One after another, one after another, one after another, constantly, death, blood, everywhere. On both sides, the ranks seemed to be lowering, except each time a shadow was killed in the enemy ranks, another would reappear, which was not the case for the mortal allies. Finally, Aeon had managed to make progress, but it wasn't long before he realized it was only because the Naerikk had been retreating to form a line in front of the tomb. That was it, and he knew it, not even with all the love of those Immortals back there, they couldn't break the line. The Naerikk acted as one, they thought as one, and fought as one, while there were dozens of different men and women opposing them.
Even without the endless horde of shadows, entering the tomb would be an impossible mission. But with them, the ranks of mortals seemed to be thinning down by the trill. No matter, the skyrider hadn't allowed himself to be overcome by the tactics and the likelihood of winning. He once survived a situation where death was a certainty, so why would this fight have to be different? All he could do was push on, and keep on slaying one beast after another, fighting one woman warrior after another. They were far better equipped and skilled than their enemies, and it was only a matter of time before death met all the good guys, or so-called good guys.
Somehow, at one point, Aeon was surrounded. He must not have been paying attention because of the immense adrenaline, or something similar to that. There was a Naerikk coming after him from his back, with the impenetrable wall of the women in front of him. He was as good as dead, and all he could see was blood splattered across the beautiful shining surface that they had all ruined. Treidhart must have been an astonishing city, he thought, in the moments he thought were his last. Then, out of nowhere, a good thing happened to a good person, and an arrow flew straight through the heart of the woman behind him. As she fell down, the young sergeant jumped over her lifeless body that was now pouring the hot blood onto the snow, only to take a look at the archer. He appeared to be waving for reinforcements. Were they really getting reinforcements? It appeared so, as two dozen ice giants and a dozen other mortals rushed from what looked like the walls of the city.
T'was about time. He thought, as he observed the circle-like object made from tall, blue figures and a small biqaj man. Then, once more, his blade and attention were pulled back into the fight, as a woman, not older than 20 arcs, waved her short axe towards his face. It took one movement of his sword to kill her, one quick thrust through her stomach, and she was choking on her own blood in an attempt to beg for life. She wasn't fit for combat. She was still too young, and too inexperienced. What monster made her do this?
"You knew only war in life, so I pray you find peace in death." Aeon said as he pulled his sword out of her body, and rested the young Naerikk on his knee. A sudden hatred surrounded him, and not for the warriors opposing him, but for whatever force made them do this. That made them run into their deaths, even such young ones, and then it occurred to him. Their force was no different than ours. There were younger ones on Aeon's side than the Naerikk he just killed, and the Immortals seemed fine with it. There are no good Immortals. They're all selfish bastards willing to do anything to accomplish their goals. No more. He let the woman down as her eyes whitened, and he lay some bloody snow over her, to at least give her some sort of burial.
"That is very pointless thing you do, know that? She not do that for you, if you die." One of the giants said, but much unlike the others, his voice sounded natural. He appeared to know he was speaking Common, instead of his mother tongue. Could've the rest of them been under the influence of the Immortals? But he did have a point, no Naerikk would've given him any sort of post-death honor. Still, that made the difference between the two groups. Aeon had honor. They did not. The Immortals did not.
"I know." He said, with a serious look filled with anger and desire for all of it to end in the one eye he had, while the blue giant only smiled at him. He seemed to find it all funny. What kind of maniac would find his own homeland's destruction funny? Or did the Ellune have some other meaning for smiling. Several meters away, Faith was heard with another one of her speeches, and another good one, he had to admit. And yet a speech would not win a battle. Skill and strategy would, and the Naerikk were beating them in both.
He still came, and followed up on her plan to break the left flank, but their odds were slim, too slim for Aeon's liking. He needed to do something, or they would've died. There were very little people still guarding the walls, and if the walls were breached, the healers were screwed. But they couldn't protect the walls since all the meaning to this war was in the Tomb of Treid. And they couldn't breach it because they needed more men. It all ran in a circle. A circle. An endless one. That thought light a spark within the skyrider's mind, as an idea came to him finally. An insane, stupid one, but an idea. Their charge wasn't going to break the wall before they were surrounded by shadow monsters from behind, and Naerikk in the front, but what if someone managed to get through the wall? Just one person, one person that had considerable experience with the blade, and with overwhelming enemies, that could make a disruption in the organization that the women had in place, for just one trill? One trill would be enough, Aeon hoped.
"Hey, hey you. How far do you think you could throw me?" The skyrider told the man with the large spear in his hands, one that was still happy about something, oddly enough. Being happy was one thing, but in the very first trills of him hearing Aeon's idea, he went into laughter. He must have thought it was a joke, until the sergeant's cold expression made it obvious that it wasn't. He had officially gone mad, and he knew it. But the Ellune man seemed to like that fact, as he called another, probably a friend, since no one but a friend would have faith in such a plan.
"Alright, we are ready when you are. What is your name, crazy man?" The giant said, as he and his buddy crossed their arms ready to hold onto Aeon's feet. Oh he was insane, only an insane person could come up with something like that.
"Aeon. Go tell the- whoever is leading the men, to charge at my signal." Placing one boot over one of the giant's forearms, and holding onto his shoulder with his one hand, which also held his sword, the skyrider once more thought about the attack of sheer madness he had experienced before coming up with this plan. What was he even doing? He was going to land in the middle of the Naerikk and die in trills.
"And what would that signal be?" He said, but it was too late, they were already launching the blond man into the air right in front of the Naerikk's noses. And he was flying. HE WAS FLYING. He was bloody flying over the women which seemed to not know what to do. They weren't raising their weapons at him, and time appeared to have stopped as he was reaching the end of their second line. Just one more to go, he thought, but then realized that he was going to land on top of the third line. Like, directly on top of them. He could hear some gasps in the distance as he flew, and the Ellune madman who allowed this to happen shout his name, but he didn't catch it. Who would, while they were flying over heavily armed and expertly trained killer women. FLYING!
It seemed to have been a break before the longsword the King of Rynmere gave him pierced the unsuspecting Naerikk near the left end of the third line. Unfortunately, the landing wasn't as great as Aeon had imagined it, and well, he had landed on top of her, while also sliding several feet with his head in her-. Blasted Immortals, blasted Naerikk, blasted war! He thought as he ran his way into a standing position while his back faced a wall and several of the warriors from the third line had began to surround him. Perhaps that plan wasn't as great as he thought?
Oh how bloody lucky he was at that very moment to hear the horn go off in the distance, and the long echo of the one word that could've saved him. They were breaching the right flank, and it'd be trills before several of the mortal guardians of Treidhart, which included Velma, breached the left one. He could've managed to fight off the three Naerikk that came first towards him, but without the charge at the right flank, he would've been dead as soon as the second wave of them came through for him. Oh was he one lucky son of a bitch that trial. Unless of course, the right flank charge got shut down..in which case, he would've been one dead son of a bitch.
Even without the endless horde of shadows, entering the tomb would be an impossible mission. But with them, the ranks of mortals seemed to be thinning down by the trill. No matter, the skyrider hadn't allowed himself to be overcome by the tactics and the likelihood of winning. He once survived a situation where death was a certainty, so why would this fight have to be different? All he could do was push on, and keep on slaying one beast after another, fighting one woman warrior after another. They were far better equipped and skilled than their enemies, and it was only a matter of time before death met all the good guys, or so-called good guys.
Somehow, at one point, Aeon was surrounded. He must not have been paying attention because of the immense adrenaline, or something similar to that. There was a Naerikk coming after him from his back, with the impenetrable wall of the women in front of him. He was as good as dead, and all he could see was blood splattered across the beautiful shining surface that they had all ruined. Treidhart must have been an astonishing city, he thought, in the moments he thought were his last. Then, out of nowhere, a good thing happened to a good person, and an arrow flew straight through the heart of the woman behind him. As she fell down, the young sergeant jumped over her lifeless body that was now pouring the hot blood onto the snow, only to take a look at the archer. He appeared to be waving for reinforcements. Were they really getting reinforcements? It appeared so, as two dozen ice giants and a dozen other mortals rushed from what looked like the walls of the city.
T'was about time. He thought, as he observed the circle-like object made from tall, blue figures and a small biqaj man. Then, once more, his blade and attention were pulled back into the fight, as a woman, not older than 20 arcs, waved her short axe towards his face. It took one movement of his sword to kill her, one quick thrust through her stomach, and she was choking on her own blood in an attempt to beg for life. She wasn't fit for combat. She was still too young, and too inexperienced. What monster made her do this?
"You knew only war in life, so I pray you find peace in death." Aeon said as he pulled his sword out of her body, and rested the young Naerikk on his knee. A sudden hatred surrounded him, and not for the warriors opposing him, but for whatever force made them do this. That made them run into their deaths, even such young ones, and then it occurred to him. Their force was no different than ours. There were younger ones on Aeon's side than the Naerikk he just killed, and the Immortals seemed fine with it. There are no good Immortals. They're all selfish bastards willing to do anything to accomplish their goals. No more. He let the woman down as her eyes whitened, and he lay some bloody snow over her, to at least give her some sort of burial.
"That is very pointless thing you do, know that? She not do that for you, if you die." One of the giants said, but much unlike the others, his voice sounded natural. He appeared to know he was speaking Common, instead of his mother tongue. Could've the rest of them been under the influence of the Immortals? But he did have a point, no Naerikk would've given him any sort of post-death honor. Still, that made the difference between the two groups. Aeon had honor. They did not. The Immortals did not.
"I know." He said, with a serious look filled with anger and desire for all of it to end in the one eye he had, while the blue giant only smiled at him. He seemed to find it all funny. What kind of maniac would find his own homeland's destruction funny? Or did the Ellune have some other meaning for smiling. Several meters away, Faith was heard with another one of her speeches, and another good one, he had to admit. And yet a speech would not win a battle. Skill and strategy would, and the Naerikk were beating them in both.
He still came, and followed up on her plan to break the left flank, but their odds were slim, too slim for Aeon's liking. He needed to do something, or they would've died. There were very little people still guarding the walls, and if the walls were breached, the healers were screwed. But they couldn't protect the walls since all the meaning to this war was in the Tomb of Treid. And they couldn't breach it because they needed more men. It all ran in a circle. A circle. An endless one. That thought light a spark within the skyrider's mind, as an idea came to him finally. An insane, stupid one, but an idea. Their charge wasn't going to break the wall before they were surrounded by shadow monsters from behind, and Naerikk in the front, but what if someone managed to get through the wall? Just one person, one person that had considerable experience with the blade, and with overwhelming enemies, that could make a disruption in the organization that the women had in place, for just one trill? One trill would be enough, Aeon hoped.
"Hey, hey you. How far do you think you could throw me?" The skyrider told the man with the large spear in his hands, one that was still happy about something, oddly enough. Being happy was one thing, but in the very first trills of him hearing Aeon's idea, he went into laughter. He must have thought it was a joke, until the sergeant's cold expression made it obvious that it wasn't. He had officially gone mad, and he knew it. But the Ellune man seemed to like that fact, as he called another, probably a friend, since no one but a friend would have faith in such a plan.
"Alright, we are ready when you are. What is your name, crazy man?" The giant said, as he and his buddy crossed their arms ready to hold onto Aeon's feet. Oh he was insane, only an insane person could come up with something like that.
"Aeon. Go tell the- whoever is leading the men, to charge at my signal." Placing one boot over one of the giant's forearms, and holding onto his shoulder with his one hand, which also held his sword, the skyrider once more thought about the attack of sheer madness he had experienced before coming up with this plan. What was he even doing? He was going to land in the middle of the Naerikk and die in trills.
"And what would that signal be?" He said, but it was too late, they were already launching the blond man into the air right in front of the Naerikk's noses. And he was flying. HE WAS FLYING. He was bloody flying over the women which seemed to not know what to do. They weren't raising their weapons at him, and time appeared to have stopped as he was reaching the end of their second line. Just one more to go, he thought, but then realized that he was going to land on top of the third line. Like, directly on top of them. He could hear some gasps in the distance as he flew, and the Ellune madman who allowed this to happen shout his name, but he didn't catch it. Who would, while they were flying over heavily armed and expertly trained killer women. FLYING!
It seemed to have been a break before the longsword the King of Rynmere gave him pierced the unsuspecting Naerikk near the left end of the third line. Unfortunately, the landing wasn't as great as Aeon had imagined it, and well, he had landed on top of her, while also sliding several feet with his head in her-. Blasted Immortals, blasted Naerikk, blasted war! He thought as he ran his way into a standing position while his back faced a wall and several of the warriors from the third line had began to surround him. Perhaps that plan wasn't as great as he thought?
Oh how bloody lucky he was at that very moment to hear the horn go off in the distance, and the long echo of the one word that could've saved him. They were breaching the right flank, and it'd be trills before several of the mortal guardians of Treidhart, which included Velma, breached the left one. He could've managed to fight off the three Naerikk that came first towards him, but without the charge at the right flank, he would've been dead as soon as the second wave of them came through for him. Oh was he one lucky son of a bitch that trial. Unless of course, the right flank charge got shut down..in which case, he would've been one dead son of a bitch.
