Now to start reading all of it! 
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The Arpenian Compendium: History of the old Empire War Roleplay Server
- Thread starter michaelrotov1234
- Start date
This is so sad. *cries*
Rotov, I salute you for finishing this. I have written a dramatized story of what happened during the Demon Wars, though its incredibly inaccurate and focuses nearly solely on the final battle of Cair Andros. I wish this would come back. I hoped it would come back. Alas, it is not be I fear. The glory days are over, the Sun goes down in the West, and the time of RP is over.
The below is mostly fictional, and alas incomplete. I hope to finish it.
The Fall of Cair Andros
The iron of the blade felt cool as it ripped through his breastplate, through his chest, and out his back. His vision, tinted red by the fires surrounding him, saw only carnage and ruin. The screams of dying men, the blood curdling shrieks of the enemy, and the clash of weapons all faded into a dull throbbing in his ears. Smoke filled his lungs as he gasped for breath, and his heart beat was like a pounding in his ears. Blood poured from his wound as the blade was yanked from his body, and he collapsed face first upon the ground. His sword fell from his grip, the ruby embedded in its pommel clattering against the stones of the courtyard, and he knew then that it was finished. Despair welled up in his chest, and with his final moments he recalled the events leading up to his fatal wound. . .
A pounding upon the door jarred Aegon into wakefulness. He blindly sat up, hands scrabbling for his tunic, and he shouted to whoever was at the door to enter. Pulling on his sword belt, he faced the sillouhete of the man entering. The man was thin, dirty, and possessed a nasty wound upon his head.
“My Lord,” said the man, as he dropped to one knee before Aegon, “I come bearing grave tidings, the garrison of Forlond has been overrun. They were to many, we were caught off guard in the night, many have been taken captive, and few have escaped. I rode hard from the city with three others, yet the enemy pursued us, and they gave their lives to make sure I brought you this message.”
Aegon seemed to age visibly the longer the man spoke. Finally he asked how this could have happened, with no warning and no call for aid!
The man replied, “The battle was swift, Lord Aegon. A slaughter.” The man paused and looked down at his boots. “There was no way you could have reached us in time.”
“How long would it take for the enemy to move against us?” asked Aegon.
The man seemed to be contemplating, then said, “They could arrive by nightfall, Lord.”
“Very well, go to my steward, you will find him in the Westernmost Tower, and ask for a bed and some new clothes. Get some rest, you have my thanks.” replied Aegon.
The man bowed his head and departed. Aegon shouted for his servants to rouse the Lord’s Greenwood, Ryswell, and Avalon, and to bid them join him in the great hall. Also to send riders with the orders to recall Lord Silverwood with all his strength to the city.
Aegon finished dressing quickly, strode from the room, across the courtyard where men sat eating and sharpening their weapons, and climbed the steps towards the doors to the hall. The guards pulled open the doors, and he moved down the hall towards the council table. Seating himself at the head of the table to await the arrival of his captains, he gave orders for wine to be brought, along with something to break their fast upon.
The food and drink arrived before the men did, and Aegon tore into a loaf of bread. While eating, Lord Vale Ryswell strode in looking ready to burst, his red hair and beard lending a fiery look to the mans face, followed by the Lord’s Greenwood and John Avalon. Taking up their seats, all three men stared at Aegon, yet no one broke the silence. Aegon studied each man in turn, pondering how each would react to the news. From John Avalon’s calculating schemes, to Lord Greenwood’s impetuous outbursts, to Vale’s righteous anger. Aegon was brought back to the moment by Lord Greenwood, ever impatient, inquiring whether the rumor was true.
“Has Forlond truly fallen, My Lord?”
“Yes, a messenger came to me with the dawn, bringing the news of the city’s fall with him” Aegon said gravely.
Vale slammed his fist into the table and swore explosively. John stared at his food, yet began swiftly to speak of barring the gates and preparing for a siege, and Lord Greenwood began speaking of how they must ride to meet the enemy in the field.
“Silence! This noise will get us no where! There was one more piece of information I was brought.” shouted Aegon.
All three men stared silently at their King, who then said in a low whisper. “They will be here by nightfall.”
Silence filled the room. “Well then, our course is clear.” John stated cooly. “We must prepare the men to fight and die in defense of the city, and we must do the same. I will go and prepare the gates and asses our food stores, if that is the will of the King?”
“It is, go, and send word to me when you are finished,” instructed Aegon. “As for you Vale, I need you to find Yarnar and Skaramir, send them to me, and then take charge of disassembling the camps, and prepare the ground for our guests.”
“It would be a pleasure my Lord,” replied Vale, and he rose and departed with his mouth set in a hard line.
Lord Greenwood rose, “And what of me my Lord? What shall I do?”
“Your duty, you are Lord Captain of the Armies of Blackfyre are you not? Rouse the men, and prepare them for battle. I will join you before noon to decide how to deploy our forces,” answered Aegon.
“Aye my Lord.” Lord Greenwood strode from the hall and to the camps where the men were quartered.
Sometime later, while inspecting racks of weapons in the armory, Yarnar and Skaramir found him, and inquired as to why he had summoned them. Aegon asked whether they were as good with the bow as their reputations claimed they were. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, Aegon outlined his plan for a group of bowmen to be posted above the main gate, to feather any foes foolhardy enough to bring a ram remotely close to his gate’s.
After they had understood what he wanted, they left to gather several dozen more marksmen and visit the fletchers for extra quivers of arrows, while Aegon proceeded to the main gate to see how Lord Ryswell’s fortifications were proceeding. Scaling the stairs up to the westernmost gatehouse, Aegon could see men hard at work digging trenches and lining them with stakes, and yet others disassembling tents, and still more carrying supplies. Wagon wheels had carved twin trenches through the muck toward the main gate as they went back and forth carrying timber and canvas.
He turned around and surveyed his city. Cair Andros was strong, built across a valley with steep mountains at her back, and a swift river flowing to her Eastern side. At the very end of the valley a gigantic waterfall cascaded down the cliffs behind the fortress-city, its echoes reverberating off the great outer walls. The walls were built in a straight line from the river’s edge to the mountains feet, with three sets, each higher than the last, with three gates set into each. At the very back sat the keep. A massive stone work that had a commanding view of the entire plain for miles until the horizon. Atop the highest tower waved the great banner of House Blackfyre, and their it had waved for many a year. Aegon turned back to the fields of men before him, and his eye was caught by a gleam on the horizon.
Slowly, over the ridge to the North, a pale banner showing a silver tree rose. And riding under it on a great warhorse, sat the Lord Lucolas Silverwood, oldest and wisest of the bannermen of House Blackfyre, silver plate shining in the sunlight. Behind him rode the greatest part of the strength of the north, and it was this sight which restored morale to the disheartened men. The armored column came down through the bustle of the camp, up to the great gates, and into the courtyard. Aegon descended the gatehouse steps and rushed toward the older man. Lucolas dismounted, his armor rattling when he hit the ground. The two men embraced, yet Lord Silverwood’s face was grim as he reported his findings to Aegon.
“My Lord, my outriders have seen the enemy raiding as far up as the Fords of Ilthilien, and they bring reports of entire villages put to the sword. A great battle has taken place, and the Lord’s Roton and Folkmer have been smashed. Last I heard they were fleeing with all haste back to Forlond.”
“Your news is old my friend, Forlond has fallen,” said Aegon grimly, “We are next I fear, and the city is preparing for a siege. This is why you have been recalled.”
Lucolas nodded, then sighed.
“I had hoped for some rest,” a grin a split his weathered face, and he continued, “well, no sense pining for that which is beyond our reach. What is to be our strategy?”
“Come, it is nearly noon, and we must find Lord Greenwood. Their all your questions will be answered.” said Aegon.
Calling out to a runner as he dashed towards him, Aegon inquired as to the whereabouts of Lord Greenwood, and the man informed him that he had been sent by him to find the King, and bring him to his temporary command tent. Aegon, accompanied by Lucolas, followed the man out the main gates and into the field toward the largest tent on the plain. The cloth was dyed bright green, with streaks of brown, and had Lord Greenwoods leaf banner fluttering from the central pole of the pavilion. Upon entering the tent, he saw the Lords Greenwood and Ryswell bent over a series of maps, messily spread out over the table. Quickly glancing behind him before he ducked inside, Aegon saw ranks of men, gleaming in the sun, entering the gates of the city. The sight gave him hope, yet also made him nervous. He realized that this was the final stand. The last battle of the war would be fought here, and it was unlikely any of them, or any of the old order, would survive. He set his jaw, and entered the the tent.
“My Lord,” said Captain Greenwood, “Vale and I have been studying these maps, and have come to several conclusions. Our greatest weakness, as you know, is the western wall. It is long, to long in fact, and is vulnerable to siege towers and ladders. It also is in poor repair, and its towers, unlike those of the eastern side, have yet to be rebuilt, and as such, are susceptible to fire. Worse, portions of the wall are held up entirely by wooden scaffolds, and should any foes reach the inner base of the wall, they could bring the entire structure down with flame. Even worse, you know the nature of the enemy that marches against us, fire is their friend. I find it unlikely we can hold the outer walls. Therefore I recommend that we deploy for battle upon the plains, and meet them in the field!”
“No,” was Lord Silverwoods short answer, he continued, “We lack the strength to meet them in battle, every man of us knows this. You should know this Greenwood. You are young, but old enough to remember the Rout on the Anduin. Their the mounted strength of Kargeth, Ilthilien, and several companies of our own Knights met the enemy in the first great battle of the war. And it was their that ours and our allies men fell nearly to a man! We cannot meet this foe in a pitched battle, it will be the end of all of us. Our only hope is to hold the city. A faint hope yes, but one that we must cling to.”
Lord Greenwood looked down. “I know the battle, Lord Silverwood. I lost two of my closest friends in that slaughter. Do not seek to instruct me on the past. I acknowledge your point however, and defer to your experience.” Vale was seated, yet his face had fallen noticeably during Lucolas’s speech. It was clear he was more inclined to die in open battle then trapped like a rat.
“Good to have you back Old Man. You always seem to raise my mood,” said Vale, directed toward Silverwood. “I almost had felt happy this morning, should’ve known you would show up to fix that.”
Lord Silverwood allowed a small smile to lighten his features, and chuckled slightly at Vale’s remark. It was at this moment that John Avalon ducked into the tent, and told them all about how the gates were in good order, and that they’re food supplies would last them about six weeks of a siege.
“Though it is unlikely that any confrontation with the enemy could extend longer than a week. Our gates however may hold them for long.” This was the conclusion of Lord Avalon, and none questioned him, seeing as how he had been besieged more times than any other man in the tent could boast of. Being the Lord of Stonehold Tower, located on the border of orc lands, John had the never ending problem of orc incursions, yet his fortress had never fallen, and he remained one of the most powerful men in the Kingdom.
The meeting continued for another hour, with the debate raging from how to deploy the scattered companies of Knights they had remaining, to what should be done with the families remaining in the city. To leave them in the inner levels of the city risked all on one battle, but if they evacuated them then the enemy could slaughter them while the men were fighting to defend the city. It seemed to have no clear path, yet the debate seemed to lean more and more in favor of risking everything on one throw of the dice.
“....and if the walls are held, then it is very likely we can drive them back out of the valley. We must keep the people close, I will not leave them with no protection, and we have no men to spare to safeguard them,” Vale concluded. “The people will remain here. If the city falls, they would have no way to survive the winter anyway. We shall stake all we have on the notion of saving our city from the flames. We are approaching the hour of battle, continue with your duties. I will visit with the men, and gauge their moods. Dismissed.” Aegon exited the command tent, and saw the sun had risen to its zenith, and was already falling towards the horizon.
Time seemed to be accelerating as the day grew later. The levels of noise continued to fall, even though the city was alive with activity. With the entire populace moving anything they could carry deeper into the city, and the soldiers either standing guard or throwing up barricades and earthworks, no one had much time for small talk. The sun sank lower and lower and Aegon’s nerves were beginning to fray. Soon enough, while he was inspecting an archer post, several riders galloped out of the light of the setting sun and into the valley itself. The riders made directly for the city and were clearly exhausted; yet still they pounded onward. “My Lord! My Lord Aegon! We bring news! The enemy has crossed the river in great force, and have destroyed or scattered any resistance to them. The survivors of Ilthilien have been hunted down nearly to a man, and we have found the stripped bodies of villagers hung along our path.” The man doubled over and gasped for breath as he finished. “Then they will be here soon. So. It is to be decided today. Very well. Find food and armor. Report to Lord Silverwood, he will see you taken care of. I thank you for your service,” replied the King.
The men were rushing about, some armored, some clutching swords, some dashing into position on the walls. The banners of the Great Houses of Blackfyre were being raised along the walls. There was the Orange Starburst of Ryswell atop the Western Wall. John Avalon’s Phoenix banners stood proud along the Eastern ramparts. Lord Greenwood’s Oak Tree, resplendent on a forest green field, were being moved above the river barriers. In reserve were the men of the North, under the Silver Tree of Lucolas Silverwood. Upon the main gate of the city, towering over all the others, flew the royal standard. The Black Three-Headed Dragon of House Blackfyre flew defiantly in the wind, a challenge to all who would oppose the Last of the Dragon Kings.
Aegon stood, possibly for the last time, and descended the steps of his throne. “Bring me my armor and blade. I will fight above the gates with my men,” ordered the King. He slid his night black breastplate over his chest, and winced as the straps were pulled tight. His wrists were covered by his mailed gloves, and his legs were covered in dark plate steel. Lastly, he buckled on his great-sword and strapped his dagger to his waist. Grabbing his helm, he strode from the hall, rattling softly into the night air. He saw scores of terrified civilians as he passed down through the city, and to each he tried to offer some sort of encouragement or comforting word. Many asked him to see their sons safely through the fight, and he swore to them he would do his utmost. Even though he knew that the battle could very well go against them, he sought to project an air of confidence so as to bolster the hopes of the people. He finally reached the courtyard and was greeted by the tramp of metal boots and the sight of flickering torchlight. He could see the alarm in the mens faces, and he could tell that their courage was hanging by the thinnest of threads, he only wished he had some great tactical marvel to carry the day. But alas, siege warfare had always been a simple art, and now was not a time for risky gambles. He met the assembled Lords at the center of the courtyard, and felt a pang of regret that this may be the last time they ever assembled together.
“Well friends, it seems to me that we have a battle to fight. I swear to you my Lord, I will never let the Western Wall fall. If I am to spend my last hours on this earth fighting with you men, then I consider the best way. If we are to die here, then let us do so with honor, and hold to the oaths we swore to the King when we were young men, so long ago.” Surprisingly, these words were spoken by Vale Ryswell, who seemed to be coming to terms with their fate.
“Agreed. Let it never be said that we forsook our vows, but that we fought to the last man in defense of our people,” agreed John Avalon.
“If I am to die here, then it shall be my pleasure to lay down my life in service to my King. It has been an honor to serve with you all,” replied Lord Greenwood.
“Very well. It has been a pleasure. Let us take our posts, and prepare to give battle to these demons that come to annihilate everything we hold dear. Hold strong my friends, once more into the breach we must go,” finished Lord Silverwood.
“You are the greatest men I have ever had the honor of knowing. Good luck my friends.” Aegon told them all he had thought for so long. They parted ways, back to their posts. The men cheered as Aegon ascended the stairs above the gate, and he unsheathed his sword. “This night! We stand in the path of the hordes who come to take our lands, our freedom, and our lives! Here we stand! Here we fight! If this is to be our end, then let us bring as many of the enemy with us as we can! Brothers, I say this to you now, never give up the fight! For we are the Sons of the Dragon, and none shall break our spirit nor our will to fight! For Glory! For Country! And for Home!” Aegon finished his speech and turned once more to look out towards the approaching hosts.
The enemy came in overwhelming numbers, so vast and so numerous that they could not possibly be counted. The fires they brought with them glinted off the scarred iron of their armor and weapons. Strange voices echoed from the host, and the noise was hideous to the human ear. “Stand fast, do not fear them. Hold your line,” ordered Aegon as he watched the enemy advance halt a stones throw from the outer walls. A gargantuan orc like beast strode forwards, and in his hand he held a bundle. He opened his foul mouth and spoke “We are come, look out upon your doom human. We are the breakers of Kingdoms, shatterers of hosts, and your reckoning.” His eyes never left Aegon’s as he spoke, “I am tasked to show you the folly of resisting us. Behold your mighty allies, oh Dragon-King, and look upon your own fate.” With that, the beast threw the bundle forward, and three severed heads rolled out of the sack. They were the heads of the Lords Roton, Folkmer, and Alvaler. Each of them had been friends of the King, and the sight sickened him. Aegon bristled with rage as he looked down upon the filth threatening his men’s lives. “You know not what you have done, beast. Those are greater men than ever you could hope to be, and so you strike them down out of jealous rage for all your failings. Know that only death awaits you here if you should so much as engage in a battle with my people. You have never yet felt the full strength of House Blackfyre in battle, yet you will if you stay encamped outside my walls. To that end, and to avoid the needless death of my people, I challenge your coward of a leader to single combat, to decide the fate of my Kingdom. If he be so mighty as stories say, let him prove it by meeting my blade in an honest fight,” the King finished his speech and waited for an answer.
The beast chuckled, “Have you grown so desperate of late, as to have to resort to petty insults to try and save your worthless skin? Their will be no duel, you will die like a common man, and your city will burn. Such is the will of our Lord.” The beast began to turn. . . and suddenly collapsed, lifeless, an arrow sprouting from between his eyes. Aegon glanced sharply to his left, and saw one the captains of his archers with bow in hand. “Beg pardon M’Lord, he was getting on me nerves.” Said the captain.
Aegon simply nodded, and knew that battle was now inevitable.
The below is mostly fictional, and alas incomplete. I hope to finish it.
The Fall of Cair Andros
The iron of the blade felt cool as it ripped through his breastplate, through his chest, and out his back. His vision, tinted red by the fires surrounding him, saw only carnage and ruin. The screams of dying men, the blood curdling shrieks of the enemy, and the clash of weapons all faded into a dull throbbing in his ears. Smoke filled his lungs as he gasped for breath, and his heart beat was like a pounding in his ears. Blood poured from his wound as the blade was yanked from his body, and he collapsed face first upon the ground. His sword fell from his grip, the ruby embedded in its pommel clattering against the stones of the courtyard, and he knew then that it was finished. Despair welled up in his chest, and with his final moments he recalled the events leading up to his fatal wound. . .
A pounding upon the door jarred Aegon into wakefulness. He blindly sat up, hands scrabbling for his tunic, and he shouted to whoever was at the door to enter. Pulling on his sword belt, he faced the sillouhete of the man entering. The man was thin, dirty, and possessed a nasty wound upon his head.
“My Lord,” said the man, as he dropped to one knee before Aegon, “I come bearing grave tidings, the garrison of Forlond has been overrun. They were to many, we were caught off guard in the night, many have been taken captive, and few have escaped. I rode hard from the city with three others, yet the enemy pursued us, and they gave their lives to make sure I brought you this message.”
Aegon seemed to age visibly the longer the man spoke. Finally he asked how this could have happened, with no warning and no call for aid!
The man replied, “The battle was swift, Lord Aegon. A slaughter.” The man paused and looked down at his boots. “There was no way you could have reached us in time.”
“How long would it take for the enemy to move against us?” asked Aegon.
The man seemed to be contemplating, then said, “They could arrive by nightfall, Lord.”
“Very well, go to my steward, you will find him in the Westernmost Tower, and ask for a bed and some new clothes. Get some rest, you have my thanks.” replied Aegon.
The man bowed his head and departed. Aegon shouted for his servants to rouse the Lord’s Greenwood, Ryswell, and Avalon, and to bid them join him in the great hall. Also to send riders with the orders to recall Lord Silverwood with all his strength to the city.
Aegon finished dressing quickly, strode from the room, across the courtyard where men sat eating and sharpening their weapons, and climbed the steps towards the doors to the hall. The guards pulled open the doors, and he moved down the hall towards the council table. Seating himself at the head of the table to await the arrival of his captains, he gave orders for wine to be brought, along with something to break their fast upon.
The food and drink arrived before the men did, and Aegon tore into a loaf of bread. While eating, Lord Vale Ryswell strode in looking ready to burst, his red hair and beard lending a fiery look to the mans face, followed by the Lord’s Greenwood and John Avalon. Taking up their seats, all three men stared at Aegon, yet no one broke the silence. Aegon studied each man in turn, pondering how each would react to the news. From John Avalon’s calculating schemes, to Lord Greenwood’s impetuous outbursts, to Vale’s righteous anger. Aegon was brought back to the moment by Lord Greenwood, ever impatient, inquiring whether the rumor was true.
“Has Forlond truly fallen, My Lord?”
“Yes, a messenger came to me with the dawn, bringing the news of the city’s fall with him” Aegon said gravely.
Vale slammed his fist into the table and swore explosively. John stared at his food, yet began swiftly to speak of barring the gates and preparing for a siege, and Lord Greenwood began speaking of how they must ride to meet the enemy in the field.
“Silence! This noise will get us no where! There was one more piece of information I was brought.” shouted Aegon.
All three men stared silently at their King, who then said in a low whisper. “They will be here by nightfall.”
Silence filled the room. “Well then, our course is clear.” John stated cooly. “We must prepare the men to fight and die in defense of the city, and we must do the same. I will go and prepare the gates and asses our food stores, if that is the will of the King?”
“It is, go, and send word to me when you are finished,” instructed Aegon. “As for you Vale, I need you to find Yarnar and Skaramir, send them to me, and then take charge of disassembling the camps, and prepare the ground for our guests.”
“It would be a pleasure my Lord,” replied Vale, and he rose and departed with his mouth set in a hard line.
Lord Greenwood rose, “And what of me my Lord? What shall I do?”
“Your duty, you are Lord Captain of the Armies of Blackfyre are you not? Rouse the men, and prepare them for battle. I will join you before noon to decide how to deploy our forces,” answered Aegon.
“Aye my Lord.” Lord Greenwood strode from the hall and to the camps where the men were quartered.
Sometime later, while inspecting racks of weapons in the armory, Yarnar and Skaramir found him, and inquired as to why he had summoned them. Aegon asked whether they were as good with the bow as their reputations claimed they were. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, Aegon outlined his plan for a group of bowmen to be posted above the main gate, to feather any foes foolhardy enough to bring a ram remotely close to his gate’s.
After they had understood what he wanted, they left to gather several dozen more marksmen and visit the fletchers for extra quivers of arrows, while Aegon proceeded to the main gate to see how Lord Ryswell’s fortifications were proceeding. Scaling the stairs up to the westernmost gatehouse, Aegon could see men hard at work digging trenches and lining them with stakes, and yet others disassembling tents, and still more carrying supplies. Wagon wheels had carved twin trenches through the muck toward the main gate as they went back and forth carrying timber and canvas.
He turned around and surveyed his city. Cair Andros was strong, built across a valley with steep mountains at her back, and a swift river flowing to her Eastern side. At the very end of the valley a gigantic waterfall cascaded down the cliffs behind the fortress-city, its echoes reverberating off the great outer walls. The walls were built in a straight line from the river’s edge to the mountains feet, with three sets, each higher than the last, with three gates set into each. At the very back sat the keep. A massive stone work that had a commanding view of the entire plain for miles until the horizon. Atop the highest tower waved the great banner of House Blackfyre, and their it had waved for many a year. Aegon turned back to the fields of men before him, and his eye was caught by a gleam on the horizon.
Slowly, over the ridge to the North, a pale banner showing a silver tree rose. And riding under it on a great warhorse, sat the Lord Lucolas Silverwood, oldest and wisest of the bannermen of House Blackfyre, silver plate shining in the sunlight. Behind him rode the greatest part of the strength of the north, and it was this sight which restored morale to the disheartened men. The armored column came down through the bustle of the camp, up to the great gates, and into the courtyard. Aegon descended the gatehouse steps and rushed toward the older man. Lucolas dismounted, his armor rattling when he hit the ground. The two men embraced, yet Lord Silverwood’s face was grim as he reported his findings to Aegon.
“My Lord, my outriders have seen the enemy raiding as far up as the Fords of Ilthilien, and they bring reports of entire villages put to the sword. A great battle has taken place, and the Lord’s Roton and Folkmer have been smashed. Last I heard they were fleeing with all haste back to Forlond.”
“Your news is old my friend, Forlond has fallen,” said Aegon grimly, “We are next I fear, and the city is preparing for a siege. This is why you have been recalled.”
Lucolas nodded, then sighed.
“I had hoped for some rest,” a grin a split his weathered face, and he continued, “well, no sense pining for that which is beyond our reach. What is to be our strategy?”
“Come, it is nearly noon, and we must find Lord Greenwood. Their all your questions will be answered.” said Aegon.
Calling out to a runner as he dashed towards him, Aegon inquired as to the whereabouts of Lord Greenwood, and the man informed him that he had been sent by him to find the King, and bring him to his temporary command tent. Aegon, accompanied by Lucolas, followed the man out the main gates and into the field toward the largest tent on the plain. The cloth was dyed bright green, with streaks of brown, and had Lord Greenwoods leaf banner fluttering from the central pole of the pavilion. Upon entering the tent, he saw the Lords Greenwood and Ryswell bent over a series of maps, messily spread out over the table. Quickly glancing behind him before he ducked inside, Aegon saw ranks of men, gleaming in the sun, entering the gates of the city. The sight gave him hope, yet also made him nervous. He realized that this was the final stand. The last battle of the war would be fought here, and it was unlikely any of them, or any of the old order, would survive. He set his jaw, and entered the the tent.
“My Lord,” said Captain Greenwood, “Vale and I have been studying these maps, and have come to several conclusions. Our greatest weakness, as you know, is the western wall. It is long, to long in fact, and is vulnerable to siege towers and ladders. It also is in poor repair, and its towers, unlike those of the eastern side, have yet to be rebuilt, and as such, are susceptible to fire. Worse, portions of the wall are held up entirely by wooden scaffolds, and should any foes reach the inner base of the wall, they could bring the entire structure down with flame. Even worse, you know the nature of the enemy that marches against us, fire is their friend. I find it unlikely we can hold the outer walls. Therefore I recommend that we deploy for battle upon the plains, and meet them in the field!”
“No,” was Lord Silverwoods short answer, he continued, “We lack the strength to meet them in battle, every man of us knows this. You should know this Greenwood. You are young, but old enough to remember the Rout on the Anduin. Their the mounted strength of Kargeth, Ilthilien, and several companies of our own Knights met the enemy in the first great battle of the war. And it was their that ours and our allies men fell nearly to a man! We cannot meet this foe in a pitched battle, it will be the end of all of us. Our only hope is to hold the city. A faint hope yes, but one that we must cling to.”
Lord Greenwood looked down. “I know the battle, Lord Silverwood. I lost two of my closest friends in that slaughter. Do not seek to instruct me on the past. I acknowledge your point however, and defer to your experience.” Vale was seated, yet his face had fallen noticeably during Lucolas’s speech. It was clear he was more inclined to die in open battle then trapped like a rat.
“Good to have you back Old Man. You always seem to raise my mood,” said Vale, directed toward Silverwood. “I almost had felt happy this morning, should’ve known you would show up to fix that.”
Lord Silverwood allowed a small smile to lighten his features, and chuckled slightly at Vale’s remark. It was at this moment that John Avalon ducked into the tent, and told them all about how the gates were in good order, and that they’re food supplies would last them about six weeks of a siege.
“Though it is unlikely that any confrontation with the enemy could extend longer than a week. Our gates however may hold them for long.” This was the conclusion of Lord Avalon, and none questioned him, seeing as how he had been besieged more times than any other man in the tent could boast of. Being the Lord of Stonehold Tower, located on the border of orc lands, John had the never ending problem of orc incursions, yet his fortress had never fallen, and he remained one of the most powerful men in the Kingdom.
The meeting continued for another hour, with the debate raging from how to deploy the scattered companies of Knights they had remaining, to what should be done with the families remaining in the city. To leave them in the inner levels of the city risked all on one battle, but if they evacuated them then the enemy could slaughter them while the men were fighting to defend the city. It seemed to have no clear path, yet the debate seemed to lean more and more in favor of risking everything on one throw of the dice.
“....and if the walls are held, then it is very likely we can drive them back out of the valley. We must keep the people close, I will not leave them with no protection, and we have no men to spare to safeguard them,” Vale concluded. “The people will remain here. If the city falls, they would have no way to survive the winter anyway. We shall stake all we have on the notion of saving our city from the flames. We are approaching the hour of battle, continue with your duties. I will visit with the men, and gauge their moods. Dismissed.” Aegon exited the command tent, and saw the sun had risen to its zenith, and was already falling towards the horizon.
Time seemed to be accelerating as the day grew later. The levels of noise continued to fall, even though the city was alive with activity. With the entire populace moving anything they could carry deeper into the city, and the soldiers either standing guard or throwing up barricades and earthworks, no one had much time for small talk. The sun sank lower and lower and Aegon’s nerves were beginning to fray. Soon enough, while he was inspecting an archer post, several riders galloped out of the light of the setting sun and into the valley itself. The riders made directly for the city and were clearly exhausted; yet still they pounded onward. “My Lord! My Lord Aegon! We bring news! The enemy has crossed the river in great force, and have destroyed or scattered any resistance to them. The survivors of Ilthilien have been hunted down nearly to a man, and we have found the stripped bodies of villagers hung along our path.” The man doubled over and gasped for breath as he finished. “Then they will be here soon. So. It is to be decided today. Very well. Find food and armor. Report to Lord Silverwood, he will see you taken care of. I thank you for your service,” replied the King.
The men were rushing about, some armored, some clutching swords, some dashing into position on the walls. The banners of the Great Houses of Blackfyre were being raised along the walls. There was the Orange Starburst of Ryswell atop the Western Wall. John Avalon’s Phoenix banners stood proud along the Eastern ramparts. Lord Greenwood’s Oak Tree, resplendent on a forest green field, were being moved above the river barriers. In reserve were the men of the North, under the Silver Tree of Lucolas Silverwood. Upon the main gate of the city, towering over all the others, flew the royal standard. The Black Three-Headed Dragon of House Blackfyre flew defiantly in the wind, a challenge to all who would oppose the Last of the Dragon Kings.
Aegon stood, possibly for the last time, and descended the steps of his throne. “Bring me my armor and blade. I will fight above the gates with my men,” ordered the King. He slid his night black breastplate over his chest, and winced as the straps were pulled tight. His wrists were covered by his mailed gloves, and his legs were covered in dark plate steel. Lastly, he buckled on his great-sword and strapped his dagger to his waist. Grabbing his helm, he strode from the hall, rattling softly into the night air. He saw scores of terrified civilians as he passed down through the city, and to each he tried to offer some sort of encouragement or comforting word. Many asked him to see their sons safely through the fight, and he swore to them he would do his utmost. Even though he knew that the battle could very well go against them, he sought to project an air of confidence so as to bolster the hopes of the people. He finally reached the courtyard and was greeted by the tramp of metal boots and the sight of flickering torchlight. He could see the alarm in the mens faces, and he could tell that their courage was hanging by the thinnest of threads, he only wished he had some great tactical marvel to carry the day. But alas, siege warfare had always been a simple art, and now was not a time for risky gambles. He met the assembled Lords at the center of the courtyard, and felt a pang of regret that this may be the last time they ever assembled together.
“Well friends, it seems to me that we have a battle to fight. I swear to you my Lord, I will never let the Western Wall fall. If I am to spend my last hours on this earth fighting with you men, then I consider the best way. If we are to die here, then let us do so with honor, and hold to the oaths we swore to the King when we were young men, so long ago.” Surprisingly, these words were spoken by Vale Ryswell, who seemed to be coming to terms with their fate.
“Agreed. Let it never be said that we forsook our vows, but that we fought to the last man in defense of our people,” agreed John Avalon.
“If I am to die here, then it shall be my pleasure to lay down my life in service to my King. It has been an honor to serve with you all,” replied Lord Greenwood.
“Very well. It has been a pleasure. Let us take our posts, and prepare to give battle to these demons that come to annihilate everything we hold dear. Hold strong my friends, once more into the breach we must go,” finished Lord Silverwood.
“You are the greatest men I have ever had the honor of knowing. Good luck my friends.” Aegon told them all he had thought for so long. They parted ways, back to their posts. The men cheered as Aegon ascended the stairs above the gate, and he unsheathed his sword. “This night! We stand in the path of the hordes who come to take our lands, our freedom, and our lives! Here we stand! Here we fight! If this is to be our end, then let us bring as many of the enemy with us as we can! Brothers, I say this to you now, never give up the fight! For we are the Sons of the Dragon, and none shall break our spirit nor our will to fight! For Glory! For Country! And for Home!” Aegon finished his speech and turned once more to look out towards the approaching hosts.
The enemy came in overwhelming numbers, so vast and so numerous that they could not possibly be counted. The fires they brought with them glinted off the scarred iron of their armor and weapons. Strange voices echoed from the host, and the noise was hideous to the human ear. “Stand fast, do not fear them. Hold your line,” ordered Aegon as he watched the enemy advance halt a stones throw from the outer walls. A gargantuan orc like beast strode forwards, and in his hand he held a bundle. He opened his foul mouth and spoke “We are come, look out upon your doom human. We are the breakers of Kingdoms, shatterers of hosts, and your reckoning.” His eyes never left Aegon’s as he spoke, “I am tasked to show you the folly of resisting us. Behold your mighty allies, oh Dragon-King, and look upon your own fate.” With that, the beast threw the bundle forward, and three severed heads rolled out of the sack. They were the heads of the Lords Roton, Folkmer, and Alvaler. Each of them had been friends of the King, and the sight sickened him. Aegon bristled with rage as he looked down upon the filth threatening his men’s lives. “You know not what you have done, beast. Those are greater men than ever you could hope to be, and so you strike them down out of jealous rage for all your failings. Know that only death awaits you here if you should so much as engage in a battle with my people. You have never yet felt the full strength of House Blackfyre in battle, yet you will if you stay encamped outside my walls. To that end, and to avoid the needless death of my people, I challenge your coward of a leader to single combat, to decide the fate of my Kingdom. If he be so mighty as stories say, let him prove it by meeting my blade in an honest fight,” the King finished his speech and waited for an answer.
The beast chuckled, “Have you grown so desperate of late, as to have to resort to petty insults to try and save your worthless skin? Their will be no duel, you will die like a common man, and your city will burn. Such is the will of our Lord.” The beast began to turn. . . and suddenly collapsed, lifeless, an arrow sprouting from between his eyes. Aegon glanced sharply to his left, and saw one the captains of his archers with bow in hand. “Beg pardon M’Lord, he was getting on me nerves.” Said the captain.
Aegon simply nodded, and knew that battle was now inevitable.
michaelrotov1234
New member
I think this could be a good way to explain how the RP server ended. I had a similar story from Ilthilien's side, basically Forlond falling but our fleet escaped packed full of refugees, soldiers and the government (explains why Ilthilien is still around on another server)
The one in the bold is actually true, some places were on fire from the start of the server
[quote user_id="5455627" avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/michaelrotov1234/74.png" name="michaelrotov1234"]1. The Demon Attacks
The demon attacks first began approximately a week after the server opened. The first sign anyone had was when Dawn's Gate, a Blackfyran fortress, was attacked by a huge number of monsters spewing forth from an obsidian portal that appeared out of nowhere.[/quote]
Dawn's Gate wasn't a Blackfyrian fortress, it was an allied faction led by Farmeraap. The Blackfyrian settlement was Demon's Gate, which was overrun and abandoned.
michaelrotov1234
New member
Anyway I will add both the Blackfyre and Ilthilien accounts of how EW RP ended in after both are written.
TheShadower7
New member
Don't forget to add a few Kargethians to the Ilthiliens Ships fleeing - they didn't survive long after, but nonetheless include 'em.
michaelrotov1234
New member
The Fall of Arpenia (Will be added to compendium along with the Fall of Cair Andros in addition to Ilthilien's own lore)
Forlond
Essos Arandur stood at Forlond's docks as he agonised over his latest decision. The young Ilthilien captain, distant cousin and personal advisor of Lord Ithelor, stood tall on the battlements of Forlond, as he surveyed the host of ships in the Erduin. There were 5 in the fleet, arranged in a line for the river could barely accommodate one, let alone two side by side. These 5 ships were barely a quarter of the sea strength of the Ilthilien Empire, for a similar fleet laid anchor at the ruins of Ilthilia, and yet others, real seagoing vessels, were already waiting at the mouth of the Ersgil. Ilthilien was not the only naval power though, for the settlement of Edessa, on the other side of Forlond, also had a small squadron of 3 ships.
The sun was already setting at the distance as the Forlond Fleet was loading up. Essos stirred uneasily. The night was going to be long and full of terrors, he mused. Suddenly, an arrow hit him straight in the chest - and bounced off. His chestplate, made of the best Blackfyran plate as a gift from his friend and close ally Lord Blackfyre himself. Two seconds later, Forlond was aflame.
'DEMONS! THEY ARE HERE!' cried one of Essos' guardsmen. Swords slid easily out of scabbards, their naked blades gleaming in the moonlight and the fire that was already engulfing most of Forlond. The demons were already storming the Edessa bridge.
'Archers! Pick them off! It will buy us a few minutes.' Essos breathed heavily as he contemplated his next course of action. The situation was not exactly as good as he thought.
Five minutes later, amidst the sound of battle, he had a plan.
He quickly strode over to Forlond's keep, his sword made of blue steel in hand. 'I won't be much use in fighting', he thought. Unlike the seasoned lords in the rest of Arpenia, the eighteen-year-old Essos was still half a boy at heart although he was already shouldering burdens decades too old for him. His political prowess and military value as a strategist greatly eclipsed his skills in physical combat.
Ithelor was still trembling on his throne as his cousin burst in with half a dozen of his rangers. 'What do we do now? Do we stand and fight?' Ithelor stood from his throne, his armor gleaming in the torchlight as he reached for his bow and quiver of arrows. 'Yes-but for five minutes, and you won't be doing any of the fighting m'lord. Get to the ships now through the escape tunnels, for there is still hope. Follow me.' The two cousins slid down the pole behind the makeshift throne in Forlond. The cries of sailors grew louder and louder, ultimately ending in a brief moment of laughter as the two hapless cousins plopped onto the deck of the Shadow with a loud crash. Ten seconds later, the rest of the bodyguards followed.
Essos sighed. Let's hope that there will still be laughter when the day rises.
Against Lord Ithelor's loud protests, the ship's anchor was slowly winched up. 'What about the rest of Forlond's garrison!' He screamed, as he frantically scouted the ship's company for Essos. Soon he spotted his cousin, on a boat rowing for the northern shore of the Erduin along with two other men.
Essos landed on the northern shore, this time clad in only leather armor. Mobility was of the essence for the current situation; besides, the thick leather was also impenetrable to all but the most savage of blades. He still wore a helm, of course, for most lethal injuries were head blows. Beside him, his friends Rendor Gelak and Peter Albion were beside him. He quickly scampered up the mountain paths, straight into the hell that was Edessa. More than once, he nearly slipped in the thick blood as he stumbled towards Lord Hermanicus of Edessa. Hermanicus was already coated in a thick layer of demon blood as his sword savaged the demon ranks. The vile creatures were already fleeing from the whirlwind of metal - straight into the sharp steel of Essos and his companions.
'Lord Hermanicus! Is the rest of Edessa in your boats?'
'Of course! Everyone who is alive that is. My bodyguards and I are the only ones still left in Edessa.'
'Go! Sail down the Erduin to E'bar along with your fleet and Ithelor's boat. I will meet you there.' If I am still alive, that is.
Hermanicus, ever the warlord, could not help but slaughter a few more demons before striding down the path to his own boats. Essos had another plan. He grabbed a pike from a slain Kargethien warrior and raced down the Forlond bridge, using it as a huge pole to knock demons off. A dozen demons flew off Forlond bridge as the pike whacked them hard in the chest, eyes open with great surprise. Bows twanged as the Rangers finished off the few survivors, while Essos and his bodyguards joined the brutal fighting on the narrow cliff in front of Forlond's gate. Soon, more than a hundred demon heads were thrown down to the ships below by the victorious Rangers. This victory would be short-lived though, for although the wall facing the river and the mountain pass were clear for the moment along with parts of the outer stables, the rest of Forlond was already a smoking ruin and scores of demons were already flanking both mountains. There was only one thing to be done.
'I want four riders dispatched to Blackfyre immediately. Take the north gate and use the shore road, and cross the river via dragon bridge. Then ride at full speed to Cair Andros. Fight alongside Blackfyre if you still can, and if Cair falls I want you to lead any remaining Blackfyran cavalry to the Dunamis lands, and then cross over to Ilthilia. Don't bother taking civilians. It pains me to leave them to their fate, but there is no way they could keep up let alone be fed. By the time the battle is over most civilians will be dead anyway. Tell Blackfyre that nothing could be done for Forlond has fallen. Ilthilien cannot come to its aid.'
Four rangers nodded and mounted up. As the northern gate opened for the last time, Essos turned towards his companions. 'Lead the remainder of the Forlond garrison down to the ships and ask them to set sail immediately. Sail for Ilthilia, I will wait for you there.' Essos, along with 5 of his guards, swiftly mounted their horses and rode towards the mountain pass. His plan was simple: ride to Ilthilia, passing through multiple villages in the process and perhaps warning their population to follow them south if they are still alive, and mount a great defense along Ilthilia's river. Essos did not want to die in a last stand though; the ships in the south, along with their sailors, will prove their worth in due course.
The 6 riders charged towards the demon ranks, which were getting thicker every second by the mountain pass. The demons readied their ranks, but the sun was rising. The helms of the men, along with the tips of their outdrawn swords, gleamed bright in the sunlight. A momentary daze, and the Ilthilien were on them. Essos did not remember much of what happened except that 6 mere riders ploughed through at least 20 ranks of demons. None of his guard was lost that day. They rode on as Forlond burned behind them, slightly veiled behind the thick screen of the smoke. As they reached the top of a peak, they turned around and saw their fortress for the last time. Essos wiped a tear, and they rode on, unfurling the great banner of Ilthilien. White tree on green field.
The Songs of the South
A week later, Ithelor and Essos stood together, standing on a field which had been Ilthilia. The two men walked around the site of the crater, which just had been filled in under the order of Essos. Many speculated the use of this act, particularly as the demons would get here sooner or later, and most suspected that it would be far sooner than building fortifications at Ilthilia.
'You sure this would work?'
'As sure as the sun rises at dawn and sets at dusk.'
'Well, you never know.' Ithelor chuckled. Essos let out a sly grin, as he still shuddered from his sights along the way to E'Bar and the news of what happened to Blackfyre. 'Shatterer of hosts, indeed.' Essos could still remember the chattering of his teeth as he received the reports of the mere few who had been able to flee Cair. It was a 'last stand', but in many cases there are always some people who are able to flee. Ilthilia was also intended to be a last stand; for the demons, that is. He looked down and surveyed the ground carefully. 'Perfect.'
The Ilthilien strategy was simple: all of the ships were fully laden, but it takes time to modify the rivercraft for a treacherous sea voyage, nor would it be wise to sail into open sea without knowing a destination. For that purpose, he had sent scouts, and unexpectedly they returned with findings. Three days ago, the Dunamis Riders, heavily reduced, had been pursued across the Erduin, and they were unable to bring any of the horses as they crossed the river. The shrieking of the horses still haunted Essos. What remained of Ilthilien's cavalry corps was dispatched into the Deep Grove to locate Reddagger and Athos. The Reddaggers rode back with the Ilthilien, but Athos was razed to the ground by the time the Rangers got there. The great Ilthilien Empire was now reduced to southern Ilthilien itself, with most refugees having boarded the ships that would take them to safety. There were few refugees though; Essos would be pleasantly surprised if even one tenths of Ilthilien's former population remained. On the other hand he now had a host of Kargethiens with him as well.
At night the demons came, and paid their price in fire and blood.
Fire and Blood
Some may call it the Last Stand of Ilthilia, but the majority of the action was neither fought near Ilthilia nor did the Ilthilien Rangers get massacred.
The demons came to Ilthilia first, expecting that Ilthilien's capital being taken would result in a huge defeat for morale. Their hosts marched down the Ered Fanya in huge columns, while another enemy stormed across the now rebuilt Ilthilia bridge. Amazingly, there was seemingly no one to oppose them except 7 men standing on a small boat in the river.
Essos' voice was cold as the demons jeered at them, their great ranks ready to lay waste to the boat.
'Fire.' Two of Essos' guards shot their arrows up. Both arrows landed right on top of a barrel filled with liquid. It burned.
'And blood.'
The air around the men suddenly heated up as many tons of gunpowder buried in the old crater exploded beneath the demons' feet. The soldiers at E'Bar cheered as the distant thunder reached them, along with a huge cloud. The crater formed this time was at least twice as large as the one caused by the Blackfyrans during the Blackfyre war, and water rushed in from the two branches of the river. The demons' howl for mercy was silenced by the cold water, deep in the night. At least half of the demon force sent to attack Ilthilia was vaporised, and another quarter was drowned. But Essos wasn't done yet.
'Retreat to E'bar.'
'Aye!'
The besieging of E'bar one hour later did not go as well as the demons planned either. It went off to an inauspicious start when their initial horde was massacred by a hail of arrows, fruitlessly pounding against the thick walls of the fortified town. The second horde did no better. The slings were no less deadly than the arrows.
Two hours later, a huge host finally arrived outside E'Bar's walls. A huge beast trampled up to the barred metal gate and challenged. 'What will you do now? Perhaps you want to see the work we did on your allies.' Several heads were produced, some Blackfyran, some Athos, some even Ilthilien.
'I do hope you consider turning back. For your own good. Look at what happened to your army.'
'Why would I want to turn back when you can't use the same trick any more? Bluffing won't work. You are on land, just as we are.'
'Then behold your doom.'
Hundreds of severed demon heads rolled down the walls. Most of them landed near the orcs' feet.
The demon leader picked up one of the heads, which was burning in the neck. That was the last thing he ever did, along with more than a hundred demons. Whether they picked it up was not a matter, as the dying screams of the vile creatures, legs blown off, echoed through the night.
'One last trick.' Essos turned towards his cousin. 'Now.' Essos lit the last fuse he prepared.
The demons were more than surprised as the town gate was rolled up. Gleefully they pursued the fleeing Ilthilien, not aware of the ship coming up the coast. Essos sprinted for his life along with his cousin and the rest of his guards, the demons seemingly at their heels. They retreated to the top of the flat town and jumped into the water, just as all of E'Bar erupted.
However, this time things did not go according to plan. The first sign that there was trouble was when the ship began listing heavily to port. This was not a major problem as it merely slowed down the speed of recovering the men. The problem was that Ithelor's head had hit the side of the ship as he jumped down.
Essos wanted to cry, but he didnt. Instead, he marched down to the front of the ship, bruised, battered and thoroughly soaked. He had seen enough.
'Set course for Ersgil. The rest of our fleet is there. Sail down to Thysduin, and then the Kargethiens will take it from there.'
'Why flee sir?'
'Perhaps you will see later as we sail out of the delta.'
The fleet of 20 or so ships, with varying sizes, slid out of the Erduin delta towards the open sea. Essos turned back just in time to see the entire land of Arpenia slowly sink. He turned away as the ships sailed into the setting sun.
Forlond
Essos Arandur stood at Forlond's docks as he agonised over his latest decision. The young Ilthilien captain, distant cousin and personal advisor of Lord Ithelor, stood tall on the battlements of Forlond, as he surveyed the host of ships in the Erduin. There were 5 in the fleet, arranged in a line for the river could barely accommodate one, let alone two side by side. These 5 ships were barely a quarter of the sea strength of the Ilthilien Empire, for a similar fleet laid anchor at the ruins of Ilthilia, and yet others, real seagoing vessels, were already waiting at the mouth of the Ersgil. Ilthilien was not the only naval power though, for the settlement of Edessa, on the other side of Forlond, also had a small squadron of 3 ships.
The sun was already setting at the distance as the Forlond Fleet was loading up. Essos stirred uneasily. The night was going to be long and full of terrors, he mused. Suddenly, an arrow hit him straight in the chest - and bounced off. His chestplate, made of the best Blackfyran plate as a gift from his friend and close ally Lord Blackfyre himself. Two seconds later, Forlond was aflame.
'DEMONS! THEY ARE HERE!' cried one of Essos' guardsmen. Swords slid easily out of scabbards, their naked blades gleaming in the moonlight and the fire that was already engulfing most of Forlond. The demons were already storming the Edessa bridge.
'Archers! Pick them off! It will buy us a few minutes.' Essos breathed heavily as he contemplated his next course of action. The situation was not exactly as good as he thought.
Five minutes later, amidst the sound of battle, he had a plan.
He quickly strode over to Forlond's keep, his sword made of blue steel in hand. 'I won't be much use in fighting', he thought. Unlike the seasoned lords in the rest of Arpenia, the eighteen-year-old Essos was still half a boy at heart although he was already shouldering burdens decades too old for him. His political prowess and military value as a strategist greatly eclipsed his skills in physical combat.
Ithelor was still trembling on his throne as his cousin burst in with half a dozen of his rangers. 'What do we do now? Do we stand and fight?' Ithelor stood from his throne, his armor gleaming in the torchlight as he reached for his bow and quiver of arrows. 'Yes-but for five minutes, and you won't be doing any of the fighting m'lord. Get to the ships now through the escape tunnels, for there is still hope. Follow me.' The two cousins slid down the pole behind the makeshift throne in Forlond. The cries of sailors grew louder and louder, ultimately ending in a brief moment of laughter as the two hapless cousins plopped onto the deck of the Shadow with a loud crash. Ten seconds later, the rest of the bodyguards followed.
Essos sighed. Let's hope that there will still be laughter when the day rises.
Against Lord Ithelor's loud protests, the ship's anchor was slowly winched up. 'What about the rest of Forlond's garrison!' He screamed, as he frantically scouted the ship's company for Essos. Soon he spotted his cousin, on a boat rowing for the northern shore of the Erduin along with two other men.
Essos landed on the northern shore, this time clad in only leather armor. Mobility was of the essence for the current situation; besides, the thick leather was also impenetrable to all but the most savage of blades. He still wore a helm, of course, for most lethal injuries were head blows. Beside him, his friends Rendor Gelak and Peter Albion were beside him. He quickly scampered up the mountain paths, straight into the hell that was Edessa. More than once, he nearly slipped in the thick blood as he stumbled towards Lord Hermanicus of Edessa. Hermanicus was already coated in a thick layer of demon blood as his sword savaged the demon ranks. The vile creatures were already fleeing from the whirlwind of metal - straight into the sharp steel of Essos and his companions.
'Lord Hermanicus! Is the rest of Edessa in your boats?'
'Of course! Everyone who is alive that is. My bodyguards and I are the only ones still left in Edessa.'
'Go! Sail down the Erduin to E'bar along with your fleet and Ithelor's boat. I will meet you there.' If I am still alive, that is.
Hermanicus, ever the warlord, could not help but slaughter a few more demons before striding down the path to his own boats. Essos had another plan. He grabbed a pike from a slain Kargethien warrior and raced down the Forlond bridge, using it as a huge pole to knock demons off. A dozen demons flew off Forlond bridge as the pike whacked them hard in the chest, eyes open with great surprise. Bows twanged as the Rangers finished off the few survivors, while Essos and his bodyguards joined the brutal fighting on the narrow cliff in front of Forlond's gate. Soon, more than a hundred demon heads were thrown down to the ships below by the victorious Rangers. This victory would be short-lived though, for although the wall facing the river and the mountain pass were clear for the moment along with parts of the outer stables, the rest of Forlond was already a smoking ruin and scores of demons were already flanking both mountains. There was only one thing to be done.
'I want four riders dispatched to Blackfyre immediately. Take the north gate and use the shore road, and cross the river via dragon bridge. Then ride at full speed to Cair Andros. Fight alongside Blackfyre if you still can, and if Cair falls I want you to lead any remaining Blackfyran cavalry to the Dunamis lands, and then cross over to Ilthilia. Don't bother taking civilians. It pains me to leave them to their fate, but there is no way they could keep up let alone be fed. By the time the battle is over most civilians will be dead anyway. Tell Blackfyre that nothing could be done for Forlond has fallen. Ilthilien cannot come to its aid.'
Four rangers nodded and mounted up. As the northern gate opened for the last time, Essos turned towards his companions. 'Lead the remainder of the Forlond garrison down to the ships and ask them to set sail immediately. Sail for Ilthilia, I will wait for you there.' Essos, along with 5 of his guards, swiftly mounted their horses and rode towards the mountain pass. His plan was simple: ride to Ilthilia, passing through multiple villages in the process and perhaps warning their population to follow them south if they are still alive, and mount a great defense along Ilthilia's river. Essos did not want to die in a last stand though; the ships in the south, along with their sailors, will prove their worth in due course.
The 6 riders charged towards the demon ranks, which were getting thicker every second by the mountain pass. The demons readied their ranks, but the sun was rising. The helms of the men, along with the tips of their outdrawn swords, gleamed bright in the sunlight. A momentary daze, and the Ilthilien were on them. Essos did not remember much of what happened except that 6 mere riders ploughed through at least 20 ranks of demons. None of his guard was lost that day. They rode on as Forlond burned behind them, slightly veiled behind the thick screen of the smoke. As they reached the top of a peak, they turned around and saw their fortress for the last time. Essos wiped a tear, and they rode on, unfurling the great banner of Ilthilien. White tree on green field.
The Songs of the South
A week later, Ithelor and Essos stood together, standing on a field which had been Ilthilia. The two men walked around the site of the crater, which just had been filled in under the order of Essos. Many speculated the use of this act, particularly as the demons would get here sooner or later, and most suspected that it would be far sooner than building fortifications at Ilthilia.
'You sure this would work?'
'As sure as the sun rises at dawn and sets at dusk.'
'Well, you never know.' Ithelor chuckled. Essos let out a sly grin, as he still shuddered from his sights along the way to E'Bar and the news of what happened to Blackfyre. 'Shatterer of hosts, indeed.' Essos could still remember the chattering of his teeth as he received the reports of the mere few who had been able to flee Cair. It was a 'last stand', but in many cases there are always some people who are able to flee. Ilthilia was also intended to be a last stand; for the demons, that is. He looked down and surveyed the ground carefully. 'Perfect.'
The Ilthilien strategy was simple: all of the ships were fully laden, but it takes time to modify the rivercraft for a treacherous sea voyage, nor would it be wise to sail into open sea without knowing a destination. For that purpose, he had sent scouts, and unexpectedly they returned with findings. Three days ago, the Dunamis Riders, heavily reduced, had been pursued across the Erduin, and they were unable to bring any of the horses as they crossed the river. The shrieking of the horses still haunted Essos. What remained of Ilthilien's cavalry corps was dispatched into the Deep Grove to locate Reddagger and Athos. The Reddaggers rode back with the Ilthilien, but Athos was razed to the ground by the time the Rangers got there. The great Ilthilien Empire was now reduced to southern Ilthilien itself, with most refugees having boarded the ships that would take them to safety. There were few refugees though; Essos would be pleasantly surprised if even one tenths of Ilthilien's former population remained. On the other hand he now had a host of Kargethiens with him as well.
At night the demons came, and paid their price in fire and blood.
Fire and Blood
Some may call it the Last Stand of Ilthilia, but the majority of the action was neither fought near Ilthilia nor did the Ilthilien Rangers get massacred.
The demons came to Ilthilia first, expecting that Ilthilien's capital being taken would result in a huge defeat for morale. Their hosts marched down the Ered Fanya in huge columns, while another enemy stormed across the now rebuilt Ilthilia bridge. Amazingly, there was seemingly no one to oppose them except 7 men standing on a small boat in the river.
Essos' voice was cold as the demons jeered at them, their great ranks ready to lay waste to the boat.
'Fire.' Two of Essos' guards shot their arrows up. Both arrows landed right on top of a barrel filled with liquid. It burned.
'And blood.'
The air around the men suddenly heated up as many tons of gunpowder buried in the old crater exploded beneath the demons' feet. The soldiers at E'Bar cheered as the distant thunder reached them, along with a huge cloud. The crater formed this time was at least twice as large as the one caused by the Blackfyrans during the Blackfyre war, and water rushed in from the two branches of the river. The demons' howl for mercy was silenced by the cold water, deep in the night. At least half of the demon force sent to attack Ilthilia was vaporised, and another quarter was drowned. But Essos wasn't done yet.
'Retreat to E'bar.'
'Aye!'
The besieging of E'bar one hour later did not go as well as the demons planned either. It went off to an inauspicious start when their initial horde was massacred by a hail of arrows, fruitlessly pounding against the thick walls of the fortified town. The second horde did no better. The slings were no less deadly than the arrows.
Two hours later, a huge host finally arrived outside E'Bar's walls. A huge beast trampled up to the barred metal gate and challenged. 'What will you do now? Perhaps you want to see the work we did on your allies.' Several heads were produced, some Blackfyran, some Athos, some even Ilthilien.
'I do hope you consider turning back. For your own good. Look at what happened to your army.'
'Why would I want to turn back when you can't use the same trick any more? Bluffing won't work. You are on land, just as we are.'
'Then behold your doom.'
Hundreds of severed demon heads rolled down the walls. Most of them landed near the orcs' feet.
The demon leader picked up one of the heads, which was burning in the neck. That was the last thing he ever did, along with more than a hundred demons. Whether they picked it up was not a matter, as the dying screams of the vile creatures, legs blown off, echoed through the night.
'One last trick.' Essos turned towards his cousin. 'Now.' Essos lit the last fuse he prepared.
The demons were more than surprised as the town gate was rolled up. Gleefully they pursued the fleeing Ilthilien, not aware of the ship coming up the coast. Essos sprinted for his life along with his cousin and the rest of his guards, the demons seemingly at their heels. They retreated to the top of the flat town and jumped into the water, just as all of E'Bar erupted.
However, this time things did not go according to plan. The first sign that there was trouble was when the ship began listing heavily to port. This was not a major problem as it merely slowed down the speed of recovering the men. The problem was that Ithelor's head had hit the side of the ship as he jumped down.
Essos wanted to cry, but he didnt. Instead, he marched down to the front of the ship, bruised, battered and thoroughly soaked. He had seen enough.
'Set course for Ersgil. The rest of our fleet is there. Sail down to Thysduin, and then the Kargethiens will take it from there.'
'Why flee sir?'
'Perhaps you will see later as we sail out of the delta.'
The fleet of 20 or so ships, with varying sizes, slid out of the Erduin delta towards the open sea. Essos turned back just in time to see the entire land of Arpenia slowly sink. He turned away as the ships sailed into the setting sun.
this makes me really sad that I missed the rp server when I read this I was like oh epic I wish I was there for battles empires and such (AKA how I wish all MC servers were)
Ayers123
New member
The Fall of Cair Andros
‘Men of Blackfyre!’
The men lining the walls cheered and waved glittering weapons as the mounted figure rode by, yelling to the heavens.
‘You know your duty!’
The man wore glistening Black plate, with rubies in the chest, which glowed as if aflame.
‘You know that if you don’t stand and fight, your families will die!’
The men made the ground tremble with the thudding of their spears against the cold, grey stone.
‘You know that you are the only ones keeping the women and children in your city from being butchered like pigs!’
Another thunderous cheer rang out, as engineers tinkered with their catapults and ballista’s.
‘Today, you are the first, and last line of defence!’
Deadly, meter long darts were loaded into Scorpions, ready to eviscerate their foes.
‘Today we fight!’
The man had come to a stop, reining his mount to a halt. He raised his blade high, so that the setting sun shone off it, as if to lend it’s holy strength to his arm.
‘Today we die!’
The men raised their blades also, and the last rays of that red orb struck their black and red plate mail. For that one moment, all of them shone like stars in the night.
Then darkness began to fall. The falling sun twisted the horizon into a myriad of colours, from pink, to orange and finally to red. The red light spilt across the sky like blood, as off in the distance, the unholy legions marched on Cair Andros.
‘FIRE AND BLOOD!’
Elerith strode through the crowd of bustling civilians, as they flowed around him like water, desperate to get onto the ships that waited in the harbour. If Elerith looked back he could just about see the sail King’s flagship, illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun. Then the sun fell behind the city walls, and the sail dimmed to twilight. The human flood obscured Elerith’s vision of the glorious fleet, almost 50 ships in total. Those blessed vessels were set to carry the people of Blackfyre to a new world, free from demons and the fire that had torn this land apart.
Elerith climbed deftly up the side of a building, hanging of a sign that boldly proclaimed the presence of: ‘The Onion In’. Below him, people were stumbling out of their houses, dazed and confused by the sudden noise and panic.
‘Alright then!’
He called, and several of the confused pedestrians stopped in their bemused mewling to look up at him.
‘King Aegon, and his Royal guard are holding the outer wall. They are giving us enough time to get on those boats and get the hell out of here. The boats are down this road to the docks, so get moving!’
Some of the civilians still vexed, but Elerith clapped his hands and called:
‘Times up! Lets do this!’
This sent the people on their way, and Elerith continued his marathon down the cities streets, he knew where he had to go, and he didn’t have much time to get there.
TWANG!
CRACK!
The noises of the battle filled the ears of every man stationed on the wall. The black iron shafts of the Scorpions disappeared into the Demon’s ranks with screams and wails of un-godly agony. With each successful strike cheers erupted from the ranks of the royal guard, and soon enough, the anthem of Blackfyre could be heard, barging through the roar of battle like Yanar after a few too many pints.
The Dragon rises,
It’s wings are red as blood,
It’s claws are daggers,
It’s fire is the sun!
Beneath it’s wings
Our children shelter here,
You will not harm them
When the Dragon nears.
In all our hearts,
A flame burns bright as day!
When darkness rises,
We will find our way!
When hope is faded,
And the years run dry,
The dragon perseveres
We will not die!
That heart-warming tune stirred the blood of the men, and the siege weapons were loaded, fired and reloaded with newfound fervour
‘Men of Blackfyre!’
The men lining the walls cheered and waved glittering weapons as the mounted figure rode by, yelling to the heavens.
‘You know your duty!’
The man wore glistening Black plate, with rubies in the chest, which glowed as if aflame.
‘You know that if you don’t stand and fight, your families will die!’
The men made the ground tremble with the thudding of their spears against the cold, grey stone.
‘You know that you are the only ones keeping the women and children in your city from being butchered like pigs!’
Another thunderous cheer rang out, as engineers tinkered with their catapults and ballista’s.
‘Today, you are the first, and last line of defence!’
Deadly, meter long darts were loaded into Scorpions, ready to eviscerate their foes.
‘Today we fight!’
The man had come to a stop, reining his mount to a halt. He raised his blade high, so that the setting sun shone off it, as if to lend it’s holy strength to his arm.
‘Today we die!’
The men raised their blades also, and the last rays of that red orb struck their black and red plate mail. For that one moment, all of them shone like stars in the night.
Then darkness began to fall. The falling sun twisted the horizon into a myriad of colours, from pink, to orange and finally to red. The red light spilt across the sky like blood, as off in the distance, the unholy legions marched on Cair Andros.
‘FIRE AND BLOOD!’
Elerith strode through the crowd of bustling civilians, as they flowed around him like water, desperate to get onto the ships that waited in the harbour. If Elerith looked back he could just about see the sail King’s flagship, illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun. Then the sun fell behind the city walls, and the sail dimmed to twilight. The human flood obscured Elerith’s vision of the glorious fleet, almost 50 ships in total. Those blessed vessels were set to carry the people of Blackfyre to a new world, free from demons and the fire that had torn this land apart.
Elerith climbed deftly up the side of a building, hanging of a sign that boldly proclaimed the presence of: ‘The Onion In’. Below him, people were stumbling out of their houses, dazed and confused by the sudden noise and panic.
‘Alright then!’
He called, and several of the confused pedestrians stopped in their bemused mewling to look up at him.
‘King Aegon, and his Royal guard are holding the outer wall. They are giving us enough time to get on those boats and get the hell out of here. The boats are down this road to the docks, so get moving!’
Some of the civilians still vexed, but Elerith clapped his hands and called:
‘Times up! Lets do this!’
This sent the people on their way, and Elerith continued his marathon down the cities streets, he knew where he had to go, and he didn’t have much time to get there.
TWANG!
CRACK!
The noises of the battle filled the ears of every man stationed on the wall. The black iron shafts of the Scorpions disappeared into the Demon’s ranks with screams and wails of un-godly agony. With each successful strike cheers erupted from the ranks of the royal guard, and soon enough, the anthem of Blackfyre could be heard, barging through the roar of battle like Yanar after a few too many pints.
The Dragon rises,
It’s wings are red as blood,
It’s claws are daggers,
It’s fire is the sun!
Beneath it’s wings
Our children shelter here,
You will not harm them
When the Dragon nears.
In all our hearts,
A flame burns bright as day!
When darkness rises,
We will find our way!
When hope is faded,
And the years run dry,
The dragon perseveres
We will not die!
That heart-warming tune stirred the blood of the men, and the siege weapons were loaded, fired and reloaded with newfound fervour
EnderNicky
New member
The double posting. . .
Every time someone necros this I weep.
I think anyone that was in RP and sees the photos weeps, Thu.
michaelrotov1234
New member
Couldn't agree more. It was a great shame that EW RP closed. I think this was the event that defined the EW community as a whole, it was quite different from what came before and perhaps after although its influence can still be felt now. Everything just seemed... grander.
*sniff*
Sir Schnitzel the Delicious
New member
This whole RP thing sounds REALLY cool! I would be hecka awesome re-doing/re-adding it!
That was awesome. Though my death is also the death of my favorite character in that show....so....xD