Disclaimer:
I do not own any property of the D&D company and only base my story off the
lands and history in the forgotten realms campaign setting.
PART 1 "The Calm Before the Storm"
Laucion Aramil rested his feet within the bronze stirrups of his great, black steed, watching ever closely as yet another boulder was hurtled over the outer walls and crashed down somewhere deep within the metropolis of Arabel. He was restless at the moment, clutching his sword's hilt and trembling slightly to the drifting mist and dew that settled unnoticed upon his iron mail and shimmering, steel coif that resided heavily atop his long, black hair. The mane on the neck of the majestic creature swayed ever so lightly in the western breeze, blocking out an attempted inspection of the breast collar, before he tightened the cinch with a mighty pull of his right arm.
The fiery, orange tint across the soon to be battlefield was menacing to the knights among the great army, but seemed to be absorbed by their long, purple cloaks and hoods that each wore into battle. These represented their beliefs and the beast that once roamed these lands: the Purple Dragon Thauglorimorgorus, of the great flame. This was of where they received their title, the great title, known across the land better than that of any other trained and loyal force. They were the Purple Dragons of old, the defenders of the free realm of the country of Cormyr.
"This is the day that we halt the advancing horde of the Stormhorns and force them back into the evil darkness that they belong to!" Bellowed the king, trotting his horse down the line of poles that defined the only defensive section, for it was a small part, but beyond and about there was an offensive force larger than any man of this country had seen before. The captain continued, heightening his voice, "On this morning, you are gathered hear for a just reason, a reason in which none will die in vein. This reason is to be sure that freedom prevails over these lands, no oppression or suffering." He paused once more and lowered his right hand to his left side and wrapped it around the finally crafted hilt of his father's sword, unsheathing it and hoisting it and all its glory above his head. "Please my friends and kinsman! Fight with me on this hour of darkness and let us push back this horde of foul creatures and deeds, and I will guarantee our full victory!" At this, the horse at which he sat reared to the sky and he cried to his men; "For Cormyr!"
The roar of metal boots echoed far into the distant hills, beyond the battleground and to the faraway plains where all was still peace, but here, on this land, the battle had begun. Laucion squeezed lightly with his legs the horse's sides, near the ribs and it trotted evenly with the utmost formality of any horse. The purple dragons behind him also went into a fair speeded jog, following their leader-the loyal captain Laucion Aramil- into the great clash of the hordes of soldiers of both sides. But as they moved, the defending force was shadowed by the fogs and mists that flowed as a river along the outer wall. They were blinded by the land that they were defending.Laucion thought it ironic in a sense, but ignored it and unsheathed his sword. This triggered inevitably the entire company of soldiers following him to also take up blades from belts and shoulder scabbards.
The calm before the storm was what followed as they marched foreword at formidable speed. Each and every soldier looked over their shoulders at the moonlit terrain. The trees were gaining green leaves by the day in the springtime warmth, and the thickets of the wood nearby enlarging. The hedges to the left and right of the battlefield were lush with green vines and the occasional grape or bean of some sort, and the many beautiful and majestic flowers that slept peacefully in the morning darkness, despite the horrific event that unfolded unto this bloody day, were to never be seen again in full bloom by many a people. It was sad, but reality in these times of shadow and darkness.
"Steady!" Laucion yelled out, lining his long, gleaming sword with his eyes and holding it there in front. The catapults unleashed once more a magnificent barrage of glowing, fiery stones over the army and into the city, pummeling any last few structures that still stood after previous destructive blows. The words of fire were common as they made haste across the lands and the long, piercing, red flaming streams of arrows crisscrossed in the air and also swarmed within the city, setting afire the turf to the left and right of the wall and allowing it to burn, trapping the orcs within the city of ruin. This seemed to lift the mist shrouding the defenses and revealed the enemy in their full strength, for it was of larger numbers than expected.
Every inch of the stone wall was completely incased in archers, each with a full supply of arrows to release upon their unsuspecting foes. Behind them was obviously the main force, waiting to be called upon as the gate fell and the forces of good stormed within. Then even farther beyond the city was the great grouping of the goblin kin of the Thunder Peaks, a formidable mass with more than a few hundred soldiers but an army of thousands, lead by the feared Mangubelt of a far off tribe. This was a great and ultimate force of evil, but the Cormyrian would stop at nothing. They would retake the city or die in attempt. This was the last straw and it was a long one.
lands and history in the forgotten realms campaign setting.
PART 1 "The Calm Before the Storm"
Laucion Aramil rested his feet within the bronze stirrups of his great, black steed, watching ever closely as yet another boulder was hurtled over the outer walls and crashed down somewhere deep within the metropolis of Arabel. He was restless at the moment, clutching his sword's hilt and trembling slightly to the drifting mist and dew that settled unnoticed upon his iron mail and shimmering, steel coif that resided heavily atop his long, black hair. The mane on the neck of the majestic creature swayed ever so lightly in the western breeze, blocking out an attempted inspection of the breast collar, before he tightened the cinch with a mighty pull of his right arm.
The fiery, orange tint across the soon to be battlefield was menacing to the knights among the great army, but seemed to be absorbed by their long, purple cloaks and hoods that each wore into battle. These represented their beliefs and the beast that once roamed these lands: the Purple Dragon Thauglorimorgorus, of the great flame. This was of where they received their title, the great title, known across the land better than that of any other trained and loyal force. They were the Purple Dragons of old, the defenders of the free realm of the country of Cormyr.
"This is the day that we halt the advancing horde of the Stormhorns and force them back into the evil darkness that they belong to!" Bellowed the king, trotting his horse down the line of poles that defined the only defensive section, for it was a small part, but beyond and about there was an offensive force larger than any man of this country had seen before. The captain continued, heightening his voice, "On this morning, you are gathered hear for a just reason, a reason in which none will die in vein. This reason is to be sure that freedom prevails over these lands, no oppression or suffering." He paused once more and lowered his right hand to his left side and wrapped it around the finally crafted hilt of his father's sword, unsheathing it and hoisting it and all its glory above his head. "Please my friends and kinsman! Fight with me on this hour of darkness and let us push back this horde of foul creatures and deeds, and I will guarantee our full victory!" At this, the horse at which he sat reared to the sky and he cried to his men; "For Cormyr!"
The roar of metal boots echoed far into the distant hills, beyond the battleground and to the faraway plains where all was still peace, but here, on this land, the battle had begun. Laucion squeezed lightly with his legs the horse's sides, near the ribs and it trotted evenly with the utmost formality of any horse. The purple dragons behind him also went into a fair speeded jog, following their leader-the loyal captain Laucion Aramil- into the great clash of the hordes of soldiers of both sides. But as they moved, the defending force was shadowed by the fogs and mists that flowed as a river along the outer wall. They were blinded by the land that they were defending.Laucion thought it ironic in a sense, but ignored it and unsheathed his sword. This triggered inevitably the entire company of soldiers following him to also take up blades from belts and shoulder scabbards.
The calm before the storm was what followed as they marched foreword at formidable speed. Each and every soldier looked over their shoulders at the moonlit terrain. The trees were gaining green leaves by the day in the springtime warmth, and the thickets of the wood nearby enlarging. The hedges to the left and right of the battlefield were lush with green vines and the occasional grape or bean of some sort, and the many beautiful and majestic flowers that slept peacefully in the morning darkness, despite the horrific event that unfolded unto this bloody day, were to never be seen again in full bloom by many a people. It was sad, but reality in these times of shadow and darkness.
"Steady!" Laucion yelled out, lining his long, gleaming sword with his eyes and holding it there in front. The catapults unleashed once more a magnificent barrage of glowing, fiery stones over the army and into the city, pummeling any last few structures that still stood after previous destructive blows. The words of fire were common as they made haste across the lands and the long, piercing, red flaming streams of arrows crisscrossed in the air and also swarmed within the city, setting afire the turf to the left and right of the wall and allowing it to burn, trapping the orcs within the city of ruin. This seemed to lift the mist shrouding the defenses and revealed the enemy in their full strength, for it was of larger numbers than expected.
Every inch of the stone wall was completely incased in archers, each with a full supply of arrows to release upon their unsuspecting foes. Behind them was obviously the main force, waiting to be called upon as the gate fell and the forces of good stormed within. Then even farther beyond the city was the great grouping of the goblin kin of the Thunder Peaks, a formidable mass with more than a few hundred soldiers but an army of thousands, lead by the feared Mangubelt of a far off tribe. This was a great and ultimate force of evil, but the Cormyrian would stop at nothing. They would retake the city or die in attempt. This was the last straw and it was a long one.