Eternity RPC Board
11-13-2017, 09:50 PM
"Hostmen, turtle formation!"
"Yah!"
The front line of Hostmen tightened their grip on their shields as the three lines behind them raised theirs above their heads. Sage Lukasson, Leadman of the 17th's Host 3rd Company's Iron Troop, was positioned in the head of the formation and fixed his shield below his eyes. They'd made it across the small, ankle-deep brook without too much trouble. He'd seen a the odd fool or two slip on the rocks that formed its bed, though his own troops had managed to cross without significant delay. They were lucky that the brook was outside the Phortaineses' bow range. But now, as they approached the rising slope of the eastern hill, to march unprotected would be suicide.
Indeed, though Sage couldn't see them, he could feel and hear the arrows behind to pound on their shields, a thick rain.
"Hold formation!" he commanded. Not that he needed to remind his men.
The march up the hill was slow, but steady. With arrows bouncing off or sticking to their shields, his own troop was taking no casualties. The Phortainese line, at the crest, was growing more and more distinguishable. Soon they were likely to charge, and their formation was not ideal for close combat. Was against a hill really the best battlefield their commands could find?
Through the gap between shields, Sage saw black streaks flying into the Phortainese, rather than out of them. Their archers had began to return fire. He chuckled, a grin coming onto his face. The Phortainese were no good at defending themselves from the arrows. He could see their lines start to dim, their fire dwindle, the glean of their blades—the whites of their eyes.
"Prepare javelin!"
He tightened the grip on his. Lanlanian javelins were made for both thrusting and throwing, and though the iron edge was thin, the rear was a thick wood to assist in stability and penetration.
"BAS DON MADA!" the Phortainese line cried. It charged, the men roaring as they sprinted down the hill.
"Fire javelin! Revert formation!" The reassuring sight of a volley of Lanlanian javelin in flight filled the gap between his shield—though the gap quickly expanded into a view of the full sky, as the shields came down and his troop returned to a square formation. "Fire javelin!" He and his men released their second javelins and another group of Phortainese warriors fell. Two heartbeats later, the rest crashed into the Lanlanian shield wall and the melee began. As Sage thrust his sword through the gap between his troop's shield, he could see arrows continue to fly overhead.
"Yah!"
The front line of Hostmen tightened their grip on their shields as the three lines behind them raised theirs above their heads. Sage Lukasson, Leadman of the 17th's Host 3rd Company's Iron Troop, was positioned in the head of the formation and fixed his shield below his eyes. They'd made it across the small, ankle-deep brook without too much trouble. He'd seen a the odd fool or two slip on the rocks that formed its bed, though his own troops had managed to cross without significant delay. They were lucky that the brook was outside the Phortaineses' bow range. But now, as they approached the rising slope of the eastern hill, to march unprotected would be suicide.
Indeed, though Sage couldn't see them, he could feel and hear the arrows behind to pound on their shields, a thick rain.
"Hold formation!" he commanded. Not that he needed to remind his men.
The march up the hill was slow, but steady. With arrows bouncing off or sticking to their shields, his own troop was taking no casualties. The Phortainese line, at the crest, was growing more and more distinguishable. Soon they were likely to charge, and their formation was not ideal for close combat. Was against a hill really the best battlefield their commands could find?
Through the gap between shields, Sage saw black streaks flying into the Phortainese, rather than out of them. Their archers had began to return fire. He chuckled, a grin coming onto his face. The Phortainese were no good at defending themselves from the arrows. He could see their lines start to dim, their fire dwindle, the glean of their blades—the whites of their eyes.
"Prepare javelin!"
He tightened the grip on his. Lanlanian javelins were made for both thrusting and throwing, and though the iron edge was thin, the rear was a thick wood to assist in stability and penetration.
"BAS DON MADA!" the Phortainese line cried. It charged, the men roaring as they sprinted down the hill.
"Fire javelin! Revert formation!" The reassuring sight of a volley of Lanlanian javelin in flight filled the gap between his shield—though the gap quickly expanded into a view of the full sky, as the shields came down and his troop returned to a square formation. "Fire javelin!" He and his men released their second javelins and another group of Phortainese warriors fell. Two heartbeats later, the rest crashed into the Lanlanian shield wall and the melee began. As Sage thrust his sword through the gap between his troop's shield, he could see arrows continue to fly overhead.
Role Play States | ||
 | Holy Lanlanian Empire Holy Emperor: Feryn I Prime Minister: Klaus Lofgren | The Holy Lanlanian Empire is a multi-ethnic state based in western Brigidna with territories all across the globe. It is a relic of an older age, an absolute monarchy hidden under a functioning democracy. The empire has historically been the world's leading power, though has long been in decline and was recently overtaken by the Republic of Nyland. Nonetheless, the empire is not an opponent to take lightly. |
 | Ishnalli Empire Empress: Lanryu-il Chancellor: IDEK | The greatest country in the world. It's YUUUUGGGEEEE. |
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