The Ashen Sky

[Arteh 1837]

 

 

 

The men of Savoy’s spirits flared whilst they marched for Barrowyk; the first siege of the war was soon to commence. The ash stricken assembly moved quietly under the shadow of night. The leaders of this great host of countrymen bore their eyes out towards a rebel state, castaway from all logical standpoints and wrought in condemning flame. These leaders bore the capes of their predecessors; for their dynasty was one that would last throughout the ages - whether the times are bleak or the times are prosperous.

 

It was Augustus de Sola, Guy de Bar, and Leufroy de Savoie that hoisted the banners all of mankind trembled to behold. Behind them, the sun swiveled upon its axis to reveal the massive array assembled before the enemy stronghold.

 

Activity sprung upon the north western banks of Barrowyk in that grey morning, where the forces of Savoy nestled into a newly erected siege camp. Clanging of hammers and axes resonated throughout the plains, delivering forth a rude awakening to the Vladovic traitors. Soon the battlements were armed, the ramparts shuddering with a truly formidable host. The two sides of humanity quaked with a deeply-embedded fury - a longing for retribution. The war had been costly thus far, but despite either side’s grievous injuries, they now stood poised against each other once more.

 

A black shadow of arrows arced across the skies, falling upon any man who dare behold their descent. Every man, to each he desired his own survival, pressed hard against the scarcely erected battlements Savoy had assembled for themselves. The commands of the Lord Marshal, Augustus de Sola, cried out in the camp where many a soldier lay wait. Trebuchets were hastily loaded and fired in rapid succession, tumbling throughout the air and crashing down into the heavily fortified Barrowyk. The arrow fire exchanged furiously as the hours dragged on, and the walls that once castigated the crown came crashing down into the moat below.

 

For a time, it seemed the clocks halted and the impending assault paused. An aroma of beef and stew drifted slowly across the campsite, rousing the countrymen and Orenian vassals alike into a state of war, a unit of impending ferocity. The soldiers had traveled long and afar, in wait of their families once more. This cruel war of high Orenia had dragged and pummeled those beneath it’s wake, and the sword hands of Savoy ached to return to their families once more. For a moment, that war had coarsed past the minds of these countrymen, lost in contentment and ease within the siege camp. It was then that the wheels of the siegecraft groaned and grinded against the grass, rolling slowly towards the gates. Their cause stirred within their hearts, swords quickly finding their master’s grip.

 

“Heave!”

 

A wooden grunt emitted from the portcullis of the siegecraft, lifting the gate high and above in preparation for the siege towers. The loyalists gathered behind the bridges and siege tower, beginning the long awaited battle at a crawl. With vigor and opportunity, the Vladovic and Adrian forces raised from their well defended positions to rain hell upon the advancing Savoyards. An arrow would lodge itself in the neck of a fellow soldier before being replaced by another, sludging through the mud and shoving the corpse aside to take his spot. Death after death, the seemingly well endowed forces of Savoy and Adria alike replenished their stock with grotesque efficiency. The losses were well seen, however. Bodies slithered and fell into the moat, darkening a once aqua shade. The tint of blood flooded the nostrils of loyalist and traitor alike, and the screams of wounded peasants and commanders filled the air.

 

It was now that the siege tower positioned itself in front of the half demolished keep, wavering in taunt to the enemies. The loyalist forces thundered out from their fortifications, quickly taking cover behind the tower before the onslaught of arrows could reach them first. Fire flung from the ramparts of Barrowyck to consume both wood and man alike, and boiling oil coursed down a perilous path. It was up to Augustus de Sola and Guy de Bar to climb to the drawbridge of the tower first, with the bulwark of their forces closely behind them.  The bridge swayed dangerously in uneven balance before them, and even more so when the full of Savoy came crashing down into the exposed and distraught keep.

 

 

 

The hordes of Adria poured out forth from their forsaken crevices to meet Oren in that deadly dance, an embrace of cold steel. Blades slashed against exposed bellies to allow sanguine claret to clamber down onto the floor in heated chunks. The gullets of misfortuned warriors split open, displaying the area in a crimson coating. Screams of agony shuddered throughout the battles as men tripped upon the corpses of their brothers and foes, perhaps both. The sunder that had ripped the tapestry of Oren was evident in this bloody conflict, wrought upon the faces of Augustus and Guy as they pressed through the all consuming madness of battle. Naught but a second passed until this wistful look wiped away from their visage to replace one of horror, a descending pot of oil. Brushed upon the shoulders of the assaulting men, it melted through their buttery armor and silenced their anguish with a slow, gruesome death. Some flung themselves off the battlements to quicken their demise. The oil combined fury with the charging host of Vladovic screamers, dividing the two commanders in the midst of a collapsing keep. Thrown against a stone wall, Augustus cried out as he tried desperately to fend off against the throngs of Adrians.  Catching Guy’s gaze, the pair share an ambivalent, chance exchange. The Lord de Bar, with renewed confidence, took his sword and led the contingent of Amyas Order-men into the haunting deeps of Barrowyk. Augustus goaded his men on, the main force standing their ground as the sound of steel emanated throughout the keep.  

 

Roars emitted from the upper corners of Barrowyk as the men of the Knights Lorraine came crashing down upon the dining hall, where a large pocket of Adrian forces still remained. It was not a conflict to remember, and in a quick butchering, the Lorraine cross emerged victorious.

 

Through tooth and nail, Augustus’s forces had prevailed as well. The stairwell littered the bodies of men fallen disillusioned to a dead cause. The victors, though numbered few, emerged from the stairway. The calls of the dying no longer fluttered throughout the halls, and in a gaping hole, Augustus was met with the a most triumphant scene. Guy de Bar, with his retinue of Ser Drake Lancefeld, Hadrian Chivay, and their levies, tossing a burning flag of crows onto the courtyard below, weapons raised into the triumphantly. The battle was over.

Oren had won.

 

 

Treshure wrote a lot of this

[FORƎST 1312]

[mmat 7460]

Drake Lancefeld and Guy De Bar stand atop the highest tower with their swords held high, celebrating their victorious final charge.

[Altiak 1648]

Lord de Bar's forces return to Peremont, reveling in the fanfare and glory of another victory.

[Guest]

"Easy operation" quotes Guile

[Legoboy7984 3155]

Okari Angelhosa runs to the far back walls diving into the water swimming down stream as he runs back to Brelus

[Devland99 180]

Constantine sighs as he watches sky gods kick oil off the siege tower

"Time to pull out."

[Arteh 1837]

Augustus de Sola and his host enter into Peremont to partake in the joyful fanfare of victory.

 

[Overland 349]

For Andria Ith'ael, the ride home was of near complete silence. Only once did she mutter "Aymaehr'sae hiylun'ehya" on the return home for the thought of seeing many a man being slaughtered was too much for the usually peaceful Elfess.

* * *

Upon the arrival of the victorious troops - along with his father, uncle, and only brother - in Peremont, Joachim de Bar grinned, satisfied immensely with the outcome. Thoughts of his late brother, Edmond, clouded his mind. To Joachim, the victory could be simply described as the following:

"Revenge."

[Hammer4_ 166]

Autlyr raises his sword to the sun, the blood of his enemy dripping onto the rubble of the once-castle Barrowyk. 

[lawnmowerman 3040]

 

 

 

 

Athirius Roke would've glared sternly at the worn, crumbled Raevir keep, his lips tugging upwards into a wry leer.

 

Samuel trudges through the land-scarred courtyards, spitting onto the ground.

[dandan1350 479]

The battlefield fell silent as the final death of the Adrian's occurs. His gaze darting across the courtyard to see the battle-worn plate of his prince, running to his side as Brann raises his bloody warhammer, a cry emiting past his lips. "Ave Ashford, for the king!" He looks to his blood soaked brothers as they repeat his chant of victory, soon after returning to Gereons side to escort him.

[Cat Evocation 3728]

Zanain enjoyed raining hell from his Siege weaponry.

[Treshure 5818]

 

"I would suggest winning a few battles before running your mouth. It's incredibly sad when a 16 year old boy can kill the hardened men of Amyas," comments Britannus. 

 

 

Kendor begins to run his mouth.

[seannie 7443]

Siegmeyer grumbles, he'd retreat and evacuate the Duchy of Adria, knowing it's future to come seeing as the Orenians have won the siege.