The Battle of Driftwood Hollow

[Javert 9615]

 

The Battle of Driftwood Hollow

 

From the perspective of Thorin August Rostova, Prince of Ravenmire

It was mid-day when the call to arms was mustered. The young Prince, though grown into his early manhood, had not yet had his experience with the ways of war like his Uncle had, like the veterans of Ravenmire had. The Prince donned his armor given to him by his father Allerick with the assistance of a palace servant, then made his way from the Royal Palace and into the city proper.

 

As the Rostova Prince stepped out into the Royal City of Caerfran, he felt the cold northern breeze brush across his face and his lungs soon filled with the smell of sea salt. His thoughts dwelled unto when he was but a boy. Thorin had loved to fish with his Grandfather, the Late-Sovereign Bo Rostova. He had loved to sit out atop the walls and bask in the crisp northern air which ran through his hair. However, he had little time to revel in the Ravenmirian climate, for a voice soon rang out to shake him from his thoughts.

 

“Prince Thorin!” came the voice of a Rostova retainer. “Your Uncle awaits!”

 

Thus was the Rostova brought back to the present. He looked to the retainer and offered them a polite nod of his head before making his way to his horse and moving to mount it with relative swiftness. His years of training and tutoring had been paying off, but soon his other training would be tested as well. For alas, the men of Ravenmire were not assembled for a simple diplomatic mission into the south. This time, the men of Ravenmire were crossing the river under the banner of the crusade.

After a brief rendezvous with the levies of the Duchy of Blackworth and County of the Rhoswood within the city of Illation, the combined force of 800 Ravenmirian crusaders began their march south to the town of Grense. On the march to connect with the rest of their allies, Prince Thorin rode to the head of the column to speak with his Uncle and Mentor, Sovereign Earoslav the First. Though he desired to speak to him, to seek comfort for his anxieties in regards to war, he held back his tongue behind his teeth. He could not dare show weakness, not now as they rode to war.

 

Within the town of Grense was an amassed force larger than what Thorin had seen in his life. 5,000 soldiers including those of Ravenmire had joined together under a singular cause, a singular banner with which they would march against the final Trade State which had yet to heed to the will of the crusading armies. Thorin felt a semblance of pity for the people of Vortice, for they stood alone against an overwhelming tide of religious fervor. Yet, the Prince’s sympathies could not be allowed to distract him from what was to come. His people had been given a call, and Ravenmire would answer.

 

Just a Saint’s Hour after the amassed crusader army had been mustered in Grense, they began the march to the lands of Vortice. They marched through the Merryweather pass, past the charred city of Whitespire, and up into the vast mountain ranges. They marched until they reached the top of a mountain overlooking a quiet little village, Driftwood Hollow, at which point Thorin’s long-term friend Owyn Haverlock rode up next to him.

 

“Hey Thors.” Spoke the Blackworthian Noble as he moved to lightly punch Thorin’s shoulder, awakening him from his thoughts. “Are you doing alright?”

 

“Yeah. I’m just…thinking.” The Prince replied as he turned to look at Owyn “You ever done this before?”

 

“What, fought a battle? Yeah. You haven’t?” Thorin shook his head, and Owyn reached out to grab his friend’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “We’ll be fine, Thors. Let’s stick together, I’ll be your battle buddy.”

 

As the conversation wrapped up, the Crusader host lined up in battle formations with orders being barked out by various commanders who rode up and down the line.

 

“Lances at the ready! Prepare to charge into the village center!”

 

Thorin had little time to dwell on it, for he moved to brace his lance under his arm and used his left hand to quickly fasten his helmet. He looked over to Owyn for reassurance, and in reply was met with an affirmative nod.

 

“You with me?”

 

“Always, brother.”

 

 

A loud warhorn rang out from the center of the line, then followed by warhorns at the flanks of the army. The command had been given, and the next moment brought about the thundering of thousands of hooves. Down did the crusading army descend from the peak of the mountain, the patting of hooves on grass soon turned to clomping as the cavalry made their way onto the paved roads of Driftwood Hollow. At first Thorin did not yet see the Vortician line, and only once the charging crusaders had rounded into the village square did they see a long line of pikemen braced and waiting for them. To falter now however would only mean losing the advantage, so on did the armored riders press.

 

The ringing of battle cries erupted from both the Crusaders and Vorticians as the lines were about to join. Adrenaline pumped through Thorin’s veins as he too joined the war cry.

 

“AVE RAVENMIRE! AVE SEDAN!” came the cries from the Ravenmirian contingent. “DEUS VULT!”

 

And thus did the cavalry crash into the Vortician pike wall. Some horses slammed into Vortician spearmen whilst others were thrown from their saddles and their horses slain. As Thorin accompanied the charging cavalry, he felt his braced lance snap with a surprising noise. When he turned to look, all he saw was the front of his lance skewered into a Vortician as the Prince continued to ride past. However, the Rostova had little time to think about the life he had just taken as he suddenly lurched forward, hurling out of his saddle and slamming directly into the same Vortician who had skewered his horse.

 

The cries of war were now joined with the clanging of steel and yelps of pain as the Vortician and Crusader armies did battle with one another. Thorin himself felt a steel fist clang against the side of his helmet, knocking him from atop the Vortician he had been flung onto. Instinct and years of training now took to the forefront of Thorin’s mind - If he wanted to make it out alive, he needed to forego his worries and embrace what he had been trained to do.

 

Thorin quickly withdrew a flanged mace from his belt as he laid on the ground, flinging it around in a wide arc back at the head of the Vortician. The mace caved in the soldier’s face guard with a sickening crunch, and a moment later blood poured out from the orifices in their helmet. The Prince then forced himself to his feet and withdrew a kite shield from his back whilst looking around at the ongoing battle.

 

What Thorin saw was a brutal yet one-sided affair. The booming charge of the cavalry had left the Vortician line in disarray, and now the crusader army had begun to scatter and pick off the remaining Vorticians group by group. Thorin saw his friend Owyn running a Vortician through with his longsword, having been dismounted as well, and rushed over to his side. After tapping Owyn on the back to let the Haverlock know he was by his side, the pair continued on together, covered in blood and dirt from the battle that had been raging.

 

Yet the battle did not continue much longer. The Vorticians, outnumbered and unable to hold off the Crusading army, quickly broke and scattered from the village, leaving it in Crusader hands.

 

“This day has been won!” came the cry of Calias Mareno, the primary leader of the Crusader army. The Mareno held up his sword into the air, thus proclaiming; “Driftwood Hollow is ours!”

 

The commander’s words were met by an uproar of cheers and cries of victory. Archers fired their crossbows into the air while the rest simply held up their weapons or hugged one another. As the adrenaline wore off, Thorin and Owyn clutched onto each other to support each other after being flung from their horses, holding up their weapons and cheering along with the rest of the army.

 

“DEUS VULT! DEUS VULT! DEUS VULT!”

 

[____Spectral____ 168]

Norido would pick up the missive as it was flying in the frigid wind at Ravenmire's mine, whilst on one of his routine mining trips; he'd glance over the missive, shocked to see the name of his vassal, he'd read then missive carefully, before responding in a tone full of resentment "Traitors. I remember when I helped these folks when they settled here, honestly I regret opening my heart to you. It appears that you are with the people who aided in taking my home from me; I'd always keep one eye open when you sleep from now on, if I was you. Once I'm done with Numendil, you're next, you can kiss my sword, utter filth." Norido would then violently tear up the missive, as the shreds of paper blew in the wind, he went back to preforming his mining duties.