Rise of Silverpine chapter 20
I do now own Warcraft or A song of Ice and Fire
Robert felt the rush, his blood boiling.
He felt good, charging in with these men, his hammer held high. Damn all the magic, damn all the strange banging tubes, he wanted to smash something in! He managed to make his way the front lines, the charging infantry having already crashed into the defenders. He caught the petite girl, the Stark daughter out of the corner of his eye, the queen slashing away at the enemies in front, his old friend at her side. But he paid them little heed.
His blue eyes caught onto the creatures upfront and he was stunned into silence. Hunched over, the flesh rotten revealing bones and organs beneath, glowing yellow eyes locked onto him as long fangs and claws were made ready for the attack. It jumped straight at him and with a roar the king swung his weapon, bashing it into the side of the monster's head.
It skidded across the paved ground for a meter, Robert walking towards it, raising his hammer high above and bringing it swiftly down on the undead's head, the large man roaring, his blue eyes wide, ablaze. All the words that were exchange at the meeting back in the capitol came to haunt him as he lifted his hammer and looked down upon the crushed thing beneath. As the men around him kept slowly pushing forth, Robert was suddenly surrounded by the rest of the Westerosi nobility, all of them clad in armor, all of them looking down at the thing.
A low grown was heard to their left and from the ruins of the bridge tower did three similar creature jump out, their claws at the ready. The Martel managed to impale on onto his spear, Jaime Lannister slicing one in two down the waist while the last one found itself on the wrong side of Robert's hammer, the blunt weapon meeting its face, the ghoul doing a back flip in the air before falling on the ground, twitching.
"It would seem that everything is true." Spoke the Tyrell boy, the man having rarely spoken for the entire stay in Silverpine, only conversing occasionally with Oberyn. Robert averted his gaze, looking around almost wildly, his eyes lost, empty. He looked forth to where the frontlines have moved, the occasional explosion of green mist and multiple fireballs that soared through the air catching his sight for slightly over a second.
He saw the large abdominal juggernauts that held the enemy lines, massive creatures looking as if made from hundreds of corpses while the Silverpine army suffered ambushes at every turn, bleeding massively for every single town block that was slowly taken as they ever moved forth. He saw the lines break as individual fights broke out, the large beasts savaging the undead while axes and glaives cleaved the skeletons in two while fireball after fireball struck the abdominal flesh creature in the head, the disgusting construct still not going down.
He and his fellow nobles, all of them surrounded by a small number of Westerosi men, were forced aside as the cavalry got into position, the elf girl, Elida, clad in her black armor leading the horsemen, her golden-engraved sword at the ready. A green light went into the sky as they waited, most looking anxiously to join in the fight.
Robert's face slowly contorted in anger, his feature taking on a furious look. He bellow suddenly and somehow his massive form broke into a run, his hammer dragging along the paved streets before picking it up in both hands as he charged. The king barely registered Tywin shouting warning or that his men at arms and kingsguard were at his side. He was focused, the old rush of battle that he so dearly missed now back and stronger than ever, nothing but a pair of oversized wrist guards been his armor, a hammer barely worthy of a lord, let alone king been his weapon.
He got to the front just in time to see the Stark daughter jump on a cart and then on the shoulder of the abdominal creature that held the undead lines, decapitating it with her outlandish weapon. This close, he was able to get a good look at it and Robert felt like belching while some of his men actually did so. Truly massive, way larger than even the mountain, hundreds of stiches running along the surfaces of his naked skin as he bore no cloth, his belly left wide open, his guts hanging out while an additional arm protruded from his back. The head of it rolled in his direction and he did not hesitate to bring his hammer down onto it.
Still, he looked down the road, his blue eyes ablaze as they found their way to the next enemy line. This time, it was something that can be in a way called soldiers. They all bore identical black armors and held spears, blue tabard with a white face in it adoring their chests. They looked more human, yet the same eerie yellow glow remained in their eyes.
The men of the Silverpine army quickly changed lines, soldiers caring bow and smaller metal tubes going to the front. Bangs rang out while arrows filled the air, the undead twitching as they took hits and became riddled with arrows, but only those that were hit in the head going down. The enemy responded with a barrage of their own and a lot of the wolf-aligned men went down, nearly the entire two front lines.
"Charge!" Robert heard the Stark daughter bellow out as all men suddenly rushed forth with a mighty roar, following their queen.
"C'mon lads! Let's show them how we Westerosi fight!" said Robert as he rushed down a street, parallel to where the main force was attacking. Between all lords, they barely reached a hundred men in total, yet a fair amount of the locals followed them as well. The large man and his force crashed into the enemy lines, Robert swinging his hammer wide, splitting the face open of the first enemy to be foolish enough to stand in his way. An audible crash was heard as the Silverpine and Westerosi men met the undead defenders, hitting their lines with raw brute force.
The king saw what must have been an enemy mage, barely-audible chanting filling the air before a bony hand was raised high and swiftly brought down only for shouts of pain to fill the air behind him. He turned around only to see what can only be described as a pillar of fire scourging the middle of the street behind him, cutting him and the rest of the Westerosi from the main force. The fire eventually subdued, leaving nothing but charred bone in its wake and that was enough to snap the king out of his stupor. And yet, before he could even get to the robbed undead, a spear was already protruding from the creature's head, Oberyn Martell having thrown his weapon.
His men and kingsguard encircled him and kept on pushing, the locals catching up to them as Robert suddenly found himself out of breath, falling to his knees. Years upon years of drinking and whoring paid off and not in a good way.
A block away, Arya Stark was fighting her way forth, her army cleansing the town house by house. Her father fought at her side, her uncle not that far back either. She was getting tired, a battle of this magnitude been a first for her. The constant ambushes and crossfires that the Forsaken carried out in the more intact parts of the town was slowing her advance constantly. Be it be mines under the pavement, spikes on the road or gunmen at the roofs, the attack was not going as smoothly as she would have liked.
They were almost at the town square, Nymeria just having finishes savaging another undead warlock. Arya turned to her right just in time to see her father decapitate a more well-preserved Forsaken that had though that the older man would go down easily.
"Shields! Form a line!" she bellowed from her position before waving over half the people that were on the street behind her.
"You, move a block right!" she said before waiving over the other half. "You, a block left!" she ordered as men scrambled, her father casting a questioning look her way.
"We cannot enter the town square from a single point. It would just become a choke and we would be slaughtered." She mumbled as she collapsed on a nearby forgotten crate, taking a breather, her silver blade stained in green blood.
For a few second she sat as the men moved into position, her father and his men patiently waiting. While Eddard remained grim-faced and simply fought on, taking things for what they were, a few of the men of his household guard looked sick in the lithural sense of the word. As she got up and started preparing for the assault on the town square, a messenger, a simple leather armor and a short sword been all he carried.
"The cavalry had moved in. They have already met with the Stromgard horsemen and are now turning in." he said, bowing.
"Good." Responded simply Arya.
"Move in!" she shouted as she moved into position in the middle of the third line of men, a line of shields and another of spears before her.
The men all moved as one, maintaining the line all the way to the entrance of the square where the undead had formed two defensive lines. One around the fountain in the middle and a second around the town hall. Sadly, the Silverpine lines were broken by the undead mages and the slow, shielded advance was set aside for an all-out charge. As the undead positions were set ablaze by the few mages, hundreds of human fell to gunfire and yet, second later, they were already jumping into the undead trenches.
As Arya followed her men over the first trench near the fountain that something happen that left even her stunned.
A man that she knew from her very first day in this part of the world, Roderick of Pyrewood, was struck by a stray bullet in his lower belly, a clear hole visible in his chest piece. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, Arya rushing to his side to held him up.
"Don't you dare die on me, now, after all this time." Barely twenty men from the entire Pyrewood were part of this march, yet she knew them all well and any loss would pain her dearly. She was lucky to have not lost anyone from there for all these years, the people of Pyrewood been at the core of the country as far as she was concerned.
As he had his head down, he suddenly looked up, his normally brown eyes suddenly yellow. A Forsaken caring a wicked-looking blade came charging in and Roderick suddenly jumped straight at him, surprising both him and the queen. What was more surprising was that during his leap, which was massive by any human standards… he transformed… into a worgen.
His nails became claws while his teeth – fangs as his armor enlarged to encompasses his new larger frame. He pushed the undead down into the trench before utterly savaging him, clawing at the enemy's chest, flesh and blood flying in all directions. As he finished, he rose, yellow eyes locking onto the enemy as both friend and foe stood stunned into silence. He growled, a sound between a roar and a howl before rushing forth onto the next enemy.
Before either side could snap, the worgen had already reached an undead mage, nearly removing his entire face in a single swipe of his claws. It was then that all hell broke loose as everyone snapped out of their shock and the battle resumed. Rings of steel filled the air as swords clashes, gunshots echoing through the air as soldier fell on both sides in the hundreds.
Arya snapped out of her shock and she got back into the fight, yet her mind was racing with thoughts, memories from years past popping up. She fought on, yet her eyes were constantly returning to the form of her friend, whom everyone gave a wide berth as while he did not directly attack Silverpine troops, had a very feral way of combat that suggested that he was barely above a wild beast at that moment.
She slashed and ducked, yet her distraction proved enough for an enemy blade to slip through, leaving a gash along the left half of her face, the wound starting above her left eyebrow and ending on her cheek, going over the eye, yet not damaging it. She gasped in pain, her left hand flying to her head. She barely managed to block the second swing of the skeleton that was her enemy, twisting her wrist and deliver an accurate slash to the ribs of her opponent, shattering the entire construct.
The current engagement for the town square was slowly, yet certainly coming to an end. The deal was sealed further when cavalry appeared behind the enemy ranks, the wolf banner raised high. The horses crushed the undead into the infantry and what can only be called a massacre occurred.
"Are you alright?" asked worriedly her father. The man was covered in small cuts and bruises, yet nothing even remotely serious. What he received was but a simple nod, his daughter almost ignoring him.
Arya's currently hyperactive mind came to the conclusion that the whole battle was coming to an end. She still held her hand to her face, her own crimson blood seeping through her gloved fingers. The wound was shallow, yet head wounds bleed a lot. With a weapon in one hand and another on her face, she made her way to where the men had encircled Roderick, the worgen only docile, almost humanlike.
"Roderick?" she asked, uncertainly.
The worgen's golden eyes instantly locked onto her before the beast dropped into a bow.
"Your grace." He responded, his voice much deeper, almost gnarling.
"You… you are yourself?" Arya question, genuinely surprised.
"I am in control, if that is what you are asking." Roderick returned.
"But… how? I though the curse was lifted years ago!" asked Arya.
"The worgen were summoned indirectly by Elune's power. Perhaps your own powers suppressed them for a while." Suddenly spoke up Amara, the queen turning to her sharply. The elf's hair was disheveled, her usually pristine dress mattered and slightly torn around the edged, yet the woman was fine as a whole.
"But that doesn't explain how he is in control! They were feral but five years ago!" nearly shouted Arya before feeling slightly dizzy from the loss of blood. She wobbled a little before nearly collapsing, her father catching her before she fell to her knees. A healer, one of the few draenei around in this part of the world, moved into assist her and in seconds, the wound was gone, yet a scar remained.
In the end, the man warily lowered their weapons, leaving the worgen alone. The sounds of battle dwindled and as Arya looked around, she felt her heart wrench at the hundreds of dead. The tired men simple fell to the ground, sitting and resting, a bitter-sweet victory having just been won. Roderick too did fall to the ground, crossing his legs and sitting patiently, almost as if expecting some harsh sentence to be given to him at any moment.
Arya caught from the corner of her eye the Westerosi slowly walking around, looking around the battlefield. She was surprised that the old, large king had actually fought but dismissed such though when she saw Danath approaching, his red armor stained with green blood. More and more men began pooling into the square, most hugging their close friends and falling to the ground, conversing silently and simply happy to be alive.
The Stromgard king walked over to Arya, a small smile appearing on his face at seeing her alive. Before he could even say anything, Arya uttered:
"We lost many… too many…" she said, completely missing the look of sorrow that her father and uncle cast her way as she sat on the crate, her head down.
"Not even close as many as I expected." Said Danath causing her to lift her head sharply in surprise. "Your crazy cavalry tactic actually worked despite the heavy losses to the heavy cavalry."
"You should do it." The old man continued.
"What?" she questioned, confused.
"A victory salute. The men have earned it. You have earned it. To boost morale, if nothing else"
Arya looked at him for the longest of times before slowly getting up and almost uncertainly beginning to walk towards the steps of the town hall, the man all getting up around as she walked and not before long, everyone was standing on the square.
No one moved, no one talked, everyone stayed completely still as they waited for their queen.
Arya scanned everyone's faces, her own dry blood on her face visible to everyone, almost appearing as a crimson tear. She gripped her blade tightly in her right hand before suddenly raising it high, the square exploding into cheers and roars.
The battle for Andorhal was over.
Not the best, but I have never written a proper battle scene before.
The worgen problem finally comes out and I once again would like to stress that the worgen are very very few. Original Pyrewood village, aka four hundred people, several wild worgen and that's about it.
Moving on, I have uploaded a timeline of a sort in relevance to game of thrones as in years and months, link in my profile. As you would have probably guess by now, we are way past the year 300 which is when winter begins, but for the sake of this story, winter is delayed. If you think about it, isn't it strange that winter arrives exactly three hundred years after some random Valerian decided to start his conquest.
On another note, there is a poll on my page that Warhammer fans might find interesting.
I hope you guys enjoyed it.
Thank you for reading.