THE FOLLY OF PHILIP III

[Royal Peasant 444]

A crossbow cracked and cranked throughout the first volley as they were surrounded by apple trees. Arrows hurled through the air and filling the skies with streams of dark insects that hungered for flesh as they descended down upon the earth and those that filled the space below. Several of the allies he was firing alongside took a bolt, to the arm, to the shoulder, the rain of death hitting many alongside him as bodies dropped while others stayed strong. The trees paying the price for many that took shelter within the shadow of the branches as the bark began to be covered in the piercing blades of ferrum. With none truly sure how affective this world of battle had been.

The call to charge had been a relief, in itself, for it heralded the end of the rain. They charged, forward, across the waters, towards the ships of the enemies that had been stalled and unable to continue on. Yet the actual moment they met their enemies was...chaos. Chaos, blood, and cries. Death cries met his ears by the swing of his weapon, or by the sounds of those around him. Allies made a shield wall with him as they pushed forward. Foes falling one by one to blade, axe, sword, and shield. No time to honour the dead or pay respect to them as their bodies fell under heel and were soon trampled on as the wall advanced forward. Giving no quarter. Giving no mercy. The enemies fell one by one, the numbers increasing, beyond count. Until only a dozen souls were seen retreating. 

Bloodied. Battered. Tired. And worn. His armour scared and pierced from the wounds he had taken but having not been felled as he gazed on before slowly making his way back with others that cried out in victory and relish. "This...this was tiring." His eyes scanned the battlefield. From the bodies that were sank in the sands, the muck, and bodies that littered decks of ships and sank into the depths of the water. "Aye...wonder how many we lost..." 

It was a sombre mood that took the highlander as he returned to his burrow to rest, recover, and salvage what he could of his armour. 

[Legoboy7984 2441]

The Commander, Agnar Grandaxe, finishes one of the Orenains infront of him before looking towards the field of dead Orenians.

"Even d'ough we lost some great warriors today, Dungrimm smiles upon us today."

[The Harbinger 336]

Glod shrugs and continues with his duty.

[Dragonayr 321]

Spoiler

Updated Post -

OOC 

A deafening sound of war cries was heard from the charging army of the tripartite, slamming into the unexpecting ranks of the ISA. For a while the fighting was even as each army clashed, filling the air with the sounds of axes hitting shields and swords crashing against armor. Orenian Infantry falling in vast numbers, to the might of the offence and the might of the void. Graphics cards melting, soy boys crying, extremely exciting 1.9 combat making the death of all 3090 TI's worth every penny. Screaming voice cracks and lisps heard among every discord alike. Swords clanging, shields battered, braces bent in rage as the toughest NA teeth grit with high adrenaline. 300 Jesus blessed individuals water walking, clicking periodically in a blob, Survival of the lag-less. 
Lord Of The Lag

 

Edited April 4, 2022 by Burnsider
OOC comments must be kept behind spoilers