Author's Note: This is currently my second fic on fanfiction and I had been
wanting to write a dungeons and dragons story for a long while, so here it
is! I hope you guys like it. Please read and review!
"Send them in." General Escae ordered, his heavily armored war-horse moving nervously underneath him.
The lieutenant showed reluctance, seeing as how most of their army was in the process of being destroyed by the Orcish invaders. The Orcs had begun to move on the human provinces of Gilv-Rayeld; their numbers were innumerable.
"Sir, are you sure?" The lieutenant asked, watching the one-sided battle.
General Escae, an aging but brilliant man, simply nodded as his gray hair whipped about, moved by the ferocious wind. The entire sky was gray and overcast, with dark, ominous thunderclouds on the horizon. It seemed as if even the weather was against them.
Escae's second-in-command raised his arm and shouted, "Call for the Narasgath!"
Immediately, a soldier hefted a large, black battle standard, emblazoned with a Dragon curling around two crossed broadswords, as a trumpet sounded violently.
Lydon Fisck stood rigidly within the phalanx of tightly packed soldiers, his long ebony cape billowing in the strong wind.
"Do you think we'll get to fight?" Lydon asked the man next to him quietly.
The soldier waited a while before quickly whispering, "I think so, they're cal---"
"No talking!" Rang the voice of the Narasgath commander, cutting him off.
The Narasgath, dwarven for "The Black Death", stood in a phalanx formation at the top of a grassy knoll, overlooking the battle. Each soldier in the fifty-man unit, was the best of the best. They were the finest warriors handpicked from the greatest armies of Terrona. The entire unit was clad completely in black, from tall, crested helmet to armored toe.
Lydon, a youth of no more than twenty, was one of the newer members. He had yet to fight in a real battle, since the Narasgath were only called upon as the last resort, which was not often.
He suddenly heard the distinct, loud blasting sound of a trumpet, accompanied by the raising of the Narasgath battle standard. They were going to fight today.
"That's us! You know what to do! March! Double-time!" Shouted Morthen, the Narasgath commander.
Immediately, the entire unit began to march quickly down the knoll towards the raging battle, which was a horrible mix of orcs clashing violently with humans. The disgusting, boar-faced orcs had the upper hand as they rampaged around, slashing, hacking, and chopping.
As they drew closer to the chaotic melee, Lydon drew his weapon from its long, beautifully decorated sheath. A finely crafted Elven saber, with a jet-black blade. While normally shining brilliantly, its finish was dulled by the gray sky.
The sounds of the battle were now quite close and vivid. Lydon could clearly hear the clanging sound of steel hitting steel as well as the hellish death cries of both man and orc.
"Halt!" Morthen ordered, over the roar of the battle, "Draw spears!"
The entire unit stopped suddenly and detached a short, steel spear from their backs, each one tipped with a vicious spike, covered in barbs. The Narasgath stood ready, spears in hand, as the commander gave the order to throw. As soon as the word was spoken, a volley of spears flew into the air, their steel shafts unaffected by the blowing wind. The missiles came down, striking every intended orcish target, killing them instantly.
Everyone stood waiting silently like a massive shadow while the battle still raged in front of them.
"Charge!" Cried Morthen as he ran forward brandishing a black broadsword.
The rest of the men followed, running at full speed with their weapons drawn, and their black capes trailing behind them. Lydon's black, steel-plated boots pounded the ground furiously as he closed in on his target, and with a graceful upward stroke of his saber, he claimed his first kill of the battle. The orc fell back, its stomach split wide open, as Lydon attacked the next closest orcish soldier.
"Fall back!" One of the infantry commanders shouted, while narrowly dodging an axe swipe.
The battered and bloodied footsoldiers fell back, letting the Narasgath take their places in the battle. The Narasgath, although greatly outnumbered, made up for it with their superior skill and pressed onwards, pushing the orcs back. The sight was something to behold; for every member of the "Black Death" in combat, there were at least five orcs in melee with him. Dozens of expertly crafted black weapons swirled around, moving in intricate and complicated techniques, as they maimed and killed orcs left and right.
Lydon grunted as a lucky blow went through his defense and slammed into his ebony plate mail armor. He gripped his razor-sharp saber tighter and swung it horizontally, decapitating the orc who hit him. He followed through and spun around, his sword extended and hewed the legs of another.
"Squads 5-10! Circle right!" Commander Morthen ordered as he impaled an orc on the business end of his broadsword.
Lydon's gray eyes spotted their battle standard circling around the battle towards the rear. He, along with everyone else in the designated squad, followed the wildly waving banner, doing whatever damage they could on the way.
An orc chieftain suddenly appeared in his way, it's disgusting, oily mass blocking him from reaching the designated rally point. Lydon, with surprising agility, somersaulted over the orc, with his saber trailing behind him. Lydon and the orc hit the ground at the same time, only the orc had a huge, gaping slash in its back.
He continued on his way to the rally point, his plumed crest rippling in the wind and his cape waving behind him.
General Escae exhaled in relief as he foresaw a victory, although a costly one for the great northern army of Fàlas. Most of the infantry had been killed or wounded. The Narasgath had now completely encircled the beleaguered orcish army and were now in the process of wiping up.
"Thank Pelor. Remind me to give Commander Morthen a large pay raise." Escae said to his Lieutenant, his face a mixture of joy and relief at having won the battle.
The lieutenant nodded, as the general turned his horse around and headed back to the camp, which had been set up two days earlier in preparation for the orcish army.
Cheers erupted from the soldiers that were left alive as Kaleth, a member of the Narasgath, decapitated the final orc with a powerful stroke of his black bastard sword.
Lydon surveyed the mound of orc bodies that lay in the middle of the circle formation they were in. Hewed limbs, heads, and bodies were all piled into a small heap, the effects of panicked orcs.
"Any friendly casualties?" Kaleth asked, coming over to Lydon.
"None that I can see." Lydon answered, wiping a drop of sweat from his brow and sheathing his saber.
"Good. Maybe Morthen will give us a day off---" Kaleth said before Morthen began to yell at them.
"What are you doing just standing there?" He barked, "Get your asses back to the camp! We've got drills to run! That battle took too long to win! Get into formation and get moving, now!"
Lydon heard many a grumble as the entire Narasgath unit moved back into a tightly packed phalanx formation and began to march back to camp.
Suddenly, from beneath the ground, came a deep rumbling. Soft at first, then growing with intensity every second.
"What's going on?" Jaraf, a senior member of the Narasgath, his black battle-axe already tightly gripped tightly in his hands.
Before anyone could respond, the very ground in front of them began to swell and expand, dead human and orcish bodies sliding down the rapidly rising slope of earth.
Lydon watched in astonishment as the mound of earth split open and revealed a very deadly surprise.
Author's Note: This chapter was originally longer, and I thought it would be tedious to read, so I split it. Anyway, please read and review. Thanks for reading.
"Send them in." General Escae ordered, his heavily armored war-horse moving nervously underneath him.
The lieutenant showed reluctance, seeing as how most of their army was in the process of being destroyed by the Orcish invaders. The Orcs had begun to move on the human provinces of Gilv-Rayeld; their numbers were innumerable.
"Sir, are you sure?" The lieutenant asked, watching the one-sided battle.
General Escae, an aging but brilliant man, simply nodded as his gray hair whipped about, moved by the ferocious wind. The entire sky was gray and overcast, with dark, ominous thunderclouds on the horizon. It seemed as if even the weather was against them.
Escae's second-in-command raised his arm and shouted, "Call for the Narasgath!"
Immediately, a soldier hefted a large, black battle standard, emblazoned with a Dragon curling around two crossed broadswords, as a trumpet sounded violently.
Lydon Fisck stood rigidly within the phalanx of tightly packed soldiers, his long ebony cape billowing in the strong wind.
"Do you think we'll get to fight?" Lydon asked the man next to him quietly.
The soldier waited a while before quickly whispering, "I think so, they're cal---"
"No talking!" Rang the voice of the Narasgath commander, cutting him off.
The Narasgath, dwarven for "The Black Death", stood in a phalanx formation at the top of a grassy knoll, overlooking the battle. Each soldier in the fifty-man unit, was the best of the best. They were the finest warriors handpicked from the greatest armies of Terrona. The entire unit was clad completely in black, from tall, crested helmet to armored toe.
Lydon, a youth of no more than twenty, was one of the newer members. He had yet to fight in a real battle, since the Narasgath were only called upon as the last resort, which was not often.
He suddenly heard the distinct, loud blasting sound of a trumpet, accompanied by the raising of the Narasgath battle standard. They were going to fight today.
"That's us! You know what to do! March! Double-time!" Shouted Morthen, the Narasgath commander.
Immediately, the entire unit began to march quickly down the knoll towards the raging battle, which was a horrible mix of orcs clashing violently with humans. The disgusting, boar-faced orcs had the upper hand as they rampaged around, slashing, hacking, and chopping.
As they drew closer to the chaotic melee, Lydon drew his weapon from its long, beautifully decorated sheath. A finely crafted Elven saber, with a jet-black blade. While normally shining brilliantly, its finish was dulled by the gray sky.
The sounds of the battle were now quite close and vivid. Lydon could clearly hear the clanging sound of steel hitting steel as well as the hellish death cries of both man and orc.
"Halt!" Morthen ordered, over the roar of the battle, "Draw spears!"
The entire unit stopped suddenly and detached a short, steel spear from their backs, each one tipped with a vicious spike, covered in barbs. The Narasgath stood ready, spears in hand, as the commander gave the order to throw. As soon as the word was spoken, a volley of spears flew into the air, their steel shafts unaffected by the blowing wind. The missiles came down, striking every intended orcish target, killing them instantly.
Everyone stood waiting silently like a massive shadow while the battle still raged in front of them.
"Charge!" Cried Morthen as he ran forward brandishing a black broadsword.
The rest of the men followed, running at full speed with their weapons drawn, and their black capes trailing behind them. Lydon's black, steel-plated boots pounded the ground furiously as he closed in on his target, and with a graceful upward stroke of his saber, he claimed his first kill of the battle. The orc fell back, its stomach split wide open, as Lydon attacked the next closest orcish soldier.
"Fall back!" One of the infantry commanders shouted, while narrowly dodging an axe swipe.
The battered and bloodied footsoldiers fell back, letting the Narasgath take their places in the battle. The Narasgath, although greatly outnumbered, made up for it with their superior skill and pressed onwards, pushing the orcs back. The sight was something to behold; for every member of the "Black Death" in combat, there were at least five orcs in melee with him. Dozens of expertly crafted black weapons swirled around, moving in intricate and complicated techniques, as they maimed and killed orcs left and right.
Lydon grunted as a lucky blow went through his defense and slammed into his ebony plate mail armor. He gripped his razor-sharp saber tighter and swung it horizontally, decapitating the orc who hit him. He followed through and spun around, his sword extended and hewed the legs of another.
"Squads 5-10! Circle right!" Commander Morthen ordered as he impaled an orc on the business end of his broadsword.
Lydon's gray eyes spotted their battle standard circling around the battle towards the rear. He, along with everyone else in the designated squad, followed the wildly waving banner, doing whatever damage they could on the way.
An orc chieftain suddenly appeared in his way, it's disgusting, oily mass blocking him from reaching the designated rally point. Lydon, with surprising agility, somersaulted over the orc, with his saber trailing behind him. Lydon and the orc hit the ground at the same time, only the orc had a huge, gaping slash in its back.
He continued on his way to the rally point, his plumed crest rippling in the wind and his cape waving behind him.
General Escae exhaled in relief as he foresaw a victory, although a costly one for the great northern army of Fàlas. Most of the infantry had been killed or wounded. The Narasgath had now completely encircled the beleaguered orcish army and were now in the process of wiping up.
"Thank Pelor. Remind me to give Commander Morthen a large pay raise." Escae said to his Lieutenant, his face a mixture of joy and relief at having won the battle.
The lieutenant nodded, as the general turned his horse around and headed back to the camp, which had been set up two days earlier in preparation for the orcish army.
Cheers erupted from the soldiers that were left alive as Kaleth, a member of the Narasgath, decapitated the final orc with a powerful stroke of his black bastard sword.
Lydon surveyed the mound of orc bodies that lay in the middle of the circle formation they were in. Hewed limbs, heads, and bodies were all piled into a small heap, the effects of panicked orcs.
"Any friendly casualties?" Kaleth asked, coming over to Lydon.
"None that I can see." Lydon answered, wiping a drop of sweat from his brow and sheathing his saber.
"Good. Maybe Morthen will give us a day off---" Kaleth said before Morthen began to yell at them.
"What are you doing just standing there?" He barked, "Get your asses back to the camp! We've got drills to run! That battle took too long to win! Get into formation and get moving, now!"
Lydon heard many a grumble as the entire Narasgath unit moved back into a tightly packed phalanx formation and began to march back to camp.
Suddenly, from beneath the ground, came a deep rumbling. Soft at first, then growing with intensity every second.
"What's going on?" Jaraf, a senior member of the Narasgath, his black battle-axe already tightly gripped tightly in his hands.
Before anyone could respond, the very ground in front of them began to swell and expand, dead human and orcish bodies sliding down the rapidly rising slope of earth.
Lydon watched in astonishment as the mound of earth split open and revealed a very deadly surprise.
Author's Note: This chapter was originally longer, and I thought it would be tedious to read, so I split it. Anyway, please read and review. Thanks for reading.