Jackercracks
In a British accent
- Location
- England
Oh for the love of! Really?
Noblesse Oblige [Znt/SI]
- Location
- Arcadia
For the sake of the Hopes and Dreams of all Halkeginia, Henry is going to SAVE the world.
Those elves are gonna have a bad time.
Oh I am slain!
Wynaut?
- Location
- Tatooine
Wait. How does Henry know the elves' motivations and intentions for this attack so well? Or is he merely bullshitting to boost his army's confidence?
Maybe I missed something mentioned earlier or in canon? Dunno. I'm quite confused.
Last edited:
AnonymousRabbit
Rabbit Faced
Henry's gonna have a BONE to pick with them elves. A skele-TON of them
Jackercracks
In a British accent
- Location
- England
Why isn't there a [groan] rating?
Malbutorius
C'est le bien qui fait mal
Backlash177
Certifiably Insane
- Location
- Australia
Why?, that was a real RIB TICKLER.
Last edited:
- Location
- sweden
Shade is approaching his final form. He is merging with Sufficient Velocity, becoming aware of everything that occurs within it. The borders are blurring, they will cease to be two separate entities and become one. A terrible God, fuelled by ratings and coffee, worshiped in omake and bringer. Of. FLUFF.Shade threadmarked my omake less than two minutes after I submitted it
I'm scared.
some music to go with the festivities.
and lets do what we do best.
FIRE EVERYTHING!
Oh god as if he wasn't broken enough already.
Now he has savescumming.
I don't like this bit - maybe 'according to the scouts'? Currently, I think it reads more like the elvish navy believes the scouts.[/COLOR][/s]
Mockingly-Tricky
Ketchup Enthusiast
- Location
- Happy Funtime Candyland
Man.. I hope Joseph comes back, cause we need a JoJo to beat the Pillar Elves.
Chapter One Hundred and Seventy
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter One Hundred and Seventy
Upon the fields of Lyonnes, the elves arrived. Upon the fields of Lyonnes, explosions dotted the land as the verdant green camps set themselves ablaze. Thundering explosions echoed in the air as the elvish navy thundered from a distance beyond the reach of most of Gallia's navy, but not far enough that the Apocalypses named rocket artillery could not reach them. Blossoming fiery rockets of fire and magic flew in the air soaring like shrieking banshees as they impacted against the spirits that protected the enemy's navy.
Though they did no damage physically, the blinding white lights that followed did more than enough to blind the firing crews. Spirits could protect against physical attacks, they could protect against poison, spells, magic, they could protect against a lot of things - but they couldn't prevent an elf from seeing the battlefield, or how else could they fight? How else could they aim their cannons if they could not see?
In war, you may have the perfect defense or offense, or you can simply have the perfect hiding spot. The elvish crews upon their ships couldn't fire without risking hitting their own, and as on the fields the elves poured through with their swords in hand or floating by their sides, with rows of bows held aloft by their magic, a wrong step marked the charred ends of one, a burning inferno the death of another.
Tar and pitch had soaked in the grounds, and as the flames spread, the greenery of Lyonnes' front was replaced with the scenes of an infernal landscape that not even Dante Alighieri himself could have ever depicted.
"Such terrifying things, these mines," an officer whispered by my side as I watched the fields beyond the now empty river burn. Many elves passed through the initial shock of the loss of their comrades easily enough, spirits snuffing out the flames as they still proceeded through.
Bullets whizzed as one, a dozen, two dozens, three dozens all against the same enemy. The forward elves were the strongest ones, possessors of greater magic, or affinity with the spirits. Their clothes were the hardest, their skills the best. Spirit magic made the blows bounce off, but even so more than one elf flinched when a bullet hit them in the eye. Though spirit magic made it harmless, they still cried out in surprise.
Those cries made our side cheer. The drained up rivers were muddy, and golems stood in wait to ambush from the depths. Giant rocky hands emerged to crush mercilessly the golems, even though Triangle or Square class mages had conjured them forth. Gusts of fire and flames burned at the sides of the enemy, but even so, they deftly reached for the walls and began to nimbly run upon them, truly monstrous in their skills.
The signal flare for the retreat was sounded, and admiringly, it was obeyed with order.
Dozens of men died holding back a mere three, or four among the first elves. The walls abandoned, the rocket artillery launched once more, the impact sending the ripples across the ground as they thundered from the Windland.
The Gallian navy had joined the battle after the first blinding shots had marked the silence of the enemy fleet, and as the cannons had been brought into position, upon the burning fields of Lyonnes, the battle between titans waged on. Dragoons soared the sky, the maws of their mounts unleashing flames upon the advancing enemy, past the first line of offense. Truly, the point of this retreat was to keep the strong elves busy within the city, while the army easily stepped around them to take care of the bulk of weaker elves.
Firefights erupted in the city, bullets, golems, streams of water and flames were common sights. The elves advanced, but they were cut off from the rest of their army. Their purpose was probably to cause ruckus and damage, but they weren't fighting the armies of old.
The command center was empty, after all. The old army, the army of Halkeginia, had a command center and nobles staffing it up. They gave orders from the safety of a tent, far from the battlefield, and elves used to aim for them to end the battles swiftly. Yet now every unit had its own officer, every officer its commander, and every head thought for himself. This wasn't about honor, or about forming neat lines.
The musketeers did not form lines upon the field, they did not stand to attention and fire. They were amorphous, flexible, and used cover and their surroundings.
This was a different type of war. A war the likes of which the elves had never seen, but which I knew of. It was the war of the guerrilla, the war of the weak that bites the strong a nibble at the time, that makes it bleed, that endures until the mammoth falls down on one knee and pleads mercy. Buildings crumpled as main walls were set to fall upon an elf's entrance. Thin strings of wire at neck length had been set up around corners. Explosive devices waited for the proper signal before detonating-this wasn't about saving the city.
This was about making the elves bleed for it one life at the time.
Cannon fire made the ground around me explode as I held an air shield in front of me, my left arm clutching on to a wounded soldier, thin and jagged rocks having claimed his sides. He was bleeding pretty badly, but he was still alive.
"Your highness! We lost the Night Wind!" a man roared as in the far distance, the Night Wind began to fall, the mast shattered, and most of its hull damaged beyond repair. Yet, even so, I could see the ship push itself to the last dredge of its strength and slam home right over the mast of an enemy's elf ship, collapsing over it and rendering the enemy's deck impractical. The subsequent explosion told me someone had primed the ship's armory, and as it blew up, the mast of the enemy ship blew off together with it.
"We didn't lose it," I yelled back. "True heroes are riding it to Valhalla!" as I yelled that, cheers broke around me, even as cannon fire ricocheted off the air shield. The Nordri knights held the wind barrier up by my side as I passed the wounded off to a nearby healer, who rushed him away.
As blades flew against the wind shield and pushed through it, they came pirouetting in my direction. In that moment, a shield of steel and feathers intercepted and sent them to clatter on the ground, Raven's armored form by my side, ax held tightly in his other hand. An elf was drawing near, bows opening fire with arrows made from the stones gathered from the ground itself. As the arrows departed, knights hastily brought up shields to protect against them. This, in turn, meant lowering the air wall.
I rushed forth, Raven easily outrunning me as he lifted his ax high, shrieking his war-caw as he brought the ax down in a vertical swing against the first of the bows, shattering it in a hundred pieces.
"Rip," I chanted, "Skewer, tear and maim," winds of raging gale gathered by the tip of my wand as the second bow in short order fell into pieces, Raven's swings glancing off the elf, who in turn nimbly spun to face off the Valravn with his own scimitar. "Austri and Vesti, Nordri and Sudri," the shrieking howls of the currents grew in intensity, as tiny popping noises began to burst into existence, "grip my foe with your gale, and split him apart with your gusts-" I ended up skidding backwards as a sword planted itself deep into my guts, the hardened armor I wore the only reason I hadn't earned myself a new breathing hole, but still, the blade spun and twisted as if held by an unseen force.
By the side of the first elf, a second one had appeared, and this one seemed far stronger than the first.
"Heavens, be my witness," I croaked as I pointed my wand in his direction, "Answer my call, rebuke my enemy...my vicious wind!"
The spell departed with the typical pop that heralded the incoming storm, and as the air itself bent and ripped at its passage, the elf in question didn't bother dodging. The spirit-held sword that had been grinding against my guts moved slightly back, turning sharply perhaps to impale me right through the head, and in that moment a nearby knight rushed to my aid, using ice spears to freeze the blade by the pommel and hold it still -giving me the time I needed to pull back.
The spirits that protected said elf held off my spell, even though they didn't Counter it. The screaming of the gales ended abruptly, and the elf stood there, looking nonplussed.
Now I understood why elves were considered terrifying.
That was a Square rank wind spell, you bastard. You should have taken it and died like a bitch!
The distraction from my spell did cost the elf, however. As the last bow of his fellow shattered, Raven emitted a sharp and shrill shriek that made my own heart freeze, and then with both hands around the handle of his ax he slammed through whatever defense the younger elf had, making said elf widen his eyes in fright and fear as his neck ended up deeply gouged by the blade of the weapon in question.
The older elf turned his eyes on Raven, and narrowed them. He whispered something in elvish, which I didn't understand. His eyes glanced at me. He said something else, and then he raised a hand in the air, and a glowing sphere of light ignited in his palm before rising upwards. It reached only as far as the nearest rooftop, because a murder of crows intercept it and surrounded it with their black plumage.
Crows began to gather on the rafters, in the air, and as the windows of the nearby buildings began to rattle, they opened up to reveal far more.
They flew out into the city overrun by the elves. No, to be more precise they flew out specifically because it was their duty. The elves' spiritual prowess, its powers, what did it consider an attack? And what did it not? Though Bidashal had Counter upon his person, he could still hold on to a book. Though the spirits recognized friend from foe, they could not prevent the vision from being obscured. Dark feathers began to fall, alchemy and transmutation multiplying them.
The sun was blotted out.
"Tell me," I said with my left hand clenched, "Why did you choose war?"
The elf didn't answer.
Out of a dozen ways to kill an enemy, out of a thousand ways to kill an elf, one with Counter especially...there was only one I found that could work.
In theory, that is, because I never did try.
Yet, right there and then, I had no other choice.
I raised my left hand and clenched my wand with my right.
Raven's shield came swiftly up, his ax working in overdrive to swat away the swords dancing for my guts or head.
There was only one thing that no matter how much of a bullshit Spirit magic was, it could not deny.
Elves were living creatures too. They had hearts. They had stomachs.
They had lungs.
"In the cold, empty space...no one can hear you scream," I chanted as my wand danced in front of me, and as if pushed away by invisible hands, the air around the elf disappeared. He blinked, not understanding. He clutched his throat, trying to come up with words that could not come. His eyes turned red, his body shook. He threw his body to the side, but even so the invisible hands kept on following, kept on removing the air near him. Short, pained gasps were all he could manage, even as his blades danced, even as they grew frantic, even as tears fell from his eyes.
Choke a man to death, watch him die.
There is nothing more terrifying, nothing more disgusting, and nothing more damning that the sight of a man slowly losing his life.
A blade launched itself past Raven's defense, and as it spun aimed at me, it was only Raven's right wing that blocked it, even though it dug deeply into his flesh and bone. Raven screamed, and yet my teeth gritted as I held on the spell itself, as I watched life leave the frame of the trembling elf.
And in the end, the blades fell down with dull thuds on the ground, and the elf was no more.
I gasped for air, as if I had been the one holding my breath, and the spell finished its effect abruptly.
"Raven," I turned to look at him, his left side mostly knightly, his right side with but a giant raven's wing out, bleeding copiously. "Raven!"
"I'm all right," he muttered from the ground. "Just...resting..." he wheezed even as I drew near, gazing at the wound and taking a deep breath. "Henry-that's going to hurt."
"I'm supposed to be the one to say that," I pointed back at him, holding his wing still. "Be brave."
"I am brave. I fight elves with ax and shield," he drawled. "Not fancy pancy magic, mister Vader."
"I find your lack of faith disturbing, Mister Raven," I drawled back, removing the sword embedded to the bone as Water magic did its work in stemming the blood loss. I enhanced the natural regeneration of the cells themselves, letting the blood clot faster even as Raven's form slowly began to morph back into that of his giant, animal form.
The technique worked. It wasn't something that could be done with ease, or alone, but it worked. The terrifying Counter Magic of Elves now had a counter of its own. I was beat, and destroyed, and I felt as if somebody had had hit me with the blunt side of a warhammer in the guts, but I'd live, and so would Raven. The fight was far from over, and as I stood on my wobbling legs, I watched the crows flying around the city clear the skies, spirits of air ripping their wings as the elves understood that they weren't simply animals come to feed on carrion, but actual enemy combatants.
The end of the day saw the elves retreat, but the losses had been staggering.
Out of a total of fifty thousand men, and ten thousand militia given a gun and told where to shoot it at, out of thousands of dragoons, of fifty and more ships - more than half of the troops had been lost. The city was in shambles, mostly up in fire and flames.
Yet, out of the thirty thousand elves, and their navy, only two thousand had survived and but a few ships had broken off.
The Windland was grievously damaged, and the artillery had been hit and mostly destroyed, but apparently Colbert had defended the ship with a mastery the likes of which would become the stuff of legends, and Agnes herself had done a marvelous job in the streets.
On the books of history, this was a victory. Outnumbered -in Halkeginia's term- the human army had defended and held the city of Lyonnes from the invading elves. Prince Henry Philippe de Gallia, valiantly from the front lines, had bolstered the courage of his men that had fought in the thick, smoke-filled area of the city like demons, showing no signs of fear, no will to retreat, and no surrender even onto death to the invading elves.
But...
But as I stood there, watching the corpses being lined up and placed into their caskets, I could not help but feel the hollowness of said victory.
Some had been badly mangled by Ancient Magic. Some had been gutted, hit, shredded -and the amount of soldiers that were an inch away from dying was great too.
Yet it was a victory, an undeniable one that had to be made into a national holiday, one which the Pope praised, one which every other nation of Halkeginia saw as a sign of incoming greatness, of prosperity for man over elf, of swift recapture of the holy lands.
I didn't feel it.
It felt as if, on that field, something important had been lost.
"I want a monument made," I said, as Remis de Montpassant listened keenly from my side. "It must be made of stone, and upon it, I want etched the names of every single soldier that fought and died in this city. I want it put in the main square, and I want guards to be stationed around it at every hour of the day, and of the night," I spoke, and the general nodded. "Centuries from now, I want that stone to still be there. I want that stone to stand and to never fall. And I want the following words etched upon it." I took a small breath. "We, who have fallen, did so for you. Do not deny us, for we did not deny Gallia in its time of need."
"Heartfelt words, your highness," Remis murmured.
"They will taste like ash to the families," I whispered, "But...it is the best I can do. Ecus and empty words," my fists clenched. "A man's life is worth more than that."
As another casket was closed and readied for transport, I stared up at the sky.
It dared to be sunny, even though it should have rained.
Truly, the gods were merciless.
Upon the fields of Lyonnes, the elves arrived. Upon the fields of Lyonnes, explosions dotted the land as the verdant green camps set themselves ablaze. Thundering explosions echoed in the air as the elvish navy thundered from a distance beyond the reach of most of Gallia's navy, but not far enough that the Apocalypses named rocket artillery could not reach them. Blossoming fiery rockets of fire and magic flew in the air soaring like shrieking banshees as they impacted against the spirits that protected the enemy's navy.
Though they did no damage physically, the blinding white lights that followed did more than enough to blind the firing crews. Spirits could protect against physical attacks, they could protect against poison, spells, magic, they could protect against a lot of things - but they couldn't prevent an elf from seeing the battlefield, or how else could they fight? How else could they aim their cannons if they could not see?
In war, you may have the perfect defense or offense, or you can simply have the perfect hiding spot. The elvish crews upon their ships couldn't fire without risking hitting their own, and as on the fields the elves poured through with their swords in hand or floating by their sides, with rows of bows held aloft by their magic, a wrong step marked the charred ends of one, a burning inferno the death of another.
Tar and pitch had soaked in the grounds, and as the flames spread, the greenery of Lyonnes' front was replaced with the scenes of an infernal landscape that not even Dante Alighieri himself could have ever depicted.
"Such terrifying things, these mines," an officer whispered by my side as I watched the fields beyond the now empty river burn. Many elves passed through the initial shock of the loss of their comrades easily enough, spirits snuffing out the flames as they still proceeded through.
Bullets whizzed as one, a dozen, two dozens, three dozens all against the same enemy. The forward elves were the strongest ones, possessors of greater magic, or affinity with the spirits. Their clothes were the hardest, their skills the best. Spirit magic made the blows bounce off, but even so more than one elf flinched when a bullet hit them in the eye. Though spirit magic made it harmless, they still cried out in surprise.
Those cries made our side cheer. The drained up rivers were muddy, and golems stood in wait to ambush from the depths. Giant rocky hands emerged to crush mercilessly the golems, even though Triangle or Square class mages had conjured them forth. Gusts of fire and flames burned at the sides of the enemy, but even so, they deftly reached for the walls and began to nimbly run upon them, truly monstrous in their skills.
The signal flare for the retreat was sounded, and admiringly, it was obeyed with order.
Dozens of men died holding back a mere three, or four among the first elves. The walls abandoned, the rocket artillery launched once more, the impact sending the ripples across the ground as they thundered from the Windland.
The Gallian navy had joined the battle after the first blinding shots had marked the silence of the enemy fleet, and as the cannons had been brought into position, upon the burning fields of Lyonnes, the battle between titans waged on. Dragoons soared the sky, the maws of their mounts unleashing flames upon the advancing enemy, past the first line of offense. Truly, the point of this retreat was to keep the strong elves busy within the city, while the army easily stepped around them to take care of the bulk of weaker elves.
Firefights erupted in the city, bullets, golems, streams of water and flames were common sights. The elves advanced, but they were cut off from the rest of their army. Their purpose was probably to cause ruckus and damage, but they weren't fighting the armies of old.
The command center was empty, after all. The old army, the army of Halkeginia, had a command center and nobles staffing it up. They gave orders from the safety of a tent, far from the battlefield, and elves used to aim for them to end the battles swiftly. Yet now every unit had its own officer, every officer its commander, and every head thought for himself. This wasn't about honor, or about forming neat lines.
The musketeers did not form lines upon the field, they did not stand to attention and fire. They were amorphous, flexible, and used cover and their surroundings.
This was a different type of war. A war the likes of which the elves had never seen, but which I knew of. It was the war of the guerrilla, the war of the weak that bites the strong a nibble at the time, that makes it bleed, that endures until the mammoth falls down on one knee and pleads mercy. Buildings crumpled as main walls were set to fall upon an elf's entrance. Thin strings of wire at neck length had been set up around corners. Explosive devices waited for the proper signal before detonating-this wasn't about saving the city.
This was about making the elves bleed for it one life at the time.
Cannon fire made the ground around me explode as I held an air shield in front of me, my left arm clutching on to a wounded soldier, thin and jagged rocks having claimed his sides. He was bleeding pretty badly, but he was still alive.
"Your highness! We lost the Night Wind!" a man roared as in the far distance, the Night Wind began to fall, the mast shattered, and most of its hull damaged beyond repair. Yet, even so, I could see the ship push itself to the last dredge of its strength and slam home right over the mast of an enemy's elf ship, collapsing over it and rendering the enemy's deck impractical. The subsequent explosion told me someone had primed the ship's armory, and as it blew up, the mast of the enemy ship blew off together with it.
"We didn't lose it," I yelled back. "True heroes are riding it to Valhalla!" as I yelled that, cheers broke around me, even as cannon fire ricocheted off the air shield. The Nordri knights held the wind barrier up by my side as I passed the wounded off to a nearby healer, who rushed him away.
As blades flew against the wind shield and pushed through it, they came pirouetting in my direction. In that moment, a shield of steel and feathers intercepted and sent them to clatter on the ground, Raven's armored form by my side, ax held tightly in his other hand. An elf was drawing near, bows opening fire with arrows made from the stones gathered from the ground itself. As the arrows departed, knights hastily brought up shields to protect against them. This, in turn, meant lowering the air wall.
I rushed forth, Raven easily outrunning me as he lifted his ax high, shrieking his war-caw as he brought the ax down in a vertical swing against the first of the bows, shattering it in a hundred pieces.
"Rip," I chanted, "Skewer, tear and maim," winds of raging gale gathered by the tip of my wand as the second bow in short order fell into pieces, Raven's swings glancing off the elf, who in turn nimbly spun to face off the Valravn with his own scimitar. "Austri and Vesti, Nordri and Sudri," the shrieking howls of the currents grew in intensity, as tiny popping noises began to burst into existence, "grip my foe with your gale, and split him apart with your gusts-" I ended up skidding backwards as a sword planted itself deep into my guts, the hardened armor I wore the only reason I hadn't earned myself a new breathing hole, but still, the blade spun and twisted as if held by an unseen force.
By the side of the first elf, a second one had appeared, and this one seemed far stronger than the first.
"Heavens, be my witness," I croaked as I pointed my wand in his direction, "Answer my call, rebuke my enemy...my vicious wind!"
The spell departed with the typical pop that heralded the incoming storm, and as the air itself bent and ripped at its passage, the elf in question didn't bother dodging. The spirit-held sword that had been grinding against my guts moved slightly back, turning sharply perhaps to impale me right through the head, and in that moment a nearby knight rushed to my aid, using ice spears to freeze the blade by the pommel and hold it still -giving me the time I needed to pull back.
The spirits that protected said elf held off my spell, even though they didn't Counter it. The screaming of the gales ended abruptly, and the elf stood there, looking nonplussed.
Now I understood why elves were considered terrifying.
That was a Square rank wind spell, you bastard. You should have taken it and died like a bitch!
The distraction from my spell did cost the elf, however. As the last bow of his fellow shattered, Raven emitted a sharp and shrill shriek that made my own heart freeze, and then with both hands around the handle of his ax he slammed through whatever defense the younger elf had, making said elf widen his eyes in fright and fear as his neck ended up deeply gouged by the blade of the weapon in question.
The older elf turned his eyes on Raven, and narrowed them. He whispered something in elvish, which I didn't understand. His eyes glanced at me. He said something else, and then he raised a hand in the air, and a glowing sphere of light ignited in his palm before rising upwards. It reached only as far as the nearest rooftop, because a murder of crows intercept it and surrounded it with their black plumage.
Crows began to gather on the rafters, in the air, and as the windows of the nearby buildings began to rattle, they opened up to reveal far more.
They flew out into the city overrun by the elves. No, to be more precise they flew out specifically because it was their duty. The elves' spiritual prowess, its powers, what did it consider an attack? And what did it not? Though Bidashal had Counter upon his person, he could still hold on to a book. Though the spirits recognized friend from foe, they could not prevent the vision from being obscured. Dark feathers began to fall, alchemy and transmutation multiplying them.
The sun was blotted out.
"Tell me," I said with my left hand clenched, "Why did you choose war?"
The elf didn't answer.
Out of a dozen ways to kill an enemy, out of a thousand ways to kill an elf, one with Counter especially...there was only one I found that could work.
In theory, that is, because I never did try.
Yet, right there and then, I had no other choice.
I raised my left hand and clenched my wand with my right.
Raven's shield came swiftly up, his ax working in overdrive to swat away the swords dancing for my guts or head.
There was only one thing that no matter how much of a bullshit Spirit magic was, it could not deny.
Elves were living creatures too. They had hearts. They had stomachs.
They had lungs.
"In the cold, empty space...no one can hear you scream," I chanted as my wand danced in front of me, and as if pushed away by invisible hands, the air around the elf disappeared. He blinked, not understanding. He clutched his throat, trying to come up with words that could not come. His eyes turned red, his body shook. He threw his body to the side, but even so the invisible hands kept on following, kept on removing the air near him. Short, pained gasps were all he could manage, even as his blades danced, even as they grew frantic, even as tears fell from his eyes.
Choke a man to death, watch him die.
There is nothing more terrifying, nothing more disgusting, and nothing more damning that the sight of a man slowly losing his life.
A blade launched itself past Raven's defense, and as it spun aimed at me, it was only Raven's right wing that blocked it, even though it dug deeply into his flesh and bone. Raven screamed, and yet my teeth gritted as I held on the spell itself, as I watched life leave the frame of the trembling elf.
And in the end, the blades fell down with dull thuds on the ground, and the elf was no more.
I gasped for air, as if I had been the one holding my breath, and the spell finished its effect abruptly.
"Raven," I turned to look at him, his left side mostly knightly, his right side with but a giant raven's wing out, bleeding copiously. "Raven!"
"I'm all right," he muttered from the ground. "Just...resting..." he wheezed even as I drew near, gazing at the wound and taking a deep breath. "Henry-that's going to hurt."
"I'm supposed to be the one to say that," I pointed back at him, holding his wing still. "Be brave."
"I am brave. I fight elves with ax and shield," he drawled. "Not fancy pancy magic, mister Vader."
"I find your lack of faith disturbing, Mister Raven," I drawled back, removing the sword embedded to the bone as Water magic did its work in stemming the blood loss. I enhanced the natural regeneration of the cells themselves, letting the blood clot faster even as Raven's form slowly began to morph back into that of his giant, animal form.
The technique worked. It wasn't something that could be done with ease, or alone, but it worked. The terrifying Counter Magic of Elves now had a counter of its own. I was beat, and destroyed, and I felt as if somebody had had hit me with the blunt side of a warhammer in the guts, but I'd live, and so would Raven. The fight was far from over, and as I stood on my wobbling legs, I watched the crows flying around the city clear the skies, spirits of air ripping their wings as the elves understood that they weren't simply animals come to feed on carrion, but actual enemy combatants.
The end of the day saw the elves retreat, but the losses had been staggering.
Out of a total of fifty thousand men, and ten thousand militia given a gun and told where to shoot it at, out of thousands of dragoons, of fifty and more ships - more than half of the troops had been lost. The city was in shambles, mostly up in fire and flames.
Yet, out of the thirty thousand elves, and their navy, only two thousand had survived and but a few ships had broken off.
The Windland was grievously damaged, and the artillery had been hit and mostly destroyed, but apparently Colbert had defended the ship with a mastery the likes of which would become the stuff of legends, and Agnes herself had done a marvelous job in the streets.
On the books of history, this was a victory. Outnumbered -in Halkeginia's term- the human army had defended and held the city of Lyonnes from the invading elves. Prince Henry Philippe de Gallia, valiantly from the front lines, had bolstered the courage of his men that had fought in the thick, smoke-filled area of the city like demons, showing no signs of fear, no will to retreat, and no surrender even onto death to the invading elves.
But...
But as I stood there, watching the corpses being lined up and placed into their caskets, I could not help but feel the hollowness of said victory.
Some had been badly mangled by Ancient Magic. Some had been gutted, hit, shredded -and the amount of soldiers that were an inch away from dying was great too.
Yet it was a victory, an undeniable one that had to be made into a national holiday, one which the Pope praised, one which every other nation of Halkeginia saw as a sign of incoming greatness, of prosperity for man over elf, of swift recapture of the holy lands.
I didn't feel it.
It felt as if, on that field, something important had been lost.
"I want a monument made," I said, as Remis de Montpassant listened keenly from my side. "It must be made of stone, and upon it, I want etched the names of every single soldier that fought and died in this city. I want it put in the main square, and I want guards to be stationed around it at every hour of the day, and of the night," I spoke, and the general nodded. "Centuries from now, I want that stone to still be there. I want that stone to stand and to never fall. And I want the following words etched upon it." I took a small breath. "We, who have fallen, did so for you. Do not deny us, for we did not deny Gallia in its time of need."
"Heartfelt words, your highness," Remis murmured.
"They will taste like ash to the families," I whispered, "But...it is the best I can do. Ecus and empty words," my fists clenched. "A man's life is worth more than that."
As another casket was closed and readied for transport, I stared up at the sky.
It dared to be sunny, even though it should have rained.
Truly, the gods were merciless.
Yarudazuigu
Frostbyte's overlord.
- Location
- Poland
Henry doesn't have Derflinger? The more the pity, that thing is an easy counter to elven magic.
Now ... our local Sith Lord needs his black cape! It's mandatory!
Now ... our local Sith Lord needs his black cape! It's mandatory!
30k elves died here.
Well. Looks like we won't need that nuke after all.
Well. Looks like we won't need that nuke after all.
NewAgeOfPower
Engineering Pornagrapher Extraordinaire
- Location
- An Certain Hive of Scum & Villainy, known as NYC
We should nuke them anyways, to permanently break their power as an independent state.
What's the population of the Elven nation and Gallian nation? A guestimate? I'd like to get a sense of scale of how bad this battle was for each side.
Oh I am slain!
Wynaut?
- Location
- Tatooine
I'm still quite confused. Kinda feels like genre whiplash, as if we landed in the midst of an already-ongoing Tolkien battle and with chunks of context missing. I don't know if Shade intended it that way. And I'm still not sure why this battle is even happening, nor why the pacing feels suddenly compressed in the past three chapters.
Maybe I'm also still missing a fundamental understanding of elves in ZnT canon and in this story. I guess I'll just wait to the next few chapters? Though, my confusion was great enough such that it was difficult to maintain interest throughout the entire battle, even though the action seemed to be interesting.
Edit: I guess it might just be me. I dunno.
Maybe I'm also still missing a fundamental understanding of elves in ZnT canon and in this story. I guess I'll just wait to the next few chapters? Though, my confusion was great enough such that it was difficult to maintain interest throughout the entire battle, even though the action seemed to be interesting.
Edit: I guess it might just be me. I dunno.
Last edited:
Bidashel talk, but I think we"ll find out more in the coming chapters.
The invasion is sudden (which is intentional), but there's been a shift to military buildup and the like ever since Henry came to Gallia.
Trusty_Chester
That One Guy
- Location
- Texas
Hate to say this but...
Remember the Ancient Dragon?
Remember the Ancient Dragon?
Jackercracks
In a British accent
- Location
- England
Personally, I'm loving it. Well written first person fight scenes coupled with sweeping theatre-wide tactics? Yes please. When Night Wind went down I felt more than I do for most characters dying in other fics.
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Gallia has a population of 15 millions.
It is the biggest country in the world of Halk -that humans know of.
By comparison, we can estimate that Germania and Tristain have smaller populations, but still in the million ranges.
A noticeable invading fleet is composed of Tristain and Germanian forces numbering the sixty thousands troops (or a number of the sort), taken in part from mercenaries, and in part from 'Marquis' men, that is, the levied militia.
Of the elves we know that they are divided in tribes, tend to make rules followed by all elves through a council, and that they're practically a mixture of prancing Greek and Arab cultures -that is, if you're not an elf you're a pathetic barbarian, and honor's a big thing, especially regarding keeping one's word.
I do not know of any estimated numbers, but I felt that, if the total combined armies of Halkeginia could potentially reach 100K troops for a crusade by uniting all continents, then an army of fifty to sixty thousands elves could easily repel them.
Since all elves serve in the army, it's obvious that we must cut from that number those who wouldn't go on an offensive war unless directly ordered, or would be kept back in case of a counter-attack.
So I took sixty, cut in half, and sent half forth while half remained behind.
Well, they did just lose nearly half of their entire population. I wouldn't blame 'em for being panicked.