Post #2562563 in Splendorum Animae, a roleplay on RPG

“There is nothing more satisfying than being the puppeteer. Too bad that person is none of us.”

The party from Dorthonion, as a whole, were exceptionally well-equipped. The country was known, after all, for its military and the quality of the arms they manufactured. Man-to-man (or woman; Dorthonion was not picky about its soldiers if they had the skill), their army would have been capable of rending a group of twice as many soldiers to pieces; so superior was their training. But their advantage was more than that—their army was also triple the size of the next country’s.

But the one thing they lacked was the thing that could undo even the best-trained soldier: magic. There were mages in Dorthonion, to be sure, but not as many, nor were they as powerful, on average, as those born in Elysia and trained at its prestigious Academie de Magia. It was, from a strategy standpoint, perfectly understandable why a conquering king like Siegmund would be interested in bolstering his ranks with mages from this tiny, otherwise insignificant little country.

The princess rode at the head of her column of troops, and the blood-colored eyes of a strategist scanned over those assembled. From the way most carried themselves, they were good. Quite good, perhaps the elite of the Order of Thorns. But his were his elites, and so they would stand no chance, if indeed it came to that. There were two prominent exceptions: the mage, identifiable by her robes and lack of armor or conventional weaponry, and the man on the towering black warhorse. Where the princess seemed to shine with the radiance of the sun, this man appeared almost to swallow all the light around him, as though he were cut from utter darkness.

Ah, now this one, he had heard of. And it was all the evidence he required.

When they had stopped and dismounted, the lady spoke, and Siegmund rose from where he’d been seated. He himself wore glimmering golden armor, of a hue with his hair. But there was no seeing his eyes as anything but red—a strikingly-pure example of the color.

“Princess Calliope,” he greeted in return, his smile cordial. “It would seem that the rumors about you were true.” Exactly what rumors he was referring to were unclear. “As it turns out, I hope for exactly the same thing.” Raising one hand slightly, he snapped his fingers, and from what seemed almost to be nowhere, an arrow whizzed out of the sky, striking the throat of the mage who traveled with the party.

“But I confess I’m not interested in ruling beside anyone. I want your kingdom, and you are going to help me get it. Keep the princess alive. Kill the rest.”

“I do not understand the persistent desire to rule other beings. All I have ever wanted is sovereignty over myself.”

Cyril was the first to react, and his actions were immediate: while everyone else was still drawing weapons, he had already moved directly in front of the princess, handing her her bow and quiver. “Your Highness. I ask that you remain behind me. No matter what happens, do not step out of my shadow.” Though phrased in perhaps an unconventional manner, the suggestion had a point—he needed her to stay within arms’ reach, but also outside the area he would need to safely swing his weapons. He would be able to do this even if she deviated from the instructions, but that location also offered her the best protection—anything that was aimed for her, to injure, presumably, would have to go through him first.

The situation was much worse than initially anticipated. The arrow that killed the mage had come from atop one of the many half-standing structures left in the ruins, and even as more of these fired, additional footsoldiers appeared from behind the structures. The mage should have been scrying for this, but doubtless his presence did not make that easy, and they would have killed her before she had the chance to voice a warning anyway.

So, all things considered, it looked like they were twelve against nearly fifty—long odds in any situation. Fortunately, Cyril could handle fifty, though the issue was going to be doing that while also protecting the princess. Thankfully, his men were very good at what they did, and drew into a rough circle, to better protect her from all angles. A few of those with bows fell into a more inner ring and started to return fire against those atop the structures, but it was going to be difficult—they were shooting into the light of the descending sun.

Cyril, however, took a few arrows himself, ones that simply shattered on his armor. He looked over at the king of Dorthonion, and when he spoke, his tone was just as steady as it had always been. “This was a mistake.”

Siegmund’s eyes glittered. “Oh no, I think not. You see, it’s really rather obvious. The Princess is the Queen’s weakness. With her in my possession, Elysia is mine, and I don’t even have to pretend to care about preserving its traditions or sharing power with my dear, lovely wife.. I can just kill them both and have done with it. Regimes change all the time—the mages will work for me just as they worked for her, and the people will be fine. It’s not as though they really care who’s parked on that fancy throne… as long as their lives don’t get worse.”

He smiled. “And they won’t, really.” The King shrugged, watching for a moment as his soldiers charged the Elysian formation. They were not cowards, men and women of Dorthonion, and the bulk of them were eager to get at—and have the glory of killing—the infamous Black Knight of Elysia.

Cyril cut them all down, his lances moving too quickly to be seen, as soon impaled in one heart as slicing across the next throat. He did not hesitate, he did not stumble, he did not waste a movement—eyeslits, gaps in armor, exposed skin—he only struck for the places that would ensure quick, certain death. For someone in so much armor, he was light on his feet, but he did not attempt to dodge anything, for to do so would be to put the princess at risk, however minimal, of injury.

The battle raged, and one by one, men and women fell, until there were only three Elysian soldiers left, plus Cyril and the princess. There were yet twenty of the Dorthonion fighters remaining when the king motioned for them to cease. As one, they did so, backing off immediately, though refraining from sheathing their weapons.

“Impressive,” Seigmund drawled, glancing over the large pile of bodies before Cyril. So skilled was he that he had moved only slightly during the whole skirmish, just enough to form the corpses into an obstruction, such that any who wished to attack from the left flank would have to step over the dead bodies of their comrades. It would only cost a second, but in battle, a second was often the difference between life and death. Blood dripped from the end of each of the knight’s lances. The princess hadn’t put in a poor effort either, actually, what with that bow of hers.

“I have a proposal, Lord Nishant. Fight me, one on one. If you win, my men leave. If I win… well, you’ll be dead, so what does it matter to you?”

Behind his helmet, Cyril’s eyes narrowed. This man had proven that he was hardly to be trusted, but to kill him alone would end the battle with fewer casualties than fighting it out. This was something he knew the princess tended to favor. “The decision belongs to Her Highness. I am but her knight.” He turned slightly, such that from his posture, it was clear that he was looking back over his shoulder at Calliope.

“What would you have me do, princess?”

“What good would it do, to have the obedience of someone else, without their concern? Such people as that misplace the value of others.”

Sephiriel, for her part, had no desire to do violence to Apollyon. She was aware that the same was certainly not true of him, but that was not her concern. The terms of his contract would actually likely not allow it. Lenore’s wording had been broad, but this was not a choice without merit.

Lenore herself, on the other hand, was feeling a bit chastised by the look her mentor was giving her. He had a gift for being able to express a great deal with no words at all, though in this case, he did use some. She had entered the room a few strides behind Apollyon, apparently distracted by the intricacy of the mark on her hand. It was indeed a fascinating thing, though obtaining it had been somewhat painful. Fortunately, wounds tended to heal rather quickly on her, which was sometimes true of mages especially gifted in certain arts.

Gracefully lowering herself into a chair, Lenore pulled her braid over one shoulder. Large chunks of hair were already coming loose from it—it was always like that, never seeming to stay bound for long. Licking her lips, which had become slightly dry, she folded her hands in her lap.

“Lord Apollyon has agreed to protect Elysia with as few human casualties as possible. In exchange… I am giving him a memory and its associated emotion every time he must take the field in order to do so.” If there were no battles, then she’d never have to give those up, but she knew there would be battles. Scrying had shown her that much of the future without fail, after all.

She smiled slightly. “If you would do me a favor, Master Em, Miss Seph,” she used her affectionate nicknames for them out of force of habit, partly, but in truth she really was quite fond of them, Master Em especially. He’d taught her much of what she knew, after all, when her talents had at last outgrown what the other instructors could teach her. “Please don’t tell anyone else about the terms. I don’t want… I don’t want them to worry.” There were few people who knew her well enough to ask anyway, but those people… she wanted to keep them away from all of this. Let them believe she got sick or something, when the time came. It was gentler.

“And… after I’ve forgotten, please keep going. Please keep Elysia safe. Even if I beg you to spare me.” She could not predict what she would do when her memories and emotions were gone, so she needed to say this now, so that someone would know how to administer the contract after she was too far gone, and until there was nothing left at all. When it came to that, there was no one’s judgement she trusted as much as Master Em’s.

Snippet #2562563

located in The Continent of Valnor, a part of Splendorum Animae, one of the many universes on RPG.

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