The Fall of Tyrand

[Miniguy15736 398]

Fall of Tyrand

THE HARROWERS’ LAST VESTIGES IN THE EAST

 

Spoiler

 

 

𓌏──────────────⊱𓂀⊰──────────────𓌏

 

Gath flinched as the Norland boy’s bolt pierced through the chest of his final clone. He lost sight of the battle, and took a moment to reorient himself. Good, the familiar walls of ice and stone were still around him. He brought a hand to his head, feeling the beginnings of a throbbing headache. Using his one mind to control multiple bodies was a straining, if useful ability. He’d need some time to rest before doing it again.

 

The fall of Fort Tyrand had been inevitable. Ever since Tyr had taken half the warband to die in Haense, he had known this. There weren’t enough troops left, their Chosen ranks had been decimated…

 

No, he was making excuses. He had been overconfident after a string of minor victories. He had overestimated the flesh golems’ effectiveness. He had to make it up. He had to avenge the defeat.

 

Still though…there had been an immense death toll. Gath rose in frustration, kicking a stray block of ice. He was trying to help them. The Harrower’s Blessing was a boon to the whole world! Yet the southerners kept fighting and resisting this offering of grace. If only there was some way to convince them-

 

He paused. This was a familiar train of thought. The words of the elf soldier in the cage drifted back to him. It had been a good question; why didn’t they peacefully spread the good news of the Harrower to all? The benefits would speak for themselves, and people would join without threat of death. Tyr wouldn’t have had to die.

 

It wouldn’t work anyway. Even though he might be willing, the Southerners never seemed interested in talking. They just kept calling him a coward and hitting him with hammers-

 

But that was his fault, wasn’t it? The tribes attacked them first. Obviously, they would fight back. So why had the Harrower commanded them to use forc-

 

Ah. Of course. It was not his place to think about these things. The Harrower would take care of it, just as he took care of all Ailmere. He was to simply do his duty.

 

Gath rubbed his head, the headache from using multiple clones having suddenly spiked in pain out of nowhere. What was he thinking about again? The fall of Tyrand, yes. He stepped out of his cavern, watching a Thrall carry ores further down the tunnel as he wracked his brain. The southerners knew too much. They all carried lanterns nowadays and kept using those blasted goggles. He needed some better countermeasures. He needed a better weapon.

 

𓌏──────────────⊱𓂀⊰──────────────𓌏

 

A Gath clone cautiously slunk through the familiar grove of trees. He felt a strange reluctance as he drew near to the woman deeper within. She played with a small snow fox, unconcerned with the affairs of the world. He shouldn’t ask this of her. She was…

 

Darkness.

 

No, that wasn’t it. He had made a promise to someone, long ago. She was important to them. She was…

 

Shadow.

 

He couldn’t remember. He tried, but his head hurt so, so much. There were four other faces. The Chief. That was right, wasn’t it? He had told her she was…

 

A weapon.

 

Ah. Of course. It was not his place to think about these things. The Harrower would take care of her, just as he took care of all Ailmere. He was to simply do his duty.

 

The woman turned, spotting him. Long white hair spilled out from under the hood that masked her face. She cradled the fox in her hands as she spoke - a soft, raspy voice, as if she had never spoken before.

“Can I…play with them…now?”

𓌏──────────────⊱𓂀⊰──────────────𓌏

[Sarven 1717]

Under the cover of shadow before Tyrand’s ruins,

In the eerie silence, shadows creep stealthily,

The fallen reclaimed into the embrace of the darkness...

[Jack Rider 50]

As all this hapend, Volkov was unaware of any of this, he was just sharpening his new sword from one of the chosen, thinking for himself how fun it will be when he gets to use it on the harrovers chosen

"Hmmm, i wounder what hes planning right  now...."

he said outloud as he keept the sword on the grinding stone, as he looked at his seax at his side still stained from the blood of the followers of the Harrover

[xo31 463]

Arthur started to plan a Voidal way to solve things. He read up on Ando Alur.

[Caedis 431]

The Sword of Purity, Dainn, Commander of Kaethul's Northern Offensive into Ailmere, stood proudly atop the Northern watchtower. His gaze drifted across those accursed lands as his body emitted the soft, white glow of purity.

There were many memories in that moment. Many thoughts of the events that had led him here. In battle he was a force.. A bloodthirsty warrior who slit the throats of Chosen and decimated the ranks of Thralls..

 

But as his gaze turned inwards, to that burning and ruined camp - as sparkling snow drifted down and twinkled against his constant light - a question occured to him..

 

Did they all, have to die?

Was simple destruction and murder the only end to this war?

 

He achieved the same answer he always did.

 

No.

 

And so The Sword of Purity descended that tower, and marched off into that snow. His questions needed answers. There had to be another way to end this war.

There had to be a way to ensure those deaths weren't in vain.

[Operator_Bugman 221]

Orin wept for there were no more smoggers to drive into mammoths.

[Wulfric 99]

Obok Metaldrinks watched the smiths repair his tattered and dented armour from the siege, still pondering about the lesser presences he had felt within the pillars of the fort and how they were connected to the Harrower.

[Cheese 2315]

Juniper, having barely survived from overcasting, was carried to her room by a man - one she had considered a close confidant, perhaps even someone she loved. He held her so tenderly within his arms, despite having had his own bow aimed upon her just hours before.

 

"We'll be okay, Juni-darling," he had promised her. But it wasn't okay; he had lied. Nothing was ever okay.

 

The rest of the night was spent planning. Maybe it wouldn't be them, but Juniper would be okay, at the very least, so help her God.

[ichigomaster98 639]

The Satisfied would find their satisfaction waning as the battle had come to a close. "Are you still alive? They asked as a bloodied sabaton found its way into nudging a fallen comrade. They looked at this armored boot a moment in confusion, then followed it up to a leg, then arms holding a spear and a shield. Their boot, their leg, their arms. Blood. There was not a bit of their black ferrum platemail that was not at least speckled with blood. "Oh." They said to themself, only now realizing their vision was tainted red rather than the familiar gray tint of their visor, more blood. Looking back down the street of the enemy fort they saw a pile of corpses and red indents in the snow leading to where they were standing. Looking farther all they could see was flames, falling snow, and the dead. But they felt great. Like a boulder had been lifted off their shoulders. They felt refreshed despite the creeping exhaustion of combat. They felt satisfied, but only briefly. An inhale is followed by an exhale as the response came. "I'm alive, just dizzy." A nod followed this in response to their comrade's words before the satisfied one had lost the satisfaction entirely, replaced by a feeling of numb tranquility. "We should burn the banners and corpses, then fortify this for the next part." Came their own words before they went to do so, to prepare for the next part.

[Otakuu 59]

Another victory to add to the books. Aurora Kervallen sits within her home alone, the quietness becoming eerie and oddly loud. She awaits her husband, who had been marked with the Harrower's boon before, only recently having knowledge of his cleansing. As she sits and thinks deeply on their past tainted conversations, she cannot help but remain suspicious. "Always remain suspicious, Aurora" an old friend's voice whispers in her head. 

 

Aurora narrows her eyes, tapping her fingers upon the desk. Yes, they might have gained a victory, but at what cost? They were all pieces upon a chess board, ready to be moved to their next strategic encounter. They had to wait however, for the Harrower has yet to make his move.

[Saun_399 184]

The Norlandic boy in question, still a child of thirteen and exhausted.
Completely battle worn for the first of many times, and touching death so closely. Reeling in the celebration of victorious bloodshed, and soaking in the glory and camaraderie of his clan and Nation amidst the burning and ash-festered snow.

In the dim light of camp he sat and allowed his father to tend to injury, a snap of bone he had ignored and let sit with adrenaline guiding him. He thought to the bravery of his nation and the success of it's battle plans.
He also thought to the bold and brazen dealings of himself and how he prevailed, oh, only for his dear mother to give him a ferocious scalding for sometime soon..
For him then, the true war begins.