Marcus looked over at Illidan
-Is this a battle we can win?, Illidans look was sharp, he was ready.
-Wining isen't allways the goal of fighting, sir!.
Marcus looked out over Luna, he scratched his beard
-Your right, but if we fail all of Luna maybe lost, the poeple here are simple farmers.
He took a break, then turned around to look over the lands.
-It is our job to protect them from evil!, the power of Marcus voice made Illidan jump.
He saw the fury in Marcus eyes, he wanted his vengence.
When you laid eyes on Marcus, he wasen't very impressive, but when he released his bonds and knew that battle was upon them, he become filled with power from Esuna, he became strong like a bull, agile like a snake and vicious like a Balron.
Then you could see why he was the leader of the Imperial Order.
He called his order's strongest as brightest, with the help of his commander, Illidan.
The men that came was
Senator Vitellus
Proconsul Jayson
Custodis Lognar.
He eyed them, strong men, but we're they strong enough to fight yet, he once again looked over Luna and tought about the innocent poeple living there.
He picked up his shield, and drew out his warmace
-They outnumber us, they are stronger, but they are evil, we must cleanse Felucca from thoose who seek to supress the power of Esuna, Dennac and Gaea, they only want one religon, their own, we must stop this madness before it goes futher, you have been summoned here to fight side by side with the best soldiers in the Imperial army.
-You will need to do your best if you don't, they will kill you, NEVER underastimate their power, for they are as strong as we are, their faith will lead them forward, just like our does to us.
He paused, looked over the men, they we're ready, he could see it in their eyes.
-Now, you will go to Felucca with me, and we shall challange them to battle.
Grolik opend a gate, they steped into it and ended up just north of Britain.
Marcus called for reinforcement, and their guards made a wall of shields to protect them.
A man came forth, Marcus knew him, it was Geryn the head priest of law, even if it was his enemy he felt respect for this man, and came to tell him that this cannot continue.
When the unthinkable happend and somebody fire'd an arrow to the man, he dodged it easly, but the war had started.
There was swords and scepters swinging, spells we're casted, everything was in chaos.
Marcus tried to give out orders but nobody seemd to listen.
He saw Jayson go down, same with Grolik and Illidan.
Then he saw that magician named Elya, he charged at her, took her down and took the armors and stuff she was holding, then he and Senator Vitellus took Diafan down in the woods then he orderd Vitellus to return to the temple with the loot.
He fought against Geryn and somebody he did not know, she wore the cloth that elya had, but he was not sure, he was overpowered and then fleed to the temple in disgrace.
The battle was over, both sides sufferd heavy damage.
Imperial battle.
Moderator: RP Moderators
Imperial battle.
Last edited by Quintoz on Fri Feb 20, 2009 12:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Stop the cuckening on Pang #MakePangGreat
Re: Imperial battle.
* on the other side of the battlefield Diafan just said the same words, "the bloodbath was total this day", as he fell back into deep meditation getting ready for the next day of battle *
Re: Imperial battle.
Imperial Battle, Vitellus' account
Pearls of sweat ran down his forehead, and he irritably adjusted the chafing chainmail coif. The southern part of the city should be secure, yet something was wrong. Vitellus was too pleased to notice at first. The day had done well as they had killed Britannia's finest on the city streets, watched men who would rather die than yield pay the price for their conviction in blood. Both his body and mail carried fresh scars from the struggle, but such was the cost of conquest. Words of honor and chivalry aside, he knew that the city would be converted through war, and that the heathens would swear allegiance to the Imperial way accompanied by the screams of thousands of their kin as they suffered slow, gruesome deaths. The streets were befouled by blood and excrements, charred here and there by spellfire as magic had been let loose in the struggle.
His thoughts were not greatly troubled, despite some scattered forces still resisting, until a white rider thundered across the southern bridge. Vitellus did not recongize him. The identities of the Lawmen were irrelevant. Pieces of meat clad in metal who stood in their way. He spurred his steed into action. The beast was named Atropos, and was one of many to have carried the name. They frequently died, and he did not care for them. The procedure was simple.
His eyes widened at the thought of triumph as they met on the bridge, but when his holy scepter crashed into his opponent he was nearly stunned. It was as if he had punched a solid stone wall! The retaliation was swift and brutal. There was no time to parry the opponent's mace as he took a clean hit to the shoulder, bones breaking and flesh givng way under the mail tunic. Bleeding, he commanded the horse to turn, cursing its stupidity while he urged it on towards the bank area. He had joined his comrades in a great summoning, and the Imperial soldiers who had come forth still held the square. Arriving safely he took the time to inform the others of the new threat.
"Not some woman wearing a leather cape, but a warrior clad in steel. We must join forces and crush the infidel!", he demanded.
The battle plan changed swiftly however as more Britannian soldiers arrived, likely beckoned forth by the Lawmen. A hasty retreat out of the city was followed by sounds of steel meeting steel as those who stood their ground fought and died. Vitellus rode with his left arm still hanging uselessly by his side, cursing his luck and the skill of his opponent. The hooves of the horses trampled the remains of friend and foe as they forced their way north, dodging the more substansial remains of battle; armor, swords, pikes and maces that could trip a horse, and kill the unwary.
Above the cursed graveyard they gathered anew to grind their enemies into dust. Vitellus commanded forth the divine radiance of Esuna to shield him, safe he thought, between the tall iron fence and the far treeline. He greedily demanded more power to imbue his weapon with force, and the goddess seemed glad to oblige, granting him her gifts.
"I dedicate the bloody fallen to you", he swore, growing more extatic by every moment as the energy continued to build up around him. With a bright light in his eyes and the grin of the invincible on his lips, he turned his attention back towards the graveyard. The world returned to focus just in time for him to notice the murderous object swung at his face with furious force. For the most fleeting of moments he felt the impact as his nose was crushed, and the bones of his cranium deformed and shattered. Then, darkness enveloped him.
Eventually his spirit was marshalled back to the temple by Consul Marcus. Naked, bloody and bruised he crawled into his chambers, managing a mere glance at the opulence that surrounded him. Rest, he found, would be much welcome. So he shut his eyes and let out a great sigh, his sore lungs releasing the tension built up over the hours of battle. His rest seemed to last a mere moment, before the door was opened and some objects offered to him. A healing potion and carefully prepared enchanted mail. Vitellus downed the potion, and armed himself with renewed vigor. The battle was not yet over.
To Britain they rode again, the Consul's words in their minds. They would not fall. As they reached the graveyard for a second time, a shield wall was summoned. The Lawmen and their allies were quick meet up, and battle broke out. Unsure of his orders, and still slow-witted from the previous blow, Vitellus did not make out much of what transpired but rode with the Consul, following the tide of battle as best he could. They were pushed back into the northern woods, and the orderly battle had turned into a frenzied skirmish when he saw his chance. A Lawman stood alone, and similarly to the one they had killed openly in Britain, only wore soft leather for protection. Like a force of vengeance Vitellus bursted out of the treeline and closed with the enemy. Magical energies built up, crackled in the air around the Lawman. Vitellus caught him in mid-chant and swung with both hands from a high guard. The Lawman was obliterated. What remained of the body was cast off his steed, the grass drinking his blood greedily as he hit the ground with a thud. He reached down to claim some spoils of war, and quickly set off into the forest again as he noticed more opponents closing in. His vision came into perfect focus and clarity again, as if the bloody deed had cleared his head. Shouts of triumph and anguishe echoed across the wilderness that afternoon as individual courage and skill was put to deadly test. Fate had it that one Lawman, heavily armored, charged him. It was not the one from the bridge, this one was taller, and had a more severe disposition. Yet his mail was not impenetrable, and he made the mistake to openly attack in the presence of the Imperial Consul. Injured he retreated, and Vitellus followed. Through bushes and over logs the horses struggled as their riders exchanged blows with their maces, but eventually Vitellus proved the better fighter. The deathblow was deceptive, catching the opponent under his guard and beating the breath out of his lungs. At this point his bloodlust was such that he looted the spoils in a frenzy and set off to kill again.
He sought the Consul for mutual support, but only found Ivan. The berserker had seemed clumsy and ill-witted before, but he had the devil in him now. Every brutal chop from the halberd seemed to strike home, and Vitellus rode without plan around trees and boulders to buy time, to turn the battle against the barbarian. He was tiring slowly, and the hope for support seemed vain as he saw no allies. His pursuer did not slow down however. The enchanted mail was torn and discoloured by blood where the halberd had struck. Fear had started to eat away at his resolve at this point, as he was isolated and forced further and further east. He was relieved when finally, the order of retreat came. A simple wish later, and he was home.
Pearls of sweat ran down his forehead, and he irritably adjusted the chafing chainmail coif. The southern part of the city should be secure, yet something was wrong. Vitellus was too pleased to notice at first. The day had done well as they had killed Britannia's finest on the city streets, watched men who would rather die than yield pay the price for their conviction in blood. Both his body and mail carried fresh scars from the struggle, but such was the cost of conquest. Words of honor and chivalry aside, he knew that the city would be converted through war, and that the heathens would swear allegiance to the Imperial way accompanied by the screams of thousands of their kin as they suffered slow, gruesome deaths. The streets were befouled by blood and excrements, charred here and there by spellfire as magic had been let loose in the struggle.
His thoughts were not greatly troubled, despite some scattered forces still resisting, until a white rider thundered across the southern bridge. Vitellus did not recongize him. The identities of the Lawmen were irrelevant. Pieces of meat clad in metal who stood in their way. He spurred his steed into action. The beast was named Atropos, and was one of many to have carried the name. They frequently died, and he did not care for them. The procedure was simple.
His eyes widened at the thought of triumph as they met on the bridge, but when his holy scepter crashed into his opponent he was nearly stunned. It was as if he had punched a solid stone wall! The retaliation was swift and brutal. There was no time to parry the opponent's mace as he took a clean hit to the shoulder, bones breaking and flesh givng way under the mail tunic. Bleeding, he commanded the horse to turn, cursing its stupidity while he urged it on towards the bank area. He had joined his comrades in a great summoning, and the Imperial soldiers who had come forth still held the square. Arriving safely he took the time to inform the others of the new threat.
"Not some woman wearing a leather cape, but a warrior clad in steel. We must join forces and crush the infidel!", he demanded.
The battle plan changed swiftly however as more Britannian soldiers arrived, likely beckoned forth by the Lawmen. A hasty retreat out of the city was followed by sounds of steel meeting steel as those who stood their ground fought and died. Vitellus rode with his left arm still hanging uselessly by his side, cursing his luck and the skill of his opponent. The hooves of the horses trampled the remains of friend and foe as they forced their way north, dodging the more substansial remains of battle; armor, swords, pikes and maces that could trip a horse, and kill the unwary.
Above the cursed graveyard they gathered anew to grind their enemies into dust. Vitellus commanded forth the divine radiance of Esuna to shield him, safe he thought, between the tall iron fence and the far treeline. He greedily demanded more power to imbue his weapon with force, and the goddess seemed glad to oblige, granting him her gifts.
"I dedicate the bloody fallen to you", he swore, growing more extatic by every moment as the energy continued to build up around him. With a bright light in his eyes and the grin of the invincible on his lips, he turned his attention back towards the graveyard. The world returned to focus just in time for him to notice the murderous object swung at his face with furious force. For the most fleeting of moments he felt the impact as his nose was crushed, and the bones of his cranium deformed and shattered. Then, darkness enveloped him.
Eventually his spirit was marshalled back to the temple by Consul Marcus. Naked, bloody and bruised he crawled into his chambers, managing a mere glance at the opulence that surrounded him. Rest, he found, would be much welcome. So he shut his eyes and let out a great sigh, his sore lungs releasing the tension built up over the hours of battle. His rest seemed to last a mere moment, before the door was opened and some objects offered to him. A healing potion and carefully prepared enchanted mail. Vitellus downed the potion, and armed himself with renewed vigor. The battle was not yet over.
To Britain they rode again, the Consul's words in their minds. They would not fall. As they reached the graveyard for a second time, a shield wall was summoned. The Lawmen and their allies were quick meet up, and battle broke out. Unsure of his orders, and still slow-witted from the previous blow, Vitellus did not make out much of what transpired but rode with the Consul, following the tide of battle as best he could. They were pushed back into the northern woods, and the orderly battle had turned into a frenzied skirmish when he saw his chance. A Lawman stood alone, and similarly to the one they had killed openly in Britain, only wore soft leather for protection. Like a force of vengeance Vitellus bursted out of the treeline and closed with the enemy. Magical energies built up, crackled in the air around the Lawman. Vitellus caught him in mid-chant and swung with both hands from a high guard. The Lawman was obliterated. What remained of the body was cast off his steed, the grass drinking his blood greedily as he hit the ground with a thud. He reached down to claim some spoils of war, and quickly set off into the forest again as he noticed more opponents closing in. His vision came into perfect focus and clarity again, as if the bloody deed had cleared his head. Shouts of triumph and anguishe echoed across the wilderness that afternoon as individual courage and skill was put to deadly test. Fate had it that one Lawman, heavily armored, charged him. It was not the one from the bridge, this one was taller, and had a more severe disposition. Yet his mail was not impenetrable, and he made the mistake to openly attack in the presence of the Imperial Consul. Injured he retreated, and Vitellus followed. Through bushes and over logs the horses struggled as their riders exchanged blows with their maces, but eventually Vitellus proved the better fighter. The deathblow was deceptive, catching the opponent under his guard and beating the breath out of his lungs. At this point his bloodlust was such that he looted the spoils in a frenzy and set off to kill again.
He sought the Consul for mutual support, but only found Ivan. The berserker had seemed clumsy and ill-witted before, but he had the devil in him now. Every brutal chop from the halberd seemed to strike home, and Vitellus rode without plan around trees and boulders to buy time, to turn the battle against the barbarian. He was tiring slowly, and the hope for support seemed vain as he saw no allies. His pursuer did not slow down however. The enchanted mail was torn and discoloured by blood where the halberd had struck. Fear had started to eat away at his resolve at this point, as he was isolated and forced further and further east. He was relieved when finally, the order of retreat came. A simple wish later, and he was home.
"last i knew it was illegal to hate someone" Richard Mota