred, half-a-set of armor would form around her body: her waist, chest, hands, and legs. The armor itself did not disrupt her clothing in the least; no, instead it seemed fused with the material of her clothing, as though it had formed in-between the threads themselves, and was accommodated with the utmost sincerity, by reality, itself. This had occurred the moment she had heard the first explosion and it had drowned out all but the shockwave.

The woman stumbled forwards from the force, but she did not fall; her body moving awkwardly at first, but regaining composure with each step. Eventually, she found herself in a sprint, moving faster than perhaps should have been possible, but quickly closing the distance between herself and Hrothgar.

“Say that again,” she growled through gritted teeth as she ducked down a bit, “and you won’t have to worry about their power, Ser. You think us not capable of winning, do you? You think them to come here and display such power and we have no hope of winning? They seek to break our morale and take the fight from us,” her voice had softened, but retained a degree of nobility, if not increased in such. “I’d sooner die.”

Her eyes sharpened and she glared at the man; truthfully, if he wanted to run, that was his prerogative, but Hilda Ansgard was not going to have any of it. She was a warrior and she fully believed that the bastards would not have displayed such power unless they had some ulterior motive; it was too grand and therefore seemed fishy. Why bother with the theatrics, after all? Unless they do not have a sizable invasion force; likewise, the other countries might even get involved now, if they weren’t already being contacted, or attacked. This could very well have been an attempt to destroy hope and morale, but without too much effort. That was how she saw it, at least.

“The wounded do need to be evacuated and so do any civilians not having already made an escape.” She thought to herself for a moment and didn’t give too much regard to the others, “but we also need to check on our losses. None of my scouts were returning, but I can cover the city faster than anyone else,” she boasted, but with pride absent. She was, after all, telling the god honest truth. “ My men will be here in a few moments to help with the wounded,” she declared to the others. “My father has retaken command of our forces and is coordinating our control over the streets. Cutting our losses and running without knowing the extent of the enemy force is lunacy,” she sighed. “Before we give up control of the city we must find out how large a force is attacking,” she reiterated. “We won’t get another chance.”

She wasn’t trying to undermine any authority or sound as though she was the better knight, but she did fully believe that the situation needed to be understood in its entirety. They could not afford to let this happen again, could they? If they were so keen on running each and every time, they would not last long, at all, and they’d simply become slaves.