The Battle of Corcaigh-NNGO verses the Militia

[Aayla]

Soulbourne stood upon the walls surrounding Corc, watching as the sun set upon a terrible scene. Donnor's army had arrived.

They marched onto the field splayed out in front of corcaigh, making camp outside of arrow range for the night. And likely preparations for tomorrow. Soul thought as he watched them make preparations.

He turned and looked upon the men beginning to form for a night watch, word having been sent by a precious few outrunners we had patrolling the direction they would approach from. He turned and walked to the nearest tower, heading down the stairs to go see what preparations could be made.

Another war, another fight outside Corcaigh, and another day when most of the council still can't get it through there head why I want an actually decent military force here. Soul thought as he exited the tower, sighing as he walked towards the house that the Rahl's had taken for themselves.

Standing at the walls, her arms crossed over her chest, Lady Aayla looks out upon the camped force at the gates. Her following sigh is whisked away as a cool breeze blows past the woman, its chill mirroring her inner thoughts. She'd not go inside, nor turn from the scene before her, this was her home and she'd not turn her back for a second on the group at their doors.

One of the young men of Corcaigh stood shivering beside her, an overly large staff held in his gangly hands. "You there, son your holding that wrong..." a soft chuckle falls from her lips when the boy nearly jumps from his skin. "Oh settle yourself dear, nothing will happen right now.." Walking over she adjusts his stance. "Now then, this is how you should stand... moreover... this will not do you a darn thing right now." Smiling she shakes her head and pulls some coin from her pocket. "Here take this and go get yourself a meal, if the Oak&Crosier is full, go to the Rahls house and tell them Aayla sent you for a hot meal."

Leaving the lad to run off, she turned her thoughts back to what comes... Sighing again she mutters. "I do so hate the idea of fighting friends..."

In the dark of the early morning, a lone figure made his way to Cork. His hood covered his head as the cold wind blew...

He looked up at the wall and the people standing on it.

"I've come to defend the walls," he shouted to them. Despair was written all over the young man's face. "Men with nothing to lose are very dangerous, indeed. I'll join you. Plus, I brought some food."

From her place on the walls she sees the hooded man approach. "Be Welcome Friend, To whom may we thank for the aid?" She calls with a smile, "All who come to stand here with us we're grateful for your help." Turning then she offers a wide smile to Drusilla, a woman she has for many days stood beside before threat was camped at their doorstep. "Looks as though we're in for a bit of fun." She comments in a low chuckle. "At least we go forth with friends and family at our sides... "

Pausing she glances around her brow knotting slightly, "On that topic where -are- my Brothers? I shouldn't think they'd leave all the fun to me." Laughing softly she maintains a bright smile, her eyes however stay wary of the gathering storm.

I too defend the capital once again, a job I had been doing since arriving in Cork, I watch the sun rise in the east and the mist lifts, I see the army heading for us, I look at Aayla and the gentleman I had not met before and look back to the army, what would the day bring?

Obli was alone, crouched up on top of a walkway and deep in thought. Below, he could see his sister, Aayla, giving instructions to a young man and sending him on his way. "Good Jah," he said to himself "jes' whet is becomin' o' this land? 'Tis whet it be comin' down to?" he sighed. He was very comforted to have his family here, from the House of Rahl. Everyone of them had answered his call for help. As was their nature, the House of Rahl was yet again protecting Corcaigh. As pleasing it was to have them here, it was matching in sadness. He couldn't help but sense the last shred of innocence sliding away from his family. His call had always been politics in times of embattled strife within An Mumhain...yet today he would be fighting alongside his brothers and sisters and his innocence would surely leave him. In angst, he cried out, begging Jah to curse the ground on which the enemy walked. He had to be grateful though, Lady Aven had escaped before the army arrived. He quietly thanked Jah that no weapon would taste her flesh, he wasn't sure if he could bare that weight.

Standing up to see the army at the gates, he gripped his staff ever more tightly. He would die if he must, along side the brave men and women who chose to fight for Corcaigh. His head began crowding him with the thought that in times like this, the counsel of family or a good friend would be a fine thing to have...

[Aayla]

"I am Launcelot Raibead.... rogue and scoundrel. Embattled, embittered, and with no place else to go."

He climbed the walls to stand next to the capital's defenders. He was dirty and unshaven. The look of mischief extinguished from his eyes. His eyes had the hollow look of a man who'd given up hope.

"I'll wait to hear from the mayor before I do anything with this food. I won't be needing it." He dropped a bag of bread and corn between them.

The cold wind blew back the hood from his face, a slight grin appearing. He took out his sword and axe, and sharpened them both. Just in case he lived long enough to use each of them.

He reflected on the Greeks who left Xerxes' army at Thermopylae to join the Spartans and their doomed attempt to defend the pass. Better to die amongst heroes than to live amongst jackals, he thought cynically.

"Please Jah, tell me you've got enough alcohol to make this chill go away. I don't want to die with numb fingers." He grinned at Aayla.

Smiling she pulls a flask from her bodice, handing it over to Launce with a chuckle. "Raibead? I've not heard that name in some time. I'm fairly certain there was something about my Father supporting the Raibead's as a sept or something... Never matter I'm Aayla O'Murchadha of the House of Rahl. Drink as much of that as needed I've plenty more and that'll take the chill out for weeks, The Mayor'd be the one you'd be looking for is my brother Obli." Pausing she glances upwards at the tower. "I'm guessing he'll be camped up there or moving the young, old, and infirm to House Rahl for safety." Brushing a loose lock of hair from her face she looks over the weapons Launce carries and nods. "Well at least you've the look of someone who can use'em, If you'd take the food to the Mayor, return here I could use more real fighters on this line." The last part near a whisper so as not to be overheard by some of the young men shivering beside them.

Obli watched as a man making a lot of commotion climbs the wall and jumps down right in front of Aayla. "Whet in the world? Already? Poor lad, bad place to land, in front o' the likes o' her." Obli chuckles, but it is cut short as Aayla engages him in conversation. Confused and curious he watches their exchange, knowing full well that he should not have a head by now, if he knew his sister at all. He sees the man throw a sack down onto the ground and the thought hits him "Aye, this mus' be one o' the lads the Duke was tellin meh 'bout. Meh bet that this 'ere is the crafty one. Thank Jah meh sis did nay cut 'is head off..." Obli says to himself with a chuckle.

Launcelot signaled one of the young men on the way, probably with less than a dozen reputation points.

"Take this sack of food to the mayor, lad. Grab a bite for yourself if you like, but make certain he gets it quickly."

Launcelot smiled.

"Now off with ye."

He then turned his attention back to Aayla.

"Do I have that look now? The look of a man who can kill? Tis a pity. I've tried for years to lose that look. But if you're good at something, might as well do it for the right reason."

As he sheathed his sword, Aayla could see seventeen tally marks on the handle of his sword... along with the altered verse. "Forgive me Father, for I know not what I do."

"I'd thank you, if you'd place me in the front of your line. I'd like to make sure I'm in the most heated part of the fighting. I want to make certain that I see this through to the end."

He looked over his shoulder into the town.

"Could you point me to the chapel. I'd like to confess before things get too exciting."

[Aayla]

Arching a slender brow she looks Launcelot over slowly again before speaking. "Well if it is the front line you wish you'd best stay with me, the Rahls will be the front line for this..." Sighing she nods faintly, "Chapel is Just over there." Raising her hand she points towards the largish religious looking building. "When you've said your piece you can take rest at that house there." Pointing to the large Manor. "Just tell them Aayla sent you... and return here for the storm..."

Turning her gaze back to the glittering fires of the army camped outside the city she sighs. "Many times I've seen this, this is the first time I think I might not walk away from it..." mumbled under her breath.

As he walked away, he heard Aayla give words to her fears. She kept the strong visage for her people, but he knew she was scared. She wasn't sure if she would live or die.

"That's why men without hope are the most dangerous." His thoughts almost audible as he entered the small Irish chapel.

Launcelot left his sword, axe, shield and helmet at the door. His eyes immediately welling with tears as he approached the altar in the back. He hadn't even made it there when his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees.

It pained Launcelot to be here, for he had long been excommunicated by the church. There could be no forgiveness for him... his soul was damned. But that didn't mean he couldn't come and say his peace.

"I haven't led a good life. I haven't been brave or true. I've killed, robbed and pillaged my way across these islands. And I know that one act of sacrifice is no match for a life of living off the toils of others. So I'll be brief, Jah. I'm not asking for Heaven, I know that's beyond my reach. I just ask that today I fight bravely and give as well as I get. Help me to take as many of them to Hell with me as I can, Jah. And when it's over... and I stand at the Gates of Hell... I'll hold it open until Anto arrives."

Launcelot prayed hard.

"Grant courage to the men and women of Cork. Spare as many as you can, Lord. Help those who's time it is to die, to do so well. And grant peace to the families that we'll be leaving behind."

In the corner of the chapel, well hidden in the shadows stood the ethereal figures of Andrew and Jude Thaddeus, watching over him as they've done before. Shaking their heads disapprovingly as he prayed.

"It's always the same with this one, don't you think, Andrew?" St. Jude questioned. "He's never short of dramatic moments."

"Oh to be sure. A fine knight he would have made... or priest. Perhaps even a king. But his vices kept him from becoming what he should have been. Launcelot could hate with the best of them. Like now for instance."

"Quite true. He comes the the House of Jah with hatred in his heart and blood on his hands. A fine mess he turned out to be." Jude stroked his ghostly beard. "So many wrong turns for this lad."

Half an hour passed before Launcelot returned to the walls where Aayla stood. "I'm afraid sleep will have to wait. I'll get plenty of it by tomorrow."

He placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

"I'll keep watch with you here. No reason anyone should spend their last night alone."

As the hand touches her shoulder she jumps slightly, odd for her to be so on edge its not that this is a new thing for her. Her glance snaps to the face attached to the arm (at least for now) and smiles relaxing. "You should not sneak up on a girl like that, good way to loose an arm... or head" a light laugh follows, breaking the cold air.

A stiff wind whips her hair about, as she looks down the lines at the faces of friends and family. "Well I don't plan on this being my last night, or if it be Jah's will, I'll take as many as I can on the way out." Drawing her swords she points down at the army at the gates. Each blade seems old but well cared for, an engraving down each polished sword. "A little from there... a little from there..." smiling wickedly she winks at Launcelot. "Never underestimate the Rahls"

"I'm certainly hoping that they're underestimating the Rahls. Otherwise, things'll get messy at reset."

He just stood there stoically, looking out towards Donnor and company. Waiting for the next 8 hours to pass.

Obli sighs, heavy in heart. He must think of encouraging words for the brave citizens. Something to build their courage. They had more people than he had expected to defend, his hopes were high. A new day was dawning for Munster.

[Aayla]

Afon stands looking out the window of his room. For the duration of his stay in Corcaigh, Afon has taken residence in an old storage room in one of the towers which overlooked the army outside. There we other places he could have stayed that would have been more comfortable, but he hadn't made this journey for comfort.

Turning away from the window, he walks over to the chest he had brought. Pulling a key from the chain around his neck where it rests next to his Mjöllnir pendant, he opens the lock and begins to remove items from the chest. A flask goes onto the stack of boxes that serves as his makeshift table, alongside it a drinking horn. Reaching back into the chest he pulls out his bear skin armour and places it upon its rack before returning to the chest and pulling out several small jars, placing them too upon the makeshift table.

After changing into his armor, he opens the stopper on the flask and pours the contents, the blood of a wolf freshly killed, into the horn. Saying a prayer to Tyr, he drinks the wolf's blood, hoping to gain it's speed and wisdom in the coming battle. Setting the flask and the horn back into his chest, he turns and opens the small jars revealing dyes for his face.

After dying "dauði ok dómr" across his face, he closes and relocks the chest. Walking out of his room he heads out to the battlements, coming to stand next to Aayla and Launce wordlessly.

Aayla watches the few, the scared, family and friends slowly gather at the walls. Some like her brothers, stoic and focused, others, only children really shaking more from terror then the biting winds that whip at the walls of her home. Kneeling down she pulls a crimson length of cord from her pocket and slowly binds her ebon hair back. Closing her eyes she utters a silent prayer for her home and those standing with her.

As she stands she draws her swords again, and looks at those with her. Raising her voice she speaks:

"Is this fight Impossible? Some say it is so, that we come here to die today. I care nothing of anyone’s assessment of possibility! When that army marches on our walls I expect each of you to stand and make them pay for every inch. When I say jump, do NOT ask how high. I expect you to come back to earth with clouds trailing in your wake. I expect there to be feathers in your teeth from the flock of birds you flew through. I expect nothing less than superhuman feats from you. Because that is what the situation calls for ladies and gentlemen. Because if we cannot achieve the impossible, death is the only possibility that awaits us."

Pausing she points her swords out at the camped army, looking at each person on that front line.

"Blood alone moves the wheels of history! This is our struggle, Our battle for the people of this town, and the people everywhere who can be struck down by this army! I say to you, and you will understand that it is a privilege to fight, an honor to die! We are Corcaigh’s warriors!! People of Corcaigh… People of Munster… I ask you, fight here with me today, rise and be worthy of this historical hour!"

A good distance from Corks walls, at the NNGO camp Dizmalus was working on raising the soldiers morale. He stood at a row of travel weary soliders who looked like they could use some inspiration and spirit. Anger and fury shown deeply in their eyes, and he thought he could build on that. An appropriate battle chant came to mind. Raising his violin, he began to play.

"By moonlight we ride
Ten thousands side by side
With swords drawn held high
Our whips and armour shine
Hail to thee our infantry
Still brave beyond the grave
All sworn the eternal vow
The time to strike is now!

Kill !! Kill !!
Kill !! Kill !!

Gone are the days when freedom shone
now blood and steel meet bone
In the light of the battle's way
The sands of time will shake
How proud our soldiers stand
with mace and chain in hand
Sound of charge into glory ride
over the top of their vanquished pride

Victory !! Victory !!
Victory !! Victory !!

Victory !! Victory !!
Victory !! Victory !!

To the battle we ride we crossed a starlit sky
No space no time we'll catch the wind
Strange losses, men died we crossed a starlit sky
And still no space and time we'll catch the wind

[The soldiers join in, chanting loudly, slamming their sword hilts into their shields. The chanting grew louder, then deafening, enough to echo back off Corks walls.]

Kill !! Kill !!
Kill !! Kill !!

Kill !! Kill !!
Kill !! Kill !!

Sound of charge into glory ride
over the top of their vanquished pride!!!
By moonlight we ride
Ten thousands side by side!!!

Kill !! Kill !!
Kill !! Kill !!

Kill !! Kill !!
Kill !! Kill !!

No Mercy !! No Survivors !!"

From up high, Obli sees a man singing song and playing the violin. He grabs his bow and fires an arrow at the lad, missing him by inches. "Meh needs a another drink." he mumbles to himself. He slides down the wall to join the front line. He gets beside his sister, just in time to for her to finish speaking.

"Thank ye sis," he whispers to Aayla "much appreciated."

Turning to the crowd that has gathered to defend Corcaigh he speaks, voice booming, loud so all of Corcaigh can hear.

"Citizens and Friends o' Crocaigh! I stand before ye, nay as yer Mayor, but as a man - prepared to fight fer justice alongside the bravest folks in the Emeral' Isle. 'Tis been an honor to serve ye in an official manner, but meh prefer to cast all that aside today, fer it means nothin' in times o' battle. Meh be PROUD to call ol' Corcaigh meh home. In meh time 'ere I 'ave come to know some o' ye an' I ken say fer sure, 'tis the finest group o' people I e'er seen. Meh know that WE be on the side of righteous! We be fightin' for our home, our family, our friends! There is nay a better reason than that! Stand TALL! Stand PROUD! Fight STRONG! AN MUMHAIN BEO FADA!"*

*Long Live An Mumhain - aka "Munster"

[Aayla]

The ex-five-term mayor, Roxxane, stood looking at her former hometown of Corcaigh. She was unimpressed by the lack of progress.

"Men and Women of my platoon," she began, ready to inspire, "I have lived here. I know the weaknesses of the defense of it, which begin by a woefully inadequate number of defenders."

"Truly, anyone living here, and I say this about myself...anyone living here has a deathwish."

"These people know full well they will die. Let's make it quick."

Roxxane pulled her sword, The Castrator, and readied the formation waiting for Donnor's orders.

He looks out to the people of his army, he see's not men and women, but soldiers all waiting for his orders. Unsheathing his sword, a menacing grin appears on his face. "Kill them all. Men, women, and children. Leave no able bodied person alive. It should only take about five minutes anyhow."

A large, tall man slips quietly through the western woods and fords the river with a log and a pole. He stoically moves to a rear gate, guarded by only a few... he calls out... there is a surprised murmur and a rope is lowered for him to climb up.

. . .

He draws he shield... and axe... and heads briskly though town. He misses his sword, but the axe is made well. He was all but killed once before defending Corcaigh, he is quite sure he will shall fall again. Sadly, this time at the hands of old friends.

. . .

As he nears the front walls he does his best to give words of encoragement and suggestions to those waiting there, he tells them to protect the city, but stay safe as well. Only a few shall fall again, no need for more bloodshed beyond the brave names upon the front battlements.

He knows General Donnor and the NNGO are here for blood and retribution for wrongs, percieved or valid it matters not. He is quit confident the town shall not be burned, but it will once again bear the burden of Munster's lack of care!

. . .

Ah my friends, I have made it once again! he says in a booming clear voice. Once again here at the wall, he greets his old friends, and looks out with tired and sad eyes as he sees more old friends ready to strike him down.

He wipes the sad look look from his face and begins to tighten up the militia ranks, weak as they are, he does his best to give them what they need. Hope... someday... Corcaigh!

"Five minutes lad?" Obli chuckles "Care to go fer round 2?" He grabs a goblet filled with the blood on the NNGO fallen and takes a sip, passing it around to the other defenders.

Day 1 brought nothing to report, basically just alot of the enemy preening themselves and bragging how big each of their bollocks were, Drusilla chuckles to herself, the men bragging were nothing but pitiful fools who thought they were Gods. She grins mischievously at the women among the men on the ground, wondering why they were taking orders from men. She stands tall, her chest thrust out, her staff beside her, Drusilla clears her throat and speaks loudly.
"Who among your army is leader? Come forward and show yourself!"

Radh has had a pretty 'uneventfull' day, his section of wall hadnt been attacked. After the battle he had taken care of the wounds of his friends and family who had fallen. It had tired him out, he slept but was visited by nightmares of a distant past, it had put him in a dark but focused mood.

Dressed for battle he strides towards the outer walls. A mail-shirt hidden by an old an worn Munster Brigade tunic, -the rank-sign stripped off, a First File insignia on the other sleeve-, covered by a tightfitting but flexeble leather armor-vest. The leather is a dark blood-red with a distinctive golden 'R' on the chest. Over the vest goes a weapons-belt that holds his sword, 'Wraken Maeribellas' (a precious gift by a friend), Radh checks if the sword is free in its sheath. Under the belt are tucked 5 knives of different shapes and uses. A round shield of wood and studded red leather, a similar red as the vest but displaying the Rosscairbery coat-of-arms.

Radh pauses his stride as he sees Happyherder walking up, he somewhat relaxes in posture, Well met, ye 'ol veteran! Radh says as he walks up and grabs Happyherder firmly by the shoulder. Ye are welcome vaerily, though meh hope nae too late. Le' us hurry towards the wall!

Radh hurries onwards, towards and up the wall. Behind the battlments he takes his place by the side of his brother, Obli. He glances to the side, Arrr, 'round 2 meh bro, Radh says. Ne'er shall we surrender with nay'a fight. Nae bend, but brake shall we ere we give wae! They've come fer'em prize, they shall nae take it but fer'a cost, and we shall collect OUR trophy! He grins, then he turns his gaze out through the battlements and waits for what will come.

[Aayla]

Soulbourne had stood upon the walls as the enemy formed ranks, standing apart from the others and sighing as the began to march. He looked at the precious few defenders, not enough to send a skilless but effective hail of arrows down upon them. A few had some skills as arches, and they were upon the walls to fire.

Suicide Squad of Corcaigh, Round Two...However, this time, we are stronger, and the enemy is far weaker. Soul though, overlooking the field. Too bad we may soon all lie dead, though, we may take more with us this time.

He turned as the people began to charge bringing forward a ram to pierce the front gates. Normally, they'd have people boiling water to dump through special channels upon the attackers head, causing flesh to blister and burn in steam, and for the ones who get hit by a large dose, possibly even have there flesh peel off.

He walked down some stairs to his waiting horse, Kellie, who was a tad buzzed, but ready for battle. He was wearing his traveling armor, some chainmail that had been repaired from the last battle in corc, and a few pieces of plate he had brought to better fortify himself, and preferably not be out for as long. He took his shaft, with a chain wrapped around it and mounted his horse, riding off to the defenders at the gate being assaulted.

He stood before the gate and twirled his staff a bit, awaiting the charge through. He looked to his side and noticed Novenson praying a bit, and smiled, deciding that he probably should to. He rallied around and said, "Dunnae how many o' ya are aristotelan, bu' migh' as well be hav'n a prayer ta boost morale befer we head inta the fight."

He raised his voice to the heavens as the gate shook while the ram battered into it. "Der Jah, please be bless'n us an' guid'n our blades, may we be stand'n firm before 'ese men who would seek ta butcher us an' destroy our homes. May we be stand'n firm an' given nae ground. May we let narry a one pass till we all be dead upon 'e ground. May yer strength an' grace be filling us so 'at we may be stand'n firm before 'ose who come 'ere now ta see us dead. We may be being few, but by your will, we shall let narry a one inta the streets o' the city proper till all o' us be struck down. By Yer grace an' will, Amen." He said.

Turning around he looked at the gates as it began to collapse in. Shouting he said, "Now 'at 'e formalities be being aside, let's be butchering dem till we can'ot be do'n it anymore!" He lifted the staff up and spun it around, the chains gleaming in the sunlight as he does so, roaring a battle cry as the men pour into the breached gate. He charges forward, spinning his staff as a few arrows fly over it, the few who make it through bouncing off the plate.

He brings his staff around in a swing, a glint going across it and momentarilly blinding him as a sword swings under his guard and into his gut, catching on some of the plate, but still technically a serious wound to cause pain and some severe bloodloss. "Curse this gut of mine..." He mumbles pained as he brings his staff around to knock the blade aside and pulling Kellie back.

"It's always the gut..." he mumbled as he spun around. "Note ta self, make sure ta practice with a shaft on horseback when I get home." He spun around the staff and brought it back as Kellie reared and he knocked himself upside the head. "Yep, definitely...practice..." As he was dazed by the bloodloss and strike to the head as Kellie senses his situation, and with a snort rears and carries him to a predesignated spot for the wounded.

((Jaqk killed me, good shot. Soul's gonna be leaking food for weeks.))

HH greets Radh in return.

Good to see you. I came fast as I could, shadowing Donnor's army all the way. I understand we held strong against the first foray. Well done!

HH heads off to see the status of the wounded and finds his friend Soul.

Ah dear friend I regret I was away, once again you managed to stop a blade! But really Soul... we must work on your shield defense, you get lazy with that plate armor. HH chuckles and sits beside his friend taking over care for a while.

Her memories are clouded... Aayla recalls the charge, the army falling on the front lines like savage hordes. Her blades sang into action, like a dance never forgotten she pushed back at the men and women who surged forward at them. She remembers then a blade that would no doubt find home in one of her comrades... reaching, far past where she should to block that strike and then in her moment of elation at managing to save a friend from such a fate cold. Cold spreading from her middle out, turning she saw the face of the man who's blade ran her through.

Time changed then, each moment seemed to last forever, the man pulled his blade and struck again slashing across her knocking her blades to the ground. Disbelief held off the pain, looking down her mind fought to find another reason for all the crimson that covered her form. She looked up again to curse her assailant but he was gone and the world was spinning below her as she fell to the ground.

The cold spread, as she stared empty at the bloodsoaked ground, she was trapped there, forced to endure the cold as it ate up her body. And then... she was flying, far above the the battlefield. A bird? A raven? she ducked and dived, finding faces of those still in the thick of it. Obli her dear peaceful brother had found his rage and stood with her brothers felling those that would take their home. Afon, she saw him struck and her heart hurt that she could not be there to deflect that blow... Dear Beth, her sister, new to her heart but ever so dear. Radh, LordRhal, all her family that stood so strong with those of her home, the young, the old, she saw them all from her soaring. She felt as tears would spring from her eyes and soak the lands with the force of her anger, and then.. Retreat? Could she be hearing this? The grand army pulled back even as the city stood?

That's where the pain arrived, Aayla felt as though she was torn from the skys her bird form dropping to earth like a stone, and when she hit it was her own form that felt crushed, ripped, shattered... "Dear Jah the pain..." She tried to scream but her lips would not move. She was being placed on... a stretcher... there were faces hazy, blurred.. and deep voices. Her last vision is of her broken swords laying on the ground in the blood of those fallen.

Waking what felt like weeks rather then hours later, there she lay in her own bed. Looking down at her bandaged form she groaned... and there was sound! "Jah above... a drink... " her hoarse voice sounding odd even to her own ears. "Don't talk a voice said and poured some whiskey across her lips.." If she smiled on the outside she never knew... but she did know her brothers were there... and she lived once more.

(OOC: Bored and needing to RP... less zombie more itty bitty pieces but hey I'm calling creative licence on this one)

The waiting was the worst. Obli was going mad after replaying the scenario, time after time again. He'd had to make a horrible decision: save his brother, Afonuvin or his sister, Aayla? Aayla was farther way and he knew her to be a good fighter, maybe? Just maybe? It was too late. The space between him and Aayla grew larger - the decision had been made for him. He slammed his staff into Afonuvin's assailant, probably killing her - he didn't bother to see, for as he hit the assailant, his eyes were on his sister, stricken with horror as he watched the enemy blade pierce through his sister, her sword shattering. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Obli screamed. Suddenly the world went black. It had finally happened. The rage consumed him. There would be no turning back from this point. The fury of 1000 wrongs no longer weighed on him, it had become him. In blind madness he fought, and he fought, feeding the rage. From this point he knew not of who he killed or hurt until he lay, exhausted from battle.

Waking from the rage, lying on the battle field, Obli wasn't sure if he was dead. Checking himself he seemed to be unharmed, a miracle of Jah no doubt. He cursed himself a failure for not seeing his dying sister off the battle field. The fury within rose, and he fought to stifle it. Walking back towards town, his eye caught a glimmer in the fields. Investigating, he saw the earth was soaked in blood and immediately recognized Aayla's broken sword laying close. It was the sword he made for her, but that seemed like eons ago now. Picking it up, he rushed toward the area for the wounded. Seeing his sister in a quiet room, he quietly thanked Jah that the townsfolk were taking such good care of his sister. There was nothing to do but wait.

Obli knew all too well his sister was dead. He'd seen the injuries first hand, it just wasn't possible. He jumped when he saw his sister stir! Approaching the bed in disbelief, he could see that she might pull through. Leave it to his sister to make it against all odds. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Do nay speak sis," he said quietly "meh brought ye somethin' ye lost." Obli placed the pieces of Aayla's sword at her side, putting the hilt in her hand. "Meh be fixin' it fer ye if meh could, but no blacksmith in the Emeral' Isle ken put this back together. Ye jes' stay 'ere and werk on pullin' through. Meh be replacin' this one fer ye fer sure. The finest sword in Ireland, 'tis whet ye will be gettin'." Obli backed away, to let the townsfolk try to heal Aayla. He was on the hunt now, he was hunting for his next kill.

Drusilla, off the wall once the army left ran to collect her stuff, herbs, pastes and such before heading for the make shift hospital in the church. Drusilla momentarily pauses at the door, taking in the scene before her, many lay dying, injured. A rather quick scan and she heads to the nearest she thought she could help. Aayla lay on the stretcher in the aisle, Obli beside her, Drusilla offers him a quick smile before getting out her gourd cup, her pigs bowel filled with calendula flower paste, great for healing wounds, she grabs her flask of brandy and pours it over the open wound before applying the paste, she then fetches a clean bandage and wraps it around Aayla's stomach. She quicklu searches for her valerian root paste, finds it in her basket and applies some to Aayla's temples before standing up, basket in hand to head to the next person.

Stirring, movement, and pain… the pain blazes through her like a hot iron right from the forge. There’s a cool touch to her face, someone tending to her no doubt. She’s moved, bandages more pain searing pain. She doesn’t cry out, no it’s beyond expression; the only thing to do is fall into the blackness.

She’s standing suddenly, the heat from her brother’s forge blazing on her skin, watching herself… a younger woman smiling, so happy she’s nearly bouncing on the spot. “It will be a fine sword Obli, I can’t wait to use it.” The mirrored woman spoke, her brother working over what at this point is a lump of metal. “Nay’be rushing me lass, time forges the blade nay’yer impatient jumping about.” His smile tempers his words slightly, bringing a smile to both Aayla’s faces.

Fire again… pain… more blackness…

Another place, another time… she’s standing in a battlefield, or what is left of one. People, alive, not so alive everywhere. Some fighting, some crying out for help, their moans heartbreaking even now. She see’s herself again out fighting two more of her brothers, the generals. They spin in the dance of war side by side Aayla spinning with them, then away moving with someone else, a woman, her lost sister… pain tears through her again but it’s not the same. Loss, grief, her heart lurches. “Cailyn…” she whispers to herself, her vision fading again with new pain and her eyes open slowly.

“Cailyn… Obli…Where?” Her vision clears slightly, pain seizes her again causing her to cough blood and wince in pain. There’s a woman, tending to the next person, taking her all her strength she tries to separate pain from reality. “Where are my brothers… my sister…”

The night wore on, Drusilla tending to the fallen one by one. It was early morning when the whispers came, the army was on it's way back. Wearily she sighs, another day on the wall...

With the patients now tended Drusilla curls up in the corner to grab some sleep before her shift on the wall.

Dawn breaks, mist lays low and Drusilla gets up, has some stale bread for breakfast and weak mead before grabbing her staff and heading for the wall. A voice in her head tells her this will end disastrously, she mutes it and keeps vigilant.

Before long she see's the advancing army, the stench of months unwashed and rotten meat clung to their cores, she grimaces at the stench but holds still.

There were not many to defend Cork now, now that the army had killed half, obviously back to finish off who remained, she could not, no would not understand the thinking of such people, such lowlifes.

With bitterness she watches as they advance, see's the satisfaction on their ugly faces, she stands tall and takes what is dished out, fighting back when she could.

Donnor came to her first, he smirks at her, raises his bloodied rusted blade and slices her throat, Drusilla grabs futilely at the wound, hoping to stop the bleeding, next is a man she did not know, he rams her with his blade through the abdomen.
Yet still Drusilla stands, her staff fallen to the dirt, forgotten. Three more violate her worn, weak body before she collapses to the ground, the world going grey then black...

[Aayla]

Alejandro himself did not hold much hope of coming out of this battle alive. He was upset that so few were present to defend in such a key battle, but was thankful for each and every one of those standing at his side, nonetheless. He calmed his fears of pain and death by knowing that at least he was here to defend his country. None could call him a coward for not fighting ordishonest for letting his doubts get in the way of his service. He would prove his honor and his commitment by standing to defend his home.

When it had finally came time to do battle, Alejandro held his shield firmly in one hand, a hard wooden shaft in the other, ready to do battle. He tried to deflect the blows as best he could, but with five people confronting him, he was certainly outnumbered. He took a minor injury and still fought hard, but another blow saw him more gravely hurt. Still determined he continued to fight, until at last he felt a sword impale his body, followed by the swords of several others thrust into him shortly afterwards.

His vision grew hazey, his body weak. He fell to his knees, moments later to the dirt, unconscious or dead.

Chaos unfolded all around him, people battling and running everywhere. Within the walls, east of the main gate Dizmalus was locked in a brutal swordfight with a more skillful opponent. Dashing forward in a colorful blur, his rapier flashed instantly, parrying, then slicing the air, glinting in the noonday sun. Dodging an attack to his midsection, he advanced, his blade connected, swiftly piercing a soldier side. Deftly spinning, he got a good look at her attractive face, eyes wide, frozen in a look of shock. He recognized her (Illynya) as a relative of the ex-Count Caissa, and a General who he fought against the NNGO in the Inis War. She collapsed to the ground in a heap, and he vaguely felt a sense of regret for killing such a beautiful and talented creature...

He didn’t have very long to think on the matter as the Cork mayor, Obli, openly charged him with a staff. Reacting quickly he deflected the shaft easily his lithe blade, shattering it into splinters. Without stopping, in one fluid motion, he drove his sword deep into the mans chest. Easing the sword deeper into his flesh, he was close enough to hear the mans last dying breath.

Snarling and staring into the Cork mayors wide eyes, he paused, savoring the moment. “For Roxxane…” He twisted the slim blade causing the man to gasp, before withdrawing it from his chest in a spray of blood. Obli fell facedown, lifelessly to the ground.

He was aware he was joined by other NNGO soliders, who advanced on the fallen man. Covered in blood of slain enemies he thought to himself, “Let no man doubt my devotion.” Adjusting his long coat and violin pack on his back, he dashed off in the direction of townhall leaving the rest behind.

Impending death wasn't at all what Obli had expected. The pain simply wasn't there - or his body was allowing him to ignore it. What bothered him the most was the cold. It was that thick, dampening, bone chilling cold - creeping slowly over his body. He shuddered internally.

He saw the face of an attacker and as it got closer his hazed vision brought it more into focus, he recognized the lad. "For Roxxane.." he said to Obli. There was a catalog of witty retorts, enough to drive the man wild for year to come, but sadly Obli didn't have the strength to speak. Instead he settled for a grin as he leaned toward the man, into the blade, letting gravity do it's work. There was satisfaction in knowing he had gotten underneath the lad's skin. With a subtle gasp, his body went limp and he fell to the ground unconscious.

Obli stirred while he was being picked up off the field by an unrecognized townsfolk. Using what little strength he had, he reached up grabbing the man by the collar and drawing him closer. "Pl...Plea...take...meh.....Aayla..." he managed to say before falling back into a world of black nothingness.

Stiffy fell into line a the back of the column advanicng into the ruined gates of Cork. The defenders appeared few, with any luck he would'nt see any fighting and the more enthusiasitc of the soldiers would mop up the rag-tag band of farmers defending the walls.

The advance was sounded by trumpet and the mass of soldiers surged froward. Through the gatehouse and into the town square beyond, the sounds of battle engulfed him and the screams of the dying filled his ears. With a haking hand Stify his sword. Seeing the enemy clearly overhelmed Stiffy moved through the heaving mass looking for a place to hide. Seeing an enemy defender grappling with a soldier in NNGO livery he slashed down hard and cut deep into the flailing mans neck feeling the crunch of bone

Withdrawing his sword Stiffy ran off into one of the few buildings not on fire...and threw up.

Sadly.. the thread was killed off at this point by OOCness and people not playing nice... but it was fun!

[Obli.]

Yeah, a crying shame it ended the way it did...so much good stuff left...yet...foolishness kinda ruined it.

[Sponsored content]