The Miracle at Mordring's Bridge, 1599

[colovian fur 8360]

 

THE MIRACLE AT MORDRINGS BRIDGE

The Battle of the Bridge, 1599

 

“Ahh.. It is like the poet of old would say, ‘Moonman, moonman, can yuh not see? Wraiths and witches must hang from trees’.”

-Farouk Al-Jahwad

 

Accounted by His Highness Caius, Crown Prince of the Westerlands, and Braehn Elendil-An’Hiraeth, on the 16th of The Amber Cold, 1599

 

The soldiers of the west stood valiantly against the threat of undeath once more. The Battle at Mordrings Bridge is yet another victory for all of Axios as the brave soldiers of the West fought tooth and nail to beat back the legions of the dead. Fueled by religious fervor and their loyalty to the King; the Companymen proved that so long as you have faith in yourself and your battle brothers you would prevail against even the most immoral foes.

 

At a moment's notice, the Adunian, Braehn Elendil-An’Hiraeth, brought news of an army preparing an assault on the Capital. He and a companion had been ambushed when exploring The Frozen Wastes, catching mere glimpses of the creatures as they were forced into McGrubor's Woods and subsequently the palisade surrounding the entrance to Bastion. From there, the pair told His Highness Prince Caius of what they saw. Standing for his people and the White Flame, the Western Prince ordered the tolling of the bells and both Companymen donning the red cloak and civilians ready to defend their home picked up arms to fight.

 

 

The Crown Prince gathered a mighty force: An unknown Southeron mercenary who certainly added diversity to the team, the Dwarven companion of Braehn, Braehn, the brave Dover Bogla, Haskill the Clanger, Milton Lowedge. This team was to push back against waves of undead in an effort to hold off a potential assault on the city and jeopardize their mission in the West. They sallied out, heading into McGrubor’s Woods as they met the legions of the dead. From then, the forces of light and dark clashed as the boreal forest came alive with the sounds of blade meeting bone and bone meeting FLESH.

 

“FOR KING AND COUNTRY!”

 

As per proper Westerlands style, battle buddies were chosen. Prince Caius stuck by Milton Lowedge’s side, they fought back to back as the dead surrounded them. Ser Hanson and Rolien both struck out against the dead but the numbers game was against them. Morale was low as their equipment began to falter against the endless waves of undead. Perhaps the threat was too grave. As all seemed hopeless, the men cut off and separated; a yell rang true and all hope was restored.

 

“SUWOOP!”

 

 

Atop his battle donkey, His Majesty King Leopold I rode into battle shouting with Commandant Berengar Helvets, and Philip Marshal the Squire at his side. The Miracle at Mordrings Bridge; reinforcements from Bastion rushed into the fray, bashing against the unholy foes. Haskill, the esteemed blacksmith and owner of the Freeman’s Forge, laid his sword bag upon the ground. From there, the likes of a novela action hero ‘John Rambo’, he began to throw the weapons to Companymen who required a new blade. With renewed vigor, Prince Caius’ band of troops pressed onwards with the reinforcements-- Pushing the dead all but to Mordring’s Bridge. From there, they held at the end with shields raised into a big beautiful wall. The men of the West hacked and slashed their way to becoming an indie game! The dead, lacking a proper commander, began to break. Their numbers crushed, the Companymen truly beat them back into their hellscape known as The Frozen Wastes.

 

“PRAISE OWYN!”

 

 

They had done it, victory. The victory tasted of “... raspberry snow with a hint of wood.”, so says Prince Caius. Men celebrated, looting the corpses of the dead for any loot that may signify any sort of value. A parade of sorts was established as the men made their way back home, eager to spend their new wealth and to regale the settlers of their glory upon the battlefield.

 

---

 

In memory of Dover Bogla, you joined up with a mere farmers pike to fight the army of the damned. Thank you for your service, it's a shame it was cut short by Sky God intervention.

 

 

---

 

Excerpts

The following excerpts are pieces written by soldiers who were on the battlefield. We hope their documentation will serve as a reminder to the everburning flame that burns in any who fight for the West.

 

The Mongrel Knifefighter, written by Braehn Elendil-An’Hiraeth

Spoiler

 

In the last days of the last year of the sixteenth century, all had seemed quiet on the Westerlands frontier. The attention of the Company had been drawn southwards to the Faidenthuak Caldera on Ceru, where Ashwraiths that wielded Aurum blades had become a vicious blight to the local populous. With talk of portals and wraiths becoming the main focus for the higher echelons of of the Company, none were to expect what was to befall the brave warriors that cold winter’s day.

 

Across Mordring’s Bridge, a lone Adunian had been hunting a stag from McGrubor’s Woods. As he ventured farther into the ice fields and he lost his prey, he had grown weary and prepared to return to Bastion. Commander Oyvind Frostbeard’s pleas for help caught his attention. The Adunian had hastily followed the screams, to discover the Dwedmar warrior beseeched by a large grouping of armored undead. As they dispatched the fiends, they believed their path now to be clear. Then as they turned to leave, what seemed like thousands more armored undead warriors descended from the mountains. When the two no longer could continue the fight, they began their swift retreat back to Bastion’s high walls and steadfast warriors. There, the now breathless Adunian would raise the alarm for Prince Caius and the Companymen to rally for the impending assault.

 

Good Prince Caius had marshalled all the men he could to the outer palisade, forming ranks and preparing for a push into McGrubor’s Woods. While few in number, their faith in Owyn was rightous. In the close and brutal fighting in the woods, the greatly outnumbered Company stood strong in the face of evil. Steel clashed, shields splintered, and blood was spilt in the name of God. As the undead fell one by one, they withdrew back into the Ice fields. It was there that an enormous host of Undead rose from the ground and continued. At the foot of Mordrings bridge, Caius’s force had fought hard and dug in to avoid being routed. Should the Companymen falter there, the horde would be able to harry the Western edges of Tahn and push farther inward. They could not fail.

 

As the fighting at Caius’s Last Stand became more severe and brutal, many of the men’s weapons and armor had begun to fail. The Adunian’s axe had stuck into the bare skull of an Undead bruiser. His pike then snapped at the shaft while piercing the cold, rotting body of another. It was then and there he cast off his iron helm and drew his large Nivinese knife from its sheath. He dove into the grouping surrounding him and had begun to cut the fiends asunder. He swore and howled with each slain beast, only stopping to belt at the top of his lungs “Adunai!” His rampage was only halted by the arrival of reinforcements led by the King himself, Leopold I. As the day no longer seemed dire, his mind began to clear. Leopold’s Miracle Charge had routed the horde and forced them to retreat across the bridge. There, Mordring’s host had met its bloody end in shame and agony.

 

As the great Company of the Westerlands rejoiced at their God given victory, the Mongrel Knifefighter scoured the field for his helmet. He was disappointed to see it had been dented and ruined. He had then begun looting the corpses of the slain Necrotics, gathering as much of their ancient wealth as he could. One soldier, Milton Lowedge, approached him and lauded him for his service and prowess in battle, though his praise was only met with a quiet affirmation from the Adunian. He shed his now ruined armor in private and set out down the blood drenched road with what gold he could carry, ready for his next journey.

 

 

The Determined Squire, written by Philip Marshal the Squire

Spoiler

 

The large golden bell atop Old Josesppi suddenly began furious ringing that filled the midday city of Bastion with activity and liveliness, Armsman and Yeomen rushed out from the various shops around town and mainly from the Cantina as they formed up into orderly ranks in front of Castle Yar. The word had been received by carrier bird from Mordings Bridge, receiving a call for reinforcements usually never happened. That's when the young squire Philip began to think about the level of **** they were about to dive into. Regardless it was their duty and not a single man in the company would dare do otherwise, the men were rallied it was time to move.

 

Companion Ludwig rushed out with a furled up map under his arm struggling to put his helmet on he quickly briefed the gaggle of junior soldiers that had formed up following the bell tone. In very coarse but effective and short sentences Ludwig explained that every man was to break marching ranks and start at a double time jog out the city gates and immediately south through the dense pine. Philip and the men who stood beside him quickly readied themselves and the force sallied out through the front gate. The forests in daylight were a challenge at best. During a snowstorm they were not to be trifled with. Regardless the time for worrying was over. The force began south the woods stomping through the deep snow flakes around them settling to the ground.

 

Philip heard the battle long before he saw it. The clashing of steel the knells of the undead legions calling out from across the gorge. Philip rushed up beside Ludwig as the force broke through through the treeline. What lay before them was chaos. The main Westerland force led by the crown prince was struggling to hold the end of the bridge. King Leopold quickly rode towards the reinforcing troops and directed them to their positions along the end of the bridge. In quick fashion the order was given. In a daring show of courage and bravado King Leopold spurred his horse and led the charge. Philip followed quickly behind the force as they charged into the mass of undead pouring across the bridge, claws and undead weapons banged and scraped against Philips armor as he swung his axe at an angle slicing a pike wielding undead from shoulder to hip. They were committed now. It was push through now or suffer defeat. Defeat was something that no sane man would wish upon the world at that very moment, If they didn't push through now the undead would flood through the mountain passes and into the other nations. Philip continued his charge forward with a renewed vigor. He grabbed the shoulders of an undead archer tossing him over the side to the icy gorge below. The Men of the Westerlands had held and soon enough they began to push across the other side of the bridge cutting through swaths of ungodly horrors and necrotic monsters.

 

The clashing of sword and shouting had blended into one large mess of noise deafening all as the undead began to falter their right side collapsing and then the center, within minutes the undead line had collapsed and they were in rout back across the bridge. King Leopold gave his orders and the men began to form up for a final charge. The young squire Philip Marshall readied his ask and shield and all down the line men prepared themselves. This was to be their hour of triumph. The order was given and the line charged chopping through the sloppy and unorganized ranks of undead as they turned from their rout in attempt to engage the men of Vander. They has already been pushed to the breaking point however and soon enough a large horn sounded through the blizzard far behind the undead. With that they forgot all sense of fighting and retreated into the white. Philip scanned around the area, rotting flesh and rusted weapons littered the landscape and brown blood and ooze tainted the clean white snow.

Philip removed his helmet and clipped the almost now dull axe to his side. If it had not been for their sudden surge the race of man would have fallen in this battle with the nectrotics today. Armor on men was cracked swords on the verge of breaking bowstrings being held by a few fibres. The men around him were quickly bending down to retrieve gold and Philip did the same filling his ration sack. These minas would serve the Kingdom well. After a good hour it was decided in private among officers that the undead would not be charging for a second time today. The men reformed their ranks Philip taking up the rear as they marched back to Bastion where according to talk along the column, a feast awaited. But a thought still lingered in everyone's mind. “When would they be back? When would they attempt once more to cross the bridge?” Some dwelled on it, others put it on the back of their mind. One thing was clear however. It would not be anytime soon.

 

 

[Reckless Banzai Screamer 15456]

Grandmaster Rakim sits alone in his office with a deck of Oyashimian playing cards depicting monsters, spells and traps. As he sets up his playing field and places down a blue eyed, white dragon monster into a forward assault position. To him, the dragon represented purity and the White Flame all Vanders held dear.

 

"Your move, Mordring.."

[Angmarzku 1251]

"All according to plan.." A Draconic Wraith mutters at the spectral pets loitering in it's crowded room, continuing to plot under the mountains.

[Daisy 9739]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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