Thread: Sword & Shield

Another battlefield. Another day. He hated it. He loathed it. Fact of the matter was, he was seen covered in blood more often than not, seen dirtied by the earth, seen burning candlestick after candlestick to stave off the night while spending its hours around a table of modeled figures, examining, re-examining the army's next move. That didn't mean he took an ounce of joy in it, however. It simply was his duty. Prince Tierian Alyren, second prince of his father's kingdom, of the noble Tamur. His duty. His older brother spent his time in affairs of state, being raised with the crown in mind, his closest comings to a battlefield being the tent where the encounters were meticulously planned. But even then he often seemed aloof, trusting in his brother's judgements he'd say, so perhaps the closest he ever came to the battlefield were Tierian's stories. Either way, this was the second prince's burden to bear this sword, and this field of brothers. Months of planning had led to this, to this new battle against the rival kingdom of Ellencia, this only one in a string of many. What started as border skirmishes erupted two years ago when a small village was sacked, the village itself trite in the grand size of things but a catalyst for a dissent long-brewing between two rival kingdoms. Blows were traded, battles were fought, with Ellencia taking the first two, but the Tamurian army had succeeded in every battle since, reclaiming their lost ground and driving the enemy back into their own territory. Then following them there, hearty shouts filling their marching paths for weeks, courage healing the men's wounds. Tamur was on a roll, but in this battle particular, no more than an hour out from the Ellencian town of Iona, things were going different. Things were going very, very different. We're being flanked! Tierian shouted, standing in a field of other shouting men, his voice a din in the mix, his body only one armored form amidst a steel and leather sea. It was no use. Up on the hill, a bit of distance away, he could see two thousand of his cavalry just standing there. There, just there. Watching. Quickly the armored prince's brown eyes caught a flash of steel in his peripheral vision, a flash dissimilar to the mass of bodies all around - one coming in an arc toward him, from the right. Quickly he raised his halberd up and to the side, deflecting the blow with the steel length of the pole, armored feet spinning him around on well-trampled grass. Tierian took two quick steps forward with that fine-tipped bottom of the halberd swinging up and knocking against the Ellencian man's greatsword, followed by a quick charge and a hard shoulderblock, teetering the warrior off balance just enough for Tierian to shift his body weight, swinging from the side now in a vicious, wide, overhead slash. There was barely time to regain that lost balance, and not nearly enough to bring his greatsword up before the unforgiving axehead of the halberd collided with the full helmet the knight wore, encaving the helm against the man's skull in nothing short of a bloody mess. He was a target out here, this armor, bearing proudly his father and grandfather's crest. But it was just as much a boon to his men that he stand shoulder to shoulder with them. Now, where was he? Tierian whipped back around, looking off to the distance, his head turning about wildly. Ellencia's reinforcements had taken him off guard. His advisers had been so adamant about the opposing army being short on men, yet he was standing among a battle of many of thousands of footmen now, his soldiers suddenly outnumbered two to one. The enemy's forces had been supplemented by another squad of men, and now he saw a squad of spearmen appearing through the trees, having swung around back in order to flank he and his soldiers. Why weren't his own reinforcements acting? The archers should be firing upon those spearmen and his cavalry should be... should be... Slaughtering his own archers?! Had a man's face ever been so deathly pale as it was then? Shrouded by a helm or not, it showed in his entire body. His shoulders slumped. Clutching to the length of his halberd, Tierian remained otherwise still. Watching. Just watching horsemen bearing his army's banner trampling through his lines of archers. What... he managed between barely parted lips, shaking his armored helmet back and forth. The sounding shouts of the spearmen to the right were getting louder now. They were charging. He was about to be outnumbered three to one. No, it was more than that now, wasn't it? He stood there. Just stood there. The prince's honor guard fought valiantly all around him as he simply stared off toward the hill. Those horsemen... Lord Cappoli's men, weren't they? Three months ago, had that man not been hailed as one of the king's staunchest allies? There was no way. There was... there was no way. Slowly the prince's head turned about, to one side, then casually to the other. Thinking. Quietly assessing, despite the chaos he stood at damn near the center of. The sight of his blue banners amidst the sea of orange ones was fading. A sharp ding on the right side of his armor sobered the shock from his head quickly. Whirling about, bladed polearm held at the ready, Tierian caught sight of the assailant as two of his bodyguards were pulling their own weapons from his slain body, one a heavy axe, the other a longsword. There was a brief nod before each turned back to the fighting. Blinking, blinking hard, Tierian murmured beneath his helm, Traitorous... I can't believe. Not you, damnit! He stepped forward to rejoin the fighting, thinking hastily, thinking to himself as his bloodied halberd swung and lunged, eating through leather, sparking against steel. 'If we... the river, we can lose them. There's already a cloud of dust everywhere.' Swing. Clang. 'Three hundred, maybe four... we'd never make it out with enough... scraps... fuck, fuck, what do I do?!' Which one of his guards carried the horn? There was no avoiding it. Pull out now, desperately save as many of his soldiers as he could. There was no reason they all had to die here today - such was a false sort of honor, if done blindly. He was a hero of is people but he would still have to face the king for this loss. Regrettably, he needed to sound the retreat. Percival! He shouted, striding toward the axeman, one of two trusted honor guards that carried the horn. A hand reached out to grasp at the man's shoulder, Perc- And then he saw it, though saw it only very, very briefly. The thunder of hooves wasn't felt amidst the battle until too late. The cavalry that had turned on his archers now turned on the main force, boxing them in from a third side. One of the large, heavy beasts careened past, its mass of muscle and fur colliding against the prince, sending him flying several feet and into a roll that took him several more. What a horrible time to lose consciousness.