CRP WAR | Ambush of the Valley [Narrative]

[DarkxWalker 248]

 

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Some battles are known only by the banners raised above them. Some are remembered by the names of those who fell. This one would be remembered by the sound it entailed.

It did not begin with steel, nor with prayer. Where the march of the Crusade wound beneath the shadow of the mountainous valley, the hooves of steeds and the clattering of armour carried through the pass like a hymn beaten into iron. The terrain was slick beneath them as every man and woman knew well enough that silence in such places was never truly that.

It was waiting.

The first cries came from the front of the Crusading expedition.

“Ambush!”

Then the valley answered. Down from the mountain came the blemished fiends of the Black Church.

They rode and crawled, slithering down from the heights in a rush of wicked shapes. Through brush and stone they came—riders shrouded in dark robes, beasts with maws too wide and eyes too hollow, mages whose hands pulsed with foul blight, and things that bore no kindly form ever granted by nature. Potions and vials flashed in their grasp as black air gathered before the once-blissful valley. The first bolts of spellcraft crawled across the distance long before any blade had found its mark.

Yet the Crusaders did not falter a moment.

Slowly, the Crusaders spread across the battlefield. Horses reared, and men brought their shields to bear. Yet the line did not break beneath the sight of that dreadful host. Orders rang through the valley—one after another—some lost beneath the thunder of the charging squadrons. Shields rose, crossbows were drawn, flasks were shaken. Beneath helms and through clenched teeth, prayers were whispered into the storm.

At the center of the battlefield, had the faithful begun to move as one.

War rarely grants such mercy. The first clash was a storm of error and violence—the Darkspawn did not rush as mindless beasts but as predators who knew to maim before they killed. They struck at the horses first, hurling flasks of smoke and calcifying dust. Shrill cries tore through the air, thickened by smog and sorcery. Barriers shimmered into being as the valley filled with vapors of hateful blight, until even the ground seemed to turn against those who rode beneath the Crusade’s banner.

Yet for every fiendish spell, a prayer was answered.

For every beast they let loose, a blade found its path.

First came Holy Sir Corswain pushing through the smoke as fire gathered about him. Sir Klaus’s laughter through blood and ichor, hurling himself into the fray similarly to a man who sought death. Ser Aelegor came beside him bearing a mace and a shield. Dame Julia pressed through the chaos with slayersteel in hand, steady where others may have faltered. Hannibal, Petyr, Yelizaveta, Wynith, Jon, Florian, Horace, Caius II, Jude, Merlin, Berengaria, Ser Aviel, Haraldr, the young Ithmere, and the others besides each found their place in the slowly widening storm. 

Above and around them, the valley turned into less of a battlefield.
Trees were dragged from sorcery and hurled into existence where no roots had once preceded.
A vulture of voidal precedent screamed overheard, diving upon the Crusaders.
A bear of bone clawed itself into the world as the Black Church struck.
For a time, it seemed as though the valley had chosen that of the Black Church—till the Crusaders answered in earnest.

Jude's voidal magic surged against the blemished enemy, the very earth bending beneath his will. Merlin called flame from the ground, shaping fire as though the night itself had been commanded to burn. A wizard stood before the Darkspawn, raising an ancient staff to summon a storm of fireballs that turned the valley into a terrible dawn. Petyr's holy flame swept outwards in deitic arcs, battering the wicked souls. The automaton—APA Warlock—rolled down like iron judgment, unyielding in his path. The High Pontiff did not falter either; his commandments rang through the ruins of the valley, gathering those scattered by defeat and exhaustion—binding them once more to a sacred purpose.

Yet, the Darkspawn pressed further.

The Dark Herald came forth, wreathed in abyssal flame. The Phoenix moved through the fray with stubborn malice, refusing to fall even when struck and driven back. Argal continued to swing with the strength of something refusing to die. The Chimera roared through the pain, bleeding black and still dragging itself forward. The Farmer barked orders as the Black Church began to shift from slaughter to survival.

Then the first one fell, Gardar.

It was no simple end. Gardar had been struck, speared, harried—then crushed beneath the unrelenting steel of the Crusaders. Sir Klaus drove into him with brutal resolve, followed swiftly by the pursuit of Ser Aelegor. The orc’s body tumbled down the mountainside before vanishing below, another fragment of the Black Church torn loose from its host.

For a moment, the Crusaders tasted victory.

Yet the valley did not concede that emblem of victory. Ser Sigmar was struck and overwhelmed beneath the press of the Dark Herald and Argal. His shield lay in ruins, his body battered, and his soul fading. At last, the knight fell into unconsciousness while the battlefield raged around him. Yelizaveta and Sir Leoni dragged him through painful agony as the Black Church tried to cut them down. Wynith turned to search for bandages to grant Sigmar one more breath. The assault was unprecendented—yet the Crusade did not falter one moment.

Alas, Stekvark returned to the motion of the field. Having been struck by smog and curses, battered by the Phoenix and stunned beneath the Lich's disastrous spells. He was forced more than once to turn away from death with blood at his respirator and pain clawing beneath his plate.

He drove his warhorse past the Vampire Lord—The Farmer—through the broken rhythm of enemy and Crusader alike. The primed potion of Tanglefoot left his grasp, arcing over the churned earth before descending upon a knot of Darkspawn, where the Dark Herald, Invidia, Krei, and The Phoenix had drawn too near.

A murky substance spread unto them, calcifying, drawing the momentum from their movement. What had once become retreat only turned into a struggle and stagger. The Black Church had come from the mountain like a storm yet the mountain seemed to clutch at them from below.

That was the opening: The Pontiff called for the Crusaders to press on, Sir Klaus advanced through the battlefield, Corswain's holy white flame gleamed further, Aelegor moved onwards, Dame Julia surged through the enemy unrelenting, Petyr's flame swept outwards, Hannibal, Jon and Sir Leoni pushed onwards. Florian, wounded and nearly defeated, brought himself forward. Horace struck at the machine that slaughtered his horse until its shell cracked and purpose failed. Merlin's fire descended upon the Gravelord, and the necromancer yelped as flame had found him, and Haraldr held the squadron from the North together. Ser Aviel did not falter either, coinciding with Cassian, Warlock and the rest.

Yet, upon the uneven hills, another hunt had already begun.

Lo’ Cassian moved less like a knight and more like a wolf let loose. He stalked through the broken rise of the mountain, prowling where others charged. The prey he found was not a simple creature of flesh, but Serisa, brought low beneath the weight of the Crusade as the wolf-like clad closed the distance and bound her fast, iron chains taking the place of teeth as she was dragged into captivity by the Hunter flawlessly.

The Black Church began to retreat.

The Farmer called for a withdrawal. The mages staggered back, the beasts turned. The wounded were dragged or abandoned. The Phoenix retreated through the smoke. Argal sought his allies. The Chimera backed away through its own ruin. The Lich, chained, looked over the field and offered farewell to her fleeing fiends. The Witch of Ruin pulled back and The Consultant vanished from thereon. The remaining Darkspawn gathered themselves to escape.

Still, the Crusaders pressed on.

They pressed as men and women half‑blinded by smoke—burnt, dented, and teetering on the brink of death. They pressed because the enemy was running. They pressed, for every step the Black Church lost was a step paid for in blood. They pressed because the valley did not belong to wicked souls, even when not one Crusader still had the strength to lift their own body. 

"Encircle the ones who have been hit, stunned, kill them to the last!"
"Let them see who shall flee thereafter."

The Darkspawn resumed to flee over the side from the grasp of mortality, scattering into retreat as spells chased them into the distance. The valley, so loud with screams and thunderous sorcery, began to empty of its fiends.

Soon, the rain returned to prominence. The groans of the wounded rose louder than the fading clash of steel. Smoke crawled low across the grass as thunder rolled away into the distance. Broken weapons lay scattered among shattered bottles and blackened patches of earth.

Six Darkspawn fewer than when it began.

When they passed the descent with such hunger, the Crusaders remained. Bloodied, burned, stunned, limping, yet alive. Around them lay the proof of the battle: dead beasts, disconnected sorcery, wounded camaraderie, and the fading echo of a retreat that had once been an ambush.

The valley had swallowed six, and the rest had scattered away.

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Spoiler

Apologies for anyone I forgot to include, there were far too many people.

 

Edited Monday at 11:10 PM by DarkxWalker

[Silly Zero 93]

 

Spoiler

 

[Baccaaa 490]

"And as you can see, nothing ever happens." An elvess told herself in the mirror, a calendar beside her of 'happenings' being decades outdated.

[Mordringfan 166]

The Frost Dwarf was eager to have his blades bloodened with the blood of the foolish crusaders, though such would not occur for some time...
 

Spoiler

Great event

 

[MailC3p 2402]

As the battle came to a close, the Phoenix found himself last from the battle as he licked his wounds dry and chipping away at the tanglefoot that found himself captured and strained. While he hadn’t managed any kills this battle there were a certain many crusaders who found themselves wounded at his hands today, blood of a mare dripping from his claws as it pooled on the ground beneath him. As the force found itself back in the church would he immediately regroup with his fellow Vampires, notably the Farmer, and the Consultant. Amongst the survivors of the battle there was chatter, however despite the loss would it seem there was high spirits, for they had managed quite well under the circumstances given to them that day.

 

Nodding his head to the Farmer, after a brief conversation would he dissapear into the expansive basement of the church. Lessons had been learnt indeed, and there was plans already in the works. But first, retiring to a coffin to sleep, even the wicked rest. 

[King_Kunuk 3022]

Spoiler

I remember deflecting that fireball with a bone wall bud. How dare you deny my aura!

 

[DarkxWalker 248]

3 hours ago, King_Kunuk said:

  Hide contents

I remember deflecting that fireball with a bone wall bud. How dare you deny my aura!

 

Spoiler

Next time... ;)

 

[Frisket 4537]

“Master… it’s begun.”

 

letters were being made by Vivien (Merlin). Some uncertainty in her voice as she muttered inside Vidnyrs tent in Sternfell.

[ProcaPro 557]

An Owl stormed from the field alongside it's fellows, rageful shrieks and cries following the chaos that was the flight from the valley. They had been battered by some faces they recognized and others the beast did not.

 

Yet one had stuck. That Templar with the steely eyes. The Owl did not know Corswain, but they might soon.

 

For now a table had to be flipped.

 

Spoiler

OOC note but this was a FANTASTIC encounter and I am very glad that we all fought as we did, looking forward to the next!

 

[Apotolofo 2204]

19 hours ago, DarkxWalker said:

Serisa

 

The Lich, SCRISA, gnashes her teeth in her cell. . . Her gaze flitting between those that guarded her- plotting her escape! 

 

Spoiler

 

Jokes aside, that was an AWESOME first event and I'm so excited for the rest of them. Nicely done everybody! 

 

It made me a little teary eyed with how kind everyone was to each other ;w;

 

 

[tantuni445 289]

Deep within the black church, in a ruined cave at the bottom of a pool of blood, a demon was digging his clawed hands into weathered parchments, torn books, and ancient inscriptions, having chosen not to participate in the initial stages of his kinsmen's struggle, arrogantly desiring to spend his time solely under his own command.
 

Yet, when the whispers of his subordinates and the messengers of his legion reached him,  demon sorcerer raised his hand. Who knows what horror lay hidden within that form concealed in a simple robe.
 

"You have underestimated mortals. Manling is fragile, yet tenacious." Aether hissed. "And now the troubles and failures you have caused must be resolved by us."
 

The back of his robe tore, a pair of wings appeared, the demon rose, and as he glided steadily through the air, his hands clasped behind his back.


 

"So be it."