Ezaltia
09-06-2007, 05:46
Dragonback Mountains
The Dragonback range sat in the center of Zjiugias, and extended northwards past the border. It was a land of biting cold, despite its southern location, but more importantly, it was a land of danger and chaos. Major roads and trade routes between Analiae and Viaguari wound right through the Dragonback's winding passages, although often it was infested with orcs, goblins, and sometimes even frost giants and remorhaz. Long had these monsters been a thorn in the side of Zjiugias, and now, at last, it was time to bring order to these lands.
Daitherion Dientari, Prince of Analiae, stood on a snowy ridge, his twin enchanted halberds held tight in his gauntleted paws. The pure white fur inherent to his family would have blended in perfectly to the surroundings, if not for the masterwork adamantine armor and scarlet cape he wore. His intense pink eyes surveyed the valley below him, and he smiled as he watched the dozens of campfires dotting the area.
"Rather large group," came the voice from behind him as Zayethein Zerakea, Prince of Viaguari, approached. He was not as heavily armored as his counterpart, with only fine chainmail and light plates protecting his vital parts. He was a few inches taller than Diatherion, but far thinner and preferred a fighting style with more finesse. A bastard sword hung on each hip, sheathed in richly decorated scabbards. "Concured," Daitherion agreed, turning past him, raising a halberd, and shouting, "Move out!"
Two thousand soldiers had been allocated to each prince, ranging from viath swordsman to the elite dragonkin Aerial Corps. A section of Viaguari's rangers led the way, mounted on various big cats. Zayethein, a skilled ranger himself, climbed onto his dire tiger Raghylzjiak to join them. Archers, armed with longbows almost as tall as they were, took up firing positions around the valley. Swordsmen and spearmen formed up into neat formations, ready to sweep down into the camp. Dragonkin flyers crouched on hilltops to swoop down on their foes, and psions attached temselves to infantry platoons to provide heavy firepower and healing.
Zayethein drew his swords, preparing to guide his mount with his knees. He looked back to Daitherion, who nodded and began giving orders to his soldiers. The first viath took a deep breath and kicked Raghylziak in the sides. The tiger gave out a mighty roar, echoing throughout the valley with its sheer volume.
That was the signal. Hundreds of long ash arrows whistled down towards the camp, slaying orcs and goblins where they stood. Dark shapes flew in front of the crescent moon, dropping down into the midst of the foe and working their falchions expertly to throw their enemy into dissaray. Many of the goblinoids did not notice the main contigent until it was upon them, long naginatas leading the way for swarms of viath swordsmen. Daitherion was in the front rank, his halberds carving a swathe through the enemy. A goblin popped up in front of him, but his right halberd swept across, smashing into it chest and literally sending it flying a few meters. A second goblin came in from the side, but was neatly impaled by the long spike on top of the polearm.
Beside him, Raghyzjiak pounced, tackling an orc to the ground and chewing voraciously. The rider used his momentum to leap off, crossing his swords in front of him and slashing them in a scissor motion to decapitate a second orc. Zayethein landed in a neat somersault, thrusting a sword in front of him to impale yet another orc. Withdrawing the blade, he stood, swinging his left sword to pick off a incoming spear. The first sword came in with another thrust at the weilder, impaling the poor orc as the second sword cleanly lopped off its head.
The battle continued, until every last goblinoid in the camp was dead.
The Dragonback range sat in the center of Zjiugias, and extended northwards past the border. It was a land of biting cold, despite its southern location, but more importantly, it was a land of danger and chaos. Major roads and trade routes between Analiae and Viaguari wound right through the Dragonback's winding passages, although often it was infested with orcs, goblins, and sometimes even frost giants and remorhaz. Long had these monsters been a thorn in the side of Zjiugias, and now, at last, it was time to bring order to these lands.
Daitherion Dientari, Prince of Analiae, stood on a snowy ridge, his twin enchanted halberds held tight in his gauntleted paws. The pure white fur inherent to his family would have blended in perfectly to the surroundings, if not for the masterwork adamantine armor and scarlet cape he wore. His intense pink eyes surveyed the valley below him, and he smiled as he watched the dozens of campfires dotting the area.
"Rather large group," came the voice from behind him as Zayethein Zerakea, Prince of Viaguari, approached. He was not as heavily armored as his counterpart, with only fine chainmail and light plates protecting his vital parts. He was a few inches taller than Diatherion, but far thinner and preferred a fighting style with more finesse. A bastard sword hung on each hip, sheathed in richly decorated scabbards. "Concured," Daitherion agreed, turning past him, raising a halberd, and shouting, "Move out!"
Two thousand soldiers had been allocated to each prince, ranging from viath swordsman to the elite dragonkin Aerial Corps. A section of Viaguari's rangers led the way, mounted on various big cats. Zayethein, a skilled ranger himself, climbed onto his dire tiger Raghylzjiak to join them. Archers, armed with longbows almost as tall as they were, took up firing positions around the valley. Swordsmen and spearmen formed up into neat formations, ready to sweep down into the camp. Dragonkin flyers crouched on hilltops to swoop down on their foes, and psions attached temselves to infantry platoons to provide heavy firepower and healing.
Zayethein drew his swords, preparing to guide his mount with his knees. He looked back to Daitherion, who nodded and began giving orders to his soldiers. The first viath took a deep breath and kicked Raghylziak in the sides. The tiger gave out a mighty roar, echoing throughout the valley with its sheer volume.
That was the signal. Hundreds of long ash arrows whistled down towards the camp, slaying orcs and goblins where they stood. Dark shapes flew in front of the crescent moon, dropping down into the midst of the foe and working their falchions expertly to throw their enemy into dissaray. Many of the goblinoids did not notice the main contigent until it was upon them, long naginatas leading the way for swarms of viath swordsmen. Daitherion was in the front rank, his halberds carving a swathe through the enemy. A goblin popped up in front of him, but his right halberd swept across, smashing into it chest and literally sending it flying a few meters. A second goblin came in from the side, but was neatly impaled by the long spike on top of the polearm.
Beside him, Raghyzjiak pounced, tackling an orc to the ground and chewing voraciously. The rider used his momentum to leap off, crossing his swords in front of him and slashing them in a scissor motion to decapitate a second orc. Zayethein landed in a neat somersault, thrusting a sword in front of him to impale yet another orc. Withdrawing the blade, he stood, swinging his left sword to pick off a incoming spear. The first sword came in with another thrust at the weilder, impaling the poor orc as the second sword cleanly lopped off its head.
The battle continued, until every last goblinoid in the camp was dead.