Fandom For Honor: Dream of Peace

[Keltoi]

The Seven-year-long war Apollyon started all that time ago, it has almost destroyed everything that man has built. The Vikings of Valkenheim, the Knights of Ashfeld, the Samurai of the Myre, all slaughter eachother with sick glee. Too many have fallen to count the death toll.

But Holden Cross, at the behest of the new Lord Warden, has recruited the Empress Ayu and Jarl Strigandr to his cause of peace. It is certain death, but a such a noble dream. However, it will not be an easy endeavor, this dream of peace. The ambitious Daimyos and rival Houses of the Dawn Empire, the bloodthirsty Vikings that don't follow the Warborn clan, the deserters and lawless legions within Ashfeld will all oppose this goal.

Will there be peace? Or will it all burn away, like the reckless ideal it is?

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[Keltoi]

"Peace, he says. As if it's that easy to forget the hundreds of our dead." Hrothmir scowled, taking a deep chug of his personal drinking horn. Any other time, Ladha would have joined him, but tonight they had rather...important matters to discuss.
"I cannot believe it..."
"What if it is possible?" Ladha argued, just for the sake of it. As of yet, she was undecided on her opinion. "What if we can have peace with the Legions and the Dawn Empire?"
"Sounds great and all, but we're Vikings!"
"So you are against it? What about the men?" Ladha pressed, seeking an answer.
"We...we will follow you, no matter what. But you follow Stigandr. The men just want to go home with loot and glory, not empty coffers. We need to raid." Hrothmir pleaded, almost begging with his eyes. He too wanted something.

"Raid? We need peace." Ladha countered, rolling her eyes at how limited her companion's imagination was.
"Not everyone will respect the peace. The Iron Legion is not the only Legion. Let us raid another. C'mon Ladha, for old times' sake?"
The shieldmaiden thought it over, deeply, before coming to a conclusion.
"One last raid. But after that, we help Stigandr. I believe this peace can save our people."

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Ashfeld
Sir Bryce Lewison and his lovely wife Katherine
It was early morning in Ashfeld, the cool breeze blowing through Bryce's and Katherine's window. They were curled up together under the covers, cuddling each other closely as the morning sun shone right in Bryce's face. The man groaned, rolling over as he stayed in his somewhat comfy bed. The sun didn't wake him, but what did was the clanging and clashing of weapons outside from the soldiers fighting, the man shooting awake as the sounds of fighting caused his instincts to kick in. He'd seen some of the most vile atrocities he'd ever seen committed by Apollyon and her Blackstone Legion, and by the Vikings and Samurai. He could still see the chaos, slaughter, and rape of the people of Ashfeld as all three factions battled for dominance. He pushed these thoughts away, however, nudging his sleeping wife awake as he said, "Hey, love. Time to wake up." She stirred, sitting up as she said, "Mm... morning, love. How did you sleep?" Her red hair was an absolute mess, even though it was in a braid. Bryce smiled, saying, "Good. We have to get ready. Everyone's been on edge lately." He got up, only in a shirt and trousers as Katherine was in her nightgown, the two knights suiting up before grabbing their swords and heading to the ramparts, where they were commanding the troops there. The couple didn't have their helmets on, talking as they looked out at the now repaired countryside, Bryce not believing that they recovered from such a terrible war. He wanted peace more than anyone in the castle, and by God he was going to fight for it.​

 

[Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Warrick Keep, Near the Valkenheim-Ashfeld Border
Three days ago
Tullus Marcius Calvus

"Shields!" Tullus shouted, and all around him his soldiers obeyed instantly. And a good thing, too, for a moment later a volley of arrows came soaring out from over the stone walls, as the gathering of archers he'd predicted in the courtyard made themselves known. The gate had been broken open by a small ram, and was now a press of men, but a press that his men were losing. Not once he got there. He stared up into the sky, pinpointing arrows. One, two would be hitting him, and he didn't use a shield. Didn't need one. He stepped aside and stood side on, and two arrows thudded into the ground next to him. He scoffed at them. "Forward! Don't give them a moment's rest!"

His men charged forward, and he led them. He slid through a gap in the line at the gate, raising an arm to the side and hollering, "Up the walls, up! Send them to their pitiful gods!" Four trios of men all holding ladders split off to the left, screened by a small wall of shields and soldiers who would go up the ladders once they were emplaced. That wasn't his concern, he had no doubts they could handle themselves. It was the gate that was his main target, the ladders were merely to tie up men. The commander here would undoubtedly be confident that the gate was secure and draw off men to the new threat of the ladders.

Sure enough, the Viking commander cried for men to withdraw from the gate line and move up to the walls. Tullus smiled savagely under his mask, and pelted into the throng. He cut one man's throat, the deflected the axe swing of another and countered with a vicious cross, sending him sprawling to the ground, unconscious. Immediately Tullus was leaping forward, burying his gladius into the chest of a third viking, breaking through his woeful attempt to interpose his shield. "Weaklings!" he taunted, making sure to use their own language.

He intended to punch, sometimes literally, a hole into the line. He raised his sword and shouted a cry of triumph, and those behind him let out an echoing roar. He caught the sword of one opportunistic viking in his gauntleted hand, before wrenching it out of his grasp, tossing it into the air, stunning the man with a quick jab to the throat, catching it by the handle, and lodging it deep into his shoulder. That one was a woman. Interesting. Tullus was a tornado of stabs, slashes, parries, punches, kicks, and elbows; none could stand before him, and the soldiers took heart.

After a minute of tearing through every viking in front of him, Tullus had driven through the Viking ranks, and men streamed through it behind him, storming up the walls, across the courtyard, and around to the vikings guarding the West Gate, to the right of this one. Victory was within his grasp, and the Vikings would be driven out of yet another rightfully Legion-held stronghold. Drawing out the commander into a duel would hasten the victory, however, and reduce his own losses as the vikings flounder after their head has been removed. Time to do one of the multiple things he did best. "Where are your warriors? Someone come show me what passes for valour amongst you worthless gutter rats!" he bellowed, once more in their own speech, by way of a challenge. A large man bolted down into the courtyard through a tower, likely the garrison's commander. He was armed with a sword and shield, shrouded in furs and hides from all manner of animal and topped by a helm with what looked like fangs at its top. "I am here! Break upon me like so many of your brothers!" the commander thundered. Tullus grinned wolfishly, the expression concealed behind the dispassionate face of his mask. Yes, this would be a worthy fight.

"You face your death, viking!" Tullus boasted, throwing his arms out wide. The commander, evidently done with talk, ran for him, baying for blood. "See how I dispatch this one!" he called to his men. The commander leapt into the air, bringing down his blade onto Tullus' raised sword, angled to let the sword skitter off. Tullus retorted by slamming his fist into the man's jaw, sending him reeling. Tullus rushed after him with a slash to the legs, but he found a shield knocking him back before the strike could connect more solidly than a small cut. It drew blood, but little else.

The commander feinted forward, then sent a thrust, which slipped past Tullus' guard and knocked into his mask, sliding off the side. He was lucky that didn't connect more solidly, or somewhere less armoured. Undeterred, Tullus launched forward again, swinging blow after blow at the commander, forcing him to hunker behind his shield. Then he feinted, drawing the shield one way, and capitalised by stepping in and uppercutting the commander, hard. The commander fell to the ground with a crash. "Not good enough!" Tullus shouted at him, reverting to his native Latin, the language shared by his soldiers. Then he jumped and stabbed him straight through the chest, standing over the commander. He raised his sword for another strike, but a wild swing from the commander's shield forced him to dodge out instead. "Come do that again!" he challenged, not bothering to take the time to use the commander's language.

Now he had the man on the back foot, wounded and dazed. But to the commander's credit, he did not seem bothered, and launched into another attack, charging in and launching a swift exchange of blows, blocks, parries, and small taken hits. A mistake, Tullus was the faster of the two, not to mention the more skilled. It was a mistake that led directly to his next mistake, a sword parry just a half-second too late to stop Tullus jamming his sword into his throat. He tore it out violently, then front kicked the viking over. Then he brought his sword down into the Viking's chest, then his throat again, finally wrenching his blade out, satisfied. Tullus turned to his men and cheered. Those watching cheered back, and the scream was picked up by the rest of the army. A scream of victory.

++

The Present, Morning

Tullus had allowed himself no rest after his victory, immediately setting to work overseeing his troops settling into and protecting Warrick Keep. Even now he was still at work, coordinating a foraging mission to gather materials needed to repair the castle, perhaps even strengthen its defences. He had also made contact with a nearby village and stationed troops there under the command of the man he trusted most, his second, Lieutenant Arlen Brookley, and was expecting another report by this evening. This was a crucial castle that watched over a major road that led through Ashfeld a little ways into Valkenheim. A prime route for an army's march, and thus making Warrick Keep a vital strategic point. The logic made sense to Tullus.

He'd already sent back a horse-borne messenger to report the victory, which would probably reach its destination this morning. Tullus was expecting the first reinforcements in at most a week, although that was a bit of a pessimistic prediction. Tullus sighed as the men he was addressing left to their mission, taking a brief moment to himself. Another soldier approached him. "Sir, a patrol has spotted a small raiding party of Vikings, about a dozen. They're trying to slip past." Tullus restrained the urge to sigh again, instead stepping forward with squared shoulders, projecting an air of confidence and stoicism, glad that the mask stopped his men seeing the bags under his eyes. No rest for the weary. "Thank you for the report, Totting. Inform Corporal Withers that he is to assemble his squad, and to take Forrest with him as a guide..."​

 

[Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Somewhere in the Northwest of the Myre
Takanashi Saka

Saka padded through the marsh, expertly picking out the most solid ground, stepping there silently, and leaving with nary a trace. She ducked under a low branch, then leapt over a squelchy puddle that she knew, from experience, would definitely be particularly wet and nasty. Wouldn't do to step in that. She paused briefly, listening. Yes, the column of Legion soldiers were still moving through one of the more open passes of the Myre. She herself was picking through the densest bit of it that ran parallel to the soldiers' path that she could find. All the better to shield herself from view.

She had been tracking the group for three hours, making sure they weren't headed anywhere they shouldn't be. And so far, they haven't. They've been marching straight for the small town of Yamabetsu, known in the area for its well-cultivated and rich agriculture. And Saka knew that the Legion knew this, for she had overheard the commander of the nearby Legion army, of which this was but a raiding party, talking about it. She eyed the man at the head of the party, a broad-shouldered man in a suit of shiny plate armour, segmented at the joints, with a longsword sheathed on his hip and a green-and-white tabard depicting a flower of some manner hanging over his front. Either one new to warfare, or one obsessed with polish of their kit. The two tended to be the same, in Saka's opinion.

She slipped further through the boggy ground, sighting the familiar landmark of the forked tree with one fork cut off and the other with a pink ribbon tied around it. And just like the forked tree trunk, the open 'path' forked, too. The man in armour at the head of the column stops and reaches behind him. One of the soldiers handed a small roll of parchment to him, which the knight opened and read. That was probably a map. After a few moments of looking around, the knight indicated the left path with his hand, and the column set down that way. Good. Saka put her hands to her mouth in something resembling a ball and used them to let out a distinct bird whistle. That was the prearranged signal to those on the path ahead that the raiders were heading down the correct way, and to make final preparations for the ambush.

She followed the group for another couple of minutes, as her bird call had faded into the background as just another cry of the wildlife. They suspected nothing. This was shaping up to be another flawless attack. Saka just hoped that'd prove true. The column rounded a bend, and that was when they struck. At first there was nothing, and then two dozen men dropped dead, arrows pouring in from both sides. The column flailed, and the knight at its head began to shout for order. With a great cry of defiance, the ragtag band she'd helped assemble rushed out of the trees, brandishing everything from farming sickles to spears to katanas. Rolling down the incline ahead of them were a series of logs, which careened into the column's ranks, scattering them.

It'd been formed of an eclectic mix of wandering warriors, peasants who were ready to stand up for themselves, deserters, and others. They'd even attracted an Aramusha who had, according to the man himself, lost his previous contract after he protested against one too many unsavoury actions by his employer. Saka was skeptical of his story, as was natural for her. But the man, introducing himself as Suijin, had fought loyally without reward, not to mention with great ability. And he did, she had to admit, seem quite trustworthy and honourable, surprisingly so for an Aramusha. She liked him. So he was accepted. The two rapidly grew a bond, forged and tempered in battle. And now Suijin was at the head of the charge once again, slicing through two soldiers with simultaneous swings.

Satisfied, Saka broke through the trees and joined them with a shout of her own, impaling one man on her naginata, then withdrawing it and slashing another man across the throat and kicking him over. Another soldier charged in with a lunge and she rolled over him, reversing her grip on the naginata as part of the same motion and stabbing backwards with it. A fourth man came at her, and she brought the shaft forward to smack him in the face with it, following it up by spinning and kicking him in the head, using that same spin to catch two men in a wide, powerful slash.

Three soldiers rushed her, and she quickly darted backwards, fending them all off with rapid thrusts to keep them on the defensive. Finally one connected, catching the middle one in the throat, allowing her the breathing room to maneuver to the side and put the left soldier between her and the right soldier, stymieing his attack. She quickly delivered two upward slashes to the one in front of her, in an x-pattern, then arced a slash in from the top on her second opponent, drawing it back at the last second and turning it into a thrust from under his upraised shield.

With a moment of peace, Saka stepped back briefly and looked over the battle. The Legion soldiers were mostly cut down, but that knight was proving a little more difficult to beat. Even as she watched, he cleaved through a man's spear and into his skull. Saka's grip on her naginata tightened in anger. He died, now. Saka charged through the chaotic melee, sliding underneath one man, then dispatching another with a quick slash across the chest and a thrust from the base of her naginata, then leaping over him and spinning in the air to burst through the shield of a third man and lodge the blade into his shoulder. Saka frowned a little and flicked her weapon to the side, finishing the man by slicing his throat in an almost comically dainty motion.

It appeared that Suijin had already had the same idea as her, for he was currently driving the knight back in a reckless whirl of blades. The knight seemed mostly unfazed by this, playing defensively. She wasn't sure, but it looked like he was just trying to tire Suijin out. Bastard. She couldn't risk that. Saka pushed herself to run faster, and entered the fray by soaring through the air in a long jump, with a mid-air thrust aimed for under the knight's helmet. The knight was surprised, but managed to get his blade enough of the way parrying to knock her aim up into his helmet, staggering him back. Suijin capitalised, slashing under the knight's arm. Saka put her naginata through the knight's weaker knee armour, bringing him down to one knee with a shout of pain. Then Suijin jammed both of his blades down through the knight's shoulders, angling around the metal pauldrons. Finally, Saka finished him with a thrust through the throat.

"I could have cut him down on my own." Suijin protested semi-jokingly, tossing his katanas into one hand and extending the other, to clasp forearms with Saka. Saka shivered, though it was not cold. A corner of Suijin's mouth quirked up in a smile, but anything more was hidden by his extremely wide-brimmed straw hat, angled forwards.
"No, you were playing right into his hands." Saka retorted cheerfully, the Legion troops behind them now in full retreat.
"Oh? I was wearing down his defence. He would have slipped up, soon, I could feel it."
"Not before he'd worn down your energy, which you expended in that foolhardy assault of yours."
Suijin's smile widened playfully. "You weren't there."
He flicked both his swords mostly clean of blood, then returned them to their sheathes at his waist. Saka opted to simple wipe her blade clean on the dead knight's tabard.

The two of them remained quiet for a moment. The silence drew on longer, and Saka quickly lost her patience with it.
"After this, our next move should be to wait. This army is the most pressing issue, we need to make sure they aren't going anywhere or getting anything. A campaign of night raids and maybe some drumming wouldn't go amiss. The Legion hates our drums, too echoing for them, I think. Keep them scared. I'll let Kyosura know."
Suijin scoffed. "Kyosura doesn't know anything, Takanashi. You're the leader of the Pink Lotus, whether you like it or not. I don't know why you let him order you around."
"Because he's popular with the Lotus. He knows how to get people to follow him."
"That's it?"
"That's all he needs to be."
"I respect you immensely, but that's not true. It takes more than charm and political cunning to lead a good warband."
Saka remained silent.
"We would be all the stronger in defence of our people if we took orders from you, rather than that silver-tongued worm Kyosura."
Saka frowned. "You should respect our leader more," she chided him.
"I do respect our leader. I respect you. Kyosura is just..." Suijin grasped at nothing, as though plucking the correct phrase out of the air. "He's as straw as my hat. There's nothing to him."
"But is your hat not useful?"
"Because I wear it. It isn't useful solely on its own merit."
"And just as you give it purpose, so does it also aid you."
"But Kyosura isn't a hat, he's a human. One who can act without your control, and is starting to do so more and more."
"He listens to me. He won't go against me, he needs me."
"I think he disagrees. There are whispers he wants to renounce the ca-"
"Enough! I will not usurp leadership of the Pink Lotus."
Suijin's mouth hardened into grim line. "...Very well. I cannot say I am happy with this, but I will continue to give the Lotus my support. So long as it fights for the people, Takanashi."


Suijin walked away, leaving Saka alone amongst the dead, all the wounded having already been either killed or dragged away to be tended to, depending on if they were Legion or Lotus. All was quiet. Not even the animals made a sound on this small patch of death. Saka leaned heavily against her naginata, suddenly profoundly tired of it all, wishing she could have her simple life back. That life was as dead as the Legion soldier whose terror-twisted face Saka found herself staring into.​

 

[Keltoi]

Sailing over the seas, up rivers? Easy for the Vikings. Stay quiet and hidden, letting no native of Ashfeld see them? Somewhat more difficult, but not impossible. Finding the stone fort the Legions preferred? Even a simpleton could do it. Taking such a fort? Very different indeed.

This was the problem Lerdha faced, her crew waiting to climb the walls and rip into some accursed Knights. First, they used ropes and grapples. Knights might wonder why Vikings preferred leather and cloth to plate metal. It was for speed and less noise. Oh, and so they didn't fall to the bottom of the ocean everytime they fell off their dragonships.

Knights are said to be vigilant. Debatable, as Lerdha found, her entire crew walking along the walls and in the courtyard, silencing everyone they came across with a swipe of a knife to the throat. It took a while for the residents to notice something was amiss.
"Alert! Vikings!" A sentry called out in Latin. There was an audible bustle coming from the keep, as sleeping knights woke up and ran to throw on ther equipment. The Vikings wasted no time, killing everything that wasn't speaking Norse, yelling and screaming so the gods would hear.

"I forgot!" Lerdha called to Hrothmir, a smile fixed to her face.
"Forgot what?" He asked
"How much fun raiding was!"

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

It was a quiet day for Bryce and Katherine, the two holding hands as they looked out at the countryside. Eventually, night fell, and they went to eat before going to bed, Bryce spooning his wife tightly. They slept for a while before hearing a sentry shout the alarm, Bryce shooting up as he saw Vikings running around killing anyone that they could find, Bryce sighed, saying, "Katherine! Get up! We're under attack!" Katherine jumped awake, running to the window as she saw the battle outside, crossing her chest briefly as she said a prayer. She the joined her husband in donning their armor as they ran outside to defend the castle. They burst through the gate to the main hall, seeing Vikings and Knights alike being cut down left and right. The two nodded at each other, Bryce going up the right rampart while Katherine took the left. Bryce cut his way through the Viking grunts, eventually seeing a woman with a shield and a sword, who was obviously leading this attack. Bryce pointed his sword at her, shouting in Latin, "Stop! I challenge you! Leave this place, or face the consequences!" He didn't want to fight her, but he wasn't going to just let her kill his men without consequence.
Keltoi

 

[Sir Galahad II]

Fire, steel, what a soldier feels...

No, that wouldn't do. Ludwig crumpled the paper up and tossed it aside.

Fire, steel, wounds that never heal...

Better, he thought, though he felt it was missing something.

Fire, steel, wounds that never heal
Fleeting birds, those of little words...

Sigh. What nonsense. He tossed this one as well. It seemed as though he was getting rusty- must have been too much time on campaign. He hardly had time for himself anymore. As much as he liked proving himself in combat, they do say too much of a good thing is a bad thing. He grew tired of fighting. Tired of seeing blood. Tired of the screams...

No, he would not dwell on it. Not like so many others. That's how your sanity slips. He pulled out more parchment, uttering a silent curse at his wastefulness.

Fire, steel, wounds that never heal
Fleeting-

He jumped a little at the knock on his door, causing him to drag the quill across the paper. Ludwig muttered another curse under his breath before setting the quill aside and getting up. He opened the door of his chambers to reveal a scrawny young boy- likely a squire by the looks of it. The squire informed Ludwig that he was needed outside. For what exactly, he had no clue. Ludwig politely thanked the messenger before closing the door. No rest for the weary, he thought. He walked over to the small table next to his bed and picked up his helm. It hadn't been polished in some time; He could no longer see his reflection in it. No good- a soldier can't be running around with shoddy equipment. However, it seemed Ludwig had no choice. He flipped it over and put it on. He then grabbed his pole-axe and rested it on his shoulder before walking out the door, silently hoping that nobody would walk into his chambers and read the dozens of crumpled sheets of parchment on the ground.

 

[Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Warrick Keep, Near the Valkenheim-Ashfeld Border
Tullus Marcius Calvus

Few things in life were as satisfying as some hard-earned rest. The only thing that came close was a good Imperial play. The Mirror and the Miser was always good for a nice low-brow laugh. He'd always identified strongly with Trenico. Something about the servant's cocky, ambitious demeanour despite his low station made an impression on Tullus. Especially when it led to him being made a Senator at the play's conclusion, at the expense of the foreigner Giannis and his designs on the city. Nowadays, the play had begun to be phased out in favour of fresher plays about more relevant topics, especially since the 'enemy' of the play had long been a vassal state of the Empire. But Tullus thought the play had a timeless quality to it.

The sound of a fist pounding on a wooden door came from behind him. Tullus immediately sat straight and reached for his helmet, laying it into place, mask and all, with the ease of a man who had long become weary of the gesture. "Enter," he said, once the helm and mask were firmly in place. It was a habit of his, the mask was his commanding face. He wore it so much that it was starting to become his real face, too. 'What grim changes war brings to man', Tullus pondered in his head. He stood and faced the door. "Enter."

His young squire, Elyse Carver, hurried in, her face lightly dusted with dirt, and her frame growing tall and strong. She had only been in her teens for three years. In one hand she clutched a thick wooden practise sword, one which had clearly been seeing some use recently. 'Some surprisingly vicious use', Tullus thought as he noted the flecks of blood on it.

"Milord Calvus," she addressed him.
"My lord," he corrected her, "You say my lord. You must learn to enunciate, Elyse, if you are to become a proper knight."
Elyse giggled. "Don't be silly, milord-"
"My lord."
"Don't be silly... my lord," she started again, "I'm a girl from a farm, not a noble."
"And yet I see you out there thrashing all those noble squires in your little games."
Elyse shrugs. "Don't mean I'm a noble."
"Doesn't. And you're right, you aren't a noble. Nor am I, but see how I lead all these lords and sirs. Birth is no obstacle to someone with gifts that you or I possess"
"Yeah, but you're different."
"Only because I had the will to make myself something more than I was, to beat everything between me and my goal. But even this I believe you also have. I believe you do even have a goal, you want to be a Warden."
"No I don't, my lord, that's above my place."
"You have been my squire for long enough that I know you're not telling the truth. You're always very interested in the Wardens we come across, and try to impress them. In fact, one has approached me to compliment my squire."
Elyse could not hide the way her face brightened. "Really?"
"No. There were actually two Wardens who did that. You are better than you think you are, Wardenhood is not above you. That is our one true difference. Self-belief, conviction. I seek to teach it to you."
"If you say so, mil- my lord. But please, I came here for something else. I bring news"
Agh, he wasn't getting through to her just yet. He'd definitely have to keep at it. Maybe come up with a good lecture or two. He hated to see someone waste all their gifts by being uncertain and unsure in herself. "What news?"
"Lieutenant Arlen Brookley sends word that Leisten is about to come under heavy attack, and to send reinforcements as soon as possible. I heard a messenger come and report, and some soldiers are starting to get ready for your orders to march out, but I decided to tell you myself. Did... should I have said that before?"
Tullus waved her off. "It is no matter. A minute's conversation will not matter much when the march is a few hours. Help me get armoured up, then go get a sword for yourself. Meet me at the centre of the courtyard."
"At once."

The breastplate went on first and cloak went on first, followed by the tassets, then the pauldrons, vambraces, and gauntlets then the greaves, then all the other miscellaneous bits. Finally, he secured his sword and its sheath on his belt. Elyse left quietly, and Tullus began making his way down from the tower to the courtyard, thinking about how many to bring. He'd put six hundred of the uninjured men under Arlen to fortify the small township, secure it as a forward base to use to cover a wider span of the border when reinforcements arrived. Another three hundred or so were running patrols. The numbers of the dead, wounded, and those who had died or were dying of their injuries relatively low thanks to both fortune and his decisive slaughter of the viking leader.

This that left him with around eight to nine hundred men. He was confident that the castle would not come under much attack, if any, before the battle at Leisten was concluded. That said, he would not leave the nexus of his command undefended. Perhaps two hundred at the castle, left under... not Ludwig, he would much rather have that man at his side in the thick of the action. Perhaps Sir Richard Lybeck, the man had proven himself a capable defender in previous battles, though Tullus was leery of how little of a combatant he was. Two hundred under him, and the rest would march for Leisten

He made it halfway to the officers' tent before being harassed by the already-armoured Sir Enguerrand. One of the more experienced knights under his command. Utterly impetuous despite his years of war, but solid enough. "Ah, Commander Calvus. Just the man. I was looking to tell you about-"
Tullus didn't stop walking, and Enguerrand walked at his side. "About Leisten? I already know, my squire already filled me in."
"Good. I am hoping to be able to join battle with the viking invaders once again."
"And so you shall. Anything else?"
Enguerrand shook his head, and the two quickly made their way to the officer tent, a plain canvassed affair with little ornamentation, only standing out from the others by virtue of size. Inside, the rest of the high-level commanders were already standing around the table, in various states of dishevelment. Except for Ludwig, who was probably busying himself with... whatever it was he did in his private time. Sir Richard, he noticed, was half-shaved and still holding his razor, apparently using it in lieu of the sword everyone else had managed to pin on. Then again, the young knight was undoubtedly the first one here. It was simply in Richard's nature to be able to drop things as soon as something more pressing came up and adapt quickly. He would've been Tullus' second were he not a sloppy swordsman by knightly standards, and a little too young.
"Good, you're all here already," Tullus greeted them, ignoring Ludwig's absence. They all nodded respectfully back to him.
"And ready to take the fight to the Vikings!" Enguerrand added emphatically, raising a clenched fist. The table echoed with "Hear hear!" and "Well said!". Tullus smiled under his mask. It was genuinely heartening to see his subordinates in these good spirits.
"And so you shall. But I will not leave the castle undefended, and I would have one of you command the defence of Warrick Keep should it be assaulted. This is a vital task, for the loss of this stronghold would invalidate the sacrifices of all the soldiers who gave their lives for this castle, and set back our plans."
It was important to not let people feel that their efforts were unimportant. For then they would care less, and that led to mistakes. Not to mention he did not want his commanders to feel he saw them as less valuable, for that inspired disloyalty.
He swiveled his head to Richard. "Sir Richard Lybeck, the castle is yours until my return, as are two hundred men, take however many you need to make up the number from the others' companies. Stand strong. The rest of us shall march on Leisten, expect our return in two days, three at the latest. Go and choose your men, organise the guard, and send a squire to tell Sir Ludwig van Willigen that he is needed outside. And by Valetudo, finish shaving."

Richard left quickly, and Tullus took a moment to look pridefully at his commanders.
"The rest of you, we march out in half an hour. The plan is simple. March there, then we fight our way to the village centre, which is where Arlen may be. Then we coordinate with him, push outwards. If he is not there, then we simply push outwards anyway. Anyone who finds him, let him know what we plan. Our priority is to preserve our troop numbers, for reinforcement is still a time out."
"Understood, Commander," Sir Kaleb said. The other commanders echoed the sentiment.
"Then you are free to go, let us go and make ready to march." Tullus drew his sword and thrust it to the sky decisively. "For the Iron Legion!"
Swords slithered from their scabbards, forming a small gathering of raised swords. "For the Iron Legion!"

A few minutes later

Tullus paced across the courtyard, now busy with soldiers running to and fro, readying to set out. Elyse had found him and was now his second shadow, as she was wont to do. Ah, there was Sir Ludwig now. Tullus had always thought it odd how the man never seemed much undressed from his armour, but had never commented on it. Ludwig's habits were his own. The gods knew he had his own eccentricities, namely how he almost never appeared without his mask.

"Sir Ludwig. It is good to see you prepared." His tone was brusque, the speech of a man with much yet to do. He did not really disrespect Ludwig - rather the opposite, actually - he was just pressed for time. "I shall fill you in. Lieutenant Arlen Brookley's force at Leisten is soon to be set upon by the reinforcing Viking army I predicted, if they are not already engaged. Time is of the essence, gather your men. We march out in twenty five minutes, for time is of the essence. Once we arrive at Leisten, it is imperative that we make for the village centre and then push outwards, linking up with Lieutenant Arlen as soon as possible. Sir Richard Lybeck shall command the defence with two hundred men until we return. Do you have any questions?"

Sir Galahad II​

 

[Sir Galahad II]

Though it was somewhat awkward to walk around the keep with impaired vision thanks to his helmet, Ludwig wanted at least one hand free so he could open doors by himself, and carrying his pole-axe and helmet in both hands would not do. His visor was once able to be lifted up, though it was now impossible thanks to the ornament he earned a while ago. No matter, he was used to seeing through the slanted rows of his visor and kept walking.

Ludwig stepped outside into the courtyard and found Tullus and his squire. He wasn't surprised, really, which is why he had been wearing his armor this entire time. He always planned to not have much time for himself, and that was what always ended up happening. His armor had become like a second skin to him, like how a turtle never left its shell. Ludwig didn't mind, really, especially since it kept him in shape. He walked over to Tullus and looked down at him (literally, not metaphorically) to listen to what he had to say. It was almost amusing to him- two masked men having a conversation with each other- but he kept that to himself.

He smirked under his helmet as he listened to the plan. Then, once Tullus had finished explaining to him:

"I like it!" said Ludwig. "If we surround ourselves with the enemy, they have nowhere to run, eh?" He chuckled a little before continuing. "No, I have nothing to ask. I shall rally the men immediately. Thank you."

After saying their goodbyes, Ludwig marched over to the barracks. Opening the door and walking in, he called out:

"Look alive, boys! There's glory to be won!"

 

[Keltoi]

Ladha narrowed her eyes, smiled thinly, and pointed her sword arm to the Warden standing before her, drenched in the blood of her kin and friends. Any other way, and she would have been furious, but they had died well. Odin would no doubt welcome them in the Great Hall.
"Leave this place? Empty handed and much less numbers? Are you mad? We are Warborn, we will not back down!
"But you, on the other hand, can very well be a craven. If we succeed, you are all dead. If we lose, you are still dead, Stigandr will raze this place to the ground! Drop your weapon, maybe we will be merciful."

Then Ladha went straight into a fighting stance, shield covering her whole front, with her watching the knight over it, and sword pointed directly at her opponent. With a laugh, someone else jumped into the standoff, twirling his axes maniacally. Hrothmir. He always loved a good fight.

 

[Midrick]

Pat heard the alarm for attack in the barracks for the regulars and non nobles. He prefered the barracks to the cushier arangements provided for the elite troops and nobles in the army. He had been honing the spikes in his flail before a regular ran in telling the other soldiers that the castle was under attack by viking raiders. Pat's head snapped up when he heard viking, he grabbed is helmet, strapped it into position, and then grabbed his shield in his left hand.

He walked at a fast pace to the courtyard where a pitched battle was taking place. The clash of metal and yelling was all he could hear as he made his way through the viking foot soldiers, easily felled by his flail. He made his way to the rampart where some knight soldiers were surrounded. After helping the soldiers he began moving forward, even grabbing a raider by the neck, hoisting him off the ground, and throwing him off the wall.

He found a warden confronting a viking, great, this warden is about to be double-teamed and I have to save him. The warden seemed to be set against the female warlord, funny you don't see many female warlords. Pat shook off his contemplations and seized up the beserker. The viking hadn't seen Pat approach. He decided to get the combat advantage. He charged forward and jumped toward the beserker with his shield raised. The result was a loud "clunk" and the beserker fell on the ground.

Keltoi Rusty of Shackleford

 

[Dat1CanadianGuy]

Alexander ran from tower to tower, with a small group to reinforce their defenses. As they passed one of the archers an arrow flew through the slit, piercing the soldiers eye and sending blood all over Alex's helmet. "By god!" Another archer ran to the body, screaming.

"You ok?" A foot soldier nudged Alex's shoulder.

"Yes. Just caught me off guard."

"Lets hope that won't happen with a blade!" Jokingly, the small group burst open the door to a equal size of Vikings. A hulking mass of muscle and armor roared loud enough to make their ears ring. "Nolum superstes (No survivors)!" A cry announced the battle to commence, with Alexander, in his efforts to hold the leader at bay, bashed his hilt down into the warriors shield. He continued to twirl from left to right, each strike splintering and cracking the shield. He pushed the Viking to the outer wall, spinning back to his blade, where with they met in a final clash. The savage quickly pressed Alexander down, but with his speed he swept out the Vikings leg, spinning and slashing into the opponents neck. It seemed he didn't want to stay down, reach and grasping at the iron armor on his arms. "Peri (Perish)!" He roared in fury, pushing his hilt upward and forward, popping the Vikings head off. Glancing back, he saw the job was just as easy for his other comrades. A screaming cry startled Alex to attention. It was down on the battlefield, a warden and a conqueror facing off against two other Vikings. And it didn't look like they were progressing. "These savage imbeciles don't deserve a fair fight." The group came to his side. "You go on down there, we'll keep this spot nice and toasty for when you get back." With their approval, Alexander hurried down the spiral staircase into the open battle. Enraged by the brutality of the Vikings, he simply burst past every single Viking in his way. Slashes, stabs and punches erupted from Alexander in all directions. His streak came to an end when a raider grappled him, throwing him out into a small dueling patch. As Alex hit the ground he rolled to the side, narrowly missing an axe slash. Standing up slowly, he barked, "That was a mistake." His words were interrupted by more careless swings. It was obvious the Viking was tired, and certainly out of his depth. With a swift dodge of a overhead strike he plunged his blade deep into the raiders lung. He was able to lift him off his feet slightly before slamming the warrior to the ground, blood gushing from his mouth and wound. As Alex rose a sudden strike tripped him over the corpse, and he was face to face with a bloodied Berserker. "Don't you vikings ever learn?" Leaning off his sword to stand, Alexander readied himself for whatever antics would be thrown at him. With a blind charge the viking swiped at Alex's stomach. The move was telegraphed intensely, so it was no problem to dodge it. Though as he recovered from his jump an axe imbed itself in his chest plate. Through the small holes he could see the Berserker grinning maniacally. The pain shot up and down Alex, head to his feet. Then Alexander realized, this was the biggest mistake the viking could have done. Stabbing the longsword into the opponents knee, Alexander headbutt the berserker, the blood off their head flying out as the wound made him fall. "I've been through worse." Alexander groaned, pulling the blade back out of the knee. The berserker was simply crying and begging in his native tongue, but that wasn't enough to stop Alex's intent. He thrust the sword down into vikings eyes, caving in the skull. As he redrew his blade he begrudgingly pulled the axe from his chest. Alex, panting in both tired rage and painful agony, checked his surroundings before targeting the female warlord and her Berserker companion. Stumbling from exhaustion, he yelled at the Warlord. "You need to know the consequences of this!" Rage began to build inside of Alexander, and he readied himself for the duel.

Keltoi
Midrick

 

[Midrick]

Alexander ran from tower to tower, with a small group to reinforce their defenses. As they passed one of the archers an arrow flew through the slit, piercing the soldiers eye and sending blood all over Alex's helmet. "By god!" Another archer ran to the body, screaming.

"You ok?" A foot soldier nudged Alex's shoulder.

"Yes. Just caught me off guard."

"Lets hope that won't happen with a blade!" Jokingly, the small group burst open the door to a equal size of Vikings. A hulking mass of muscle and armor roared loud enough to make their ears ring. "Nolum superstes (No survivors)!" A cry announced the battle to commence, with Alexander, in his efforts to hold the leader at bay, bashed his hilt down into the warriors shield. He continued to twirl from left to right, each strike splintering and cracking the shield. He pushed the Viking to the outer wall, spinning back to his blade, where with they met in a final clash. The savage quickly pressed Alexander down, but with his speed he swept out the Vikings leg, spinning and slashing into the opponents neck. It seemed he didn't want to stay down, reach and grasping at the iron armor on his arms. "Peri (Perish)!" He roared in fury, pushing his hilt upward and forward, popping the Vikings head off. Glancing back, he saw the job was just as easy for his other comrades. A screaming cry startled Alex to attention. It was down on the battlefield, a warden and a conqueror facing off against two other Vikings. And it didn't look like they were progressing. "These savage imbeciles don't deserve a fair fight." The group came to his side. "You go on down there, we'll keep this spot nice and toasty for when you get back." With their approval, Alexander hurried down the spiral staircase into the open battle. Enraged by the brutality of the Vikings, he simply burst past every single Viking in his way. Slashes, stabs and punches erupted from Alexander in all directions. His streak came to an end when a raider grappled him, throwing him out into a small dueling patch. As Alex hit the ground he rolled to the side, narrowly missing an axe slash. Standing up slowly, he barked, "That was a mistake." His words were interrupted by more careless swings. It was obvious the Viking was tired, and certainly out of his depth. With a swift dodge of a overhead strike he plunged his blade deep into the raiders lung. He was able to lift him off his feet slightly before slamming the warrior to the ground, blood gushing from his mouth and wound. As Alex rose a sudden strike tripped him over the corpse, and he was face to face with a bloodied Berserker. "Don't you vikings ever learn?" Leaning off his sword to stand, Alexander readied himself for whatever antics would be thrown at him. With a blind charge the viking swiped at Alex's stomach. The move was telegraphed intensely, so it was no problem to dodge it. Though as he recovered from his jump an axe imbed itself in his chest plate. Through the small holes he could see the Berserker grinning maniacally. The pain shot up and down Alex, head to his feet. Then Alexander realized, this was the biggest mistake the viking could have done. Stabbing the longsword into the opponents knee, Alexander headbutt the berserker, the blood off their head flying out as the wound made him fall. "I've been through worse." Alexander groaned, pulling the blade back out of the knee. The berserker was simply crying and begging in his native tongue, but that wasn't enough to stop Alex's intent. He thrust the sword down into vikings eyes, caving in the skull. As he redrew his blade he begrudgingly pulled the axe from his chest. Alex, panting in both tired rage and painful agony, checked his surroundings before targeting the female warlord and her Berserker companion. Stumbling from exhaustion, he yelled at the Warlord. "You need to know the consequences of this!" Rage began to build inside of Alexander, and he readied himself for the duel.

Keltoi
Midrick

This has been dead for awhile. Sorry to tell you

 

[Dat1CanadianGuy]

Aw darn.