RP:Attack at Dawn

From HollowWiki

Part of the Tales from the Row Arc


Synopsis: What begins as a peaceful morning for the Cenrili Knight Thurn and his men, is disturbed as Cenrili bandits attack his tent and burn his make-shift recruitment office to the ground. One of his four remaining knights is killed, another lays unconscious and now Thurn has begins to realize just how difficult the retaking of Cenril will be.

Characters: Thurn, Gwilym, Npc knights.

Location: Kelay,Cenril; Outskirts of Cenril




Thurn sat inside his tent, early morning had begun to set in around Kelay and the first light was soon to come. Two guards patrolled the outside of the perimeter and Thurn himself was soon to relieve one of them so they may sleep. His eyes looked over the various applications, a dim candle light making the text visible to read. They had so far, medics, healers, a few farmers, a hunter or two, and even a brawler off the street had all signed up and yet the numbers still looked to few to make anything significant. All in all he had about twenty applications and none of them had ever fought in a real battle or been through a war. A sigh could be heard as his hands gripped the seat of the chair and pushed out while Thurn’s body stood up straight and headed for the door. His shield was placed on his back, helmet fixed up tight, sword checked to make sure it was still in scabard, and finally the flap was lifted and the cold night air rushed over him. He tapped the man who had begun to make his pass, “You’re up for the night Ethan, thanks for keeping watch.” He began to make his rounds about the tent, deep breaths taken as he allowed the calm of the early morning to flood into his lungs.

Gwilym saunters out of the tavern from the north and off to the east, his face cringing at the prospect of actually going home, and more specifically, going home to who -or what- awaits. He gives the encampment a peering look, but continues past. The sun was beginning to appear, and if he wasn't home before it had crested over the horizon, he was in for a real bludgeoning. And, apparently, so too were Thurn's men on this fateful morn. Shadowy figures skirt the dark periphery of the shop behind the small knightly enclave. Several of them could be seen -well, not really- stalking silently to the outermost corner of the establishment. Twilight was fickle with what it revealed in the scant predawn light. The man ahead of the line bent out from hugging the wall for a moment, and turns his head to those behind him. He was whispering, and doing well to conceal their presence. Then, in an almost military fashion, three of those behind him dash past. Little could be seen of them behind the torches that they carry, but they were dressed in simple primitive armors; the three to be seen wore only linens and a leather jerkhin, and they had small daggers at their side. Three torches for the three men, wrapped with some sort of clothe and pitch set ablaze. They moved quick enough that they wouldn't be seen until the deed was done. The first of the three to draw close enough to the back of the tent tossed the contents of a glass jar upon it: some sort of oil, apparently. And then, in unison, all of the torches were thrown after it, setting it ablaze and creating a royal bonfire as black smoke billowed up into the air. A rallying cry ensued, and with a wave of the apparent bandit overseer, six more brigands charge out from the shadows, followed by himself to make a complete ten. A fearsome charge and well orchestrated, even if they weren't half as well equipped as their marks.

Smoke intercepted the peaceful scents that had continued to arrive through Thurn’s nostrils, his head turned about as he sought the source of the intrusion and was greeted by his tent being set ablaze. Anger and worry were the first emotions that were sent through the man as he charged into the tent, a loud shout could be heard from inside as he awoke the three sleepers inside. His charge continued as he went for the applications on the table, all gripped and then set into a chest on top of it and placed underneath his arm like a football. The knights and Thurn exited the tent, each moved with a haste that only the imminant threat of death could create as soon four knights found themselves out into the chaotic air of the early morn. Their eyes trailed about as they heard yelling and spotted Shren already in combat, apparently one of the bandits had gotten antsy and rushed forth into combat unaware of exactly who their opponent was. A parry here, shield brought up there, and a glance from the armor in the end was all the bandit happened to land before he met the terrifying blade in which Shren had held, the arm which once held a weapon soon fell to the ground and Shren took a step back to allow the man to retreat or continue combat.The four knights in back arched their bodies backwards, a massive unison voice could be heard as they screamed, “FOR CENRIL!” And soon the sound of metal clashing against the ground could be heard as they joined the fray and headed straight for the asailants, swords drawn and shields at the ready.

While honor is the driving force for these knights -and perhaps a healthy bit of fear at this point- rancor and greed motivate the brigands. They aren't as skilled with their armaments as Thurn and his men are, but they've secured a notable advantage of surprise, and hopefully in catching the knights unawares, they might be a little less equipped than they would be optimal for them. As one wirey knave swings out, both hands on his short-handled iron war axe, he finds himself making a mortal mistake. His momentum continues forward, after having it been deflected, and with one clean swipe his left arm is completely dismembered from the shoulder. He stumbles forward, mouth agape, in utter shock. Eventually, he falls back onto his arse, dropping his weapon and clutching at the gaping wound in an effort to stop the blood flow. His comrades, erstwhile, had made a more emthodical approach than was undertaken by this unfortunate fellow. Flames grow now to the point of being inextinguishable by physical means, and venturing into their cochiles to retrieve either armaments or goods would certainly be a deadly endeavor. Around the pyre moves three men, two armed with similar crude war axes, and one with a heavy weighted cudgel. These three engage the nearest foe, ganging up and acting like hounds bringing down a boar; when one sufficiently distracts the prey, he attempts to 'latch on' so to speak, whilst the others work to dispatch it. The apparent leader of the band, who is outfitted in a relatively regal armor including a chainmail shirt and coif over leather padding, takes up the other five men and approaches the knights from the front. He himself wields a war axe in one hand and a short dinner-plate sized buckler in the other. His cobalt gaze finds the mortally wounded underling, and coldly looks away with an apparent lack of sympathy. Six on four, with three approaching from their back: should make for a somewhat even killing floor, no? The larger group of bandits are less foolhardy in approaching the tightly packed, armor encased formation of knights. Three of them take hesitant steps forward, spitting at their foes. They taunt them to break rank, and for the time being, only the three bandits that have rounded the burning tent and began their assault from its old entrance engage in melee. They -all- are prepared, however, and simply await either command or counter to react. The charge is ceased, a loud yell heard as suddenly one of the knights is overwhelmed and killed by the three brigands. Their attention diverted as they realized a comrade has fallen. The formation changes as they are not allowed to mourn for Shren, their fallen ally, and instead now have to focus upon the battle at hand. They knew there would be casualties, knew there would be a fight and that loss would be had but so soon and from one they had spent such a great deal of time with? Rage was felt by the four individuals as they pressed their backs to one another and made a circle to prevent the iminant pincer from taking them without a challenge. The two who fought off three brandished their weapons with a sense of ease, shields raised to protect a large portion of their body and swords held poised and at the ready to strike. Thurn and Ethan stood at the front, a similar stance taken, as they prepared to fend off the incoming attack.

A brief repose finds the battlefield, silent for but the monstrous crackling of the fire and the rattling of the knights' plated armor. Oh, and the gurgled death cry of the one known as Shren. As his comrades mourn his loss, the three that brought him down celebrate it. Things have evened out a little more now for their favor, perhaps, trading a life for a life. "Eh, whatcha think, Nort?" asks one of the group of five to the mail-clad leader. He doesn't really acknowledge the question with any comprehensible order, merely grunts and nods. Somehow, in some way, it's understood as an order to fan out, and the entire group of bandits does just that. Nine of them surround the four knights, closing in and teasing them -just- out of swords' reach. Norton himself does not hesitate to stand at their shoulder, looking like themost capable of warriors amongst the rabble. They lunge in, then out, no attack as of yet, attempting to either lure the knights out of their formation or push them tighter into it. And then: the order. "Yar!" shouts Norton, raising his cudgel high. All of them, saving himself, engage the circle, two to every knight and fighting like mad dogs. Their targets are not the shields, nor their heads, but rather their weapons. Axes and clubs berrade their sword hands and brands that they hold, hoping to shock their arms enough to make their counterattacks less fruitful. A few of them ram the shields with their shoulders, attempting to knock the cumbersomely suited knights off balance while the other tenaciously tries to bludgeon them. Norton carefully surveys the goings-on, looking for the slightest opportunity to sieze against the foes. The very best of outcomes, short of them falling to the ground or dying, would be their formation growing too close and thereby rendering their weapons useless against the bandits. He seems to be the only one thinking here, while the others autonomously press the attack.

The attacks press on against the knights, as their sword hands find themselves busy parrying against attacks them seem to press on indefinatly. A loud howl could be heard as one of the brigands got in a lucky attack, the knight in question’s hand being pelted by their weapon and while the armor protected them the momentary damage had been done and his weapon was dropped to the ground before him, a new blade to replace the old moments after as he hid behind his shield. Should the man approach the shield in an attempt to finish off the injured knight the newly brandished weapon would flash from where he remained protected as the shield was pulled to the side and steel would streak towards his chest in an attempt to finish him. Another of the knights was a little smarter for as they went for his hand, the right side of his body pulled back and the left slammed forward at the man, shield aimed to smash into his frame. Ethan and Thurn seemed to have the most ease with the situation as their four assailants continued to swipe at their sword arms Thurn’s arm moved out to the side, sparks seen as the brigands weapon trailed down the side of Thurn’s armor and left his arm nice and exposed. A slash sent downward as Thurn moved to remove the attackers arm and all the while kept his shield faced towards the other assailant to protect against any further assaults. Ethan’s own move involved something a little more tricky for as his two rushed him, his foot kicked up dirt and aimed it for their eyes only to find his sword trailed a little lower and aimed for their necks. The criminals who’s attacks aimed to topple over the knights found that the footing of the experienced men was not something easy to remove until eventually the one’s who’s hand had been thwacked gave way and he stumbled to the ground and moved backwards, a small shout gave as the other three turned this circle into a triangle.

These knights were prepared and learned for shoulder-to-shoulder combat, whereas the bandits rely more on subterfuge and ambush tactics. One knave's arm is nearly cleaved off, and with a flood of adrenaline, he throws himself headlong at Thurn, who had done the cleaving, his other arm bringing a mighty clout down with his club; he was dying, and he wanted a swifter death than to bleed out like his unfortunate associate who still lay grovelling in the dust. Sun has shown its brilliant face now, glinting off of the knights' armor. One brigand is sent staggering back, and taking the opportunity granted by the shifting formation, he charges in a similar manner to his desperate counterpart, though he wields an axe. Shoulder back into the shield that had formerly struck him, he hacks across it, over where the potential thrust of blade might come. One knight hit the ground, and attempted to crawl away so as to preserve a uniform rank, and to his great misfortune, he finds himself looking up at Norton. A grin spreads across his lips. A heeled boot is sent at the man on his hands and knees, and raising his axe high, the weapon cuts through the air in a clockwise sweep after the aforementioned knight's head. Two brigands have fallen prey to the knight's discipline, one having been caught unawares by a hastily produced sidearm, and the other having nearly lost a limb, though the latter does not go down without a modest fight. The target of Ethan's cunning lingers back, shaking his head ruefully in an effort to regain his vision from the grit that embedded itself in his eyes. Likely lifting that heavily armored boot was tiring, and after swiping his eyes with his sleeve and regaining a bit of his visual faculties back, the knave advances on him. He extends a leg, hammering Ethan's shield with it, before bringing his cudgel down to strike the blade that inevitably would respond. There are now six bandits pressing the formation of three knights, and one of them probably won't last much longer with his injury and lack of caution. A second man pressures Thurn, who is at the forefront of the triangle and thus has no other man and blade to assist him, battering his shield and attacking from his right with a wide swing at his legs as his compatriot with little more than one arm wildly attacks high. The other four brigands facing the stronger part of the formation, assist eachother where they can, relentlessly following up with their blades, but trying to maintain some distance if not parlay the counterattack by smashing the shields in the fashion demonstrated by one of Ethan's assailants.

Dismay was seen upon the knights as the assailants were much more prepared then they had hoped to believe. As Norton’s attack came down it struck hard into the knight’s helmet much to his thanks and while it saved his life he was knocked out, hopefully the brigands might believe him dead. As the man’s arm was skewered from his body only to have him rush forward moments later, a skillful arm was raised to deflect the blow aimed at Thurn, a blade followed from the right and impaled the man who wanted his own death. As the steel retreated from the brigand’s body it turned into five on three which left one man with only one to attack and that man was Thurn. As the axe wielder comes forwards, shield seeks to meet him square on in an attempt to bluntly knock him off his feet and to the ground, the action to follow would be Thurn’s blade coming down for a quick death as he was impaled through the chest. Ethan kept his two busy for as one worked to rub dirt from his eyes Ethan advanced on the other, a hasty step taken towards him, their formation broken, as his sword came from an upper left strike, aimed to cleave head from shoulders. Armored body would then rush as the blinded advesary as he worked to slam him into the ground, arm worked to be grappled and eventually pulled upon until it was dislocated from it’s socket. The third knight in the formation also had his own two advesaries to deal with as his shield was battered and he kept losing ground, he feared he might soon place shoulder against shoulder of the others but found both had left their post. A grin found it’s way to his face as instead of any kind of slamming shield of knightly charge the knight began to circle around the duo, blows parried and blocked back and forth as he awaited a slip, a miss, another that could be used to his advantage, and finally one such error was found for as he attacked his leg took a step to far and the knight’s leg moved to stomp onto the criminal’s and shatter it in two underneath his massive weight. Chaos continued to ensue, early birds hid inside their homes, as all that could be heard through the night were screams and shouts, as men lost life and limb to the bloody fight outside the tavern.

The killing floor had turned to just that, a killing floor, with four bandits dead and a few dispatched on their behalf. Weapons clatter to the ground as two more assailants collapse in their final repose. Norton the leader stood over the man he had so swiftly struck, and spitting on him and giving him a stalwart kick, he stoops down to take his sword. A much finer blade than any he had the chance of holding. He twirled his wrist with it in hand, pleased at the trophy and completely ignoring the disassembly of the knightly troupe. When his eyes do lift, he sees his men in peril. They had backed off as the knights broke rank, staying well out of reach from their attempts to both grapple and stomp on them. They retreated, still facing the advancing men; there were four of them, sure, but the odds of battle had since turned against them. Norton, who made five, gave the order to flee. "Run, y'fools! They cannae catch us in them irons!" he shouted, and forsooth, because an unarmored man was much faster than a centurian such as these. The four did not need any further encouragement, and they took their cue, dashing off across the way and towards Sage forest. Norton carefully strafed across the thoroughfare, warily watching the knights' backs and holding his new longblade in hand, old war axe tucked into his rope belt. "Good t'see y'gin Sir Thurn," he says wryly. Unlike the other men, he had sustained nary a scratch. "Won't be th'last time, either."

Thurn watched as the enemies fled into the night and the man sighed as his sword was resheathed, taunts ignored as he worked hard to fix up what remained of his group. Eyes turned to Ethan, “Pile the corpses of the criminals off to the side, they can be thrown into the wilds later, as for Shren, we will burn his corpse this eve yet for now we must tend to our present wounds.” The knights shook their heads as they began to fix up everything and Thurn moved towards the box which held the applications. He moved towards the shop, it was time to find a new place to set up camp..