Fall, 1326
Regis de Trobliand groaned. His plan had been intricate, with three sequential phases that relied on synchronous timing, but his backup plans had been well worked out, organized to the minute, and everyone involved had been drilled repeatedly and was aware of the potential roles they would need to take on. Yet things were already falling apart by the first move. Guards were running towards the cliff side and all around them horns and cries echoed the alarm was being raised. On the promontory, the gunners had extinguished their pipes and were at the ready, meaning that De Trobliand’s forces could not go into action without being instantly annihilated. The Normad cocked his crossbow and waited for any opportunity to join in the assault.
Heavens knows how things would continue from here.
***
Mera perked up when he caught the din of fighting. The battle was starting earlier than he had expected and he was still working his way through the pine forest to his position meadow across from the Coriolian Scorpion. Nevertheless, the dragon immediately galloped over to a shrub-filled clearing and leaped off, unfurling his wings mid-jump and taking off into flight.
***
“Kill him!” Someone yelled as Logan was quickly confronted by a dozen militiamen armed with spears and axes. A few foolish individuals attacked immediately: one soldier charged forward with his ax swinging overhead, quickly followed by another thrusting wildly with his spear and more militia following suit. Logan easily ducked under the singing ax head and jabbed the attacker in the shoulder, then immediately dodged the swing of the spike, using the shaft of his own awlpike to knock that assailant over to the side of the cliff. With one smooth motion, the hunter immediately followed up by raising his polearm overhead to deftly parry the blade of bill thrust toward him, then moved back, dodged a slice from a scythe, kicked away that wielder while exchanged blows with an incoming swordsman.
“Die you Volscian dog!” The swordsman yelled, slashing with minimal ability at the hunter.
“I think not.” Logan replied, driving his opponent’s sword downward with his awlpike, then quickly elbowed his opponent in the stomach, thrusting his blade through his attacker’s neck. The swordsman vainly grabbed at his own throat, spraying blood like a spring, before toppling over. Perhaps overly dramatic, Logan thought, but it was effective. The other individuals stopped their uncoordinated attacks and began falling back. Someone in the distance began firing wild volleys of arrows at the hunter, which he easily blocked by raising his shield. However, this pause also gave the militia time to regroup, and realize their advantage in numbers. Quickly a large mass unbroken of opponents had accumulated in front of him.
“Together now! Drive him off the cliff!” A captain called out from the crowd with his sword raised.
The militia kept their distance, but slowly began moving forward, wildly jabbing with spears or thrusting with swords from the shelter of a shield wall, slowly pushing Logan towards the side of the abyss. Logan decided he needed help immediately.
Where was the dragon when you need him?
***
By this time the dozen members of the mercenary gun crew had readied, loaded and primed the Scorpion and the gunner was scanning the surrounding region for enemies, slowly swinging the fieldpiece in a long arc around the camp. He quickly ignored the lone attacker now being swarmed by troops and circled past the tents, stables, warehouse, and guard towers, past the bone-dry meadow, two heavily wooded knolls over the sill dropping off to the emptiness of Kern Canyon and then simply empty sky-
And the winged behemoth flying towards him
“Dragon!” The gunner screamed
Panic immediately broke out among the gun crew.
“The dragon is attacking?”
“Hold!" The captain roared. The scorpion gunners were nervous, but they were experienced, and they stopped to listen to their commander. The captain pointed at the flying creature strafing the encampment, but evidently not yet noticing their presence. "Reposition the gun! We must destroy it!”
“The Royals want it taken alive.” The gunner called.
“Well Lord Fairfax wants it dead.” Came the reply. “He can sort it out with the king. Take it down!”
Quickly the gun swung into position as the gun crew dutifully turned their full attention to the dragon.
***
Soaring through the air, the dragon quickly came upon the encampment. Without further ado, it folded its wings and dived towards the watchtowers and tents. Strangely most of the enemy troops were facing inward, away from the outer perimeter, and large masses of troops were charging towards the center of their camp, their spears and swords half ready for fighting. The dragon was spotted just as he reached firing range, throwing the militia into panic.
“The dragon’s here!”
"No!"
“We have to kill it!”
“Run!”
"Flee!"
Before any of his opponents could sort out their plethora of commands and actually respond, Mera threw out a sheet of flame, incinerating a large mass of the surprised infantry, and throwing the rest into confusion. Many fled for cover while some others organized into battle lines and called forward their archers. Dozens of foot- and spear-men charged toward the dragon, thinking that Mera would land and allow them to quickly swarm over the him. However, the wyrm was smarter than that, opening its powerful wings and beating backwards so as to stop its rapid descent, while simultaneously throwing back the attacking infantry with powerful gusts of wind and knocking them to the ground. Before the downed militia could recover, the dragon then lowered his head and set them all aflame. Gathering the air currents, the dragon soared back upwards, attacking and scattering masses of troops.
All over the field of battle, archers drew their bows and fired at the dragon; however, the speed and range at which Mera was flying meant that nearly all of the arrows either fell short or ricocheted off his scales. The wyrm shrugged off these attacks, continuing his harassment of Lord Fairfax’s troops. Still things were starting to heat up: more and more troops were now firing at Mera, and every time he swooped down to strafe troops were waiting to pin him to the ground with their spears, forcing him to break off his diving runs earlier.
Strange. Where the hell were Logan and the rest of the humans? Weren’t they supposed to be doing something?
The dragon sighed as he blew a wall of fire through the middle of the encampment. Typically human. While he was fighting this entire encampment of militia the rest of them were fucking around heavens-knows-where.
Well, they’d better hurry; the dragon thought as an arrow came damn near to taking out an eye, he couldn’t hold these buggers off forever.
***
Logan was backing up ever closer to the cliff face, fending off jabs from spearheads and trying not to think of the definitely fatal 100-foot drop behind him when suddenly there came the sound of blowing wind, the crash of descending infernos, the crackle of flames and the screams and yells of death and devastation. The dragon had come to the rescue. The Corliori troops opposing him stopped their advance in confusion. All turned and stared in shock at the attack occurring behind them, then broke formation; some fled from the field, while others charged back to help their beleaguered comrades. Still other troops stood aimlessly, waiting for their companions to continue their attack and fearful of facing the hunter alone. Taking opportunity of the confusion, Logan grabbed a leather cowl from the ground and threw it over his head, then raised his shield and before any of his opponents could respond, ran through the mass of militia.
“Hey!”
“What the-?”
Within seconds Logan was lost in the tangle of soldiers. After a dozen feet, he slowed down. Others crowded around him. Clad in the varying dresses of their daily life before being called up, farmer, field workers, traders, townsfolk and guards, no one could easily tell each other apart, and those who could recall his face were nowhere near him.
“The rouge’s gone!” Someone called.
“Where did the bastard disappear off to?”
“Well what are you waiting for?” Logan yelled in response. “Look for him!”
“I saw the fool heading towards the armory!” Someone else yelled.
“After him!”
As one mass of militia scattered, another unit moved up. A captain wearing a sallet ran up and stopped the hunter. “What’s going on? Did you see the infiltrator? Where is he?”
“I saw him heading that way!” Logan pointed in a random direction.
“I see the bastard!” The captain yelled after a glance, drawing his falchion and waving it above his troops nervously clutching their assortment of weapons. “After him!”
Immediately the line of Coriolians cheered and followed the captain towards the forest.
Within a few minutes what was left of the crowd had dissipated searching for his mysterious escape. Logan breathed a sigh of relief then immediately headed off towards the canvas warehouse. Reaching the inside of one, filled with grain, he quickly removed one of those pouches of black powder, removed the sandbag tied atop it, and placed it along a corner of the building. Ten pouches, one on under every other pillar would ensure that the supplies would burn when the canvas shelter caved in after the explosion. Logan shoved one pouch below a pillar, stabbed it with a knife, and drew out the powder with his hands. The hunter spread the powder in a line as he ran over to the next pillar.
Nine more to go.
***
The scorpion battery had quickly loaded a volley of bolts as the dragon swept by, blowing flames all around them.
“Aimed!” The gunner affirmed, moving the weapon to keep the wyrm within his sights.
“Fire every damn thing you have at it.” The captain ordered.
“Fire!” The gunner responded, pulling the release lever. The winch was immediately released, causing a volley of projectiles to eject from the scorpion.
***
Mera was surprised again, suddenly being met by a storm of bolts. He had gotten so caught up in driving off the militia that he had forgotten about the scorpion now blazing away at him. With the lightning response of instinct, the dragon folded his wings and dived from the sky. The ferocious volley trailed after him as the gun crew loaded and fired with all the speed of precise military training. Ten feet from the ground the dragon reopened his wings and twisted back upwards, unleashing a torrent of flame that scattered the troopers which had congregated around to watch the epic duel in the sky. Only skillful evasion and sheer luck allowed the dragon to regain altitude with the artillery fire attempting to drive him into the earth, though the bolts did whistle ominously past his scales and clip at his wings.
The dragon needed to correct that mistake before it killed him.
With some cleared space, the dragon fixed his wings and dived downwards, gliding to a height of only three feet above the camp and charged straight at the scorpion. Mera was flying low enough that tents, equipment and people were thrown like rag dolls by the drag and more importantly below where the artillery crew could easily depress their field piece.
“Lower it! Lower goddamn it!” The captain yelled at his crew while they exerted trying to depressing the piece to a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree angle.
“I think we should run.” One of the loaders finally concluded.
The dragon roared and inhaled deeply, thick tendrils of smoke erupting from its snout.
“Run!” The gun crew yelled in unison right before they took off.
The dragon hurled a mighty fireball that slammed straight onto the artillery piece, enveloping the weapon and a few unlucky gunners around it. Mera watched with satisfaction as the scorpion burst into flame, its torsion strings snapping and the metal bolt tips and gears melting before the entire wooden flame collapsed on itself before turning his attention to finding his friend, wherever he was.
***
The battered survivors of the gun crew crawled out from underneath the debris of wood metal and earth that had showered over them when the attack was over. Some of the survivors took off, while a few assembled around the remains of their instrument. One of the ammunition runners watched the dragon strafing some of the militia in the distance and shook his fist at it while the engineer sat on the ground and gave a tangled mass of flaming wood a good kick.
“Well that’s that. Nothing more we could do against that dragon I suppose.”
“We have another gun.” The captain stood up, brushing the dirt from his leather plate.
“What?” The others called in unison.
“This is the main supply depot. I believe Lord Fairfax purchased five Scorpions for this campaign. Two are with the main column, one guarding here, and the other two were to be sent up by boat when the army approached the Dragon cave. One of those has had all the crates shipped in already.”
The gunner grabbed the captain by his shoulders. “Well what the hell are you waiting for? Show us where it is!”
***
De Trobliand watched as the field gun finally burst into flames, the dragon’s airborne attack had finally hit its mark. He gestured toward the rest of the Freeland Brothers.
“Okay let’s go!”
The attack party quickly fanned out and advanced through the bush, weapons at the ready. There were few mounted sentries remaining around and most were distracted by the dramatic battle in the air. They soon came upon a guard facing away from the perimeter, awestruck by the dragon attack. Casually, the plague bird walked up to the guard and deftly sliced upward with his sickle. With barely a gurgle, the sentry crumpled to the ground. A few dozen feet away, Glib had worked around the outer edges of the encampment and grabbed the other guard by the neck, dispatching the soldier with a misericorde. As the soldiers fell, De Trobliand and the others began rushing towards the Scorpion firing platform.
“Let us join the dance.”
Jimmy Cliff - The Harder They Come
Courtesy of theroguez!
Regis de Trobliand groaned. His plan had been intricate, with three sequential phases that relied on synchronous timing, but his backup plans had been well worked out, organized to the minute, and everyone involved had been drilled repeatedly and was aware of the potential roles they would need to take on. Yet things were already falling apart by the first move. Guards were running towards the cliff side and all around them horns and cries echoed the alarm was being raised. On the promontory, the gunners had extinguished their pipes and were at the ready, meaning that De Trobliand’s forces could not go into action without being instantly annihilated. The Normad cocked his crossbow and waited for any opportunity to join in the assault.
Heavens knows how things would continue from here.
***
Mera perked up when he caught the din of fighting. The battle was starting earlier than he had expected and he was still working his way through the pine forest to his position meadow across from the Coriolian Scorpion. Nevertheless, the dragon immediately galloped over to a shrub-filled clearing and leaped off, unfurling his wings mid-jump and taking off into flight.
***
“Kill him!” Someone yelled as Logan was quickly confronted by a dozen militiamen armed with spears and axes. A few foolish individuals attacked immediately: one soldier charged forward with his ax swinging overhead, quickly followed by another thrusting wildly with his spear and more militia following suit. Logan easily ducked under the singing ax head and jabbed the attacker in the shoulder, then immediately dodged the swing of the spike, using the shaft of his own awlpike to knock that assailant over to the side of the cliff. With one smooth motion, the hunter immediately followed up by raising his polearm overhead to deftly parry the blade of bill thrust toward him, then moved back, dodged a slice from a scythe, kicked away that wielder while exchanged blows with an incoming swordsman.
“Die you Volscian dog!” The swordsman yelled, slashing with minimal ability at the hunter.
“I think not.” Logan replied, driving his opponent’s sword downward with his awlpike, then quickly elbowed his opponent in the stomach, thrusting his blade through his attacker’s neck. The swordsman vainly grabbed at his own throat, spraying blood like a spring, before toppling over. Perhaps overly dramatic, Logan thought, but it was effective. The other individuals stopped their uncoordinated attacks and began falling back. Someone in the distance began firing wild volleys of arrows at the hunter, which he easily blocked by raising his shield. However, this pause also gave the militia time to regroup, and realize their advantage in numbers. Quickly a large mass unbroken of opponents had accumulated in front of him.
“Together now! Drive him off the cliff!” A captain called out from the crowd with his sword raised.
The militia kept their distance, but slowly began moving forward, wildly jabbing with spears or thrusting with swords from the shelter of a shield wall, slowly pushing Logan towards the side of the abyss. Logan decided he needed help immediately.
Where was the dragon when you need him?
***
By this time the dozen members of the mercenary gun crew had readied, loaded and primed the Scorpion and the gunner was scanning the surrounding region for enemies, slowly swinging the fieldpiece in a long arc around the camp. He quickly ignored the lone attacker now being swarmed by troops and circled past the tents, stables, warehouse, and guard towers, past the bone-dry meadow, two heavily wooded knolls over the sill dropping off to the emptiness of Kern Canyon and then simply empty sky-
And the winged behemoth flying towards him
“Dragon!” The gunner screamed
Panic immediately broke out among the gun crew.
“The dragon is attacking?”
“Hold!" The captain roared. The scorpion gunners were nervous, but they were experienced, and they stopped to listen to their commander. The captain pointed at the flying creature strafing the encampment, but evidently not yet noticing their presence. "Reposition the gun! We must destroy it!”
“The Royals want it taken alive.” The gunner called.
“Well Lord Fairfax wants it dead.” Came the reply. “He can sort it out with the king. Take it down!”
Quickly the gun swung into position as the gun crew dutifully turned their full attention to the dragon.
***
Soaring through the air, the dragon quickly came upon the encampment. Without further ado, it folded its wings and dived towards the watchtowers and tents. Strangely most of the enemy troops were facing inward, away from the outer perimeter, and large masses of troops were charging towards the center of their camp, their spears and swords half ready for fighting. The dragon was spotted just as he reached firing range, throwing the militia into panic.
“The dragon’s here!”
"No!"
“We have to kill it!”
“Run!”
"Flee!"
Before any of his opponents could sort out their plethora of commands and actually respond, Mera threw out a sheet of flame, incinerating a large mass of the surprised infantry, and throwing the rest into confusion. Many fled for cover while some others organized into battle lines and called forward their archers. Dozens of foot- and spear-men charged toward the dragon, thinking that Mera would land and allow them to quickly swarm over the him. However, the wyrm was smarter than that, opening its powerful wings and beating backwards so as to stop its rapid descent, while simultaneously throwing back the attacking infantry with powerful gusts of wind and knocking them to the ground. Before the downed militia could recover, the dragon then lowered his head and set them all aflame. Gathering the air currents, the dragon soared back upwards, attacking and scattering masses of troops.
All over the field of battle, archers drew their bows and fired at the dragon; however, the speed and range at which Mera was flying meant that nearly all of the arrows either fell short or ricocheted off his scales. The wyrm shrugged off these attacks, continuing his harassment of Lord Fairfax’s troops. Still things were starting to heat up: more and more troops were now firing at Mera, and every time he swooped down to strafe troops were waiting to pin him to the ground with their spears, forcing him to break off his diving runs earlier.
Strange. Where the hell were Logan and the rest of the humans? Weren’t they supposed to be doing something?
The dragon sighed as he blew a wall of fire through the middle of the encampment. Typically human. While he was fighting this entire encampment of militia the rest of them were fucking around heavens-knows-where.
Well, they’d better hurry; the dragon thought as an arrow came damn near to taking out an eye, he couldn’t hold these buggers off forever.
***
Logan was backing up ever closer to the cliff face, fending off jabs from spearheads and trying not to think of the definitely fatal 100-foot drop behind him when suddenly there came the sound of blowing wind, the crash of descending infernos, the crackle of flames and the screams and yells of death and devastation. The dragon had come to the rescue. The Corliori troops opposing him stopped their advance in confusion. All turned and stared in shock at the attack occurring behind them, then broke formation; some fled from the field, while others charged back to help their beleaguered comrades. Still other troops stood aimlessly, waiting for their companions to continue their attack and fearful of facing the hunter alone. Taking opportunity of the confusion, Logan grabbed a leather cowl from the ground and threw it over his head, then raised his shield and before any of his opponents could respond, ran through the mass of militia.
“Hey!”
“What the-?”
Within seconds Logan was lost in the tangle of soldiers. After a dozen feet, he slowed down. Others crowded around him. Clad in the varying dresses of their daily life before being called up, farmer, field workers, traders, townsfolk and guards, no one could easily tell each other apart, and those who could recall his face were nowhere near him.
“The rouge’s gone!” Someone called.
“Where did the bastard disappear off to?”
“Well what are you waiting for?” Logan yelled in response. “Look for him!”
“I saw the fool heading towards the armory!” Someone else yelled.
“After him!”
As one mass of militia scattered, another unit moved up. A captain wearing a sallet ran up and stopped the hunter. “What’s going on? Did you see the infiltrator? Where is he?”
“I saw him heading that way!” Logan pointed in a random direction.
“I see the bastard!” The captain yelled after a glance, drawing his falchion and waving it above his troops nervously clutching their assortment of weapons. “After him!”
Immediately the line of Coriolians cheered and followed the captain towards the forest.
Within a few minutes what was left of the crowd had dissipated searching for his mysterious escape. Logan breathed a sigh of relief then immediately headed off towards the canvas warehouse. Reaching the inside of one, filled with grain, he quickly removed one of those pouches of black powder, removed the sandbag tied atop it, and placed it along a corner of the building. Ten pouches, one on under every other pillar would ensure that the supplies would burn when the canvas shelter caved in after the explosion. Logan shoved one pouch below a pillar, stabbed it with a knife, and drew out the powder with his hands. The hunter spread the powder in a line as he ran over to the next pillar.
Nine more to go.
***
The scorpion battery had quickly loaded a volley of bolts as the dragon swept by, blowing flames all around them.
“Aimed!” The gunner affirmed, moving the weapon to keep the wyrm within his sights.
“Fire every damn thing you have at it.” The captain ordered.
“Fire!” The gunner responded, pulling the release lever. The winch was immediately released, causing a volley of projectiles to eject from the scorpion.
***
Mera was surprised again, suddenly being met by a storm of bolts. He had gotten so caught up in driving off the militia that he had forgotten about the scorpion now blazing away at him. With the lightning response of instinct, the dragon folded his wings and dived from the sky. The ferocious volley trailed after him as the gun crew loaded and fired with all the speed of precise military training. Ten feet from the ground the dragon reopened his wings and twisted back upwards, unleashing a torrent of flame that scattered the troopers which had congregated around to watch the epic duel in the sky. Only skillful evasion and sheer luck allowed the dragon to regain altitude with the artillery fire attempting to drive him into the earth, though the bolts did whistle ominously past his scales and clip at his wings.
The dragon needed to correct that mistake before it killed him.
With some cleared space, the dragon fixed his wings and dived downwards, gliding to a height of only three feet above the camp and charged straight at the scorpion. Mera was flying low enough that tents, equipment and people were thrown like rag dolls by the drag and more importantly below where the artillery crew could easily depress their field piece.
“Lower it! Lower goddamn it!” The captain yelled at his crew while they exerted trying to depressing the piece to a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree angle.
“I think we should run.” One of the loaders finally concluded.
The dragon roared and inhaled deeply, thick tendrils of smoke erupting from its snout.
“Run!” The gun crew yelled in unison right before they took off.
The dragon hurled a mighty fireball that slammed straight onto the artillery piece, enveloping the weapon and a few unlucky gunners around it. Mera watched with satisfaction as the scorpion burst into flame, its torsion strings snapping and the metal bolt tips and gears melting before the entire wooden flame collapsed on itself before turning his attention to finding his friend, wherever he was.
***
The battered survivors of the gun crew crawled out from underneath the debris of wood metal and earth that had showered over them when the attack was over. Some of the survivors took off, while a few assembled around the remains of their instrument. One of the ammunition runners watched the dragon strafing some of the militia in the distance and shook his fist at it while the engineer sat on the ground and gave a tangled mass of flaming wood a good kick.
“Well that’s that. Nothing more we could do against that dragon I suppose.”
“We have another gun.” The captain stood up, brushing the dirt from his leather plate.
“What?” The others called in unison.
“This is the main supply depot. I believe Lord Fairfax purchased five Scorpions for this campaign. Two are with the main column, one guarding here, and the other two were to be sent up by boat when the army approached the Dragon cave. One of those has had all the crates shipped in already.”
The gunner grabbed the captain by his shoulders. “Well what the hell are you waiting for? Show us where it is!”
***
De Trobliand watched as the field gun finally burst into flames, the dragon’s airborne attack had finally hit its mark. He gestured toward the rest of the Freeland Brothers.
“Okay let’s go!”
The attack party quickly fanned out and advanced through the bush, weapons at the ready. There were few mounted sentries remaining around and most were distracted by the dramatic battle in the air. They soon came upon a guard facing away from the perimeter, awestruck by the dragon attack. Casually, the plague bird walked up to the guard and deftly sliced upward with his sickle. With barely a gurgle, the sentry crumpled to the ground. A few dozen feet away, Glib had worked around the outer edges of the encampment and grabbed the other guard by the neck, dispatching the soldier with a misericorde. As the soldiers fell, De Trobliand and the others began rushing towards the Scorpion firing platform.
“Let us join the dance.”
Jimmy Cliff - The Harder They Come
Courtesy of theroguez!
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Western Dragon
Gender Male
Size 926 x 1280px
Listed in Folders
So they did an offering to the good and beneficent Ardvi a boon so they would smite their fifties and their hundreds, their hundreds and their thousands, their thousands and their tens of thousands, their tens of thousands and their myriads of myriads.
However i doubt they could afford to make an offering, with their farms and pastures
However i doubt they could afford to make an offering, with their farms and pastures
I don't know what an Ardvi is. The troops here aren't the Townsfolk of Stanton, but the militia of Lord Fairfax of Corioli, who wants to kill Mera and also take over the town.
Ardvi is a ancient Persian goddess who is likely named after a river. Judging from the hymn to Ardvi sura, i can tell, that she only engages in big events like politics
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