A/N: Will have a more lengthier note down below. This is just to let you know that I'll respond to reviews now.
slayore: Why thank you! I'm glad I decided on Warhammer too! Feels like there's a lot of untapped potential that people aren't taking advantage of.
Dyliokhan: It could happen. I won't rule it out. Depends on what mods I use to actually immerse the idea.
Ppayaman: But, of course! What else would you expect from wood elves! Screwing with people is one of their favorite past times!
Abel couldn't help but feel a nervous yet excited energy running through his limbs as he stood at the walls looking at the treeline the wretched undead had decided to hide behind. If there was anything his father had been right about it was the cowardice of the puppet masters pulling those corpses' strings. At least as far as rumors go, his father had never actually fought them before.
His excitement couldn't help but dampened by worry at the line of thought. The undead were hiding behind the trees yes, but he couldn't help but wonder about the trail of destruction they had no doubt caused on their way here. How many soldiers had they risen from the dead after apparently slaughtering the garrison at Gisoreux? How many villagers had they slain and added to their army on the way here? Had his mother survived such an onslaught? The mere thought of her pale and possibly marred face shambling towards him made its way to his mind before he furiously shook his head.
No. He couldn't think that way. His father always told him never to think that way. After all, even if this was his very first battle at the tender age of 15 his father had gone on many campaigns before, leaving him and his mother alone with no harm coming to them. If the lady had watched for her then, the lady would shield his mother once more along with anyone fortunate enough to earn her mercy.
Besides! It would all be an adventure that he could tell her once they had thrashed the heretical undead properly! He could finally say that he was a man fully grown taking his first kill! He could perhaps find the courage to propose to Monique, much like how he was finding the courage to face these undead hordes alongside his countrymen...although if the creatures he was fighting were already dead could that truly count as a kill?
A smile came to his face as his thoughts grew bold. Perhaps he could even slay a necromancer if he were lucky! Surely he could do it! If his father had lasted against the beastmen and horrid orcs then whose to say his son couldn't kill a necormancer?
"No movement still my boy?" Came his father's queries approaching from Abel's left. Durant had dark chestnut colored hair much like his son, but with a far more heavily scarred face, especially on his cheeks, with a few missing teeth to boot. It was spoke of how fortunate he was to survive the many incursions that his father had braved throughout his years to defend his home.
"Not yet father. One might think they're wetting themselves at just the mere sight of Artoi's walls...even I never expected them to look so...so massive!"
"The undead don't fear...least I've heard." Durant half mumbled to himself as he rubbed his chin in thought. "Never faced em' myself. Not many men here have surprisingly enough, but if they've been beaten before, they'll fall all the same."
"That they will father. That they will." The young man beamed as he looked towards the treeline again, his impatience barely reigning as father, son, and the rest of the men fell into something of a bored smile. It'd been like this for two weeks. Two boring weeks of nothingness. Abel had heard from his father how dull sieges could be, but he thought at the time that he was just trying to dissuade him from wanting to join headfirst into the fray! Oh, how he longed to correct his older self of such arrogance. Two weeks of patrolling the walls. Two weeks of him and his fellow brettonians finding a way to kill time while taking care not to stare up at the faces of his superior knights and noblemen, helmeted or not. It made him wonder if there would even be a fight at all. Perhaps those rumors of reinforcements from the king himself would arrive and take all the glory before they did! What a grand waste of his youth that would be! He couldn't look his mother and possible beloved in the eye if the king did all of the work for him!
"Company!" His father suddenly barked aloud, rousing his son and the rest of the men from the bored and near lackadaisical stupor they had found themselves. Already the adrenaline started pumping. He could feel it in himself. He could feel it in his comrades. It was like an energetic fervor as he saw what his father witnessed breaking the treeline.
At first, he couldn't quite make it out. The distance was too far for him at that moment. Then, however, he noticed that what was in front of the tree line and slowly shambling its way towards the magnificent walls of Artois was none other than corpses. Not just any corpses, Abel realized with a slowly growing pit of dread. Corpses wearing brettonian uniforms. Some had tears, while others had gashes. Some of these zombies weren't even holding weapons, but the glowing blue light coming from their sockets was unmistakable.
Looking at his father, Abel felt further unnerved at how rigid his father had become. His mouth was tight and eyes wide, matching the faces of the other men beside them. It was as if the mood had done a 180 for how it was from the simple sight that was before them...and it only got worse.
Then came the skeletons. Anatomies of the human body devoid of flesh, carrying spears, swords, and shields from the make of brettonian metalwork. Unlike the zombies these fleshless creatures marched in an unnerving unity, as if they were in sync, driving home the fact that they were truly the vehicular constructs of the necromancers that summoned them in the first place.
And if that wasn't horrifying enough. The worst was yet to come.
"Father...are...are those siege towers?"
"Aye son...that they are...gave them too much damned time to build them we did." His father breathed as not one. Not two. Not three. But, four siege towers made of bone, dirt, and only the lady knew what else as they seemed to almost...hover forward, with a light blue magical energy keeping it aloft as the towers cruised forward with undead forces.
This...this was what they faced…
This is what now stood between him, his mother, and his beloved Monique.
As he gripped his shield and spear tightly he could only become ever more nervous as the undead forces seemingly allowed the towers to surge ahead, coming closer by the moment, and carrying creatures designed to add the living to their legion.
Just as he began to hear verbal prayers to the lady herself, with Abel not far behind them, He heard booming shout cut through the nervous mutterings of his fellow peasants like a greatsword through a heretics neck as everyone jerked behind them to see a startling sight. A sight that caused all peasants in the immediate vicinity to bow their heads enough to not make eye contact.
Duke Chilfroy, standing taller and as daunting as ever, storming his way up the battlements with his massive frame, helmet under his left armpit as he and a retinue of knights were just behind him. It was rare to see him not on horseback or any knight for that matter for the young peasant, but given the state of affairs, it wasn't unheard of for the cold yet stern duke to come over the battlements and look over the treeline himself.
Now he was doing so once again, glaring imperiously at the undead forces that were lurching towards them.
It was then that the duke chuckled. It was a low, yet very audible and booming one at that, which carried over the to nearly every peasant near the vicinity, who couldn't help but look at the duke's demeanor, but not at his face of course. Never his face.
"So that's it then?" He asked, with no one daring to answer. "This is the great horde I have heard about? The forces of Mousillon make this so-called 'horde' seem like nothing more than the desperate efforts of a half-starved grave digger, looking to do nothing more than to do what Kemmler could not."
A cruel grin found its way onto the lips of the duke, as he strode forward, shoving a levy out of the way without a care in the world, resting a hand upon the wall with a level of ease that couldn't help but be noticed by the rest of the levies. "Sad. Absolutely appalling and depressing. I've slain bestigors and gorebulls with more ferocity than this lethargic lot! I've killed orcs that have struck fear into the hearts of many when I crushed their so-called little and petty Waaghs! I've personally slain my fair share of necromancers whenever Mousillon stirred and the king required a slayer to put the dead to rest and this? Kemmler's successor aims to take my home with this? With this paltry ramshackle of corpses? Truly?"
The knights behind him began to laugh openly, which was a clear go-ahead for the peasants to follow suit, the only nervousness being present at not offending their liege lord. Even Abel and his father found themselves laughing along with the duke's words.
"This is no true necromancer that leads this horde, nay! Not a horde! A gang of corpses, a gaggle of corpses dare I say, nay! Dare I declare! A grave robber comes to you men of brettonia. A grave robber who seeks to stand in the boots of a man who is damned to never reach the lady's light and will follow suit shortly enough! A creature that plays at being conqueror when his subjects are only those of our fallen countrymen! For shame on this grave robber for shame!"
The laugh turned into a boisterous guffaw as the laughs spread throughout the lengths of the walls with Chillfroy's booming words carrying throughout the walls as the towers crept ever closer, yet with the men manning the walls growing ever more confident at the speech.
"A simple grave robber comes to my walls gentlemen. A grave robber who has no doubt killed many of your brethren on the way here, a grave robber, who will stop at nothing to add to his horde! To defile our lady's sacred lands, to take his most likely rotting and lacking phallic member and use it defile your women in ways that I dare not say with the lady watching over us! We sha-
"OI SIMP!"
An enraged voice from beyond the walls put a screeching halt to Chillfroy's speech. It was so sudden, so sharp and emphatic, that even the laughing and cheering of the levies was halted, with Duke Chilfroy looking initially perplexed, before immediately turning to anger. Someone had dared to interrupt his speech. The speech of a duke of brettonia. And it only took said duke and everyone else to realize it hadn't come from this side of the wall.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you ya yappin' trash bin!" Finally, the source of the voice could be identified. Squinting his eyes, Abel could make out a figure in black robes, dark hair and a furious look on his face staring down his duke while holding wizened staff, with everyone else noticing him in turn. He was standing at the very top of a siege tower, letting loose a string of curses and expletives that would have made his mother blush furiously if she had been in hearing range.
"Is...is that one of the necromancers?" A levy to Abel's right asked no one in particular.
"I'unno. Never seen one in my life." Another replied.
"And how would ya? You've lived in the same village all your life!"
"Oh and I suppose you know better then eh?"
"Silence!" Chilfroy cut in, getting his desired results of cutting the peasant chatter, with the two offending peasants, in particular, bowing their heads in meek submission. Satisfied with the response, Chilfory glared balefully at the necromancer in question. "And who are you to dare interrupt the royal duke of Artois?"
With the tower growing ever so closer, Abel and everyone else on the walls could see as plain as the necromancer snort in derision. "Someone who doesn't like fake news about him bein' spread around. Last I checked I don't need to force any woman to clean my pipe you prick! They're all too happy to do so after a dinner or two!"
"You dare address me with such coarse words?" The duke grounded out unimpressed. "Though I expect nothing less from Kemmler's leftover bottom feeders. Tell me necromancer! If you're even that. Are you so desperate to attack Brettonia's sacred lands that you feel no fear over forfeiting your life as much as you forfeit your soul when dabbling in necromancy?"
"Dare? Dare!? Oh we are far past daring you higher than thou matarazz! You think you can just go around tellin' everyone that I have to force myself!...my charming self on the beautiful women of the world? This world? Them's fightin' words bitch!"
Abel couldn't help open his mouth in shock. Though he too had never seen necromancers himself, he would have thought them to be more...decrepit. More ominous. More dastardly and horrid looking, casting nothing but the vilest of spells and curses on their enemies.
This? He didn't what on earth to make of this necromancer. To so blatantly insult a duke of the realm...did he truly know no fear? No respect? No sense of self-preservation?
Lord Chilfroy looked as though he must have been thinking the same himself with that furious look on his face. "You...I've mounted many a head of the foes I have killed in my reign from beast skin to orc. I will personally enjoy watching yours mounted in the walls of my hall."
The towers were getting closer now. Both Lord and necromancer could see each other narrowing their eyes.
"Yeah. Big talk from a dude who most likely got his unpaid help to do the work for him. You given' these guys who are fightin' for you the same rates?"
"You accuse me of cowardice?"
"I ain't accusin' you of havin' a pair of stones now am I? And if you do, I can only wonder how far they're gonna drop the second I tear down you, you're shitty feudal system, and your stupidass simp hag bathwater drinking religion!"
Though his words were once again crass, it was truly jarring for Abel and so many young levies such as himself to hear such bold and heretical words leave the necromancer's lips. He'd been told by his parents that the worst enemies of Brettonia were the foulest of creatures who would do everything to undo the sacred lay had created, yes, but to hear said so openly? Was there no low they were willing to reach? He could only blink in shock at the audacity of it all!
"Lyle!" A feminine shrill voice suddenly filled the air, coming from below the walls. "Get down here before they get ideas! What are you doing up there!?"
"He's talkin' shit callin' me a rapist! He started it!" The necromancer yelled back below the siege tower.
"I don't care if he started! If you so much as put your life into further jeopardy I'll save them the trouble and finish it! Get down NOW!"
"What are you, my mom!?"
"A hundred gold to the archer that kills him without marring his face!" The duke of Artois called out to his troops. "I want his head in perfect condition for when it decorates my walls!"
"Hah! You're only proving my point you di-oh shit!" The necromancer let out a very effeminate yelp as he noticed the archers were quick to take up the duke's offer. Sadly for said archers, the necromancer was even faster, scurrying into the tower and hiding within it. Truly as cowardly as the rest of his ilk as Abel had heard from his many rumors growing up.
Towers are closing in my lord!" One of the knights called out as his words indeed rung true. Abel's heart began to pound as he realized it wouldn't be long now.
"Yes I can see that as plainly as I see the cowardice of the necromancer, lord Gerome. Thank you for pointing that out." The tone that Lord Chilfroy used implied that he was anything but pleased. The stiffening of Gerome's shoulders indicated that further. "Now do me a favor and oversee the walls since you seem so focused on the state of the towers. I will be on my steed, manning the gates." The duke of Artois sniped as he didn't bother waiting for a reply, heading down the wall with the rest of his knightly retinue.
"...of course my liege." Though he couldn't see this Gerome's face, Abel could only imagine his anger. For a brettonian nobleman to fight on foot instead of horseback. He'd been told by his father from his many battles that such a state was beyond demeaning for any knight of Brettonia, high or low.
Though if what the rumors about Lord Gerome say concerning him losing the battle of Gisoreux were true he couldn't help but understand Chilfroy's actions...not that he would ever voice such opinions aloud.
"Straighten your back boy, they're almost to the walls!" His father barked him, shaking his shoulder fiercely and jogging the young man out of his musings. "I've seen too many men lose their lives when keeping their minds off the fight. Don't make me bring your mother back in pieces."
"S-sorry father-
"Don't be sorry. Just be focused! And pray to the lady for your health!"
And focused he was. Because no sooner had his father uttered those words it was when four audible thuds rang out. The four towers had reached the walls and the men at the very front of the gate had tensed. It took Abel a moment to realize that slowly yet surely his father had dragged him away from the very front lines while the Duke spoke to the necromancer. He almost wanted to chastise his father, and complain as to why he was dragging them away from the action!
Such protests died on his tongue when the front opening of the tower slammed open onto the wall.
Abel expected skeletons. Maybe even some zombies. He'd be lying if he said he was prepared for that, but he was more than willing to tear them apart if the lady willed it.
What lurched out of the dark depths of the tower was far, far worse.
Ghostly spectral creatures, that one could barely see through nearly flew out of the tower, They seemed to wear cowels that hid most of their skeletal features while holding ghastly looking scythes. It was here that they immediately wasted no time in swinging said scythes when they exited the towers, and with the levies looking as gobsmacked as Abel, they were woefully unprepared for the carnage headed their way.
One of the cairn wraiths surged forward onto the wall, hacking a levy's sword arm in the process with a single swipe, leaving him screaming bloody murder as he fell backward, desperate not to lose any more limbs. The rest of its ghostly comrades followed suit, hacking limbs and sometimes even heads off with their descent with levies in the area, backing up as much as they could trying to keep themselves in one piece.
It was a mistake. This extra space only afforded the cairn wraiths more real estate to work with on the walls which lead to more of them being able to place more of themselves in the area, which in turn, gave them more room to heighten the level of carnage being wrought.
Abel chanced a look at his father, trying to ignore the chilling and feeling running up and down his back at the sight of these twisted and horrifying creatures. He only grew more disconcerted when he saw his father sharing a look of fear like everyone else.
"F-father?"
"I…" Durant was beside himself, his face had gone pale and eyes wide in horror as he watched one unlucky levy lose his head. "I never thought. No one ever said anything about ghosts! I. How!?"
"Father!"
"A-Abel?"
"Wh-what do we do now?" Surely as scared as his father was, he would know what to do right? Surely he would understand how to confront such pure and unabashed evil head on yes? Actually scratch that! His father couldn't be scared. Surely not HIS father. Not after all the battles he had been a part of!...right?
Before he could reply, his father acted first. Cursing, the weathered and scarred man pulled his son backwards as the older brettonian peasant found himself face to face with one of the dreaded cairn wraiths. Shield and spear in hand his father thrust his weapon towards the ghastly creatures only for it to phase through. The near corporeal form of the creature seemed to slightly distort at the attack, but that didn't stop it from returning the favor with a horizontal swing of its scythe, an attack Durant barely managed to duck under. When the creature swung its scythe again, the battle-hardened levy raised his shield up to block the attack only to cry out in pain. A cry of pain that filled even more dread in Able's gut.
The scythe. It was as if it had partially phased through the shield and struck his father in his left shoulder, quickly retracting and causing durant to stagger back at the attack. Raising its scythe to finish the job, Able suddenly realized how little he had done. How it was HIS father that was saving him. HIS father who was now in danger.
With very little in the way of training or courage, the young brettonian levy managed to surge forth while the rest of his comrades were dead or dying, or otherwise trying to stay alive at this unholy onslaught. With a yell he thrust his spear forward, piercing the skull-like visage of the cairn wraith attacking his father.
For a moment, he almost gave in to despair when it seemed to phase through like his father's attack. Yet the creature suddenly gave an unholy shriek as its form seemed to distort once more, dropping its scythe and without any warning, plummeting into the very walls they stood upon.
As the battle raged around him, Abel could only stare dumbfounded where the creature had sunk into. Had he actually defeated it? Had it just left on its own accord? If so did it count as his first kill?
He tossed such musings to the wayside once he heard a hiss of pain from his father, who had dropped his spear and was on one knee, using his now free hand to hold his left shoulder...he'd never seen his father so hurt...so vulnerable.
Darting to Durant's side, he was quick to try and assess the stab wound his father had suffered. "F-father! Are you alright?"
"I...I think I'll live yet my boy, thank the lady...but...the wound...the wound Abel...it's so cold...so so cold." Durant ground out, his shoulders shaking.
Confused, Abel made to touch the area where his father's shoulder was stabbed only to hiss back in both a mild bit of pain and shock. By the lady his father's left shoulder was icy as it was pale! The area around it had gone white considerably! What sort of horrific magic was that creature composed of!?
"F-father you're shoulder Is...! Wh-what did that monster do to you?"
"Wish I had an answer boy, but for now. We need to fo-Incoming boy!" Durant shouted, grabbing his spear with his remaining good hand and thrusting his spear out, catching a cairn wraith in the center of its floating body as it bisected a shrieking levy.
Things weren't going much better for the rest of the levies on the walls either. The attack was taking place in the leftmost part of the wall with the center of it crumbling under the furious assault of a mass of skeletons that were ruthlessly hacking and hewing any levy that was unfortunate enough to be in the way of their masters' demands. If that wasn't bad enough. The chaos and cacophony of the battle suddenly found itself interrupted by a loud bang and sickening crunch.
"Gates have been breached!"
Abel wasn't sure who shouted it, but it was nothing short of miraculous that the voice was heard over the sounds of battle. Over the sounds of his laborious breathing as he and his father fought side by side, trying to survive the continued and seemingly unstoppable push of the cairn wraiths who were literally floating over the corpses of fellow Brettonians. Brettonians that Abel could occasionally pick out from the growing bloody and mangled floor of the walls.
That is of course when he wasn't nearly freezing up at attack after attack from the growing assault of the wraiths.
Down below a surge of groaning zombies and near robotic skeletons lurched forward towards the halberd holding levies that were unfortunate enough to be in their way. More than a few of these halberds were shaking in their boots(if they were fortunate enough to be wearing any). But the trots of hoofsteps clattering about behind them was more than enough motivation to prevent even the idea of fleeing in their minds.
"Push them back." Chilfroy said simply with a fierce glare leveled at levy and corpse alike. "Push them back into the graves that they all belong in. Think of it as doing it a favor for the unfortunate countrymen that are now before you."
The levies didn't have much choice in the matter once the skeletons and zombies met their front in a furious charge with grasping cold and unfeeling blades, hands, and teeth, all of them looking to rip and tear their way to the center of the castle if need be.
One particular levy in the front received a stray sword swing across the nose from a rabid zombie, nearly cutting it off in the process and knocking him out of formation. Suddenly finding his own life more valuable than protecting the castle as a whole, he decided to take advantage of his comrades having his hands more full with the undead than to tend with him.
Scrambling to his feet, this young and now freshly wounded levy wasted no time in running towards the interior of the castle, desperate to find some form of safety and wait out the worst of the fight.
Or at least that was his plan before he received a second sword slash to the face, this time right up his right cheek as he fell to the ground unmoving, with blood coming out from the deep cuts.
Duke Chilfroy flicked his blade, a face of disgust marring his bearded face as he looked in utter contempt at the deserter.
"If only I had my knights...if only I had saved my knights." The duke said to himself as he glared at the pressing mass of undead at his front gates.
Overall the situation quite simply wasn't looking particularly well for the Brettonians.
The walls were slowly giving way to the relentless and utterly fearless undead that were strutting about the walls without hesitation, pressing levies close together on the walls with them being forced to give ground.
The levies in particularly on that wall were feeling particularly jittery as the battle was given. It didn't help that their confidence was already at a low because of many different factors. Firstly they were fighting the undead. A cold and unfeeling enemy that they had yet to confront in the lands of Artois. Second was the cairn wraiths. Just the sight of them put the fear of death into even the stoutest of men, added to the fact that they seemed extraordinarily hard to kill in comparison to their bony and fleshy counterparts.
Thirdly and most importantly were the archers. These skirmishers had been rendered a non-factor in battle as they didn't even have the chance to truly fire at anything since the siege towers were sent ahead of the main undead army. To the confusion and outright horror of the archers, the main undead army simply stopped just out of arrow range and waited for the undead on the towers to engage the archers before moving in with a battering ram carried by a throng of zombies to smash open the gate.
When Fredericka heard of this plan from her new master she had to admit that it was rather ingenious if not simplistic. To her confusion, Lyle said that it was simply a 'pro-gamer move'...whatever that meant.
Speaking of the duo in question, Fredericka was on the verge of her dark heart inducing a cardiac arrest with the ever-present recklessness of Lyle, who seemed determined to press through his horde of undead at the gates of Artois personally.
This was the constant duality of Lyle that Fredericka found herself growing ever more frustrated by. It was moments like with the towers and the battering ram strategy that showed his cunning, guile, and ability to think ahead for a situation, not unlike her Master Kemmler. Yet unlike Kemmler, he was so absurdly passionate and reckless at times that it was enough to possibly turn her hair grey!
Even now he was living up to the duality of both these qualities by riding on the shoulders of two zombies, trying to get a view over the battle at the gate with a fierce glare on his face as he cast spells to reinvigorate his undead troops, causing any damage to them to be repaired and further demoralizing the peasants witnessing this. She knew that he didn't care for knights or dukes, or whatever it was that wretch Chiflroy said to him, but would it kill him to use common sense?
She wouldn't always be there to pull his feet from the fire!
"Ey Duky! If you're done pissin' in your codpiece at the thought of doin' an honest day's work unlike your peasants, then why don't you come out and face my like a real man!" Lyle shouted over the battle while his forces continued to cut their way through the halberdiers. It was a slow-going affair, however, considering said halberdiers were aware of the consequences for failure, as they hack away with their halberds to destroy the bodies of the living dead as much as possible.
"Bold words from a grave-robbing rapist who stands on the shoulders of those he slays." The duke boomed back, his tall form, and deep voice suddenly making him very easy to identify over the masses of soldiers.
"Oh, I see ya! So you think standin' on the shoulders of the living is SO much better. Good on you jackass! And like I said earlier! I don't need to be forcin' any woman to enjoy my package!"
"Rumors about what you did to lord Gerome's wife and daughter say otherwise necromancer. Don't worry. I'm sure the lady will find a suitable punishment for you in the afterlife once I send you there myself!"
That claim seemed to draw Lyle up short. For a moment he was utterly dumbfounded by Chilfroy's statement, looking utterly caught off guard by such a bald-faced lie. "The fuck did you just say I did!? You sayin' I rape kids!?"
"I wonder if using heretical powers has rotted your ears creature of Kemmler...mayhaps I could see if that's the case before I mount your head."
"Who da hell told you this garbage!?"
"Not a soul. It's only the natural recourse for abominations such as yourself. Now quit your yammering, and face me you, churl! Either face me in combat or present your neck to me and put an end to this farce! If you genuinely believe a creature such as yourself who needs to force themselves upon fair and young maidens to sate his rotted phallus can take my ancestral castle, then allow me to split your head and show the world the rot in your skull! Or better yet, throw yourself off the shoulders of your corpses and break your neck! At least then I can spare my blade of having to be tainted with your heretical blood!"
A vicious look overtook Lyle's features. "...y'know what...I'll do you one better ya fake news spreadin' asshole. KRELL!"
And just like that, a bolt of magic struck the ground a few yards before the duke as Lyle raised his staff high in the air, the winds of magic gathering around him like a dark flowing bed sheet. They seemed to coil around him as the ground that was struck with lightning burst open, the familiar and hulking form of Krell suddenly appeared.
His appearance shocked the many Brettonians present, with the peasants in the back lines of the fight against the undead, literally jumping in fright at the appearance of this titanic undead, which literally emanated blue electric energy just by standing in place.
Chilfroy sneered. "So you call Kemmler's pet to do the work for you? Truly your kind's cowardice has no bounds!"
"Well, why fight ya head-on? Thought you said your sword's too good for my blood?"
One brave (or dumb depending on who you ask) levy was bold enough to quickly swing his halberd towards the undead chaos champion, possibly hoping to catch him unawares.
He could only gape in horror along with his nearby comrades when the wood of his halberd snapped into two on contact.
Slowly turning around, Krell gripped his ax with excitement. "Oh! More pinkskin brettonians to sate my ax! Took you long enough, successor!" Though he lacked the ability to facially express himself, the horrific laugh that Krell gave as he gave one mighty swing to cut into a group of levies, including the one foolish enough to initially attack him. Screams of battle were soon turning to screams of pain and horror with this skeletal monstrosity ripping into the brettonians.
"Oi Krell!" Lyle shouted, eyes wide, still on the shoulders of his zombies. "Behind you! Those simps are comin' right at ya! I brought you to fight them, not the poor bastards fighting FOR them!"
That gave Krell some pause. "What is this simp you speak of success-GAK!" To Lyle's shock, the undead champion which looked so dominant seconds ago was suddenly sent flying! The moment Krell was summoned, Chilfroy and his small retinue were shocked for sure, but he had heard of Krell's appearance courtesy of Gerome. Plus he was far from an inexperienced knight or noble. Having taken on fearsome and horrific beasts in his lands and beyond, the duke wasted no time in leading his fellow knights to the right of the undead champion. From there, they pivoted their formation and managed to catch the undead unawares, slamming the full weight of their horses' charge into Krell, and sending him flying a good distance away.
Said champion skid across the ground, his ax still in a death grip as he found himself lying on his back unmoving, skeletal visage staring up blankly at the sky.
"See how quickly the so-called pet of Krell falls!?" The duke of Artois boasted as he and his retinue slowed to a stop. "Truly it shows how the mighty has fallen without his master to hold his leash! Let us allow this creature's head to join his newest master!" A pair of knights were all too willing to follow up on those orders, breaking ranks, with their seven other fellows their blades out to make good on such an opportunity.
Sadly for them, though Krell could only appear temporarily, his fighting form was far from diminished.
Suddenly standing up like the Undertaker, both knights suddenly found their horses headless when Krell stepped into the charge with a brazenness that only a creature as powerful as he could muster. With that step, he gave a mighty unnaturally accurate swing that beheaded both horses, even through the armor that they wore.
Both riders fell just as their horses did, with one landing right on their head and breaking their neck with a crunch that was deafened by the clattering of their armor.
The second rider survived, landing right on his breastplate, and struggling to get up. He would not succeed as Krell's bright blue ax separated his helmeted head from his shoulders.
Duke Chilfroy wasn't smiling anymore. His frown immediately became furious however when he noticed something peculiar fall onto his wavering group of pikemen that sent some of said pikemen to the ground. It only took a moment for another of these objects to fall on them.
They were bodies he realized. Live thrashing bodies, of panicking and screaming levies that were falling off the walls.
It was the cairn wraiths he realized. They had begun pressing into the levies so much that they tried to reform to the ghostly creatures' left side to have space to fight on. Unfortunately, the archers, who had contributed less than nothing to the battle since they had no targets to realistically fire at were already taking up space, trying to fend off unrelenting skeletons who were having no problem cutting them down with ruthless efficiency. In short, something had to give. Sadly for the levies fighting the cairn wraiths, it was against the edge of the interior walls, just over the halberdiers fighting the skeletons.
In short, they had two realistic choices. Fight and die against this literally chilling enemy that was all too happy to relieve the levies of their lives and limbs. Or jump off the wall and hope that their fellows down below could break their fall. Even at the cost of their lives.
With these cold and unfeeling skeletons and zombies making the halberdiers' lives a living hell, the sudden and horrific introduction of Krell and now their own comrades using them to break their fall and possibly crushing their bodies in the process what happened next was all too predictable.
These peasants may have been fighting for their families and livelihoods, but they were still peasants. Untrained, underfed, peasants who had never seen such monstrous creatures up close and personal. It was just too much and far far too much for them to handle.
And so they broke. Not wanting to get crushed and not wanting to be torn to pieces by the undead in front of them, it was almost a unanimous decision by all those involved to just head for the hills so to speak. And by hills, I mean the interior of the castle battlements.
If Chilfroy was unpleased before, he was downright furious at this shameful display. One fleeing peasant was enough to send him into a dark and righteous fury, but this was enough to ignite a black rage within him. A rage that was only lit when either A: peasants were wasting his time with pointless please during his castle hearings, or B: when said peasants weren't able to accomplish the bare minimum of what they were asked to do.
Naturally in his mind, there was only one logical thing to do since B was applicable in this situation. Start butchering them of course!
"Make them fear us more than they fear the dead!" Chilfroy all but demanded from his remaining retinue as he kicked his steed into action. The rest of his companions followed he surged right towards the levies that were fleeing with their tails between their legs.
The first to die to Chilfroy's furious assault was one hapless levy who was too busy looking behind him to realize the steed that ran right into him with the force of a freight train, almost killing him instantly. The second died from a momentum-filled sword swing from the duke who split open the neck of another that was unfortunate enough to be too close to him.
It was turning into a slaughter on both ends with screams of panic and terror tearing through the air, with skeletons and zombies advancing through the gate unopposed to the weakened resistance before them, and knights slicing through the rear of the levies. This would have continued without pause if not for a bad stroke of luck for the duke.
You see, perhaps it was misfortune, or perhaps it was just fate itself. Maybe it was karma, as Lyle would later call it but, as Chilfroy ran into yet another peasant with the breast of his horse, the levy he killed still had a death grip on his halberd. So when his body fell backward, he unwittingly pulled his halberd upwards. And because of the speed, the horse was going at, it slipped just underneath its armored coat, and managed to actually pierce the belly of the equine beast.
A whinny and scream later and much like his now two deceased knightly companions, Duke Chilfroy suddenly found himself unhorsed, his beast wailing in pain as blood began to pool from underneath it. Desperate not to perish like his fellow knights, Chilfroy was quick to stand up with his remaining retinue pushing past the fleeing peasants to form a protective circle around their lord with their horses.
Suddenly one of the knights held out a hand to him from his horse. "Quickly m'lord! To me! We can rally towards the interior of your castle an-
And just like that, he was sent flying from his horse as a peasant's body was thrown right into him, causing him and the thrown peasant to crash into the knight's horse opposite from him, creating a panic for the beasts.
"Leaving so soon? When there's so much of my ax that remains clean?" Came the menacing question from Krell as approached the wound-up horses. "These dirty fodder are hardly worthy to quench my ax. Perhaps your 'noble' blood can do the job?"
Reaching for another unmoving corpse nearby, Kemmler grabbed it by its leg and with a small spin hurled it like a discus throw, slamming into yet another knight far too slow to get out of the way. Suddenly Chiflroy was stunned to find himself with less than half of his companions left. As more and more peasants started fleeing away from the gate and the wall become almost untenable due to the fleeing of soldiers from the cairn wraiths you would think it couldn't possibly get worse.
As if the lady was displeased with Chilfroy, It most certainly did.
"Heeeeeeeeeerrre comes the cavalry sir dispshit!" Lyle's cheerful voice broke over the sounds of battle. "And unlike yours, these guys are the real OGs!"
Before Chilfroy could ponder what in the lady's name this heretic was speaking about, Kemmler was already on him, like a demon feasting on the souls of his victims. It wasn't entirely inaccurate given the situation as this hulking skeletal monstrosity charged right at the remaining knights. Another knight tried to execute another charge and run through the champion as the cavalry had done initially, but Chilfroy could only stare in despair as Kemmler not only stood his ground but tanked the charge head-on, his feet sliding back only a few yards, before stopping the charge dead on the spot with only one hand. With the other hand holding his large doublehanded blue ax, he swung upwards, cutting off the knight's leg and cutting deep into the horse's armor, causing the horse to try and buck the unfortunate knight off, but only partially succeeding.
You see, the knight's remaining good leg got caught in the stirrup and though part of its body was wounded, the horse had no problem galloping away from the situation entirely dragging the wounded knight with it as he howled in agony.
That was enough for Chilfroy. He refused to stand idly as his fellow companions were slaughtered in their entirely. Though he had no horse he charged himself, blade raised to do battle with the monstrous Krell, his pride refusing to acknowledge the approaching horde of undead flooding through the gate.
Krell seeing the attack coming a mile away easily deflected the blow and moved to behead Chilfroy right then and there. But, the duke was no slouch, showing his battle experience and dipping his head just in time to counterattack and land a solid blow onto Krell's pauldron...not that it did a great deal of damage.
"You…" The duke breathed out as he winced after blocking an ax swing with his shield. 'By the lady!...such power!' "You will not take my home you unholy spawn!"
Krell only laughed once again as he lashed out with his boot, nearly striking the duke in the codpiece. "Will you wager your life on that southerner? If so I would be more than happy to collect!"
"Ti's no wager filth! The lady wills it!" Chilffory roared, hurtling his massive seven-foot frame into Krell, locking his shield against the ax, creating a deadlock as he tried time and time again to swing his sword upon the skeletal, helmeted skull of the champion, doing minimal damage, but putting up a fierce fight all the same.
The last two remaining knights, spurred on by the courage of their liege lord, kicked their horses and began to charge at Krell as he was tied up by the duke, looking to run him over while they could.
Sadly it was they who were run over, as out of nowhere, Lyle's words proved to be prophetic. The cavalry arrived. The undead cavalry to be exact.
If there were ever a signal the battle had been lost for Brettonia it was the charge of the hexwraiths who easily cut through the last two knights with few swings of their scythes, leaving them in pieces as they chased down the fleeing peasants with dire wolves at their heels, snarling and slobbering at the potential kills they could find.
Chilfroy De Artois could only stare in horror at what was plane to see before him. His ground forces had been shattered. He looked up and saw that his peasants on the walls were throwing down their weapons, begging on their hands and knees for their lives to be spared. Strangely enough, the undead seemed to comply with their requests, rounding them up for only the lady knew what. What was more devastating than the hundreds upon hundreds of peasant corpses littering the ground for Chilfory was the corpses of his companions. Knights whom he had called friends and comrades. Friends whom he had fought in many battles with. Hunted with. Dined with. Dead...dead or dying in a battle he couldn't possibly fathom losing.
A battle that could cost him his home. His family. His ancestral name...but worst of all…
...his pride as a lord of Brettonia.
Such shock and reminiscing would ultimately cost him his life.
While Chilfroy was could only stare mutely horrified at the carnage heading his way while making an internal prayer to the lady to somehow, someway snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat, Krell was already on the move.
With both knight and undead locked up, Krell wisely shifted his feet to redistribute his own weight, while also shifting his entire ax, throwing the duke of Artois off balance and scrambling to keep his own footing.
Knowing the blow was coming, Chilfroy barely had time to use his massive strength and imposing size to deflect a blow. And then another. Another. And another still. Though Krell's ax was heavy, his speed was unnatural. It was all the seven ft. duke could do to keep the undead champion's ax from landing a lethal blow as his armor began to receive more than a few dings and dents from barely halted or deflected attacks.
Chilfroy was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. Already he could feel a burning in his lungs and limbs as he struggled to keep pace with the pace of the fight, while he knew as an undead, Krell had no such issues. Though it seemed improbable, Chilfroy felt, that perhaps with his massive strength he could perhaps behead the undead and bring him down from there.
After that?...well...perhaps he could rally the cowardly levies into something of a fighting force, and hold up within the inner keep?
Yes. That would be his plan. From there he could hold out until his majesty King Louen finally arrived. Then and only then would he finally mount that damnable necromancer's head in his walls!
Committed to this plan as he continued his duel against Krell, Chilfory executed what many would consider a dangerous and risk maneuver. The duke felt it was necessary however given the situation and thus was committed.
The sequence began with a vertical swing upwards that nearly caught Chilfroy's left shield-wielding arm, actually making contact with the shield. Yet this was what the duke wanted. Because it was then that this lord of Artois, taking the risk to be dangerously close to Krell's ax, slid forward quickly and with all of the strength he could muster, smashed his shield into the left side of Krell's left knee.
Obviously, it didn't hurt Krell, but it caused him to stagger, with his joint heavily battered by the attack.
It was now or never for Chilfroy. Dropping his shield he grabbed his longsword with both of his hands and spun in a full 360 motion. He needed all of the momentum and strength that he could muster to commit the beheading and it was here that he hoped to secure victory.
That is of course if his sword didn't run smack dab into the upper part of Krell's helmet which was dipped downwards to protect his neck area.
Chilfroy realized his mistake too late. He gambled too heavily and with all of that momentum put into the swing, he suddenly had no footing to get out of the way from the ax swing that Krell was preparing.
And with no shield, there was little to no protection to save him from this horizontal ax swing right into his armored gut.
Sadly all the armor could do in this case was prevent the lord of Artois from being sliced into. Instead, the bright blue ax slammed into his solar plexus, with bits of armor exploding from his chest, blooding immediately pouring from his gut with him collapsing heavily on the floor from the blow.
Chilfroy immediately knew he lost. He knew the moment his attack had failed. Or perhaps he knew the moment he saw his fellow knightly brethren fall in battle.
Either way, as he rolled over onto his back, his arms suddenly lacking the strength to even hold his stomach wound, Chilfroy soon realized it didn't matter when he realized that defeat had smacked him in the helmet...or in this case the gut.
All he knew was that as Krell approached him with his ax raised and blotting out the sky, he would have many regrets in his life. His regret of underestimating the enemy. Of overestimating his filthy peasants. His regret of feeling fear for what could happen to Brettonia once he was gone?
"Well fought Duke of Artois." Krell said in a frustratingly equal part jovial and menacing tone. "You almost made me try this time around. I'll have to see about getting my successor to find more worthy victims."
And then the ax came down.
A/N: This was a fairly straightforward battle for me and even more fun to write. Also just to keep in mind, I won't be writing every single battle that happens in the campaign, but I will write the most noteworthy and ones most relevant to the story of course. Other than that, I'm glad that I can now go further into this tale and see where it can take us. Thank you all for your support and your reviews! I didn't realize I would get quite a few people following me for my first story, but I'm welcoming it all the same! Let me know what you think down below and I just might respond to you in my next chapter!