The Battle at the Crossing of Cale

[Marr Survant]

Marr ran back off of the bridge towards where the other archers were firing their arrows. They had stopped in the commotion of the Balistae, and stood wide-eyed as the lordling ran up to them. He screamed over the roar of battle, "THE TREES! THE TREES! FIRE AT THE TREES!" They slowly turned and begun firing at seperate rates. Turnjel grabbed his shoulder, "M'lord, there's a man there." He pointed at a head of flame moving away from them. Marr weighed the importance of such an event.

No one man sways a battle. No matter which side he was on. If he were Ostian, he was either a coward, or had done a duty reqiured of him. If he was from Caelin, he was one man and charging the enemy alone was suicide. So he said, "Leave him be." He raised his own horn bow, and fired high into the air.

[Luster]

Peeking above the edge of the riverside he finally saw the balista - like he guessed this one was right at the forest edge. He was far enough away from the battle he hoped no one would notice. His concern was the archers, the balista no more than couple hundred feet away - right at the forest edge where they had a clear shot. He should be able to hide in the trees, assuming he got to close enough. Jumping over the river bank he took off again as fast as his feet would carry him.

Getting to the woods safely he peered around a tree trunk. The balista was getting ready to fire again, and there were only a few archers there - like he hoped the Ostian's saw no reason for placing much of a guard this far behind the front lines, their men were up front. He knelt on the ground quickly striking the flint over his torch - once it was lit he knew the clock would be ticking. Finally, the torch lit and he got the second one on fire as well.

Cursing the damned rain he took off again, nearly there.. only 50 feet away now Luster swung back hard launching the first torch as high as he could get it to go. It fell trough the trees near the balista leaving a trail of smoke - he prayed someone was looking. Not stopping his run, flanking the archers he hoped the trees kept him out of sight enough. Suddenly in front of him there was a whizzing sound - then another. Sharp thump and he saw the first arrow split into a tree only inches in front of him. He ducked and without stopping his run swung again throwing the second torch in their direction, leaving another smoky trail. A sharp pain seared trough his shoulder and he landed into the underbrush struggling to crawl forward with the arrow sticking out of him. Taking cover behind a tree he sat down breathing hard.

[Dante]

Dante saw another heavily armored Man-at-arms coming forward. Though he doubted the man had any love for the fallen sellsword, the Man-at-Arms came forward with a battle-rage that carried him faster than his legs would naturally in all of his armor.

Not any faster than our young swash-buckler however. Dante jumped to the side of a fierce lunge. The man over extended himself, and Dante simply had to ram him with his shoulder to knock him foo balanced. The battle swept past Dante as he stepped onto the mans chest and lowered himself, balancing on his toes. The mans eyes went from Dante's eyes to his own lance on the ground. His eyes trailed back as his arm slowly moved toward his ashwood lance. Dante rolled the lance away, and shook his finger in front of the mans face. He lifted the visor and asled, "What's your name my Lord?" THe man was maybe a year older than Dante, "Seru Manethast, sellsword."

Dante smiled, "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Dante Damion, current heir to Badon. What land does house Manethast rule? Last I heard that was a sellsword family, but that was actually the lesser branches right? Not the ones who trace their lineage back to the bodygaurd of Roland's son? Regardless of your family stature, which I can't buy a drink or meal with, you were the crest only given to appointed knights of Ostia. Ransoming your body and mind, would get me a fair amount of food and drink, and the *cough* less proud ladies would fight for my coin. So I believe I'll be taking you back to my camp. I'm sure you'll enjoy our highest accomadations, where you'll feast on stale bread and enjoy the conversation of a man who styles himself as Count Frillylace of Woodchimes. After you my lord." Dante lifted the man to his feet. He place his arm around him holding his axe edge against the mans throat.

[Marr Survant]

Marr fired with the rest of his men. He pulled his string back as far as he could, allowing his arrows to go as far as he could get his arrows to fly. He followed one with his eyes and saw it land in an outcropping of trees. He smiled under the rain with any luck the archers had finally killed all the men around the balistae. Obviously, the second someone thinks they've won or something's over, they're proven wrong. Which of course happened this time with a thwang. THWAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!

That one was on fire. Great. The bridge wasn't easy to set on fire but many of the men on said bridge were set ablaze. Marr saw a bolt of fire in a larger mass of trees slightly south of the bridge. He pointed towards it and yelled over the burning men, "THERE DAMN IT! THE BALISTAE'S RIGHT THERE!" He pointed towards the trees.

Marr had never felt like a coward for using a bow. But he felt shame at not being with all of those other soldiers. He ran back toward the bridge, just as a Pheraen Cavalry horn sounded.

[Otton]

Otton wasn't near the front of the Cavalry Charge. He was in the middle, which was probably the safest place for him to be. If they wre ambushed from behind, he would know before he died. When they met the enemy, he didn't have to face their enemy at their best. He wasn't proud of his cowardice, but when he thought of the people he was helping, it made him proud to be fighting and a little less afraid. He stretched his lance arm a bit, gripping the wooden shaft of the lance. He lifted his head and lowered his thoughts. The horn had been blown. Which was strange, because they weren't at the bridge yet. But then Otton saw it. A host of horsemen twice their size, waiting for them. "Great," Otton thought, "I get to die in the middle."

[Simon]

"The price of my freedom is one I cant' pay,
for they've parted me from my trick purse this day,
Oooooooh Elimine's kind but my enemies' cruel,
I'm shackled in my cell whilst playing the fool.

And when I get out the feud shall be done,
for I shall be free and my battle be won,
nobody knows how I break free and I have naught the knowledge,
but the land is devoid of me and my great...

Simon had no idea what to use as a rhyme there. He simply played his lute softly and nodded his head from side to side. He had no inklings on how to get out as of yet from his current situation. His recent attempts to lure a legion of mice had failed, as different songs summoned some mice, but scared others away. He couldn't start a revolution with only a hunred mice! Maybe if he had a couple hundred pidgeons, but he couldn't play that song without a pair of bongo's. ionly hope was to wait for a moment of chaos, or a plan.

He plucked his Lute strings once more, and began to hum. He loved his lute, and refused to lose it when they arrested him. He couldn't give a damn about the Illians against Bernese conflict. He had been arrested for singing songs about a gurdsman stealing a ladiesscarf, and refusing to stop. As much as the woman appreciated the act, the guard captain did not. Simon was placed in jail. He didn't last long, for he sang the same song without stopping to sleep or eat in a day and a half. They'd moved him to a prisoner tent in the battle only a few miles out of Castle Caelin. Now he sat as a man pushed a large armored man into his tent. Simon smiled, "Hello good man. I was wondering what you thought of mountains? Were hills not good enough?"

[Marr Survant]

Marr shot a few arrows at the enemies' portion of the bridge. He was running back, hoping to avoid another raging shot of the ballistae. He saw great flashes of fire, and the sky darkened to meet thunder as the mages of the armies clashed and killed. Men hated archers, but they feared mages. It was even less personal to kill a man with a word, practically hiring an assassin. Marr didn't like assassins. He carried an arrow to remind him of that. Nevertheless, they were useful. Marr dodged a stray bolt, and almost tumbled into a man with an axe leading a captive back to the camp. Marr sprinted for a few heartbeats, finally making it to the bridge. He saw a sage, a powerful mage general, throwing walls of flame at the Caelin knights and soldiers. Marr brought an arrow back to his ear, only to see it glance off the mans chest. The man turned to him and raised his arm, muttering some god awful death sentence.

A sword ripped up through the mans ribs. The Sage gasped for breath as he fell. The swordsman didn't last very long on the front lines, no one did. The battle was clearly going Ostia's way, but there was hope for the front line soon enough. The cavalry of Ostia pulled back. Thinning the moral and lines of the enemies troops. Marr dodged an axe thrown at his head, and as the man ran up on him, he slipped his knife out of his belt and stabbed out. Causing the man to stumble, but dodge the blow. Marr took a fierce blow to the stomach, but was well protected. He stabbed the throat of the enemy. Slipping his blade back into his belt, he picked another arrow from his quiver, and shot down a novice mage. Those words of death didn't sound as pretty with an iron arrow head in the voice box.

[Otton]

Otton breathed heavily. Even though he had Murdock, the leader of the Knights of the Code right next to him, he was nervous. Scared actually, nervous was how a man felt asking a man for his daughters hand in marriage. Otton was about to die. Murdock lowered the visor of his helmet. It was a beautiful piece of armor, with a depiction of Roland matching the facial expressions of the wearer. It was apparently the helmet of Murdock's father, yet fit Murdock perfectly. He turned to Otton, and his voice was smiling as he said, "Ready Otton? This'll be fun." As the youngest leader of the code, Murdock had already fought in twenty battles, he was well tuned to battle, at least Otton thought so.

The armies charged, and the Pheraen's spread out to avoid getting flanked. Murdock roared and surged to the front lines. He shouted jeers and inside jokes at enemies he knew, but cut them down anyway. He had grown up in Ostia, and knew many men of both Laus and this contingent. Otton urged the large horse forward. He hadn't given her a name yet, but she was a good mount. She stopped at just the right moment before she was killed by a hurled Javelin. A large knight rode up next to him. He swung a curved Ostian sabre, but Otton slipped it aside with his own weapon. The wooden shaft lost a few chips of wood, but pulled back much further than the sword.

Otton's nerves got a hold of him, and he held the thrust too tight, and a movement from his horse shot the head of the spear into the mans shoulder. The man nudged his horse forward, and swung again. Otton wasn't fast enough to block this one, and he took a sword to the side. His armor held strong, and he shot another thrust at the mans stomach. Neither horse moved, and the man died. The blood that shot at Otton shocked him, as he had to move on to the rest of the killing.

[Dante]

Dante pushed his captive into the tent, and heard the other prisoner say something. Whatever it was, he was sure it was idiotic, since that was what the man seemed to be to Dante. He broke into a small jog as he took the axes from his belt. He saw a Sage laying waste to several Pheraen troops, so he sped froward a little bit. He dodged a javelin when he stepped onto the bridge.

He swung his left axe at a large man with a great battle axe. The man blocked it, and swung the great thing at Dante's face. Dante ducked, and swung his right axe at the man, cracking his armor. The man brought the axe up into the air. Dante turned his body, and swung both axes at the same spot on the mans stomach. The man toppled, and a soldier stabbed him on the ground. Dante turned, and saw a Mage, lifting his hands and murmuring some spell. Then, the man all of a sudden fell, with an arrow in his throat. Dante turned and saw the archer who'd made the shot. He took a mental note of the mans appearance.

[Marr Survant]

Marr began to feel the heat rise. He was beginning to sweat heavily under his turban. He slid another arrow from his quiver, and nocked it to his string. He pulled it back, and saw the optimal target. The man was a giant, swinging a broadsword, wearing only a bear mask, and covered in blue painted designs. He was swinging, and screaming in a battle fury, scaring Caelin soldiers into acting like frightened children. Marr let the arrow fly. It missed.

He repeated, this time hitting the maniacs shoulder, with no effect. Once more, to his left chest muscle, to no avail. The man just kept coming. Marr pulled back, but couldn't let go. To put it bluntly, he was scared, deathly scared. He was literally shaking in his boots. He couldn't bring himself to fire. This time, the heat wasn't from the battle, or the fire of mages. The heat came from Marr's fear.