A bare morning light casts itself across the land, and you breathe in the thick June air that is cascading off of the marshes. The day's coming heat could prove difficult to handle, clad so heavily in armor as you are. You cast your mind elsewhere, back to the conversations you had with your men in the wee hours of the morning, to distract yourself.
You laid out a cunning plan for your forces, hoping to goad the Sea Raiders down from the hill using your skirmishers and Archers, exposing their flanks to a devastating charge by your Swordsmen. You cast your eyes to the far left, and can just make out your banners, lazily flapping in the wind. Their fate is no longer in your hand, as you left Sir Percival in command of your troops.
Glancing about nearby, you are heartened to see the mighty Luther, resplendent in scale mail armor. He carries several lances for your use, as well as his customary sword and mace. He is an imposing sight on the field. Young Sir Denton is also at your side, and you sense his nervous energy. This will be his first real battle. You remember the feeling well, and try to calm him with a few words and a smile. He seems to appreciate the attempt, though it does little for his nerves.
Arrayed around you is the cream of the nobility of the Kingdom. Lances and banners dance towards the sky above a sea of metal plate and steel. You look at the men arrayed up the hill from you, with their unkempt beards and stoic faces peering behind a wall of shields, and you almost feel sorry for the men you are about to face. Almost.
Suddenly, a series of horn calls emanates from the center of the line, and is echoed up and down to both flanks. Birds that were lazily nesting in the marshes burst forth in flight, startled by the great cacophony. Knowing that this is the sign for the first charge, you give Luther a smile, nod to Denton, and then flip your visor down.
The mass of Knights begins to move forwards as one, on command, starting slowly but then gaining speed as a mass. You are near the front of the lines, as befits a man of your stature. The pounding of hooves builds in your ears, slightly muddled only by your helm. The hill proves to only slow your charge slightly, and you will be upon the enemies in a few seconds. You tilt your lance down and pick a target, a young looking man with streaks of blue paint in an orange beard, ready to strike.
Out of the blue, a peeling cry is let out from the Sea Raider hordes, and the front of the shield wall parts, opening a space out of which streams several men. They yell wildly, and carry large iron spheres, which are smoking ominously. The wild men scream and tumble out of the enemy lines, towards your cavalry.
Undeterred, you pick a new target, a crazed looking fool who is careening at your position wildly. For some reason, a thought of the departed Gunther Agnacious flashes into your mind, but you push it away, focusing on your strike, which hits the man squarely and impales him. You ably take the impact, and your Destrier hurdles around the tumbling iron sphere, when suddenly an incredible roar goes up and you find yourself thrown bodily from your mount.
A moment later, you strike the ground. Your wind goes out of you, and you feel a sharp pain in your ankle. You start to push yourself up, but you are thrown back into the now muddy soil by another great blast. As you attempt to recover from this, you feel an incredible weight strike you on the back, and the world goes black.
***
Your eyes snap open, focusing blearily on a spoon that is being pressed to your lips, which now sport a shaggy growth of hair. You gag and spit, and the woman startles backwards. "Sister Mary!" she yells, and backs warily out of the room. You look around at your surroundings, and see a roaring fire, along with several other men, lying prone on cots and piles of hay. Most are bandaged.
You attempt to sit up, but you find yourself to be incredibly weak. You slowly stretch your limbs, and find that you have movement in all your extremities, although your ankle is considerably stiffer than the rest. You sink back down into the cot you are sitting on, wearied by that simple task.
Glancing out a window, you are startled to see a light snow falling. Your mind reels, as your last recollection was from the summer... the battle? What of the battle? Where are you? What will you do?
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Topic: Lordship: A Suggestion Game (Read 327383 times)