Battle Account: King's Justice

[Kardel 1054]

http://youtu.be/fPe717QqjCM

Through his tattered black helm adorned by dents and cracks, little could be seen. Blood mixed with dirt and sweat trickled down his forehead to his lips, the taste as foul as rotten flesh, the taste of defeat. The King's Justice looked around, only to find himself being dragged by two of his Drakna Akvel, as consciousness started returning to him slowly. What had happened, why was he here, what was he doing, who was he? Memory started returning to him slowly, at first his identity: the Thrummaz'th Akvelian, the King's Justice, protector of the rightful rulers of Urguan now and of those to come. A migraine had built up in his forehead, where a mace had hit him, and thoughts and feeling started returning to him.

"Where is the king? Is he safe?" Were the first thoughts to go through his head. All strength had gone from him, and even moving his eyes was a heavy and painful burden, but somehow he managed to, and found the king in the middle of a box of Drakna Akvel, to his relief. Dizziness found him quickly, as he went out cold again.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself under a huge arch of pure rock. Still weak from the battle, he did not bother to look around, but just laid there, on the cold snow. More memories rushed through his mind, and slowly he remembered what had happened, the battle of the snows, the battle of the cowards, the battle at Storm's Crossing.

The first thing he remembered was wondering how night had come so fast. Seconds into the battle, the sky darkened, the sun covered by a volley of arrows and stones from both sides. King Thorin and his other Drakna Akvel companions were close to him, all with their shields bared, holding them over their heads, forming a square around Thorin. Arrows splintered the wood and iron of the shields as arrows landed on them as a smith's hammer does on iron, but they held strong. The main priority was the king, not the battle. He remembered looking back at Thorin, the king having taken out his own bow to return fire.

The battle was at their advantage, they had the numbers, but seemingly no discipline. He remembered the unorganized numbers of the Kha and Dwarves, surprisingly later joined by a few thousand orcs, and later by Adunians. Accept the orcs and khas, most others were mostly green beardlings and adunian whelps, which proved fatal when it came to the charge, the charge that had cost them the battle.

They spent hours on their side of the bridge, trying to fight arrows with arrows, but it proved useless: they had to charge. Perhaps if the soldiers were disciplined personnel instead of green boys trying to play warriors and battles, they would have won the battle, but it was the spawn of Khorvad they were fighting against, and Khorvad had no love for them, and so he laid a veil of cowardice over the army of urguan. When it was time to charge, he remembered the few brave Orcs and Khas who charged across the bridge, aided by a very small number of dwarves and adunians, who were swiftly put down by the spears and arrows of the humans. Out of one hundred thousand dwarves, only a few hundred gathered up the courage to die like real sons of Urguan, and charged with their allies across the bridge to meet their end honorably. Before they knew it, the coward beardlings were running away.

The zeal they seemed to own before the battle had faded, along with their courage. At the first sight of Orenian soldiers, the cursed cravens ran, fleeting back to Storm's Crossing, but it was no use. The Black Dragon made sure no-one would escape that way, and sent the blackmonts to attack the unguarded left flank of the Urguan army.

The hammer fell swiftly upon the un-disciplined army of Urguan, as thousands of beardlings were killed in the charge of the blackmonts, what finally sealed the dwarves defeat. Meanwhile, another force rushed down straight into the distracted army of Urguan, claiming many lives in the name of the spawn of Iblees, the black dragon. It was this that he never expected, that the Orenian numbers would be so cleverly arranged and so well disciplined. That was his mistake, and a fatal one, as in the next few seconds arrows and spears pierced his armor, and he fell, stumbling upon a dead body at his heels.

When he got up, a fat Orenian brute was charging at him. With barely any time to pick up his sword, he simply lunged at the fat human, going for a headbutt into the creatures round stomach. His helm's horns met humanflesh almost instantly, tearing the tissue across his stomach, allowing his entrails to wriggle out like colorful worms, but not without suffering a blow from the obese creature's mace, something that knocked him out almost instantly.

Next thing he knew, he was here, in Blackmaul crossing. Now everything was blurry, it was difficult to move and painful to think, as his lids fell upon his eyes, veiling them in a cloak of flesh. Sleep slowly sneaked upon the Justice, consciousness leaving him, leaving him to ponder what was real and what was illusion, yet one thing was true and would always be true: they had lost this battle.

[Moot 1719]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.