Night 8
Dream of a Better Day
Best with Soundtrack! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pS-gbqbVd8c
The Three Streams
The battle was over, and Nithan Rhysling, Lord Paramount (Lethal), suffered the indignity of defeat. The most powerful Lord in the Kingdom, the best commander, some said the finest soldier as well. How could this have happened? What had he done wrong? He was troubled so, but the arrows flying overhead brought him back to reality. His forces had tried to retreat, but the Royal Army had given chase, and retreat had quickly turned into a rout. Men were run down by horses, others pulled riders out of their saddles and tried to steal their mounts, more were cut down and slain by the enemy. Many laid down their arms, hoping for nothing but to see their families once more; most would not.
Nithan had been involved in the charge of the heavy cavalry, and found it hard to navigate the chaos. His loyal soldiers, heads held high, singing and cheering for their lords not an hour ago, were now fleeing before him, tossing the helmets and swords they once carried proudly so they could make a quicker escape. His trusted sellsword Carsen Tarlor had just been slain in front of him, while trying his best to lead his Lord away from the battefield. Nithan feared for his life, but felt suddenly overtaken by memories of his childhood, even as blood and screams clouded his perception. He saw the training ground at Ravenfall, where he sparred with his brothers under the watchful eye of Ser Gerrar, the old master-at-arms. He remembered his mother, fair Lady Marleya, whose embrace soothed him unlike any other.
“Nithan! This way!” Nithan looked up at his brother Braeden (Sushi), who was pleading with him to ride ahead, furiously swinging his sword from one side of his horse to the other, clearing a path for his Lord. Nithan followed, but in the blink of an eye found himself tumbling down on the mud along with his mount, its left hind quarter punctured by two arrows. He found himself thinking of his sister Taryne, who had died of the pox, only a child of 6. Braeden tried to bring the Lord Paramount back to his feet, but his armour was heavy, helping to mask Nithan’s resignation to a fate long awaited. He thought of his brothers Ruban and Marvion, slain in the service of their King.
As Braeden pleaded with Lord Nithan to stand up and escape, the King’s Guard came upon them, the valiant Ser Ryden Chandyll, the Good Knight (The_Unknown) first among them. His left arm had been broken not an instant ago by Ser Braeden, but he had not lost heart. Victory was at hand, and he would not let it slip through his fingers. The Good Knight engaged with Braeden once more, his sword raining down on his foe, blow after blow. Braeden tried to protect his brother, but almost lost balance and fell. In a move of desperation, he swung for the Good Knight’s saddle and cut it apart, causing Ser Ryden to come crashing down from his mount. Like a cat, Braeden jumped on him and buried his sword in Ser Ryden’s neck, killing the King’s Sentinel.
Braeden, blood smeared all over his armor, grabbed Nithan by the arm and tried to get him on his feet, but Lord Rhysling would not move. Nithan looked up at Braeden, his lips moving, an expression of urgency and panic on his face, but Nithan could not hear what his older brother was saying. It was as if time itself had slowed down; he could smell the wet grass of the battlefield, the mud, the smell of the horses and the blood; he saw soldiers running, others dragging themselves across the field, limbs severed, horses quivering as they lay in agony; yet the sounds did not come to him.
“Nithan! You have to get up! Please!” Braeden pleaded with his brother, but as he turned around, he was run down by a stray horse, the animal fleeing in terror. He tried to get up, but was stepped on by man after man, poor farmers and fishermen who had been given a sword and asked to die for their Lord. Now, they fled, a mindless rabble once more. His armor afforded him some protection, but soon even the hardened metal gave way under the weight of boot and hoof, as they trampled Braeden to death.
Nithan saw as his brother fell, but his expressionless face did not give away his emotions. He looked up at the blue sky and thought of his King, Karron. They had once been as close as brothers, their paths turned to one, the Kingdom their cause, honor their purpose. How had it come to this? Nithan slowly rose to his feet, and looked around. The Crimson Legion inched closer, tearing through the routing remnants of Lord Rhysling’s once proud army. He drew his greatsword, Hollow, so called due to its’ blade’s seemingly indiscernible edges, so fine they were. And then, Nithan thought of his father.
Lord Garrat Rhysling loomed ever so large over his son. He was the one he had tried to emulate, a goal he had found harder and harder to achieve as the years went by. Still, he was his father’s son, and he would not dishonor his memory by fleeing the field. He pulled down the visor on his helmet, held Hollow high above his head and yelled out “To me, soldiers! Ravenfall!!”. Nithan charged, roaring, the few soldiers who had rallied to him by his side, valiant and valorous, the stuff of legend. Nithan felled 5 soldiers of the Legion before even a single blow was delivered to him. As his loyal soldiers were cut down around him, he held his ground as best he could, Hollow claiming victim after victim, its’ sharp blade claiming limb and head, muscle and bone, armor and shield.
A spear cut him behind his left knee. He turned around and cut down his agressor. A sword found its’ way into into the opening of his armor right above his right shoulder. He groaned in pain, Hollow almost dropping to the mud. He swung it once more in a circle around him, trying to keep his assailants at bay, but the numbers were too great. A kick to the back of his armor and he tumbled forward, being hit by what felt like dozens of blows, each cutting into his flesh, his armor a bloody mess.
Nithan fell down, mortally wounded. He saw his father before him, the Sun at his back as he knelt down before him and stretched out his arm, offering his hand to his son. Nithan tried to speak, but all he could muster was a faint whisper. “F-father…”, he uttered, a single tear running across his face. “Come lad, take my hand. Let us rest and dream of a better day.” he heard his father say, a faint smile upon his lips as life abandoned Nithan Rhysling.
Epilogue
Westermere
Bailin’s Keep
King Karron Blackmyre (TIF) watched as the celebrations unfolded before him, the city below filled to the brim with peasants and merchants, whores and thieves from all across the land. There was peace in the Realm after nearly 20 years, and Karron’s reign was now unchallenged. He had Codin Farwynd (thirdrock) raised to Lord and made him a member of his Privy Council, along with Alavin Ridman (Missy), the King’s Physician. Of all his closest advisors, they alone had survived the onslaught brought forth by Nithan Rhysling, the late Lord Paramount. Karron had not annointed a new Lord Paramount yet, and he doubted he would ever do so again.
Dukey, the Royal Cook, was hard at work in the kitchens of the Keep. He had never had to deal with such a large crowd of cooks and helpers, but the banquets in honor of the King’s victory had to be just perfect. However, as he laid eyes on dozens of ducks being slaughtered and plucked for the feast, if for a moment, he was forced to reconsider his line of work. Luker had been the butcher, and soon found himself thrown out of the kitchens.
You_Fool, of course the King’s Fool, was a tremendous success with the Ladies of the court. The Fool’s apprentice, MrBlonde, was better known to entertain the Lords, however. As he was performing a juggling trick for the Royal party with knives and forks, he clumsily tripped over himself and stuck a fork in King Karron’s left thigh. The King would have his head, but the Queen was able to convince His Majesty into exiling MrBlonde instead.
Gwynedd was wandering the streets of the Capital, trying to stay unnoticed. He was a thief after all, and a good one at that. He would not pay for a pigeon pie he could steal, but as he did the deed once more, the baker caught sight of it and chased him down the street, wooden cane in hand.
As King Karron adressed the crowds from the Keep’s balcony, he looked a hero of the songs, all clad in gold and silver, ruby and sapphire alike. “We have won this war!”, he proclaimed, “But we must win the peace now as well! As your King, I will see that no harm comes to any of you ever again! And now, let us feast!”, he said, as the crowed erupted into cheers for their King.
GAME OVER!
Congrats to the Town for winning! Good game everyone!
