Snuffing out the Light of Dawn (darkest X QB)
- Thread starter Kyubey
- Start date
"To me, my brothers!"
Forde cried out to his men. Countrymen, Brothers-in-arms...his siblings. Through dark times and through times of glory they had ridden side by side. They had fought with the Mad King, in service of their Motherland. No matter who they fight under, the hooves of their horses will thunder and their lances will taste blood, no matter whose own! Atleast, that's what Forde wanted to believe. They were nothing more than miscreants, cowards who feared death in the battlefield and begged their way out of the gallows. To kiss that bastard Jarod's ring...! No humiliation would prove far greater!
Forde was one of the Mad King's proud cavalier brigade, the same who served under his thrall. Generations upon generations of soldiers dedicated their service to the Motherland, through tyrants and through ruin, the military houses of Daein will not falter! Fed only crude barley and forced to sleep in stables, they possessed the tenacity men of Daein possessed. Horsemen from Beignon were nothing more than fatted calf feasting upon plundered bounty and rich wines. Unlike them, he would ride into certain death, determined to atone for his humiliation.
A soldier follows his orders even to the pain of death. Anything less is a coward and a fool.
"To me, brothers, to me!" he cried out. Amongst them lay the battered remains of their allies, killed with wounds to their backs trying to run away from the enemy. "Our enemies are nothing more than sellswords deluded by victory against the spineless armies of Beignon! Let us show them true Strength!" he cried out, their brave cries a truly intimidating show of force. Daein's cavaliers would chase their opponents until their horses would die from fatigue or their adversaries be slain with their blades. Unfolding from beneath his cuirass the tattered banner of the Mad King, he unfurled the standard as he placed it upon his lance, held upright as he steadied his foes. These 'people' whoever they are, would taste the true fury of Daein's wrath!
What started as a slow trot grew to the thundering of hooves, leaving only dust and hoof prints behind them. Lost in valorous fervor, they faltered not when met by arrows, crashing into the hastily made battle lines. The enemy must have thought they were routed and stretched far too thin, attempting to retake the enemy fortification. Hooves crashed and snapped ribs, trampling their enemy beneath them. Breaking through the lines they fell right into the middle of a frenzied melee, the sound of steel clashing deafening him.
And like none other, Forde fought like he had never before, the banner of the Mad King refusing to yield as he fought, unaware that he slew his fellow country men. No one had told him that he fought the Dawn Brigade, not a single soul present knew they turned their blades against a fellow countryman.
It was a delicious prospect that Jarod himself instigated.
Forde cried out to his men. Countrymen, Brothers-in-arms...his siblings. Through dark times and through times of glory they had ridden side by side. They had fought with the Mad King, in service of their Motherland. No matter who they fight under, the hooves of their horses will thunder and their lances will taste blood, no matter whose own! Atleast, that's what Forde wanted to believe. They were nothing more than miscreants, cowards who feared death in the battlefield and begged their way out of the gallows. To kiss that bastard Jarod's ring...! No humiliation would prove far greater!
Forde was one of the Mad King's proud cavalier brigade, the same who served under his thrall. Generations upon generations of soldiers dedicated their service to the Motherland, through tyrants and through ruin, the military houses of Daein will not falter! Fed only crude barley and forced to sleep in stables, they possessed the tenacity men of Daein possessed. Horsemen from Beignon were nothing more than fatted calf feasting upon plundered bounty and rich wines. Unlike them, he would ride into certain death, determined to atone for his humiliation.
A soldier follows his orders even to the pain of death. Anything less is a coward and a fool.
"To me, brothers, to me!" he cried out. Amongst them lay the battered remains of their allies, killed with wounds to their backs trying to run away from the enemy. "Our enemies are nothing more than sellswords deluded by victory against the spineless armies of Beignon! Let us show them true Strength!" he cried out, their brave cries a truly intimidating show of force. Daein's cavaliers would chase their opponents until their horses would die from fatigue or their adversaries be slain with their blades. Unfolding from beneath his cuirass the tattered banner of the Mad King, he unfurled the standard as he placed it upon his lance, held upright as he steadied his foes. These 'people' whoever they are, would taste the true fury of Daein's wrath!
What started as a slow trot grew to the thundering of hooves, leaving only dust and hoof prints behind them. Lost in valorous fervor, they faltered not when met by arrows, crashing into the hastily made battle lines. The enemy must have thought they were routed and stretched far too thin, attempting to retake the enemy fortification. Hooves crashed and snapped ribs, trampling their enemy beneath them. Breaking through the lines they fell right into the middle of a frenzied melee, the sound of steel clashing deafening him.
And like none other, Forde fought like he had never before, the banner of the Mad King refusing to yield as he fought, unaware that he slew his fellow country men. No one had told him that he fought the Dawn Brigade, not a single soul present knew they turned their blades against a fellow countryman.
It was a delicious prospect that Jarod himself instigated.
darkest_fate
machina erotica
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2009
- Location
- the INTERNET
Where had they gone wrong? Micaiah knew she wasn't the best of tacticians. There were several throughout the land that possessed that ability, including the one who worked for the Greil Mercenaries and a handful that worked for Beignon and even Daein. Yet, so far, Micaiah and her band had done quite well. They'd cut a swath through the forces that stood against them, had recruited several willing individuals, and had stood ready to reclaim the kingdom for good and light. Then, out of no where, reinforcements had arrived. They... they'd been too much.
"You all need to get to safety!" yelled Micaiah, waving her hands. She never struck an imposing figure, being a slight mage girl. No, the striking bit about her was the pure white hair, the golden eyes, the raw determination that shown from her. For this small girl had rallied forces, had drawn dozens of people into this conflict. You could easily look past the cute face and those wide eyes to see the truth. It was also just as true that Micaiah held a great deal of weight upon her shoulders, which was probably what gave her the heart that made men follow her.
Now, she used that to force a retreat, pulling back her forces. Only she and Sothe stood, holding a point and trying desperately to keep the others away, prevent them from their onslaught. Micaiah flung light spell after light spell, burning through a tome in her attempt at staving off the enemy. She already had a second one out, clutching it tightly and reciting the spells nearly from memory now. If this continued, she wouldn't be able to hold them off.
Desperate, Micaiah sought out their leader. She saw someone who rallied the forces: a bold cavalier with a pennant. She focused her energy and fired her spell directly at him, hoping that a lucky blow might end this conflict all the sooner. The less blood that was shed, the better Micaiah would feel in the end.
"You all need to get to safety!" yelled Micaiah, waving her hands. She never struck an imposing figure, being a slight mage girl. No, the striking bit about her was the pure white hair, the golden eyes, the raw determination that shown from her. For this small girl had rallied forces, had drawn dozens of people into this conflict. You could easily look past the cute face and those wide eyes to see the truth. It was also just as true that Micaiah held a great deal of weight upon her shoulders, which was probably what gave her the heart that made men follow her.
Now, she used that to force a retreat, pulling back her forces. Only she and Sothe stood, holding a point and trying desperately to keep the others away, prevent them from their onslaught. Micaiah flung light spell after light spell, burning through a tome in her attempt at staving off the enemy. She already had a second one out, clutching it tightly and reciting the spells nearly from memory now. If this continued, she wouldn't be able to hold them off.
Desperate, Micaiah sought out their leader. She saw someone who rallied the forces: a bold cavalier with a pennant. She focused her energy and fired her spell directly at him, hoping that a lucky blow might end this conflict all the sooner. The less blood that was shed, the better Micaiah would feel in the end.
"In the land of our fathers, shed their blood!"
"HAIL!"
There can be nothing more frightening than the bellow of a soldier's praise in the thick of combat. Louder than the ring of spears or the clash of blades, true courage was found in the thick of battle. In the end, Forde was disappointed. To think the occupation forces would run from these miscreants, such worms! Truly those self-righteous Apostle-followers have no spine at all! Bowing lightly he punched his lance through an enemy, thrusting through the poor fellow as his lance severed all life from him. Sad, isn't it? It takes years to raise life yet it takes mere seconds to end it.
The men of Daein fought to the bitter end. Wounds mattered not as long as they could raise a weapon in return. Frightened by the sight of a soldier who snapped off the handle of a lance plunged into his side, a Cavalier dismounted, his breath heavy and his blade seeking vengeance. Life was so short, hence every second of it must be used in service of Daein. That man fought to his last, taking down two more before his own life gave way. Gritting his teeth, Forde could only wade in this river of blood.
Yet, he stood defiant, the banner of the Mad King stood proud, an indication to their men that the fight raged on. They numbered low, but their fighting spirit was easily twice that of the men that this little band had fought against. With an arrow to his right, he flung his spear towards a lowly archer, spearing him through the chest, guaranteeing an instant and painless death with a spear through his heart. Their fighting had truly shaken their foes even as the Occupation army tried to scramble back to fight against them.
Standing straight, he was slowly enveloped by a pillar of light, blinding him briefly and searing his skin underneath. Forde frowned. Magic? How rare. Pulling a lance from the hands of a fallen comrade, Forde charged towards it's source, only to be met by two blades. Green hair...a kid? "Hhhrrrggga!" their weapons met steel to steel, considerable fighting ability for someone so young. Who would bring children to fighting a man's war? It was honestly despicable! Of course that wasn't just the end of his troubles, another searing light charred the ground he stood in shortly after he dodged to the right. Met with a blade to his shoulder, he could feel the blood steadily trickling. Such Knifeplay. However...
Forde charged towards the man, easily dodging the light spells that followed. He raised his shoulders slightly to block his knives. The one thing about hand to hand fighting was to know the limit of your weapon. Foolish boy, the moment he saw an opening he sought to end it then! Taking his attack by his arm, with the young man having nowhere to dodge, he ended his life by piercing through his throat, the lance punhing through his scarf as he lay, choking as he breathed his last.
The moment he acknowledged his own victory, Forde limped, drawing his blade as he pointed it to his foe. It was then that his eyes widened. S-s...silver hair...No!
Before that, a hail of arrows pelted the sky, barely missing the young lady but the rest of her band was not so lucky. The battlefield slowly cleared up, the remnants of the army slowly scrambling away while the rest of the Occupation forces chased after them. Wh...what had he done?!
He had struck against his fellow countryman, pitting his own friends against people who lived in this land!
"HAIL!"
There can be nothing more frightening than the bellow of a soldier's praise in the thick of combat. Louder than the ring of spears or the clash of blades, true courage was found in the thick of battle. In the end, Forde was disappointed. To think the occupation forces would run from these miscreants, such worms! Truly those self-righteous Apostle-followers have no spine at all! Bowing lightly he punched his lance through an enemy, thrusting through the poor fellow as his lance severed all life from him. Sad, isn't it? It takes years to raise life yet it takes mere seconds to end it.
The men of Daein fought to the bitter end. Wounds mattered not as long as they could raise a weapon in return. Frightened by the sight of a soldier who snapped off the handle of a lance plunged into his side, a Cavalier dismounted, his breath heavy and his blade seeking vengeance. Life was so short, hence every second of it must be used in service of Daein. That man fought to his last, taking down two more before his own life gave way. Gritting his teeth, Forde could only wade in this river of blood.
Yet, he stood defiant, the banner of the Mad King stood proud, an indication to their men that the fight raged on. They numbered low, but their fighting spirit was easily twice that of the men that this little band had fought against. With an arrow to his right, he flung his spear towards a lowly archer, spearing him through the chest, guaranteeing an instant and painless death with a spear through his heart. Their fighting had truly shaken their foes even as the Occupation army tried to scramble back to fight against them.
Standing straight, he was slowly enveloped by a pillar of light, blinding him briefly and searing his skin underneath. Forde frowned. Magic? How rare. Pulling a lance from the hands of a fallen comrade, Forde charged towards it's source, only to be met by two blades. Green hair...a kid? "Hhhrrrggga!" their weapons met steel to steel, considerable fighting ability for someone so young. Who would bring children to fighting a man's war? It was honestly despicable! Of course that wasn't just the end of his troubles, another searing light charred the ground he stood in shortly after he dodged to the right. Met with a blade to his shoulder, he could feel the blood steadily trickling. Such Knifeplay. However...
Forde charged towards the man, easily dodging the light spells that followed. He raised his shoulders slightly to block his knives. The one thing about hand to hand fighting was to know the limit of your weapon. Foolish boy, the moment he saw an opening he sought to end it then! Taking his attack by his arm, with the young man having nowhere to dodge, he ended his life by piercing through his throat, the lance punhing through his scarf as he lay, choking as he breathed his last.
The moment he acknowledged his own victory, Forde limped, drawing his blade as he pointed it to his foe. It was then that his eyes widened. S-s...silver hair...No!
Before that, a hail of arrows pelted the sky, barely missing the young lady but the rest of her band was not so lucky. The battlefield slowly cleared up, the remnants of the army slowly scrambling away while the rest of the Occupation forces chased after them. Wh...what had he done?!
He had struck against his fellow countryman, pitting his own friends against people who lived in this land!
darkest_fate
machina erotica
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2009
- Location
- the INTERNET
For a few seconds, Micaiah thought their desperate ploy had worked. They had rallied, surged forward, her light spell seeming to greatly disorient and damage the key player. Sothe had even charged forward, showcasing skills that Micaiah hadn't even known him to possess. Then, in an instant, it all ended. Micaiah's eyes went wide, tears flowing from her face. A hand extended helplessly as she watched her closest friend and companion perishing. Soon arrows ran down, and Micaiah yelped, falling back. Death, death all around her.
A sword pointed at her throat, and the Priestess of Dawn looked up at the man who held it. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but they still narrowed into slits, the woman finding steel from somewhere deep within. "You may end me here, but you will not stop Daein! We will regain our autonomy, no matter what you do!"
The man seemed to quiver though, as if uncertain himself. Micaiah swallowed, feeling her body shaking, her nerves shot. What... what was going on here? He seemed to recognize her. That was to be expected; she wasn't exactly easily mistaken for someone else. She had become a symbol of their rebellion, the leader of their brigade. She'd hated it, but she'd been forced to acknowledge its benefits. Now, it seemed to be dragging her further down.
"What are you waiting for?" she demanded, her voice nearly choked. "Finish me!"
For she knew she could continue... as a martyr if nothing else. There was no other hope from here, no other rescue for the priestess...
A sword pointed at her throat, and the Priestess of Dawn looked up at the man who held it. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but they still narrowed into slits, the woman finding steel from somewhere deep within. "You may end me here, but you will not stop Daein! We will regain our autonomy, no matter what you do!"
The man seemed to quiver though, as if uncertain himself. Micaiah swallowed, feeling her body shaking, her nerves shot. What... what was going on here? He seemed to recognize her. That was to be expected; she wasn't exactly easily mistaken for someone else. She had become a symbol of their rebellion, the leader of their brigade. She'd hated it, but she'd been forced to acknowledge its benefits. Now, it seemed to be dragging her further down.
"What are you waiting for?" she demanded, her voice nearly choked. "Finish me!"
For she knew she could continue... as a martyr if nothing else. There was no other hope from here, no other rescue for the priestess...
Regret was something no soldier should have: he had felled men with families and simple lives. Why else did he hesitate trying to bring steel across her throat? The blade pointed right at her neck as she nestled at her lap the body of a fallen comrade. There was no mistake. Silver hair. This was the girl who had been heralded by the oppressed peasantry to be their deliverance, their hope. Even Forde had prayed that she would deliver them from their oppressor...to liberate him from the shame of serving their conquerors, licking the boot that had so ruthlessly stamped down on the ambitions of the lowly and the hopes of many.
His blade quivered, unlike the proud soldier that Forde was once. All his life he had lived in humiliation, cleaning up after the demands of their conquerors, running away from an honorable death in the battlefield. Yet...he had not the decency to even bring her to rest with her friend in the afterlife. He dropped his blade. Closing his eyes, he looked away, simply marching away from her as he glumly marched even as she tried to back away from a few soldiers who had hoisted her steady.
Forde resorted only to grasp the tattered banner of the Mad King. Pride had left him that day, even as the only hope of Daein would go away in chains awaiting her execution. And it was...all his fault!
The soldiers had slowly approached Micaiah, ill intent plainly read form their eyes. Of course, their weapons drawn made it easy for them to surround her, strong arms grasping her steady, two sets of arms holding her steady, forced to her back to keep her in line. Amidst what could be a playful struggle, the men divested from her the beautiful blue scarf she wore, trampling it beneath their feet and soaking in the blood of her fellow countrymen. "There there kid, no need to struggle!" said one, who helped himself to hit her backside. Of course, without lingering there for a bit.
She was dragged along, made to kneel by force when the handle of a lance struck the back of her knees making them buckle. Her neck against a tree stump, a man took what looked like a heavy stockade, supposedly for humiliation as they set her neck onto the largest groove, setting her wrists onto the ones adjoined to it. No matter how hard she squired, she was locked into it, a tight padlock ensuring that it would remain steady. Forced up by a leash, she was made to stand between them, their hands probing here and there as she was pushed around the circle.
"Hehehe, so much for the 'Maiden of Hope'! I 'hope' you'll love what we've got planned for you!" he joked, his hands roughly rubbing against her breasts. The man from before merely looked at the ragged standard even as for a cruel joke, they grasped the insides of her tights, slipping away her pantyhose to reveal the skin of her smooth, milky thighs. Of course they didn't bother removing it, perhaps keeping it at ankle level without force to impede her movement.
His blade quivered, unlike the proud soldier that Forde was once. All his life he had lived in humiliation, cleaning up after the demands of their conquerors, running away from an honorable death in the battlefield. Yet...he had not the decency to even bring her to rest with her friend in the afterlife. He dropped his blade. Closing his eyes, he looked away, simply marching away from her as he glumly marched even as she tried to back away from a few soldiers who had hoisted her steady.
Forde resorted only to grasp the tattered banner of the Mad King. Pride had left him that day, even as the only hope of Daein would go away in chains awaiting her execution. And it was...all his fault!
The soldiers had slowly approached Micaiah, ill intent plainly read form their eyes. Of course, their weapons drawn made it easy for them to surround her, strong arms grasping her steady, two sets of arms holding her steady, forced to her back to keep her in line. Amidst what could be a playful struggle, the men divested from her the beautiful blue scarf she wore, trampling it beneath their feet and soaking in the blood of her fellow countrymen. "There there kid, no need to struggle!" said one, who helped himself to hit her backside. Of course, without lingering there for a bit.
She was dragged along, made to kneel by force when the handle of a lance struck the back of her knees making them buckle. Her neck against a tree stump, a man took what looked like a heavy stockade, supposedly for humiliation as they set her neck onto the largest groove, setting her wrists onto the ones adjoined to it. No matter how hard she squired, she was locked into it, a tight padlock ensuring that it would remain steady. Forced up by a leash, she was made to stand between them, their hands probing here and there as she was pushed around the circle.
"Hehehe, so much for the 'Maiden of Hope'! I 'hope' you'll love what we've got planned for you!" he joked, his hands roughly rubbing against her breasts. The man from before merely looked at the ragged standard even as for a cruel joke, they grasped the insides of her tights, slipping away her pantyhose to reveal the skin of her smooth, milky thighs. Of course they didn't bother removing it, perhaps keeping it at ankle level without force to impede her movement.