LA GLOIRE DRUSQUE

[MRCHENN 4741]

 

 

The morning sun cast long shadows across the fertile fields of Drusco when Ser Jon de Lewes set down his plow and wiped the honest sweat from his weathered brow. The old knight had risen before dawn to tend the land alongside his brothers-in-arms, Arnaud Mortimer and Louis d'Cole. It was Louis who first spotted the riders fleeing from the Margrave's keep. He cursed, pointing toward the distant castle. "Look there - Avistran colors!"

“They have Roger!”

Jon's aged eyes, still sharp from decades of battlefield vigilance, caught sight of the terrible truth. Among the fleeing horsemen rode a figure bound and helpless - their beloved Margrave Roger de Rouen.

Without hesitation, Arnaud sprinted toward the bell tower. The bronze voice of war rang out across the land, its deep tolling echoing from hill to hill. Within the space of Waldemer Keep, the courtyard filled with steel and fury. Knights emerged from manor houses, sergeants from their barracks, men-at-arms from their morning duties. One hundred twelve souls in total, each bearing the mantle of the Vydric Order

"Mount up!" Bohemond de Rouen commanded, his voice carrying the authority of his years.

"Brothers!" Jon's voice carried across the assembled host. "Our liege has been stolen from us by treacherous dogs. Will we let this stand?"

The roar that answered him shook dust from the stones. Armor was donned with practiced haste, weapons blessed with hurried prayers, and horses saddled with trembling hands. What followed was no ordinary pursuit. As the Vydric host thundered across the countryside toward Avistra, their horses seemed to gain strength with each passing league. Jon felt it first - a presence riding beside them, invisible yet unmistakable. The spirit of Edmond de Rouen, the ancient patriarch of their house, had awakened from his eternal rest to aid his descendants.

The very ground beneath their hooves grew firm and sure. When they reached the towering walls of Avistra's keep - walls that should have been impossible for mounted men to scale - their blessed steeds began to climb. Stone by stone, their horses ascended those sheer faces as if walking on level ground.  The Avistran sentries, lazy with false confidence behind their high walls, barely had time to cry out before Lucien de Savoie’s blade found their throats. The Vydric knights poured through the gatehouse like a tide of righteous steel, their war cries echoing through the courtyards.

In the great hall, the Avistran garrison hastily formed ranks. Perhaps sixty men in mail and leather faced the cloaked soldiers of Drusco. Their captain shouted commands while keeping the Margrave Roger bound at his side like a human shield. 

The clash was swift. Wilfred and Bohemond’s lances shattered the enemy's front rank like kindling, while Jon pressed through their center with the fury of his younger days alongside Arnaud. Three Avistran sergeants fell to Killian Greye and Louis d’Cole’s blades before they could even raise their guards. Around him, Hughes Ashes, Godfrey Suthermont, and Lucien Branleigh fought with divine purpose, each strike guided by sacred duty.

The battle raged with desperate intensity. Tables overturned, benches splintered, and steel rang against steel in the smoky hall. The Avistrans fought with the desperation of cornered rats, but they faced men blessed by St. Vydra himself.

When their captain attempted to use the bound Margrave as protection against their advance, he sealed his own doom. Lucien de Savoie, in a feat of arms that would be sung in the halls of Drusco for generations to come, vaulted over a fallen table and struck the treacherous captain down with a single, perfect blow that split him from shoulder to heart. With their captain dead and their ranks broken, the surviving Avistrans fled in terror. The Avistran garrison lay utterly broken, fourty of their number had found their graves in their own hall. Their survivors had scattered to the four winds like chaff before the storm.

Before departing with their Margrave, the Vydric knights secured their own prize - the Margravine of Avistra. She would be treated with courtesy due her station, but held until proper justice could be administered. Behind them, the walls of Avistra stood silent and broken, a testament to the price of treachery against the faithful servants of Drusco.

Victory to Drusco! Blood for Roger!

 

Spoiler

 

[nunlover 579]

Lucien would clean his blade, having fought for his Liege Lord.

[Navigator 4260]

Spoiler

omegalul

 

[Xtessisold222 484]

"It does seem this skirimish is a bit more interesting than I let on to believe" William said to himself within the confines of his beautiful river view house

[Nameless Blade 5]

Godfrey wipes his sword clean of blood, the sting of his maimed hand forgotten in the heat of battle, maimed by the very lord he now fought to free.

[Wonderland_Boy 1081]

Penelope would carefully read the missive, letting out an occasional chuckle as she read some lines "Do they truly think someone would ever believe in this Druscan propaganda? The sure know how to make me laugh"

[Boom_steel 538]

Killian Greyes nods in approval at the written account of the great Druscan knight. “GOD guided us.” 

[amyselia 2962]

Rosceline held her hands tight beneath the chin in nervous anticipation for the horn's ring of return; servants rushed about her, the Castle abuzz with turmoil and panic. When those brave brothers of the Vydric made their return, her husband among their serried ranks, she became the sun itself, and set plans to prepare medallions for the rescuers.