It was cold.
Shivering, Carver inched closer to Tim to his right, the man's torch welcoming for it's warmth as much as for the light it was casting in the greyness of the evening. The man offered him a smile, then moved the torch closer. Tim's eyes swiftly forgot about his new-found friend who was apparently worse at dice than him though, his gaze sweeping over the sight before them.
And who could blame him?
Carver's own gaze swept over the sight, his hands itching to reach back and draw his sword, despite the Darkspawn not yet having revealed themselves.
They stood near the top of a muddy slope leading down into a slowly widening ravine between the ruins of the Ostagar fortress and the royal camp that each rested atop a rocky outcrop. To the left and right of the militia earthen ramparts had been constructed, the side facing down the slope bristling with wooden stakes to deter any attacker, as if the dozens of armoured bowmen standing atop the mounds weren't enough. Above them the old bridge leading between the royal camp and the Ostagar ruins rose majestically...and was also filled with ballistae and bowmen.
Further down the slope the ravine widened enough for the rest of the army. There rank upon rank of heavily armoured soldiers, men and women covered in so much steel it was impossible to tell one from the other, stood at the ready. Torches spread across the ranks flickered, the lights reflecting against the rims of shields, the blades of swords and axes. The lights seemingly danced as the soldiers shifted where they stood, a dark sea of steel, churning as the storm of war drew closer.
He could see king Cailan, the man a golden figure at the far right, nearly hidden by the dark armour of his body-guards, still as statues as their king gestured here and there, sending messengers out for the last few orders. Among all the soldiers and knights the priests of the Maker looked incredibly frail, their robed forms slowly walking along the ranks, balls of incense swinging before them as they muttered prayers of protection, making many a soldier kneel for a last blessing.
Then, past the ravine, the bastion of civilisation ended.
Carver knew Teyrn Loghain and his men were somewhere to the left, past the tall hill there, but it was a small comfort with the darkness before him.
A mist had risen, white ropes of it coiling over one another along the grassy field ahead. It was even heavier beyond the open field, in the forest of tall trees that were so thick Carver couldn't imagine any woodcutter even trying to bring one down. The mist there had risen even higher, turning trunks into indistinct shapes and making it seem as if they were gazing down at the very end of the world.
Maybe it is...
Carver shivered again, suddenly glad his brother was there as he shot the man a look.
In contrast to the rest of the militia, Garrett looked calm, the man's brown eyes sweeping back and forth over the forest, as if seeing nothing of particular interest. It wasn't that the man didn't know fear, but if he had time to prepare and think things over he could usually defeat any fear...which was why the family could trust him to get them out of trouble...just like now.
Calm and waiting, the man stood still, as if nothing but a statue, gazing out over over the field with endless patience. Maric was sitting on his haunches next to the man, the Mabari equally still and calm as he gazed out.
Carver wasn't as good at that. Can't the bloody Darkspawn show themselves so we can get this over with! He reached back for his sword...and then calmed himself, arm dropping down before he reached it. I hate the wait...it's always so miserable...
As if on queue, water struck his arms, first barely noticeable, then a growing drumming of tiny raindrops that made Carver's skin sting as the wind whipping through the ravine picked up strength. Of course...all we lack now is lighting. Carver rolled his eyes and inched even closer to Tim and his warm torch...and a crackle echoed over the sky. Maker...I hate you so much right now...
Someone in the line groaned, breaking the silence Carver hadn't even been aware of. "Dammit, this just isn't fair..."
"Well..." Carver shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "...at least this way the soup waiting for us won't be solid crap like last time."
A few men chuckled at that, creating some warmth in the miserable group. Noticing Garrett's approving nod, though the man didn't actually glance at him, Carver straightened a bit as he looked over the group. Like him their armour left much to ask for, but at least he could avert the odd glancing blow to the chest. Those at the front carried small shields and a mix of swords, axes and maces, while those further back carried somewhat weak-looking spears...they hadn't exactly had the pick of the armoury.
Yet all wasn't bad.
The weather had soured their mood, their equipment was sub-par and Carver was well aware their training was minimal compared to the soldiers further up...but each one there was defending his home, in a real, immediate way. Their training-sergeant had told them this, Garrett had repeated it, they had all said it at some point...if Ostagar fell, so would Lothering. As such there was a core of decisiveness among the men, a resolve in the way their hands clenched tight to their weapons and how they looked out towards the dark forest...
Carver could understand them, it felt like an eternity since their family had travelled the breadth of the land to keep safe, before they had found Lothering, before they had started a poor but calmer life. Gritting his teeth Carver couldn't help but agree with the others in their silent wow, he drew his blade and looked out towards the distant forest. They won't take our home...
Wait...
He blinked.
Garrett was the one giving voice to it. "They're here."
Immediately there was a rustling among the men as those at the back pushed and straightened to see past or above the men in front, even among the disciplined ranks below there was a shift of movement as the soldiers noticed the approach of their hated foe.
The Darkspawn.
Stepping out of the mist it was as if they were some otherworldly spectres appearing right out of the ground, as silent as ghosts. They were nothing but feral beasts, yet there was a frightening silence about them as they slowly stepped out of the forest...reminding Carver of wolves closing in on a wounded prey. He could make out the Ogres, great hulking beasts towering over a sea of Genlocks and Hurlocks...yet from the distance the later two were nothing but a dark mass of sick flesh and crude steel, no individuals, only a mass...slowly engulfing the ground before them like some sort of disease. Carver remembered the soldiers he'd seen infected with the blight from the previous battles all too well...they were a disease.
A disease to be purged.
Slowly, the sea of filth came to a stop...a great mass of monsters standing before the humans in the ravine, a blot of blackness covering the ground and disappearing into the mist, how many more were waiting within it Carver couldn't even guess.
Silence.
Then a low growl reached him, making Carver strain his ears only to realise it wasn't from one single Darkspawn, it was all of them, growling, fuelling themselves with hate as they glared across the distance at those that dared to oppose them.
The growl was lengthening, turning into a howling, a sound of rage and hatred unbound, making Carver's jaw ache and his hands to tighten around his blade.
Then, as the sound reached a crescendo...it stopped.
Wha...?
A moment later the Darkspawn moved, from still to sprinting in the blink of an eye, the dark mass like a flood, ready to crash against the dam of human steel ahead.
With the wind it was nearly impossible to hear what Cailan was shouting, but the gesture of his massive sword could not be missed...and a moment later the archers flanking the militia as well as those further down the slope drew back their bowstrings and let loose.
It was like the sound of the wind rustling through dried leaves...that was greeted by the stumbling and felling of dozens of Darkspawn as the razor-sharp arrows thudded into creatures uncaring of protection in favour of bounding forward in their mad rage.
Again, a rustle, and again, dozens of creatures falling, slowing the charge of the rest as they stumbled over their dead or stomped them into mush. An Ogre even fell, the creature pawing at its head as it tumbled sideways, crushing all beneath it...only for it too to disappear like the other dead as more Darkspawn clambered over its corpse.
It was a constant rustling now, the initial salvo turning into an endless stream of arrows as the archers loosed their arrows as fast as humanly possible. The tiny slivers of wood and steel again and again slammed into the horde before them, slaying creature after creature, yet not making even a visible mark as the horde just seemed to grow as more and more Darkspawn appeared from the tree line.
Another shout from the king, his free arm waving...and Mabari hounds that had been impossible to spot among their taller owners leapt forward, a stream of dogs looking like a pitiful little skirmish line about to be trampled to nothing by the mass about to meet them.
The Mabari didn't hesitate though, like the arrows preceding them they shot forth, straight and true to slam into their targets. A crash of hound into diseased flesh...and the Darkspawn charge slowed to a crawl as hounds bowled their targets over and tore into them, claws and fangs and the sheer mass of the charging Mabari making the Darkspawn falter. Howls and growls now filled the air, accompanied by the shrieks of dying Darkspawn and the yelps of the hounds as crude steel hacked into them.
The arrows never ceased though, a constant stream of missiles thumping into the mass of monsters whose advance had slowed into a crawl, yet who didn't for a moment seem to falter in their resolve to close the gap...
Then a third shout for the king, barely audible in a sudden drop of the wind. "For Ferelden, charge!"
It wasn't the answering roar of the soldiers that drew Carver's attention, nor the way the big block of steel and flesh suddenly began moving forward...it was Garrett.
His brother had taken a sudden step forward, his eyes wide before he remembered himself, yet even without them Carver could pick up the subtle hint of tension in the man's stance...it spoke of shock, of worry.
That can't be good...
Turning back to the battle, Carver couldn't understand why though. The Darkspawn advance had turned into a crawl as Mabaris and whistling arrows turned the flood into a churning mass of struggling creatures...and now the Fereldians, a big block of disciplined steel only fraying at the tip as those at the front picked up speed...came crashing forth.
It was as if a hammer had struck butter.
The front ranks of the Darkspawn were simply annihilated, blood visibly exploding up at the point of impact between the mass of the blighted creatures and the Fereldian infantry hacked them up in a frenzy and trampled them underfoot. Those following suffered no better, recoiling at the sudden appearance of their foes, or stumbling into them as those in front of them died, more and more Darkspawn fell without barely putting up a fight.
The impact of the charging humans made the entire Darkspawn horde shake, the reaction of the impact spreading like ripples on water as the creatures either died or turned to fight the unexpected foe. Yet even while fighting back, the Darkspawn made little impact, the sea of monsters now pouring in from three sides of the massive block of the Fereldians were simply unable to breach the defences of a unified block of shields and heavy armour while heavy two-handed weapons and flickering smaller weapons again and again tore through their numbers with little resistance.
Then burning balls of fire suddenly appeared from from the forest, hurtling towards the bridge above the militia...only for the men atop it to answer in kind, flaming ballistae shots and arrows arching into the darkness there to deal with whatever hellish thing the Darkspawn had capable of launching such things. Wonder if they too have mages...? Carver glanced up at the royal camp on the outcrop to his right, knowing the Circle mages there were busy with healing wounded soldiers. If only the Templars had allowed some more...and some who could shoot some fireballs back at those bastards. Carver had seen his sister's fireballs when she had trained to control her dangerous power...and if she was capable of something like that...then what could a real Circle mage be capable of? Not that I could blame them, who would want a fireball tossing mage out of the tower and glorifying in his power and freedom at the same time...?
Carver's thoughts were interrupted at the sight of Garrett marching forward, calling up the commanders of the archers the militia was guarding with an insistent wave of his hand. Watching, Carver saw the men approach the man...and then swiftly shake their heads at whatever he was saying. The man wasn't backing down though, gesturing sharply at the battle below and then at the archers as he quickly spoke.
The two officers exchanged looks...then glanced back at the battle where the Darkspawn were still churning around the three sides of the Fereldian block without making any progress as a froth of blood rose at the point where the two forces met. Then they looked back to one another...and shrugged before offering Garrett a polite nod and moving back to their troops.
Garrett too turned back to the militia, his face a grim mask as he walked up to Carver and turned towards the fighting, his voice low. "Stay close to me for the rest of the battle, brother."
"Of course." Carver muttered back, eyes flicking to the archers...and seeing them once more draw back their bowstrings and let loose, this time more carefully, sending flights of arrows into the flanks of the rolling sea of darkspawn, as far away from the block of Ferelden steel as possible as to avoid friendly losses.
As before, it didn't seem to make any difference.
8
8
8
I can't believe it...
Carver watched in shock as the block of the Fereldian infantry shrunk, leaving in its wake probably hundreds if not thousands of Darkspawn...yet the sea of the beasts didn't seem smaller, the creatures simply trampling their fallen as they again and again hurled themselves to their deaths.
It was like watching the lapping water slowly erode a sand-castle...only with far more serious repercussions.
I...just can't believe it.
The arrows where still coming in, runners from the camp constantly bringing down more ammunition for the tiring archers to send down into the flanks of the horde...yet even that seemed like nothing more but a vain gesture. How many are there!
Even with the chilly wind, Carver felt the hands around the grip to his sword sweat.
Ahead, another Ogre charged into the block of defenders. Yet this time the soldiers reacted sluggishly, shields didn't meet the charge only to reluctantly give way to the side and let the men with two-handers hack its limbs apart until it fell. Instead it swiped at the tired soldiers at the front, sending three flying into the sea of Darkspawn, a brief churning around them signalling their end. Breaking further in, the Ogre jumped...and landed on a soldier carrying a banner into the ground that now had turned from a field of grass into wet mud...the man simply turned into a red mist, the banner disappearing as it was mangled into the ground.
Then a golden-armoured figure leapt forward...a swing of a massive blade...and the creature stumbled sideways, hands grasping at the blood welling from its left leg. A moment later more soldiers piled in, swarming over the creature like ants and bowling it over even as they again and again swung at it, destroying it utterly.
But the damage was done, even as Carver watched, more Darkspawn poured into the breach, widening it in a frenzy of hacking blades as they finally broke through the wall of Ferelden discipline.
Genlocks were leaping onto the backs of soldiers already fighting, daggers punching through gaps in the soldiers' armour. Hurlocks were charging at men at the inside of the block that were supposed to be resting for their time at the front, tearing them apart and hacking at them even after they had fallen...
The defending block of Fereldians visibly cracked...then dissolved, the battle turning into a general melee, a chaos as each man and woman fought on their own, more to defend their own life than any overarching strategy.
Maker, no...
Carver stared at it, horrified, yet unable to look away.
"The beacon!" He wasn't sure who shouted it, all he knew was hope as he turned his head to the left, staring with wide eyes at the sight of the tower atop the Ostagar fortress coming alight with a flame that could be seen miles around.
Yes! His head snapped round, and he sensed rather than saw everyone else stare at the hill to the left of the grassy plain where the battle still raged in earnest, staring after the first sign of Loghain's troops.
Any moment now...
Below, the battle continued, the monsters and humans nearly impossible to tell apart as they tore one another apart in a frenzy.
Now...come on...now...
Nothing happened.
"Wha...what's going on?" Someone behind him muttered.
"Where's the charge?" Another echoed.
Carver only kept staring, his breathing quickening, willing the reinforcement to arrive.
Nothing.
"Maker, we're doomed!" A third voice cried out.
Carver felt his heart sink, eyes slowly drifting to Garrett, the man's face a neutral mask as he eyed the hill, then the battle below, calculating, thinking, cold to the tragedy of what was about to happen.
I...Maker...
Carver himself was lost for words, his wide eyes slowly drifting down to the battlefield, a battlefield slowly turning into a slaughtering ground as the exhausted humans were overwhelmed by the tireless horde.
Then Garrett turned to the men, face grim. "No, we're not."
8
8
8
Thanks to Abydos Jackson for all her help.