Shadows stirred overhead as the forms of the Volareon and their rides overtook the dark skies and dropped their payload on the camp. Flaming arrows cut through the darkness and lit up the tar and oil, making flames of the encampment. For a moment, Violet wondered if there would be much of the fight, though she thought she could see through the darkness the glints of shields and weapons and the clatter of them being hastily picked up. The smoke burnt her nose as their first volley of arrows flew right over her head and the tower shields.
Violet knelt down as return fire came in, loud bangs of steel tipped arrows crashing against the large tower shield in front of her. Though this was her first true battle, she felt a strange sense of calm humming through her body and settling in her nerves. Confidence had flooded into her, confidence of their victory and confidence in the men around her. Armor clattered as the ropes were pulled and the charging men tripped. Bracing for the incoming assault, she rose to her feet, the soft creak of her black leathers lost among the noise of battle.
In came the first assault and they were met by the tower shields, most of them blocked and thrown back. Then the line wavered and forces slipped between the impenetrable wall of steel. A Qe’dreki warrior had moved on her with a hefty longsword. Her hands felt for the pommel of her longer and thicker melee daggers, the sing of metal seeing them relieved from their sheaths. The blades crossed in front of her and caught the blade coming toward her, a strong shove sending the man stumbling to the side with his sword arm flailing. It didn’t take long for him to come back for more.
She was careful to stay on the defensive, parrying attacks and not rushing any openings. Malcolm had wanted as many alive as possible. The last parry sent his blade falling to the snow, and Violet moved her foot to firmly step on it and keep it down on the ground. Without a weapon, the warrior had sunk down with his hands behind his head, just as many around him were doing the same. Her sight did not catch the glint of a fallen throwing dagger in the snow. As she kicked the blade further away, there was a flash of silver and the blade dug into her leathers. Luckily it was not thick enough to make it to her flesh.
Violet’s gaze had widened as she took the pommel of one of her daggers and struck him across the head so hard that he lost consciousness, the blade disappearing into the snow. “Stupid bastard,” she swore as she examined the small slice in the leather left behind by the blade. She looked up to see others, a very tall blonde man and a smaller darker haired man, rounding soldiers up. “This one is accounted for. I’ll gladly help you round them up.”
Violet knelt down as return fire came in, loud bangs of steel tipped arrows crashing against the large tower shield in front of her. Though this was her first true battle, she felt a strange sense of calm humming through her body and settling in her nerves. Confidence had flooded into her, confidence of their victory and confidence in the men around her. Armor clattered as the ropes were pulled and the charging men tripped. Bracing for the incoming assault, she rose to her feet, the soft creak of her black leathers lost among the noise of battle.
In came the first assault and they were met by the tower shields, most of them blocked and thrown back. Then the line wavered and forces slipped between the impenetrable wall of steel. A Qe’dreki warrior had moved on her with a hefty longsword. Her hands felt for the pommel of her longer and thicker melee daggers, the sing of metal seeing them relieved from their sheaths. The blades crossed in front of her and caught the blade coming toward her, a strong shove sending the man stumbling to the side with his sword arm flailing. It didn’t take long for him to come back for more.
She was careful to stay on the defensive, parrying attacks and not rushing any openings. Malcolm had wanted as many alive as possible. The last parry sent his blade falling to the snow, and Violet moved her foot to firmly step on it and keep it down on the ground. Without a weapon, the warrior had sunk down with his hands behind his head, just as many around him were doing the same. Her sight did not catch the glint of a fallen throwing dagger in the snow. As she kicked the blade further away, there was a flash of silver and the blade dug into her leathers. Luckily it was not thick enough to make it to her flesh.
Violet’s gaze had widened as she took the pommel of one of her daggers and struck him across the head so hard that he lost consciousness, the blade disappearing into the snow. “Stupid bastard,” she swore as she examined the small slice in the leather left behind by the blade. She looked up to see others, a very tall blonde man and a smaller darker haired man, rounding soldiers up. “This one is accounted for. I’ll gladly help you round them up.”
