THE DEFENSE OF MONT COLLIER

[nunlover 579]

 

 

 

Haply, on the eighteenth of the Owyn’s Flame, two-thousand and seventy-four, a band of four peasants did stumble upon the Archduke of Alba amidst his good people in the Square of Saint Godwinsburg. Much to his surprise, they did voice their great dissatisfaction with the levies set upon their countryside homes of Little Furnestock, a sum of but thirty mina at the end of every year.    These very same men, in truth, were Squires of the Order of the White Hart, who did encourage the folk of the Realm to join the Black Banner for its fair wages, as they themselves did receive a stipend of sixty mina every year. Yet impatience and greed did prevail amongst these men, for after a short period, they did abandon their squirehoods, discontented that knighthood had not been granted unto them with greater haste.   And still, as beneficent as he be, they insisted the Archduke had grown aloof, knowing not the matters that did affect the Alban Realm. Their insolence continued until at last the Archduke commanded their arrest. And when one among them did raise a hand against his alleged liege-lord, striking him in open defiance, he did call for their deaths.   Blessed were they for the Emperor Marcus was present, and in his mercy did he so grant them pardon and refuge in the Imperial Capital of Rittersburg. Now, years hence, they hold grudges still, and have began to fester in the Rittersburg countryside, intent to march upon Alba once more.

 

“Hark, sir, I hath spotted the serfs across the river, nigh to Rittersberg. Some two dozen or so of them, armed well for the serf militia they claim to be.”

 

Their coming, so foretold by a recruit of the Black Banner.  In response, men of the Black Banner and the Österland Company mustered their own forces. Banners fluttered in the breeze: the White Eagle of the Östlunders, the Silver Steed of Dover, the Fleur-de-Lis of Artois, and at the helm of them all, the Golden Dragon of Alstion. Swords and spears gathered at the gates of Saint Godwinsburg, as the men and women of Alba flocked to the Alstion call. From the city and from the province they came, ready to die under the Black Banner. 

 

“Listen” barked the Shield of Johannes, Sir Everett, “ for the realm bleeds. Bandits swarm at our gates. They dress as peasants of Little Furnestock, rising against the Alstions. They are a rot, nothing more. A pack of wayward cutthroats on the move, no better than the Salvian menance.” 

 

Standing before the levies at Sir Everett’s side, Mayor Andres called to Alba the stakes: “If they breach our walls, they shall certainly pillage and burn all we hold dear!”

 

Roused by their Officers, and made fervent beneath the high noon Sun, two and thirty hundred good men and women of Alba, low and highborn alike, did gather in the Saint Godwinsburg Square, clashing sword to shield, ready to face their foe in battle, for the defense of their beloved Realm. 

 

When they arrived at the top of Mont Collier, polished lines of steel opposed the Albans. 

 

“Where are the fellow Little Furnestockians? I see none here!” cried out a young Alban recruit, of that selfsame hamlet. 

 

His gaze and that of his comrades beheld well-armed men and women, speaking in tones unknown to Albans:

 

                                                        “GOD IS WITH US! BASTARDS!”

                                      “GOOOODDD IS WITH US!!” “GOD IS WITH US!”  

                                                        “GOD WITH US” “GOD IS WITH US! NO WAR BUT PEASANT WAR!”

        “REMEMBER, GOD FAVOURS THE RIGHTEOUS!”

 

 

  

GOD did indeed favour the righteous. With a cry of charge from Sir Everett, the ever unbroken Knight Commander, The Black Banner’s cavalry line slammed into the huddled mass of brigands. What few of the foe were on horseback fell to the ground in that instant, forced off by lances and the crash of horses. On foot followed the levymen of Alba, bloodying the hillside with their quarrel. When horses fell, slain, from under Everret’s brigade, their riders rose again, bruised and muddied, to fight with sword and axe. Brave knights of the White Hart, such as Sir Janos Hotspur, joined simple levy militiamen, standing tall upon that bloodied soil in the defense of Mont Collier. The clash of steel and cry of battle rang out shrill from high, to be heard down in Orchere and as far as Little Furnestock. 

 

Those brigands who succumbed to cowardice, and tried to flee, were met swiftly by lance and spear in an Östlunder chase. Rickard Kuzorav brought his charge, unflinching both, rider and steed, down upon one fleeing ne’er-do-well, crushing the brigand beneath him. Bandits, stumbling down the mountainside, careening into each other. Conrad Jrent’s scattered foe lasted for but a few seconds longer than their less cowardly compatriots. 

 

“On them, lads, on them! Let them not escape to 

pillage the countryside!” called out Sir Janos.

 

Though bloody, the battle lasted naught but five saintly minutes. Victorious, having lost not even a single soldier, the Black Banner and their Östlunder comrades looked over the gored hilltop of Mont Collier. Before them lay their enemy host, entirely slain. 

 

So the victorious Albans return to their homes and barracks, singing along to the drums and horns as they march. 

 

                                                                               “TANDEM TRIUMPHANS”

                                                         “AVE ALBA”“GOD SAVE THE ALSTIONS”

        “GOD SAVE THE ALBAN PEOPLE”“GOD SAVE ALBA”

  “GOD FAVOURS THE RIGHTEOUS!”

 

 

 

[Mattiii 1663]

The gates of Spencer Tower stood open to receive the returning host, and within its courtyard did the spoils of Mont Collier gather in grim abundance. There, upon the gravel, lay split helms, shields cast aside, and arms enough to furnish a lesser army, all heaped in orderly piles as soldiers of the Black Banner moved to sort what had been taken.

At the fore of it stood the Archduke, his steely-grey gaze cast over the scene, his eyes marginally wider with disturbance. The field had been won in but mere moments, yet here lay the proof of how near the Realm had stood to something far worse. "Such men call themselves peasants. . ." He murmured, tracing the Lorraine over his breast. 

"GOD bless Alba."

 

[mojanghunter 566]

Atop the bloodied fields of Mont Collier stood the Duke of Furnestock, so bewildered to behold these brigands so well-armed. “Had I known them able to afford such fine steel, I’d have taxed double!”

Edited April 12 by mojanghunter

[ErosTea 1084]

The Peasant, William of Little Furnestock, rejoiced aloud and well for peace had been restored to his quiet hamlet. "Af all the peasant folk attacking 'pon the field, there be nay a face I recognized from Little Furnestock." 

[Radzig 747]

Down the slope of Mont Collier he rode with the Östlunders at his flank, the earth trembling beneath the thunder of hooves. The rout had already begun, men breaking, casting aside what little order they held, their cries lost to the wind and the iron roar behind them. Johann leaned forward in the saddle, gauntleted hand tight upon the reins, the other lowering his lance. His destrier surged beneath him, foam at the bit.

 

Ahead, a man stumbled, turning once, wide-eyed, as if to plead, or curse, or pray. He bore a rough gambeson, matted hair, and by the looks of it he was no older than sixteen.

 

The lance struck true. The force of it carried through bone and cloth alike, hurling the boy from his feet and into the dirt where he lay still. Johann wrenched the shaft free as he passed, already turning his gaze upon the next. To his right, an Östlunder rider brought his steed crashing into two fleeing figures, scattering them like chaff. To his left, another cast a spear into a man’s back, sending him sprawling face-first down the incline.

 

"Drive them!" Johann called. "Let none break past the hill!"

 

At last, as the final straggler fell beneath Östlunder and Alban steel, Johann drew his horse to a halt. The beast stamped and snorted beneath him, streaked with sweat and blood. Then, without a word, Johann von Preussens turned his steed and rode back to the host.

 

[Emery 958]

Conrad Jrent held the Östlunder flank as the enemy line broke upon Mont Collier, the White Eagle snapping above him in the wind. He drove his horse downhill into the fleeing mass, lance striking once before splintering, his sword drawn in the same breath. Men scattered before him, tripping over stone and one another, yet Conrad did not slow, cutting them down as they ran.

 

One among them turned to face him, a peasant warrior with a battered blade and just enough courage to stand. Conrad reined in, meeting him on the bloodied slope. Their steel rang once, twice, the brigand’s blows wild but fierce, until Conrad stepped through his guard and felled him with a single, decisive stroke. Without a word, he pressed on, remounting the chase as the Östlunders closed in, leaving no path of escape for those who dared flee.

[Denmat0407 166]

Spoiler

wut happened lmao?

 

[MRCHENN 4741]

Zgregs 'Derfei' Alstion stood before the troops upon that day, and imparted unto them a great truth.

 

"I had someone tell me I fell off, ooh I needed that... 🎶"

[KaiserJacobII 1456]

After the battle, the Heir d'Artois, having emerged victorious aside his Alban comrades, does mourn. His beloved steed was slain from under him up upon Mont Collier in the charge of the brigand lines. 

 

 

[Cheese 8880]

“You know,” commented one Alban, displaced to the Highlands, to one of her trusted servants, “It was my good cousin’s theory that my Father’s murder was orchestrated by such unruly peasants.”

 

She couldn’t help but smile.

“Let them finally get the justice they deserve.”

[DuhPuhWuh 1282]

The simple Black Banner retainer Barry had tasted first blood during the skirmish atop Collier. He felt immense pride that he had arisen to defend the Alban realm alongside the grand Knights of the White Hart, Duke of Furnestoke and Archduke himself. Perhaps the cooks would bring the men a roast hog for their supper that eventide, in Spencer Tower.

[Boom_steel 538]

The seasoned warrior Raoul knelt in the dirt after the dust of the battle had long dissipated. “From dust we came, and to dust we shall return.” He uttered a simple prayer for the fallen, enemy and ally, head bowed and eyes closed.

[Vikenz 1162]

r

[Tornaedo 1249]

Aladeen  Allison Burgers stood their proudly as the Albanese annihilated those oddly well-geared soldiers  bandits.

[LithiumSedai 5750]

"A man must know to mind his betters," thought Egon von Alstreim to himself, reflecting on the pureblood Waldenian noble heritage of his ancestors - spanning centuries - before wiping the sweat off his immensely pale, aristocratic forehead. He planted a banner of Merryweather amidst the scores of peasantry slain upon Mont Collier by him and his knightly brethren.