Forgotten Realms:
Angels and Demons
Part XXVI
Lord Wallace was awoken by the desperate cry of his people. Launching from his bed, he quickly found his armor. Three attendants stood by to assist him as a horrified page stammered in fear. He tried to calm the young person, but the page looked near panic, like he would die on the spot.
"What is the report?" Lord Wallace tried to sound patient, but knowing that Captain Reynolds would only send word of trouble.
The page stammered, "M.m..milord, the Orcs are breaking t. ."
"What? How?!" Lord Wallace was glad his attendants were quick, because he needed to get to his guard captain.
The page was silent, but the attendants had finished. Lord Wallace walked off, just as they had clipped his cloak to the armor. Flowing behind him, the cloak filled out the hallway as Lord Wallace marched. One attendant ran after him carrying two swords, one was ceremonial, the other practical.
He found the guard captain shouting orders with abandon, and screaming at his people to get into position. Captain Reynolds was always calm and rarely screamed. Not to say he couldn't raise his voice and be heard, but he rarely screamed. The fact he was, told Lord Wallace more than he needed to know.
"Captain, what is going on?" Lord Wallace called out for the captain to report.
Captain Reynolds looked over, forgetting the proper greeting of saluting his lord. Instead he beckoned Lord Wallace over, one commander to another. On the table in front of him, showed the entrance points of the city walls. A huge red "X" was marked on the one nearest to the Orcish horde. Little blocks, marking their forces were pushed over, and the lord of Altamar could see it left a hole.
"Lord Wallace, someone took out the guards by this gate," the captain explained. "It gets better too, the gate shows acid damage. It won't stand against them." Captain Reynolds pointed towards the Orcs. "With their new shields, they have managed to get a battering ram to that gate. I give it an hour or less before they break it down."
Lord Wallace looked at the map, trying to find a fall back point for his forces. If the Orcs broke through, they'd need to fall back. They had planned for it, but they had expected both gates to fall. It would have to do. They'd call for the retreat, and reinforce their internal defenses. He didn't like that idea, as it took the stone walls out of the equation. It was better than possibly having his forces on the wall destroyed, by leaving a possible avenue for the Orcs to attack from.
"Have you called for the retreat, Captain?" Lord Wallace asked, his tone in control. Inside his insides were mush.
The captain replied, "I gave the order, told them to wait on your word."
"The word is given," Lord Wallace said. "Status of our sellswords?"
Captain Reynolds shook his head, "Our harassing groups suffered heavy casualties. Only one group lost just one, the rest are nearly obliterated. I sent people to find the Challengers."
"We are here," Kirann came into the room, catching the last bit of their conversation. "What is the situation, where are we needed?"
"Dire," Lord Wallace said.
Horns sounded across the wall, the soldiers doing their trainers proud. By waves they pulled off the wall, even as the pounding of the Orcish battering ram rang out. The last contingent of archers and their melee protectors hurried off just as the invaders busted down damaged portcullis. The cries of triumph from the Orcs hounded them, even as they ran lightning fast.
The defenders still fought valiantly. As they retreated, several stages stopped, fired a volley, and then fled some more. They repeated this procedure till they reformed at the predetermined line. Others may run screaming in terror, but not these Altamaran guards and soldiers. They would do their duty, even as it looked like it would be the end of them.
One unlucky archer was tripped by a thrown bolo. The Orc who threw it was nearly on top of him. He could smell the rancid hot breath of the porcine humanoid, imagined the axe head splitting him in twain. He nearly screamed as unbearable heat flew over his high and saw the blast of fire burn the chest off of his attacker.
"Time to go!" a hooded sorceress screamed. "Get to your friends." Then to the Orcs, "You face magic incarnate!"
She launched out a massive fireball that engulfed the Orcs pouring through the ruined gate. Immediately the new corpses erupted into a bonfire of hundreds of once living candles. The fireball had been aimed to temporarily plug the hole, leaving only a few inside to be dealt with. Which Leilani did with glee. She threw lightning at the two Orcs that rose up first. She then switched to fire streams.
Now with their charge halted, the Orcs fell as the defenders had reformed. Leilani waved at one Orc as she hopped over a barricade and made her way towards the castle. The defenders would hold, but she knew that Kirann would be there. If someone would have a plan, he'd be the one. Maybe a way to win this unwinnable position.
Walton came rushing from the Church of Tyr. Off in the distance were signs of battle inside the gate. He knew that the others would be meeting up at the castle, but he could give a little help before meeting up. His sword was already at the ready, its gleaming metal pulsing light as he ran towards the danger.
Despite Leilani's attempt, there were some groups of Orcs that had made it further into the city. Off in the distance large siege towers were depositing Orcs onto the walls. Some were taken out by the defenders, more made it through. Though the lines were holding, it was getting desperate. Walton planned on evening the odds as much as he could.
A small gap in the line was found, and it was an area the Orcs were hitting hard. Even broken, the defenders were fighting to reform the line. Instead of an organized, well drilled defensive attacks, it was a grand melee. Defenders and attackers were intermixed, fighting wildly with many falling each second. This was where Walton knew he was needed.
One defender fell, a savage slice ending them before they even knew they were dead. The Orc roared in victory, spotted Walton and smiled. The Orc rushed forward and was surprised as something white hot hit him. The Orc stopped, a confused look on his face. Something slipper fell from his midsection, and the Orc fell into oblivion. Walton didn't stop to watch his first target die.
Taking his gleaming sword he crashed into another Orc. That one fell in two parries and a savage slash. The next one lost its head, while its partner lose a right hand. That one fell back, and was crushed by an onrushing Orc fighter. Because of that, the onrushing Orc was off balance and received a stab that gutted it. Now Walton had their attention.
However, they weren't the only ones he had the attention of. On the wall, a pale human smiled as he watched the paladin fight. This would be perfect, such a fitting fate for one as noble as this Walton. The Pied Piper pulled a set of pan pipes from his cloak, and took a breath.
Walton was on a roll; Orc after Orc was falling before him and the defenders. He felt at peace doing what he was born to do. Defending the weak, fighting Evil, and protecting the innocent. It was what drew him to be a paladin, and a paladin of Tyr, the God of Justice. Walton's dream of being a paragon of justice became a reality with each Orc slain by his blade.
To his ears the battle became a symphony of clashes, grunts and steel upon Orc steel. There was a rhythm to the battle, a waxing and waning, a deadly dance. He was part of it, and he fell into the rhythm. Subtlety the symphony changed, it became more frantic, more desperate.
Walton became rushed, feeling overwhelmed as more and more Orcs came out of the woodworks. What had been a manageable flow had turned into a massive tidal wave. He felt desperation take his heart and he called out to Tyr. However, he didn't hear a response back, nor did he feel the infusion of power that came from his god. This mattered not, he had a job to do and it would be completed.
By instinct alone he wielded his blade with such proficiency that surely Tyr himself would be proud. Evil blood flowed around him, splattering his shining armor. He knew he couldn't stop yet, as more Orcs appeared every second. Where the other defenders gone, he wasn't sure, but eventually he would have to advance in the opposite direction. Even he couldn't hold a line by himself, not for a lack of trying.
He spun around and literally bisecting one enemy. Walton found himself without a target for the first time in several minutes, with the Orc horde holding and laughing. Confused he looked around, not seeing anything funny. Yet, he could definitely make out the horrid sound that Orcs called laughter. Were they crazy, did they find the slaughter of their own race hilarious?
Walton decided not to find out, and proceeded to head back to the line, and kept tripping over dead Orcs. Except they weren't. The weapons were wrong, finely made swords instead of the crude ones he was used to seeing. His plated boots made resounding thunks against the Orc bodies, as if they were welling steel breastplates.
Confused he looked around again, and a fog over his eyes lifted. Instead of Orc bodies all around him, he found defenders intermixed with them. All of them dead by a deadly sharp blade, one too sharp and fine to be caused by any Orc weapon. The two-handed sword in his hand, bathed in blood, it matched that just fine.
Walton fell, his sword clattering to the ground. This caused the Orcs behind him to laugh even harder. Pulling off his helmet, Walton heaved as the urge to vomit came over him. The extent of the horror he had just committed hit him unlike any other enemy before. What he had been driven to do, overwhelmed him and he wanted nothing more than to just die. Why, how had this happened?
"Excellent," the Pied Piper watched the paladin fall. "One down, six to go."
Lorinda was running to the castle when she saw Walton fall to his knees. Behind him were Orcs ready to strike. She unleashed a beam of solar energy, and ran towards him. Behind her, more defenders rushed to plug the hole in their line. Reaching him, Lorinda checked the paladin for wounds. He had a few minor wounds, but nothing to explain his lack of movements. She tried to get him moving again, only for him to remain a human stone weight.
"Come on! We need to get to the castle," she called out to him.
When he didn't respond, she turned to face him and that was when she saw it. A look of being a thousand yards away. His gaze was unmoving, like he was looking through her. The normally jovial, but serious human was lacking any emotion at all. She felt her own spirit crash. What could have caused this fine young man to become catatonic?
"Let's get you to the castle," she pulled him up and wrapped his arm around her.
One of the defenders picked up his fallen blade, and Lorinda helped the defender place it into Walton's sheath on his belt. The druid then half drug the paladin, feeling his weight with armor pulling her down. Luckily another defender took up the opposite side, and they both managed to get Walton to the castle.
Boris ran from the tavern and right into Manheim. Even though the wizard was taller than him, the Dwarf Fighter was heavier. As such he nearly bowled the human over. Running into a comrade was good luck indeed, as there were more Orcs to kill! Manheim might be a pansy wizard, but he wasn't bad in a fight.
"Come on, ye durned wizard, there are Orcs to fight!" Boris yelled in delight.
Manheim shook his head, "No, Boris. We have been betrayed. The city is going to fall, we need to flee."
"Who betrayed us?" Boris slapped his axe across his hand. "I'll take their heads!"
Behind his calm demeanor, Manheim smiled, "It was that damned warlock, Raven. She let the Orcs in. We need to get to Lord Wallace and make sure he hasn't been replaced."
"Replaced, how so?" Boris was listening intently now.
Manheim explained, "Raven's demon lord has sent one of his to replace Lord Wallace, changing his shape to fool our allies! Quickly, we must get to the castle and rescue the lord, or kill the duplicate."
"Lead on, wizard," Boris was already on the move. "We'll stop these bloody Orcs and that damned warlock. We'll send her back to meet her lord, a full head shorter."
Manheim followed behind the Dwarf. Meanwhile Val was herding some of the huddled citizens behind the new lines. Seeing an Orc coming up, having bypassed the other defenders, Val threw a dagger. It buried itself into the Orc, and she made sure it was dead with her two short swords. Behind her, the noncombatants hurried their pace, wanting to be far, far away from the battle.
Val retrieved her dagger, and turned to follow the others, only to see a small girl crying in an alleyway corner. The Half-Elf rogue went over to her, voice soft and reassuring. The little girl seeing her, instantly jumped into her arm. Val calmed the girl, letting her know she was safe.
She also knew they didn't have much time. That became more evident as more Orcish cries erupted far too close for Val's liking. She and the girl disappeared into a puff of smoke, leaving not a trace they had even been there. When they reappeared, it was with the others, and the little girl was left with her aunt. Val though had a place to go, and that was the castle. There her team would be.