Author Responses
Guts and Toes: Thanks mate
Annoying POW marine: Bastonne Blunderbuss Cavalry…Lyle's BLack Dragoons. I'm liking the sound of these names, I'm most certainly open to suggestions in the future. And well, yeah it would be a disservice if Lyle didn't use those horses in the afterlife like they had been used in life.
Jajo Camello: You and me both.
Ayman El Kadouri: MAKE BRETTONIA GREAT AGAIN!
Zerkil: Yeah Settra would be a huge problem for sure against Lyle, especially since their personality types and egos simply would not be able to coexist. I also believe that yes, Luthor would get along with Lyle the best…depending on which personality is dominant in him at the time of course.
derpywolf0049: Yeah, he's grown on me a lot too, the more I wrote him. Gerome's point of view is definitely an interesting one to write especially as we see the innards of Bretonnian politics when duke's allow corruption through their court.
Guest: Ah yes. Melvin the chaos sorcerer. Shame about his constipation.
Samot: Oh he is definitely one of the most evil in the Barrow Legion. That being said, Krell can always be sated and placated so long as he has bodies to butcher and challenges to enjoy. So long as you give him something to do, he's relatively easy to control. It was part of the reason why he worked so well with Kemmler. Because either Kemmler needed someone to be killed or he needed protection from those who wanted to kill him.
But, honestly so long as you have great magical control over magic in general, a powerful wizard can keep him under their thumb regardless. Even so, he's still incredibly dangerous.
Bohemond roared like a lion in a rage, smashing his dragon mace into Krell, only for the hulking juggernaut of a wight to shift away, swinging his ax in a counterblow that the Beastslayer deflected.
"You seem angrier than usual, Bastonnian." Krell chuckled as the two exchanged blows with their weapons, with neither gaining the advantage, much to the living combatant's frustration.
"Has my new master done something to upset you, I wonder?"
Bohemond snarled, swinging his mace again, only for it to be blocked by his opponent's ax. "Cease your prattling, you unholy spawn of undeath!"
"Ohhhh, he's most definitely done something. I wonder how this can be since you must have won the last battle after defeating me last time. Tell me, what did he do?"
Bohemond didn't answer, slamming his mace against the wight in several successive hits, with each one being deftly deflected or outright blocked by said wight.
"Did he kill a loved one of yours? Did he kidnap a loved one of yours? Did he mock the Lady? Did he mock you?"
Bohemond roared and shoulder bashed the wight, forcing Krell on his heels for a beat. Yet a dark and malevolent chuckle came from his skull as he regained his footing.
"Hmm…maybe all of the above? If so, I must thank him later, after I have killed you. It's not every day I get to fight a grail knight who is so filled with rage! It makes the bloodletting more exciting!"
"A shame you won't see any!" Bohemond growled. "You'll have to settle for your bones being torn asunder!"
Krell just laughed, all too happy to throw himself back into the fray with the power and speed that only a wight of his creation could muster. Fueled by the most potent of dhar, the wight went on the attack, swinging his ax far faster than any normal human could dream of and with the force that would make even a black ork green with envy.
Now, Bohemond was on the back foot, grunting with every effort in which he had to use his shield and mace to block or redirect every powerful strike that came his way. Something's different now. He didn't have such strength and speed when I last defeated him. Is this Spoletta's doing?
Regardless, the Duke of Bastonne would not allow himself to bend so easily and shoved his shield forward to knock the Wight off balance. To his brief shock, Krell not only tanked the hit and didn't move backward, but he managed to clip Bohemond's helmet with a shove of the axe haft, sending the grail knight on the backfoot.
"Sloppy, sloppy." Krell chortled as he stalked forward. "Try not to die too soon, Beastslayer. Much like this battle, I want our fight to last so I can savor it before the end."
That shield blow would have thrown him off balance before. He's definitely gotten stronger, and Spoletta most definitely has to be the cause. Sure, in this knowledge, the Beastslayer was determined now more than ever to slay the necromancer. That was easier said than done, however, as Krell's whole purpose in fighting him here at this moment was to stop that from happening so that Spoletta's army could continue its plan unabated. He was reminded of this harshly as he was forced to block Krell's Black ax, grunting as his arm protested. It didn't help that he had a few bullets in that arm from the salvo he endured, and it was only thanks to the power of the Lady that Bohemond didn't buckle right then and there.
That being said, the Duke of Bastonne would not be deterred. The opening of this battle had turned into a mess, but it was still salvageable. He needed only to use the Lady's blessing upon him to its fullest potential, which would turn in their favor as it always had in the end…even if it did cost them much by the conclusion.
Already, he could see the price of it with his own eyes, in the form of his dead war steed that Krell himself had killed only moments ago. The wight had been summoned so suddenly that his horse couldn't turn in time before getting butchered by Krell's black ax. The only reason why Bohemond himself hadn't perished in the collapse of his horse was because of the luck and fortune of the Lady, in the form of him managing to roll out of the stirrups in the fall and avoid another ax swing by Krell.
Even more frustrating was the fighting going on around him. Though Krell had managed to stop him, the wight alone wouldn't have been able to stop the full weight of his knights who followed him in the charge.
Sure, the artillery, guns, and raised zombies in between had managed to slow them down, but stop them? Never.
No…instead, Lyle would deny them their prize, having his gun-wielding zombies fall back with skeleton spears moving forward, looking to blunt the charge.
If it had been a coordinated, full-strength charge, the skeletons would have been swept away like driftwood facing a tide. As it was, given all of what had just happened, the skeletons managed to blunt and absorb the charge of the Bastonnians quite handily. Oh sure, some of the knights had managed to penetrate a few lines with sheer force momentum and weight, but it wasn't nearly enough to make a difference on the frontline itself.
Even now, his knights were on the front, hacking and slashing with their swords, lances, and any weapon they preferred to hack through the undead forces. Sure, some of them were succeeding, but just as many were getting dragged from their horses and torn to pieces while horses collapsed under their wounds, taking their riders with them and dooming them to a dark fate.
Under normal circumstances, it would be better to order the knights to pull back and organize another charge, but past skirmishes with the dwarves had taught Bohemond that this would be a disastrous idea.
If they pulled back, the dwarves would have free reign to shoot them again, as they retreated and then came back for the second charge, whittling their numbers down further. He'd learned that it was better to have the infantry go first to cover the retreat and the second charge for a flank, but the grail knight realized that their decision to charge with the knights first in this battle had neutralized that stratagem.
As he leaped backward from an overhead ax strike from Krell, Bohemond chanced a look over his shoulder and cursed. Just as he feared, they had far outpaced the peasant infantry. They were rushing over here on the curses and words of Lord Gerome, trying to urge them to go faster while he was on his steed, but the landless lord was fighting an unwinnable battle in of itself.
The problem was that his knights were far faster than malnourished, ill-bred peasants, and they had outpaced their own infantry by a large margin! So large that by the time the infantry did get here, the battle may already be decided!
No. They needed to decide the battle right here, right now! Sure, the guns that Lyle had brought with him were deadly, but only if they had the chance to fire. If they could neutralize the gunners and the artillery, which was still firing at this moment, all they would have to deal with were skeletons and zombies. Something that was much more manageable than guns and gunpowder.
But, they needed an equalizer. A difference maker. That would usually fall to him, but finishing Krell off was taking longer than he would care to admit. His knights were too tied up with the infantry, stubbornly trying to cut through skeleton infantry, which were to this moment still being healed and kept together by necrotic spells from the necromancers in the backline.
Bohemond scowled as he thrust his mace at Krell's chest, who quickly batted the probing attack away, chortling all the while. If only they could take the necromancers out of the equation. Killing them at this point would prove too significant of a task if only they could, at the very least, distract them from keeping their undead army together. If only-
The Lady clearly must have heard his prayer because the duel between Krell and himself suddenly came to a pause when the ground under their feet rumbled.
As quick as a heartbeat, precisely just behind the frontlines of the undead, large and thick roots suddenly upended themselves and began whipping around with great force and speed. Zombies and skeletons were sent flying or were slammed onto the unforgiving earth. Many of the necromancers dove to the ground, screaming and yelping in shock, with a few unlucky ones getting smacked around or outright tied up, preventing them from casting their spells.
Bohemond grinned, realizing what was happening. His knights, now seeing an opportunity, began to fight with renewed vigor, recognizing the opportunity before them. They may not have had the momentum of their charge anymore, but they were still hulking armored, battle-hardened warriors that had a height advantage over their undead foes.
Feeling emboldened, Bohemond charged back toward Krell with a roar, swinging his shield and mace in tandem and putting the undead champion on the back foot. At first, Krell managed to meet his attacks with equal ferocity, but after a few more bouts, the Wight found himself caught off guard when Bohemond slammed his boot onto his foot, preventing the undead from moving backward. Bohemond swung his mace, and Krell smacked his ax right into its path, allowing the duke to give a hearty yell to slam his shield right into the wight's helmet.
The wight tilted his head to minimize the blow, which caused the shield to slam right into one of the horns of his helmet, knocking it clean off, which caused Krell to stumble backward from the blow.
"Do you feel it Wight?" Bohemond rumbled as he glared at Krell with righteous indignation. "The change in the momentum? This will end no different than our last bout. With you being reduced to dust…no…I was wrong. This will end differently. This time, with your master's head, spiked on my castle walls.
To Bohemond's frustration, the Undead Champion only laughed, his voice sounding like grinding glass. "Bold of you to assume it will be Lyle's head that is mounted, slave of the Lady."
And just as if his dome hadn't been rung, Krell laughed once more, launching himself at the grail knight.
…
Yasmine let out a relieved yet frustrated sigh as she channeled the magic upon her by the Lady to wreak a great deal of havoc in the backlines of the Barrow Legion. She was glad to see how effective her roots were at the moment, but at the same time, the damsel couldn't help but feel annoyed at the lack of thought and strategy that Duke Bohemond put into his little 'charge.'
Yes, she understood how frustrated he was with the kidnapping of his only son, and yes, she perfectly understood the rage he felt at seeing Lyle desecrate a grail with the Lady's insignia. But, any seasoned commander could see that it was merely an attempt by Lyle to goad the knights into a sloppy and hasty response. Something that Lyle was successful in.
She had to hand it to Lyle, he equally had no shame as much as he was crafty. If things continued on as they were, he might even win if Yasmine herself did not intervene. Even if they did win, she felt that the loss of knights in this dukedom would be far too high for her liking. They would need such brave souls for the battles to come.
Sadly, as much as she was enjoying watching her roots flail around and send the fear of the Lady in the necromancers, all good things had to come to an end.
Her 'show' came to an ignominious end in the form of a dark bolt of dhar being launched toward her. Yasmine felt it coming, however, a mile away and put up the necessary ward to stop the blow. She had to admit that she was surprised to see that it put a sizable dent in her ward.
She thought it was from Lyle for a moment, considering how potent, wild and untamed his magic was, but she ruled that out. No. This magic was far more refined, practiced…and familiar.
Sure enough, riding out toward her on a skeletal steed was a familiar silver-haired woman in a pitch-black robe. Yasmine huffed as she rode it in a way a woman most certainly shouldn't. With both her legs on both sides of the steed. Incredibly unrefined.
Sybille continued to ride out to her, extending her staff and gathering dhar to fire more of it at the damsel.
However, Yasmine wasn't going to stand idly by and allow this, and gathered the green winds of magic Ghyran, creating a magical build-up around Sybille.
Sybille scowled, realizing what the damsel was doing, and quickly cast Dance Macabre on her steed, granting inhuman speed to avoid the explosion of life magic that erupted where she just was. The moment she got out of the way, she fired a dark bolt of dhar at Yasmine, who urged her unicorn out of the way to avoid the spell.
Soon, it turned into a long rage spell battle, with both female spellcasters firing spells at one another while avoiding or deflecting the devastating magic with wards. The ground erupted from the green wind of magic, and some parts of the ground wilted and died immediately if it was unfortunate enough to get hit with potent dhar. All the while, the steeds of the ladies were working overtime to ensure that their riders either stayed alive or were in a better position to defeat their respective opponents.
For a moment, the winds around them were getting thinner, causing the frequency of the spells to decrease. Seeing a momentary pause in the battle for both spellcasters to 'catch their breath', so to speak, Sybille spoke with a striking smirk. "It must have rankled you to see your precious collars undone so easily, Yasmine." She then scowled as she looked down at her feet. "Almost as much as it rankles me to find some actual decent footwear in this backwater of a country."
Yasmine allowed herself to smile mirthfully. "That skaven had warpstone on him." It wasn't a question.
"As if you even had to ask. Really, those peasants you had hired as guards should be executed on principle."
"I was considering it."
"Oh, I wouldn't have considered anything. I would have acted." Sybille then summoned a bunch of skeletons around the damsel, who countered by summoning roots that held down said skeletons, neutralizing them.
"Like you're acting now? Urging Lyle Spoletta to hastily meet Duke Bohemond in battle?" Yasmine then made the ground beneath the witch soften and turn to mud, only for Sybille to counter by summoning zombies to act as an impromptu raft to keep the skeletal steed she rode above ground.
Sybille cackled, not hiding her amusement. "As if I had to do any 'urging'. The moment he saw what happened to those peasants he protected at Riffen, his course was set." When Sybille saw how Yasmine winced at that, the woman felt emboldened to continue. "On second thought…now that I think about it, the boy most likely made his decision to seek battle the moment he saw what your peasants did to that poor Ave girl in the Red Room."
Now confusion seeped its way onto Yasmine's face. "Ave?" Now that she thought about it, she'd lost track of what happened to the girl who held ties to Bertrand's Brigands. It had slipped her mind ever since the chaos at the castle. Dread filled her stomach when Sybille tilted her head.
"Oh? Are you not going to ask about her fate? No matter, I'll gladly tell you. I must say, even after the things I have seen and done personally… seeing a young girl plundered and violated like that, with her body as cold as the corpses I work with…stirs something even in my heart. You should have seen how it ignited the rage within Lyle's when he saw her."
For a moment, Yasmine didn't want to believe her. Yet it made little sense for the necromancer to lie. Especially now unless it was to throw her off balance.
It was undoubtedly giving the damsel pause.
"Whatever is the matter, damsel?" Sybille asked with a sharp eyebrow. "Struggling to believe how easy it is for someone within that castle to forsake one of the Lady's golden rules?"
Yasmine glared fiercely at the older woman. "No. I am not."
"Ah…so not surprised that it happened, moreso considering who allowed it…who indeed?" Sybille grinned. "I believe it's something that Lyle is wondering himself at this very moment, even as this battle drags out."
"It's not a battle you'll win, witch."
"Changing the subject? Oh very well." Sybille shrugged. "I suppose I can indulge that much." magic then began to gather around both women again, as the winds began to become more potent once more in that moment.
…
"Is everyone alive!?" Lyle called out as he got up from the ground and saw the roots go back into the earth. He'd been lucky enough to dive to the ground the moment they appeared, with most following his example out of instinct since this had happened before. Some were not quite so lucky as he'd seen out of the corner of his eye.
Nonetheless after receiving a chorus of 'yays' Lyle knew it would have to do. He was beyond grateful for Sybille to be the one to disrupt Yasmine, as they both knew she'd be a problem if given the chance. The fact that the roots were receding showed that she was working her literal magic.
Sadly, the distraction had been enough to weaken the bindings on some of their undead, allowing the embattled knights to regain the initiative. Momentum or no momentum, their undead were at best now just slowing them down rather than killing the knights by the dozen.
Shit had to change, or things were gonna go south in a hurry, especially since Lyle could see some Grail knights towering over the undead with their glowing lances and swords, hacking through their forces like butter with a hot knife. Sure, there were only half a dozen of them at this point, but with other knights supporting them, that number was pretty damn trivial.
"Freddy! Wendel! Get some necromancers and heal up our frontline! Make em' last as much as you can!"
"On it!" Freddy shouted over the din of battle with Wendel. The female necromancer had some dirt smudged on her face from diving onto the ground, but that did little to deter her as she and her male counterpart rounded up any necromancer close to them.
Lyle then whipped his head. Schmidt and Tobias, who had stumbled from stray roots whipping around, but thankfully were also alive and fairly well. "Tobias! Schmidt! Help me move our gunners backward! We need a better angle to fill these knights with lead! Move it!"
Schmidt grumbled at being ordered around but nodded, barking orders at the acolytes under his command. Tobias wasn't quite as vocal but organized his own acolytes as well, urging speed given the situation.
Lyle appreciated their swiftness as he hustled back to assist Schmidt and Tobias with maneuvering their gunners. Their reaction time was key to finishing this battle quickly and quickly. He had good reason to think that the moment those peasants playing catch up managed to meet their frontline, they'd be in trouble, so it only motivated him and the rest of the Barrow Legion to finish this fight sooner rather than later.
In short, the battle had turned into a race. How fast could the knights last before the peasants arrived?...or how long could the zombies last before they were eventually overrun?
…
The answer to such questions was irrelevant to two women who were busy flinging spells at one another.
Blast after blast of green and purple wind-based magic hit the ground, wards, or sometimes even each other in fantastic displays of magical mastery.
Yasmine's unicorn reared up in surprise, momentarily stunning her as a hulking mass of green, bone-protruding flesh crawled out of the ground in a hurry. Realizing that Sybille had just summoned an entire crypt horror, Yasmine responded kindly, calling upon the spirits of the land and the forests to come to her aid.
They answered her call, all too happy to respond to this blasphemy of nature in the form of dhar, with a Treekin to occupy the beast.
The crypt horror bellowed a savage challenge, running into the treekin with the force of a car. Yet, to its frustration, the heavily armored forest spirit did not bend, thanks to both its magically imbued bark and the roots that literally kept it in place. The treekin then returned the favor, smashing one of its shield shaped trunks into the crypt horror's face, causing it to back off but also enraging the malformed hulk of a monster, urging it to try again in the face of its initial assault to fail.
While the two monstrous infantry dueled each other, the female spellmasters continued their own duel, with Yasmine summoning roots around herself and sending them to surge forward to her silver-haired counterpart.
Sybille snorted contemptuously, using the spell 'curse of years' on the roots, causing them to wilt and die in transit, rendering them useless on the spot.
"Come now, Yasmine, that was heavily telegraphed even for you."
Yasmine smirked. "Indeed it was."
Alarm bells immediately went off inside Sybille's mind, and in her lower vision, she caught something. The ground had softened again, not enough to cause her skeletal steed to sink again, but enough for a large mud bubble to creep up from the ground. Before she could blink, Sybille cried out as the mud bubble exploded, coating her face in mud and blinding her vision.
As she cursed and tried to wipe the mud off her face, Yasmine struck, upending more roots. This time, they would not be denied their target. Sybille could hear them coming, but she could do little to stop them as they grasped her undead steed, which could only silently scramble uselessly as it was ensnared. The witch tried casting a spell, but Yasmine's roots worked quickly, grasping the arm holding her casting staff and prying it from her fingers. Soon, it wasn't long before Sybille was utterly entangled in the roots that held her just above the ground. A powerful necromancer she may have been, but she most definitely lacked the physical strength to break free.
In a last-ditch effort, Sybille wiped her eyes clean of mud with her left hand before it was also restrained. It paid off for her in the end as she managed to stare right at Yasmine and charged up a Gaze of Nagash spell from her eyeballs.
Sadly, it would be for naught, as Yasmine was once again one step ahead, getting another root to lash out and wrap around her opponent's head, specifically around her eyes. Sybille audibly cursed and de-powered the spell, knowing that if she let it lose, she could destroy her own face in the process.
Yasmine smiled as she trotted forward on her unicorn. "It seems this is ending just as our previous duel did, wouldn't you agree?"
…
Krell finally made a mistake in his duel against the duke. The two had been exchanging blows against one another incessantly, nothing sure or game-changing, but glancing hits here or there, with the heavy blows winding up being against a shield or their weapons clashing.
Finally, it got to the point where Krell thought he saw an opening, what with him managing to actually knock the duke's shield clean off his harm with a hefty horizontal swing.
But then Krell realized that it had been too easy. It was almost as if his opponent had put his arm in such a position to allow it to be ripped off like that.
Sure enough, once Krell had finished following through with the swing, his right leg had been bent in a way that it wasn't meant to, thanks to a mighty club blow from the Beast Mace.
Krell didn't feel pain, but he could certainly still get annoyed. And it was annoying at how severely his mobility had just become.
Against a seasoned grail knight? One of the best in the realm, no less? That could be a death sentence.
Bohemond then held his beast-mace with two hands, eyeing down the wight as a lion would sight down their prey. "You've suffered through many deaths since Krell brought you from the grave Krell…I have an inkling that this will be your last."
…
"Fire!"
Lyle's order was more for himself than anyone else as he and the necromancers controlling the gunners at this point had to just will the zombies to fire their guns. The near-perfect synchronized firing line was music to Lyle's ears as musket fire ripped into the cavalry, trying to press their way toward them. He felt delighted when some of the casualties included two grail knights who fell off their horses, making the battle much more feasible as a result. The knights may have been superpowered, but they weren't bulletproof. The other knights especially so as they fell by the dozens. Normally firing from behind the melee infantry would have been damn near impossible without friendly fire, but the Bretonnians were solving this problem quite handily since they were on horses and, in turn, much easier to aim at.
There was just one problem. The knights weren't breaking. On the contrary, the firearms were only making them more desperate as they surged together in one large cavalry blob near the center of their line.
Schmidt cursed. "Bastards are trying to use their weight through the frontlines…and it's working!"
The nobles screamed, cried, and died as they moved forward, but they kept pressing forward. Even as knights' armored legs got impaled, or they took a bullet or took another type of wound…they kept surging ahead.
Knights were heavy warriors. They wore some of the heaviest armor in the old world and had to train extensively to fight effectively in it. Throw in the fact that they rode on horses, which were also wearing heavy armor, and you have a ton of weight that can push almost anything around if given enough motivation.
The skeletons and zombies on the frontline had done a fine job of minimizing the Brettonian charge at first…but as more and more knights gathered on the frontlines, the more that a build-up gathered in the center, leading to more weight and more force buckling and bending the centerline.
It was getting so bad that necromancers and acolytes were raising more zombies from the ground to try and stem the tide, but it seemed like too little too late. At this point, Lyle was looking back and forth between the bending front center line and the zombies reloading a little too slowly for his liking. He knew these were zombies, but there was quite a bit on the line here."
Tobias swallowed audibly, seeing the knights hacking through their undead. "Perhaps…it would be prudent to pull back."
"If we pull back now, we might as well waive the white flag." Schmidt snapped, looking no less nervous.
"Keep your fucking cool." Lyle barked. "Just keep the gunners reloading as fast as possible. Our lives depend on it, in case you all haven't noticed."
Fredericka, Wendel, and the other necromancers on healing duty were beginning to strain. The winds of magic around them were getting thin, forcing them to exert more of their mental acuity to cast the spells needed to keep them in the fight. Sweat poured from their brows, and their noses began to bleed. Lyle could tell that they were all reaching a breaking point. Even as his gunners fired another salvo at the knights, which thankfully killed more of them, he couldn't breathe easy.
Yet he didn't even entertain the idea of running. Truth be told, nobody could. With them being on this side of the bridge, retreat would be suicide.
It was all or nothing. And Lyle wouldn't have it any other way. Not since he still had a score to settle.
…
Yasmine trotted forward, pleased as can be, seeing Sybille utterly restrained, just as she had been when the damsel first met her. Sure, the battle this time had taken more out of her, but the result was the same. How else could it have gone with the Lady's power behind her?
The damsel smirked as she was not only inches apart from the witch, who still had some mud on her face. The scowl made the win all the more satisfying. "Perhaps you SHOULD have allowed Lyle to face me. If nothing else, he would have been less predictable."
Sybille's mouth shifted, her eyes still blinded with the root wrapped around it. "Bah. He was needed with the rabble that calls themselves necromancers. He can herd them better than I ever could."
Yasmine cocked an eyebrow. "You're taking your defeat better than last time. No curses? No obligatory slandering of the Lady? Nothing of the sort?"
Even as restrained as she was, Sybille shrugged. "I have better uses for my breath, time, and attention."
Yasmine sighed but smiled. "As caustic and cranky as ever." Yasmine then pulled out a thorn collar. "Though considering what will happen next, I can hardly fault it."
"Oh yes, you can. I most definitely have no excuse given what will happen next."
The damsel was confused for a moment, not entirely understanding what Sybille meant.
She understood exactly what she meant when a bone collar was suddenly snagged onto her neck from a lasso rope.
Yasmine barely had time to cry out as she was yanked off her unicorn. At the same time, she could feel her connection to her magic severed, her ability to fight or defend herself as potent as a peasant girl. In shock, she looked at the offender and noticed a zombie holding the rope.
"Forgive the tardiness, my lady."
"Oh hush now, Soren, you're as punctual in death as you were in life." Sybille chuckled as the roots around her slackened without the magic of Yasmine to keep them in place.
Realizing she had been had, Yasmine turned to her unicorn frantically. "Flee Gwyn! Save yourself quickly!"
Her steed hesitated for a moment before it galloped away at her urging. For a moment, she feared that Sybille would act incredibly petty and send a spell towards her companions' way, yet for whatever reason, the witch paid the beast no mind as he rode off away from the battle.
That being said, the witch was not above gloating as she walked forward, accepting a piece of cloth from Soren to wipe most of the mud still on her face. "I must say, I can understand fully why a young whippersnapper like yourself enjoyed the gloating you loved to spew out. This position is indeed quite satisfying."
Yasmine looked to the ground, gritting her teeth, unable to bear the shame of defeat that had been snapped around her neck. She had been so focused on reveling in her victory that she never noticed another zombie or undead…and she had paid for it.
"If you're going to kill me, Sybille, then do it swiftly. I'l-
"Oh, no, no, no…After all the reveling you did in my defeat, that wouldn't be fair, now, would it? Surely someone as elderly as me is entitled to some boasting herself, wouldn't you agree?" Sybille smiled. "In this world, it's so hard for someone with my age to get treated to anything unless they're born into a position of privilege…" She grinned. "You'll let me have this, won't you?" As if to emphasize this point, Sybille dipped her bare foot into some stray mud that wasn't too far from her, which momentarily confused Yasmine. She then winced and looked away as Sybille then kicked her foot forward, launching some stray mud at the damsel's face, which landed right on target.
Sybille cackled. "Truly one with the earth as you Ghyran users pride yourselves on being!"
Yasmine huffed deeply. "Not even I went so low as to torture you, Sybille."
"Torture? What is it with younguns like you putting words in my mouth? Besides…that's for Lyle to decide. He's the Lichemaster after all."
Yasmine then widened her eyes as Sybille gathered the winds of magic around her. For a moment, she thought that the witch would go back on her own words and use a spell on her, yet to her horror, the woman pointed her recovered staff directly toward the main battle.
…
Another one of Bohemond's mace swings found purchase, heavily denting one of Krell's pauldrons. The blow was so heavy, and with a ruined leg, Krell had no choice but to get down one knee to compensate.
"All that laughing and bluster could only get you so far." Bohemoned noted as he towered over his hated foe. He was sure that if he had the facial muscles, Krell would be snarling in rage over suffering yet another defeat. However, the multiple dents and dings to the wight's armor had shown just how many blows it took to bring the stubborn undead construct down.
Bohemond readied his mace, ready to cave in the skull of the creature while looking behind him, pleased to see that while his knights had taken heavy casualties, they were on the verge of breaking through the undead lines. The only thing that spoiled the moment in his eyes was that this would indeed reap a bloody toll on his knights, and his strikes on Krell would most likely take several swings, given how durable the wight was.
"Any last words before your final death, you abominable puppet?"
In response, Krell suddenly jolted as if realizing something and then jerked his skeletal head to his right. He chuckled. "On your left, Slave of the Lady."
For a moment, the grail knight thought that this was a deception on the Wight's part, only to realize that it wasn't in the evil construct's nature. Krell was an abominable undead, yes, but he didn't rely on cheap tricks and deception to win his battles, at least not through something as see-through as this.
Chancing a look, Bohemond widened his eyes, seeing what could only be described as a purple and pink whirlwind that was hurtling towards them.
He'd seen this spell before, cast by Kemmler when he fought the necromancer's forces at Athel Loren. It was the 'Wind of Death' Spell. A devastating spell if it hit people clumped and tightly packed together was horrendous. What made the spell so devastating wasn't how it harmed one's body but how it literally tore your soul from your body, especially if one's will wasn't strong enough.
Bohemond immediately dove out of the way, only to realize that his knights wouldn't be nearly as fortunate given how packed they were against the lines of the undead.
Before the Duke could scream a warning, he knew it would be far too late. The sounds of the battle were too loud for him to be heard, and even if they did move, it was far too late.
And then the Wind of Death washed over the knights like debris facing a gale.
Many knights collapsed from their horses or sagged uselessly immediately. Others fell to their knees or seized up. Others gasped as they held their chests, finding themselves momentarily short of breath. More strong-willed knights or the few grail knights that remained were momentarily stunned but still tried to find the wherewithal to keep on fighting.
Then, the sound of gunfire rang out in front of them once more.
As more knights died or screamed as they died, the breaking point for the knights of Bastonne had finally been reached. They'd performed more admirably than Lyle cared to admit. Their sheer stubbornness had damn near gotten them to reach him and his necromancers which would have been game over right then and there. After all, they literally had nowhere to run, not with a small bridge to their backs.
But, in the end, it was not meant to be for the Brettonians. The sheer number of casualties that they had sustained had unnerved and shaken even the most steadfast of their numbers. The Wind of death which had passed over them had brought them to their knees. The most recent salvo of gunfire had broken their will.
And now the knights, which had been so desperate to break through the undead, were doing everything in their power to go in the opposite direction.
To call it a retreat would be too kind. Whatever discipline these knights had left had been shattered, and now it was a mad rush to escape with their lives. Some were fortunate enough to still be on their horses, galloping away from the sheer amount of death. Others were not quite so lucky.
"Capture them!" Lyle roared over the sound of battle. "I want as many of those knights alive, dammit! Club em' upside the head if you have to!"
The acolytes were all too eager to follow upon Lyle's words, with victory so close that they could practically taste. Almost as if in unison, the undead fell upon the surviving knights, who still drew breath but couldn't muster the strength or the resources to flee defeat. So it was with screams of terror and cries for help that were never answered that the undead fell upon the knights, restraining those who could not resist and beating into submission those who dared to do so.
The incredibly violent knights who still had fight left with them did not last long. Isolated and exhausted from the battle, they were eliminated piecemeal when capture proved too costly. Though heavily armored, the armor could only do so much against spears, swords, or knives being shoved into exposed parts of their armor, often extending their death with how difficult it made it to kill them, with blood seeping through the gaps.
Bohemond tried to get his men to stop and fight on. Maybe to stay a bit longer for the peasant reinforcements to arrive, but it was too little too late. The escaping knights fled as quickly as they could, trying to leave with their lives rather than their honor and, in turn, dooming any hope for a chance at victory.
What stung was that he recognized many of the knights that now quit the field, chief among them being Lord Bastien, spurring his horse in its sides to urge speed as he sped past his liege lord.
I allowed this. This is what Lyle Spoletta wanted. I gave him a chance at victory, and now-
"Focus, grail knight."
Bohemond realized all too late that he'd taken his attention off Krell and growled in pain as he felt the bite of the Wight's ax in his side. Bohemond stumbled forward, holding a hand to his side, and hissed at the side of blood.
"Take your eyes off your opponent for THAT long, and even I will pounce." Krell was still hobbling on one good leg, but he was still dangerous. The fact that his ax managed to bypass his armor so easily only proved that.
Bohemond ground his teeth. His innate grail abilities were working to heal his wound, but it was a slow-going thing given the power of Krell's ax.
Overcome with frustration at how the battle had gone and spurred on with anger at his bloody wound, Bohemond the Beastslayer roared once more and hurtled himself at Krell, who had a bad leg and all met him.
Their weapons slammed into each other once more. However, This time, the clash was far more violent and chaotic. After missing a swing with his mace, Bohemond elbowed the skeleton with such a vicious blow it actually managed to crack Krell's orbital bone. Not to be outdone, Krell swung his ax with his left hand, which was predictably blocked by the beast mace. This, however, was as the undead champion intended, which allowed him to punch Bohemond in his wounded side, eliciting a grunt of pain and worsening the wound, causing more blood to ooze out of it.
Biting back the pain, Bohemond surged forward, slamming the beast-mace right into the breastplate of Krell, warping the metal heavily and damaging the skeleton's ribcage.
Not feeling any pain from the attack, Krell once again retaliated, swinging his ax and slicing Boehmond's helmet open. Snarling from barely getting his face cut open, Bohemond ripped off his helm so he could see better and swung his mace again.
The two exchanged more blows; for every ding and blow that Bohemond landed, he winced as he received more blows in turn. Soon, cuts and openings were becoming more frequent in his armor, especially around his arms and sternum. Blood was starting to coat his gear so heavily that his reactions became more tired and trying. His holy energy was spurring him on, but even he noticed that it was only a matter of time.
I have to finish this fight NOW! The longer this goes, the more it favors Krell. He doesn't feel pain, and he doesn't tire. I don't have that benefit, not to that extent. I may be more than a mere man, but I am still a man in the end.
Moving on this thought, Bohemond tried another feint, Swinging his ax high, only to try and come low and strike Krell's bad leg again. This time, however, the wight was on the ball and wasn't fooled by the move. Krell swung his ax faster from the opposite side, forcing the Duke of Bastogne to try and block the move instead of going through with the feint.
It was a trap, however. To Bohemond's confusion, the Black ax went past his back instead of hitting his side. The reason this was done was so that Krell could wrap the pole of his ax around Bohemond's back and use it to squeeze the Grail knight into his body, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain as the undead champion squeezed the knight's body against his own.
The Bastonnian's armor squealed in protest, and his ribs flared in pain. Krell laughed in revelry at his suffering. "Where is your goddess, Bohemond? Where is she even as your knights abandon you? Where is-
Bohemond retorted by slamming his beast mace into Krell's helmet, knocking it clean off, which only urged Krell to squeeze harder with the haft of his ax. Screaming in pain and indignation, Bohemond slammed his beast mace into Krell's skull, cracking it further. He then proceeded to do it again and again and again, even as his breastplate bent and his ribs cracked under the pressure. The pressure was getting so bad that the side wound that the Duke suffered was now spurting blood.
Eventually, after what felt like a minute of this, the pressure finally ceased, for Krell's skull and, in turn, his body had been reduced to crumbled bits, his form finally collapsing under all of the punishment the grail knight had put him under, giving the undead champion yet another death.
That said, Bohemond did not escape the duel unscathed. He fell to his knees, short of breath and pain burning within his sternum, while blood dribbled down his libs and his sides. The power of the Lady was working overtime to keep him alive and minimize the damage that had been done, and while the grail knight knew that he would survive, it was a near thing.
Only then did he realize that his thoughts on surviving may have been a bit premature, given how the sounds of battle had turned eerily quiet.
The horses were no longer whinnying. The screams of his men had died down considerably. The sounds of limbs being rendered and severed and the cries of the dying were also fading. Looking ahead, Bohemond couldn't help but note how the force of peasants that Gerome was currently trying to move had turned immobile. Staring at the state that the knights had become.
Gutless curs. I should have sent them first to be slaughtered by the gunfire. At the very least, they could have served a purpose beyond the betrayal they committed at this moment.
Even at that very moment, Lord Gerome tried his best to get the peasants to move, practically screaming in frustration at how immobile they had suddenly become. Yet it was not meant to be when a bald-headed warden climbed atop his horse from behind and smacked him behind the head with a mace, rattling him so hard that the landless lord went slack in his saddle and bent forward on his steed unmoving. The horse in question was understandably startled by this, as well as by the other chaos that was going on around it, and bolted, which had the unintended consequence of Gerome falling right off his horse and onto the unforgiving earth.
Bohemond could only gape at how quickly his own peasants turned on them and bolted away from the battle, with some outright ditching their weapons and shields to become swifter of the foot with less weight. Bohemond then realized that the peasant who had smacked Gerome upside the head was a warden. A freshly dressed warden who was the same peasant he had allowed Bastien to promote to his new station for selling out Lyle Spoletta.
Perhaps this was his punishment? Receiving treachery for rewarding treachery, even if it was against a necromancer like Lyle Spoletta?
Regardless of his thoughts, peasants broke ranks and fled for their lives, abandoning the knights to their fate.
Abandoning Bohemond to his fate and the fate of all Bastonne.
The Duke in question finally looked behind him, wincing in pain at how such a simple action caused his body to protest from all the punishment that it had taken. Sure enough, behind him, the skeletons were now all in spitting distance, carefully surrounding him while aiming their spears at him, poised to strike and finish what Krell had started not moments ago.
"So be it." The Grail knight intoned. "So be it." He repeated as he got off his knees and to his feet, forced to use his beast mace as support to do so. "If I perish…I perish on my feet in service to the Lady." He readied his beast mace, his muscles screaming at him to just lie down and die. "It would be a fitting punishment for allowing the victory of evil on this day. To allow the Lady's land to perish on my watch."
"Oh, quit being so goddamned mellow dramatic." Bohemond knew that accent immediately. Sure enough, he could see just past the skeletons that surrounded him and a fair amount of zombies as well as zombie hand gunners that aimed their barrels down at him; there stood Lyle looking at him impassively.
Bohemond grunted, closing his eyes before sighing explosively at the indignity of it all. Regardless, he did not show fear nor weakness in the face of his opponent, even if he knew the battle was lost. However, before the inevitable came, he had to ask. His heart demanded it. "You have my son?"
"I do."
"...Is he well?"
"Not a scratch on him."
"What will you do with him?"
"Nothing. My beef isn't with him."
Bohemond suppressed a sigh of relief, trying not to look overtly concerned. "You may have defeated me, Lyle, but know this. All of Bretonnia will not stand idly as you gobble up dukedom after dukedom. Taking Artois was one matter. But the realm will dip its lances toward you and put the realm to rights."
"Uh-huh." Lyle nodded sarcastically. "I'm shaking in my boots."
"You truly will be when the sound of thousands of hooves striking the earth toward your direction rumbles the ground beneath your feet." Bohemond didn't even care about the blood in his mouth. He would have his say one way or another. "You think you've obtained victory, but it is a temporary one. Savor it for as long as you can, for the Lady WILL have her due."
For a moment, Bohemond was sure that Lyle would order his death right then and there. All it would take is a few stabs from his skeletons or some lead to the skull, and it would be over. He was sure it would anger Lyle, and to be honest, he hoped that it would. It would finally end the shame of his failure and deny this necromancer the chance to torture him.
To his surprise, however, Lyle went in a completely different direction. "Did you order Riffen to be burned?"
The question surprised Bohemond before he remembered the lengths to which Lyle went to lie to save the villagers there. It momentarily threw him off that Lyle would ask that, but he saw no reason to lie. "No, I did not. I was going to order an investigation in the village…but then it had been razed to the ground before then."
"...so you didn't give the order?"
"Not yet, no."
"Who did?"
"That I do not know. I was more preoccupied…with you taking my son."
Lyle did not at all seem satisfied with that answer. In fact, he looked downright wroth at it, visibility grinding his teeth. Even some of the necromancers near him couldn't help but look mildly concerned with the visible anger on his face.
"Alright then. Bastien. The guy who was supposedly in charge of protecting Riffen. Did he come to battle with you?"
"...He was. He was also one of the knights to flee and quit the field."
Lyle was now downright scowling openly. His necromancers were now slowly backing away from him. Apparently, they were not used to seeing him angry or were wary when he was. Eventually, however, the moment passed, and Lyle seemed to swallow down his anger for now. It made Bohemond wonder, however, if the necromancer suspected that Lord Bastien had something to do with this. He wondered for a moment before his mind returned to the situation at hand.
"If you're feeling any shred of honor, Lord Lyle, you'll kill me quickly. If you resort to torturing me, then know I will haunt you in the afterlife."
To his surprise, Lyle shook his head. "Nah…you ain't goin' out like that."
"...what do you mean?"
"You still have things to answer for. You may not have given the order on Riffen, but you have a lot of shit that I'm gonna hold over on you." Lyle then jerked his head, and suddenly, Bohemond felt something snap around his neck. Then, all of the pain that had been minimized thanks to the grail blessing had suddenly returned with a brutal vengeance. The pain had been so sudden and maximized so greatly that his nerves and mind couldn't handle it at that moment.
And so his vision went black, and the Duke of Bastonne fell forward, losing consciousness.
…
A/N:
If this were a straight up fight, and Bohemond wasn't running half-cocked, The Bretonnians would have had a damn good chance at winning. They simply had much better quality of troops than the Barrow Legion and with the grail knights it could have turned into a slaughter.
Lyle knew this of course, so he tipped matters into his favor. If he couldn't get the cavalry to come first, and the infantry soaked most of the gunfire the cavalry would have possibly been fresh enough to overrun the undead lines.
That and Lyle didn't want to slaughter the peasants wholesale if he could help it. He knew who his real enemy was in the end.
Regardless, I really liked how this battle turned out. Even though this was a victory for The Barrow Legion, it was definitely the hardest earned, given who they were going up against. But, in the end, a 'W' is a 'W', so now it's just a matter of what the aftermath is going to be like.
Thanks for your continued support, and please continue to send in those reviews, they've been a great deal of help and motivation for me.