DISCLAIMER: I do not own the franchises I based my writing on.
Soaring through the sky, Harrond felt the worries plaguing his mind lessen in prominence. Truly, flying with his companion is the greatest pleasure in the world, an honour bestowed upon the sons and daughters of Caledor, that few others outside the volcanic kingdom share.
The time of twilight was upon the world, the distant horizon lit up a blazing orange as the night began to unfurl. The stars will soon blanket the heavens, and he hopes the preparations against the tainted moon's light were already done. Blessed are the children of Ulthuan, yet still the sickly green light can do insidious things to the unprepared and the children amongst the colonists must be protected.
His attention was taken by a dragon's roar from below, one his companion Naemirinir responded to with a roar of her own, banking slightly right to curve around the fleet. Harrond looked down to see the source, and there atop the Dragonship stood the only other dragon of the expedition. His fellow peer looked to be about to join him it seems.
Golden eyes opened in the dim light. They behold the glittering mounds of their possesions, riches she shared with her companion Kardraghnir, a Sun Dragon whom she lied against in her sleep. Her friend has already woken up before her, looking at her now with one blue eye as he rested his head on a particular pile of golden skulls. He puffed out a cloud of smoke then, urging her to wake up faster as the cloud blew across her face.
"Yes, yes." Waving away the smoke she sat up, silken nightrobes hanging loose on her body as she worked to center herself, the last vestiges of sleep soon dissipating from her mind. She stood then stretched, a few bones cracking here and there. 'Note to self, find a large cushion.' She thought, 'Enchanted robes can only do so much against sleeping on a bed of cold metals.'
As if reading her thoughts Kardraghnir snorted, and with their bond she could feel the amusement of the fiery beast in her mind. She gave the dragon a tiny frown before she smiled, sharing her happiness through that mental bond all Dragon riders of Caledor share with their mounts. She then went off to do her ablutions, the soothing feeling of her friend's contentment accompanying her to the bathroom.
An hour later and she is now strapping on the last of her panoply, the left gauntlet giving her some trouble when another friend arrived. Just like every time before, he entered in a manner most boisterous.
"Nerunaaaa!" Was her only warning, before the doors to the chamber was kicked wide open. The perpetrator was a rather tall elf, built more strongly than many and who's manners more loose than other normal Asur. His messy golden locks frame bright blue eyes and a face that many would describe rugged, a long scar running down from right temple to jaw only adding to the image. He is clad in full armor, bearing traditional symbols of Chrace. He also wore that strange cloak of his, a tartan he calls it, thick cloth woven with stripes of green, white, black and blue colours and widths crossing at right angles, forming squares. His name is Aslan of House Khraemaine, and when asked he would call it a parting gift from the humans of Albion, one given to him as a symbol that he would always be welcomed as family. It was also quite intriquing for many that such a primitive race can make such perfect patterns of cloth with their current state, sparking many an expedition to those shrouded isles. Only few, however, would make it past the fog and back out again, many left disappointed when their ships would emerge from whence they entered. He strode across the chamber, bright smile ever present as he addressed her casually. "Awake at last! Care to join me and my sister at the mess? We've yet to have lunch, busy as we were doing our tasks ashore, and I'm quite famished." He only stopped when Kardraghnir gave him a rather annoyed look, a foot before the floor was covered in a layer golden coins and jewels. Neruna, Dragon Princess of the House of Laraethaeir looked at him blankly then sighed, long since used to the very enthusiastic elf. His sisters makes for good company at least, more composed than Aslan.
"...and then the mad-lad just picked up a boulder bigger than him, and threw it at the spellbound sea serpent! His aim was spot on, the moment the serpent opened its maw the boulder sailed through the air and right into it throat. The noises the beast made as it choked..."
Aslan was stood atop a table while he recounts a tale of his time at Albion, his audience of fellow Silver Helms and a trio of mages enraptured by his retelling. Meanwhile Neruna and his sister, Silvia Khraemaine remain seated on another table some distance away, enjoying their meal in relative peace. Grilled fish seasoned with spices grown on Tiranoc, with a side of vegetables were eaten in a sedate manner, both ladies having no reason to rush as they conversed.
"That is, what, the sixth thrown boulder featured in your brother's story?" Neruna remarked, taking a sip of wine in between bites.
"Seventh actually." Silvia replied, after munching on a particularly juicy morsel. "The Albian people my brother is so fond of seem to like throwing things a lot. Rocks, weapons, each other, the list goes on really." She then sliced off a part of her meal, picking it up with her fork and directed it into her mouth. "He even picked up on it, putting aside the bow he trained with for most of his life and started throwing spears instead. Admittedly he's good at it, but still."
"...with a mighty heave of effort, despite the haze of exhaustion clouding my mind and my limbs trembling with fatigue from extended combat, I threw spear! I watched it arcing through the battlefield, sailing over the heads of clashing Albian battlesworn and Fimir marauders, and the gods be praised my aim was true! The leader of the Fimir was slain, my spear piercing the beast's single eye the moment it was about to crush the Truthsayer..." Aslan's audience were muttering praises and compliments, a sigh here and there as the tension was lifted from the story. Neruna let out a sound of amusement, finding Silvia's reluctance to compliment her brother's skill at spear throwing funny.
The relaxed atmosphere in the mess, however, was distupted by a commotion by one of the entrances. When Neruna looked over she spied a mage having a heated conversation with a couple of sailors, drawing in other elves to the discussion spoken with wild gestures and
some disbelief in the tones by which they spoke. It reached a point when even Aslan was distracted from his story telling, jumping down from his perch and walking over to the pair as his audience either went back to their seats or walked over to discern the reason for the disturbance. The trio shared glances, then Neruna nodes her head towards the growing crows and in unspoken agreement they all went over.
When the stars fully came out no one thought anything amiss at first. Then the navigators looked up to find familiar constellations, determined to get their bearings and instead find a disturbing sight. Besides the ever-present North star, every other star formation charted by astronomers and sailors for generations are missing. They are left in the dark, and are now lost. The Loremasters and their cadre of mages were quickly consulted, did their own star-searching and moon-studying, and the results only added to the negative situation they have found themselves in.
News spread quickly, and now practically everyone in the fleet knows. Groups are forming and then arguing with others on what they should do, with sailing back the way they came being unfeasible with the storm blowing them off-course. The complement of clergy with the fleet were swamped with elves of varying distress hoping for some guidance. To their credit the priests, priestesses and their acolytes did their duty well, with many fears allayed, some few even outright forgotten about it. It all however, came down to trusting the leadership, and when they were asked about it, said leadership passed the buck to the others above. And so the trust of many fell onto Dragon Prince Harrond, that he will lead not lead them astray.
And how fares the prince, when the problem as a whole was revealed to him?
Harrond suddenly stood up with haste, walking off from the table towards a window. He could see the night sky from there, a glittering backdrop to the dark ocean on which floats his colonial fleet. Within their hulls Elves from many walks of life currently reside in, awaiting the day they disembark and create a new life for themselves, trusting their lives and future in the hands of their leader.
Him.
With the navigators and Loremasters declaring the fleet lost, some even daring to say they're worlds apart from Ulthuan, the burden of leadership rests ever heavily on his shoulders, unused as he was to such responsibility. 'Found a colony, mother and father said.' He scathingly recalled. 'Prove yourself worthy of the title of Dragon Prince.' Being the youngest of his siblings and born far later in his parent's life, growing up with a lacking amount of deeds and merit compared to the literal trophy rooms and honor rolls of his seven brothers and sisters placed a heaping pile of expectations on him, that the moment he came out of the caverns followed by Naemirinir was when his parents finally saw him as something else besides an unexpected addition. At least his siblings cared, in their own different ways. He won't be entirely lacking of fond memories of sky reaching palace.
'Enough self pity.' He steeled himself. 'I have a hole to drag us out of.' He turned back then to face his council, comprised of Fleet-Master Aethenor, Head Loremaster Falandris, for politic's sake Dragon Princess Neruna is included and finally two others who are the official leaders of the civilians and the army. The first is Mylena Oakenfell, a merchant with great skill in administration and managing a bureaucracy, having a history of soothing ruffled feathers and bruised egos between nobles and merchants of high standing, wearing to the meeting a dress of flowing green silk and jewelry of silver and sapphires on her person. The second is General Marcus of the House of Veers, the second oldest Asur in the fleet, and a storied veteran of the Second Chaos Incursion, participating in holding actions along the mountain passes that lead to the inner kingdoms, rising higher in rank as the casualties rose higher and more commanders died. He wore a set of armor almost bare in ornamentation, sporting only the minimum he could get away with without causing a great offense, the colours of Yvresse and the blue griffon feathers adorning his helmet in back swept wings, willingly given by his mount of similar colouring.
They all look to him expectantly, Falandris with a bit of sympathy, as he began to lay out a general plan for the foreseeable future. "Our main goal remains unchanged." He stated, looking around at their faces and seeing no one yet disagreeing. "We found a colony, build ourselves a proper coastal city to better sustain ourselves and avoid any costly engagements with the peoples that would be our neighbors. Only with our foundations built on stable ground could we start to determine how far we are from Ulthuan, and find a route back home."
Everyone nodded, hearing nothing wrong with the plan, Harrond internally sighing in relief at that. Then Neruna contributed a rather valuable point.
"We need a map." She said, "With our maps currently remdered useless and the stars apparently unreliable at the moment, aquiring a map from the local seafarers would be prudent, yes?"
"The princess speaks true." Marcus spoke. "I suggest stealing one."
"Can we not obtain one through trade instead?" The traderess threw in her idea, disagreeing with the general. "I say this to better avoid an escalation of violence."
"I would think its too late for that, mistress Mylena." Falandris joined in then. "Three attacks are three too much, in significant numbers too, in my opinion. And who's to say that the natives would treat with us fairly?"
"Based on previous reports, I wouldn't trust a single man from these lands to behave themselves when left alone with a maiden, much less a child." Othel added in.
The discussion went on for a while, points argued and suggestions for future actions were given and ruminated upon, until the meeting ended in a pleasant note for all involved. Harrond also decided that stealing a map from the locals is more than acceptable after their unjustified attacks on an Asur ship.
And so their first night ends in this new world.
The following day was much the same as before, the landing zone having been expanded to encompass almost the entire stretch of beach and then the forest beyond. The north side has reached the short cliff, and a tower was being built on top of it. To the south, the sandy beach was slowly replaced by more stony terrain until boulders made up the stretch from inland to the sea, the waves crashing loudly on smoothened stone and leaving clumps of seaweeds behind. The southern wall was built some distance from the gravel dominated shore, and no further.
It was determined by the leadership that this site would make a good outpost, a starting point for further exploration and mapping of the lands they ended up in. So more permanent buildings are starting to rise from the ground, wooden for now but if a proper source of stone were to be found, the buildings will be upgraded then.
Throughout the second day more elves will be disembarked, either assigned to occupy the outpost or rotating in groups of three hundred to rest for a while in dry land, taking advantage of the fleet's time of rest while they can. It is mostly the civilians in the rotating groups by order of the Prince, to help in keeping morale up. Soon there is some two-thousand soldiers and their support complements stationed there in permanent assignments, filling up a good two-thirds of the walled outpost, with space to spare just in case. Time passed, elves either rested or worked and the overall mood of the fleet rose to cautiously hopeful with the announcement of the fleet's future plans helping soothe misgivings and allay doubts. Skycutters were finally sent up to patrol the skies for threats and let the Rocs get some exercise after days of being cooped up in holds, unable to stretch their wings fully, leaving them rather irritable. Every now and then a brilliant blue griffon joined in, with the pair of dragons flying off for hours, diving now and then to get at schools of sea creatures near the water's surface.
Then the sun began to set, and the humans made their move.
"Slow men, slow! Careful where you step, and keep yer' mouths shut! I don't care if you broke your ankles on a root, I don't want so much as a whisper out of your mouths!" The captain of this group of Ironborn whisper-shouted to a rough number of fifty men, leading them slowly in a staright path towards the invader's camp. The ragtag bunch of seasoned warriors and levy troops did their best to remain quite on the move, the ones carrying the mobile barricades putting more effort to it. No torches were lit, leaving no light but the moon and stars to guide them through the night, so some tumbling and silent cursing were a common enough occurence. Theirs is just one group of many, numbering almost four thousand in total, making their way to the elven camp in the dead hours of the night. The men best known for their aptitude in sneaking were sent ahead, to take care of what enemy scouts might be watching for attacks like this, lightly armoured but with shortbows and daggers, they were deemed sufficient for this task. Against any other foe this would have been an inspired stratagem, with a high chance of working too.
However, when they were about half an hour's run from the camp, a party of rangers ambushed a group of Ironborn scouts, slaying them all with arrows in a single breath. Not a sound was heard from the men who died. The rangers, cloaks matching the colors of the woods, silently moved the way the humans came from, after hiding the bodies of course. Dodging the other Ironborn scouts, and soon came upon a larger group of warriors slowly moving forwards.
Three short blasts of a horn resounded through the night, startling the Ironborn.
"That's not ours." One of Garold's guards quickly said. The Ironborn lord kicked him in the ass hard for pointing out the obvious.
"I don't know how those bastards did it, or if one of the scouts messed up hard, but we're not backing off now, are we men?!"
Confusion and shock were soon replaced by eager replies of affirmations and crude jokes. Garold pointed his axe towards their target now. "Signal the others and light the torches! At speed, forward!"
"Drowned god be with us!" "At them!" "Show them an Ironborn welcome, hahaa!"
The reavers rushed on, torches now lit and with the eagerness to rush the foe, sure that despite the warning many of the enemy will be drowsy with sleep or tired, the reavers being relatively fresh for battle.
Contrary to their beliefs, the elves were quick to rouse at the sound of the horns, Sentinels and their sub-commanders quick to get their troops up from beds and get armed. Spear and archer regiments were steadily streaming to formation behind the walls, companies of Silver Helms quick to move near the gates leading out of the eastern wall of the camp. More horns were sounded by the rangers, rushing back to the camp and slaying what Ironborn scouts they run into. Running skirmishes and ambushes were fought in the trees, the Ironborn finding themselves way over their heads as arrow after arrow flew from varying angles and heights, shouts of anger, fear and the clashing of blades ringing out amidst the darkened shadows of the woods.
The rangers ran out of the the treeline, a few bearing wounds but none of their number were lost to the enemy, leaving behind the shocked survivors of the Ironborn forward units. They made it to the gates, slipping through the small gap left open for them, closing fully when the last made it inside.
The Ranger Lord, commander of the rangers of the fleet shared what they found to the other commanders gathered in the Prince's tent.
"Four thousand humans you said?" Aslan asked, seeking to confirm the given count.
"Indeed. My rangers' retreat was swift, but if the first group of fifty was accurately counted, then multiplied by around forty or so confirmed sightings of similar groups adds up to four thousand."
The others stood around the table traded glances at that. Silvia was about to speak when Prince Harrond strode in from the outside, soon followed by Princess Neruna. They quickly joined in, walking over to the head of the large table with a map of the outpost in the centre. Pieces indicating company-sized units of their forces were placed behind the wall facing east and beyond that were those representing the enemy, unit types unfortunately left blank due to lacking time to determine them.
A quick scan of the map, and Harrond looked up, seeing who were around. There was Aslan, a Lord of Chrace and the High Helm in command of the five-hundred Silver Helms. His sister, Silvia was there too, the Hawkeye for the regiment of five-hundred archers stationed in the camp. Archmage Ranrie Archiut was present as well, to lead the coven of mages present. Beside her stands the hooded Ranger Lord from Nagarythe, his name yet to be shared, leading his warband of three-hundred rangers. Then there was Lord Arlendil Silvermoore, the noble in command of the two regiments of spear-elves numbering a thousand combined. Not counting the Skycutters and General Marcus leading them here, there are around two-thousand Asur ready to do battle, with more surely on the way to be brought ashore. Harrond, as the high commander will have to plan out the defense of the outpost, with input from his subordinate commanders to ensure they lose as few Asur lives as possible, and bleed the enemy of theirs in the meantime. 'Should be simple enough.' He assured himself. 'My first command and it could be worse. But I will not underestimate the foe, for beneath their barbarism could hide great skill in arms.'
Torches aplenty light the way forward for the Ironborn, but for some it was not enough it seems. A group of men carrying a barricade all fell down when one of their number tripped on a stone hidden by fallen leaves, leaving the irate men cursing as they stood up again and picked up the wood construction. "On your feet and hurry to the front!" Their sergeant bellowed. "We're about to leave the cover of the damned woods and we need that wall ahead! Unless you wanna volunteer for meatshield duty?" They continued on, their group of fifty men soon neared by the other groups, forming a ragged line stretching the length of the outpost's eastern wall and then some. The army briefly halted right at the edge off the woods, peering across a a stretch of open ground with the occasional clumps of tree stumps close together, signs of the invaders creating a killing field where their archers would have free reign. Many thanks were said for the Lord Goodbrother's foresight for ordering a large amount of mobile baricades to be made, splashed with water beforehand to prevent fire arrows from igniting the constructions.
Garold Goodbrother now stands at the front, doing a final meeting with his commanders before the battle starts. "I don't like it." Qarlton Pyke spoke, "The fort's too quite for me liking."
"Why are their walls white?" One of his vassals nervously pointed out. "Could they be havin' witches in there?" He was socked atop his helmet by Garold for that. "Again, paint is not magic you fool!" He let out a sigh of frustration, cursing his past self for having the idiot's more capable older sibling killed. Sure he didn't hide his dislike like for Garold but times like these made him far more preferable than the weak-minded fool playing as a lord before him now. "Look atop the walls! Ignore what other decorations the fools put over the wood, we can loot them later, but see how few there are standing there? And the lack of noise could be them still stirring from their sleep, unlikely, or even that there aren't that many in the fort right now, the enemy staying on the boats until some other time."
"So we overwhelm the defenders, open the gates, and slaughter and chain who remain, milord?" One of his smarter captain said. Garold favoured him with a nod, then turned around to address his army, raising his voice that they may hear him clearly. "Now men, enjoyed your rest?! Because I won't be running away now like a fucking greenlander seeing a longship, no! I want that fort taken, the men slaughtered, women in chains, their riches paying sitting in my castle's vault by sunrise! Now who wants in?!" At the end he blew a horn, the spitting image of the symbol of his house, letting out a loud, sonorous noise that rang out across the field.
His army cheered, baying their eagerness for the coming fight and soon the front ranks advanced. The mobile barricades were sent first, wooden shields wide enough for five men side by side and tall enough to hide the men from the archers on the wall.
"The enemy are advancing, Dragon Prince." Falandris spoke beside him, having joined him on an elevated platform some distance from the walls. The Loremaster had only recently joined the defenders, teleporting beside Harrond as soon as he heard of the attack, having only finished his study on piece of driftwood of all things. He now lends his incredible repetoire of spells and cantrips, conjuring a flock of ethereal owls to gain a live and detailed view of the battle from above. "They move with mobile barricades and archers at the front, advancing in rag-tag groups entirely deprived of any manner of order or discipline."
"Thank you, Loremaster." Harrond maintained his regal posture, arms in front and resting on the pommel of his longsword. His household guards surround the platform, banners and tall shields bearing the crest of his Princely house, that of a golden dragon flying atop a white mountain's peak, the background a crimson red. "With the might our race, against what you say to be a mob of bloodthirsty barbarians, victory is assured. There can be no other conlusion."
He raised his voice the, to speak now to the elves under his command. "The human rabble charging our walls cannot even hope to compare to the hordes of chaos we have defeated long ago! Let this new land bear witness to our might, that our glory be seared into the minds of the barbarians before we swiftly put their lives to an end with the grace and skill they cannot hope to match!" He then raised his sword, the runes engraved on the blade glowing with power before igniting into golden flames. "FOR ULTHUAN!"
Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and reviewing my work.
And to end any confusion or help the lost, the Asur have landed on Great Wyk, on the lands of House Goodbrother of Downdelving.