Quest Attack on Riverfall[Forward Archer Rank]

[Mist]

70 Fall 512 Archers. Hundreds of them. All in ranks and rows, one in front of the other. The front-line was made up of shortbow users. They were packed in with only one rank empty, before coming to the back of the ground fighters, making a lane in which people could run along, without interrupting the ranks of fighters on either side. Behind them, were the ones wielding longbows, and behind them, the indirect fire machines. Trebuchets, catapults, some used for the defense of the city, others taken off of boats and ships, and set up hastily to defend. At the far right of each rank was the leader of the rank, and on his left, the second in command. Both skilled archers, and in charge of all to there left. On the far right of the first rank of shortbow archers, were a few empty spots, right next to the Akalak archers in command. Both of these were for foreigners, not Akalak's, one a human, and the other a 6 armed non-human. Waiting for the wielders to arrive, were bundles of arrows. 50 regular shortbow arrows in a bundle, along with a smaller bundle of 20 armor piercing arrows. This seemed to be standard issue, as all of the archers had this sitting just to the right of were they would be standing. Upon coming up to the ranks of archers, a person would be directed to there spot, and told to ready their bows... Then it was time to wait... Wait until their foes came... For the archers would be the first to see combat, the first to fight. Hopefully taking out most of the enemy, before they made it to the front-line.

[Gianne Basete]

Her knees shook with the adrenaline and fear that coursed through her veins with each pound of her heart. Gianne was sprinting down the front line of archers, hair whipped out behind her like a brown flag. She'd asked where her position was and had been pointed down to the far right end. This is really happening, she thought frantically. Never in her short life had she imagined she would be part of a large scale battle, let alone in the defense of Riverfall. She felt dwarfed by the proportion of the situation at hand. Her quiver was strapped firmly to her back underneath her cloak and her weapon, a shortbow, was slung over one shoulder. Sweat beaded her forehead and ran down her clammy face. I could die today, was what she had been thinking over and over for a while now. For about the thousandth time she sent a prayer up to the Gods and Goddesses; any she could think of that might hear her out. The end of the row was in sight. Two formidable looking Akalaks loomed ahead of her, each decked with impressive looking equipment. Again Gianne felt completely unprepared. Her own meager things suddenly seemed shabby. A dagger and hunting knife, an incomplete set of arrows to go with her aging shortbow, and no armor. Her only real protection was the thick cloak trailing down her back. She halted breathlessly in front of those two Akalaks who were obviously in charge of the group. For a moment all she could do was pant and stare, and they stared right back. Could they hear her heart pounding away like a war drum? Maybe they all could march to the beat of it. Ha-ha, she thought a little maniacally. Finally Gianne found her voice. "Reporting!" Was that the right thing you said to your commander? Probably not. Stupid. Her eyes were huge and round; a sheepish look if there ever was one. Then she added with a sudden blurt, "Sir!" It would probably be bad to forget that.

[Rosela]

Rosela was already out of breath by the time she made it to the archers’ line. Not from exertion – she hadn’t run very far – but from anxiety. She refused to acknowledge it as panic, but it very nearly was so. She was a lover, not a fighter, and this was way out of her league. Nothing to be done about it though. The whole ‘all to arms’ thing was the way of Riverfall, and she’d have a hard time picking up men if she got branded as the coward who high-tailed it away from battle. Maybe she could call in sick? Too late for that, as she closed in on the commander. The longbow commander had been nice enough to direct her, but hadn’t given her more than a glance as he returned to preparing his bow. In fact, not one Akalak gave her more than that her whole way up. It made Rosela feel…subdued, chastised even. She could almost hear someone biting at her, ‘How dare you try and catch their eye? They’re defending the city and you want them to check out your butt?’ The voice sounded suspiciously like the Grandmother, but before she could analyze that thought, she was in front of the shortbow commander. A human woman was already reporting in. ”I’m reporting too! Sir.” The words tumbled out awkwardly as she attempted to mirror the other archer. One pair of hands clutched the bow behind her back, while another fiddled with her quiver strap, and the last drummed her fingers nervously together in front of her. She was apparently the only person in the entire army who was completely unprepared, save her bow and arrows. At least the other archer looked the part; Rosela only had her high boots and new fur-lined cloak. Warm and fabulous, yes, but not likely to discourage any return fire. The Akalaks dwarfed them both in the armor department, and were obviously prepared to take a shot or two. She had hoped they'd get lucky and be provided armor, but it wasn't looking hopeful.

[Mist]

As the second in command archer looked at the newcomer, his face seemed to drop a bit. But he quickly mastered himself, a fierce determination coming over his face, a stern slant to his eyebrows. It seemed there was not much left to do but wait, and take in the disappointing newcomers, all in varying degrees of dilapidation. He himself was in freshly cleaned leather armor, his shortbow shined with a new string thrumming on it. A stack of arrows ready to be sent into the gullets of his foes. "Get in line, and get ready!" The Akalak responded to this small human. Hopefully she would prove herself, and be a asset. Though he did not doubt many of the humans would end up being a hindrance. He was little more than a adult, only 34 years old. Since a Akalak was not mature till 30 years of age, that made him still youthful. Though not nearly as youthful as the smaller Akalak standing behind him, by the name of Karril. He was not even fully matured. The second in command for the line of longbow archers a young Akalak, a mere 22 years old. He had a blank look on his face, of utter concentration. No fear of haste visible. He could as easily been standing on a range, practicing with his longbow, as standing on a battlefield. The slightly older Akalak gave youth behind him a contemptuous glance, and then looked forward. Clearly he did not think the young man should be there, and certainly not as a second in command the same as himself. He clearly felt he was superior to him, for his age, and experience. His superior saw the look, and simply shook his head, knowing the young Akalak Karril. Knew he had made it there by skill and merit alone, unlike the Akalak standing beside him, who had an important father. As the last archer finally showed up, a horn could be heard sounding. Far off in the distance, a single figure could be seen approahcing... And a few seconds later behind him two... And then four... And then 28 raging forms running at them... The line of yukmen ever expanding behind them, all following the runner in the front leading the way... More and more streaming in, till the swarm of forms was 70 or 80 wide, and even deeper. And still swelling... "Prepare arms!" was shouted by many throats. Nearly as one, the Akalaks on the line took out an arrow, readied it to their bows, and angled there bows up, prepared to fire upon the order. All along the rows behind them, the sounds of weapons being readied could be heard, arrows being knocked, siege weapons being cranked... The sounds of battle... Even over all that noise, a high pitched shrill "YUK YUK!" could be heard over the air.

[Gianne Basete]

She quickly did as she was told, shuffling into position next to the towering Akalak. Nothing more could be said on her part. Gianne looked sidelong at her superiors, tension knotting her muscles like balls of iron. It seemed like only seconds had passed standing there when the signal horn sounded, giving the unmistakable command to get ready. "Prepare arms!" The Akalaks were the quickest to react, smoothly drawing arrows from their piles and quivers. Gianne was only a pace behind them. She fumbled a little as she reached back to grab an arrow, clutching at thin air on the first attempt before snatching one out with a loud rattle of wood knocking against wood. Her mouth was set in a tight frown as she nocked the arrow and smoothly drew it back, anchoring the end at the corner of her mouth. She could feel her leather glove start to stick automatically to the sheen of nervous sweat on her face, but was too afraid to move now that she was in position. Gianne could see out into the distance; the roiling mass of yukmen growing in numbers with each meter they grew closer. Their cries pierced every other sound. "YUK! YUK YUK!" Her knees were starting to tremble, sending small tremors up to her hands. Taking a second, she glanced over at the Eypharian positioned next to her. Was she afraid too? Everyone seemed so calm and collected, although that could be the nerves talking again. Gianne had already forgotten her position and been forced to ask directions thanks to her anxiety, she didn't want to make any other mistakes. All of the archers had their bows angled up, pointing slightly into the sky. Feeling a sudden urge to shoot further into the body of yukmen instead of into the front lines or altogether falling short, she increased the angle of her aim by several degrees. Maybe the wind would ruin the shot, maybe it wouldn't. With so many arrows about to released into the empty space of no man's land, one arrow wouldn't make much of a difference. Although the more that found their mark the sooner this might be over.

[Rosela]

Rosela had barely announced herself to the commander before a horn sounded, making her jump nervously. It was starting? Already? The commander and his friend seemed to be having a little nonverbal tiff, with ridiculously terrible timing if she had to say so. An army practically at their feet, and they were giving each other nasty looks? Maybe they were lovers. The human archer hurrying to her spot directed Rosela’s energy to the task at hand and she scurried to the last open space, luckily with a bigger supply of arrows. There was an extra bundle of bigger ones, with nastier tips, and she wondered if those were supposed to be a last resort. Everyone around seemed to be looking out to field, and in a moment she realized why. The yukmen, little more than man-shaped shadows from so far, were advancing. “Prepare arms!” Unsure of who shouted the order, she hesitated and stumbled with her bow, nearly dropping it as she straightened it in front of her. Swallowing heavily, she tried to steady her breathing. She needed to stay calm, or she wouldn’t hit a thing. Even worse, she might hit the wrong thing. She suddenly wondered if Xuphim was up there in the shifting mass of warriors in front of them, bloodthirsty and ready for battle. She had the brief fantasy that he would rescue her and take her away from this terrible thing, but as the cries of the yukmen grew louder, compounded with the sound of a thousand arrows nocking, she knew it wouldn’t happen. One of the last in line, she slipped an arrow into her bow and raised it. Two of her other hands braced the two with the bow, and the last two clenched at her sides for stability. It was just like target practice; that’s what she needed to focus on. She glanced quickly down the line of archers and saw the human suddenly aim a little higher. Did she know something? With so much chaos, it was hard to tell if the wind was in their favor, but maybe she was some great archer with a sense for these things? Swallowing the lump in her throat, Rosela copied the motion. It couldn’t hurt. With the shouts of orders and the clang of armor in her ears, she tried desperately to get her pounding heart under control. Bow trembling minutely, she concentrated on her breathing. In and out. In and out. In…and out.

[Mist]

As the stream of monstrous yukman came roaring towards them, the twang of a single bow could be heard, just behind them, as the young Karril loosed a single arrow from his longbow. It arced through the air, to land smack in the left eye socket of the lead solo yukman. It suddenly pitched forward, falling to its knees, to be trampled by those behind it, unable to stop, or perhaps uncaring for their fallen comrade. After a few more rows had gone by, it was certainly dead, though by whose hand it was hard to say. The shortbow second in command gave a look of grudging respect back at the younger Akalak, mixed with a bit of fury. However Karril did not even notice, still wearing the neutral look of utter concentration, as he took out another arrow and readied it. From behind Gianne and Rosela, the word fire was yelled, and the entire group of longbowmen shot off a volley, peppering the ground with arrows, some hitting yukmen, some missing, some killing, and others injuring and ending with yukmen being trampled. After the second volley was fired, the commander of the shortbow rank ordered an attack, with a yelled "FIRE!" Already the ranks behind them were preparing another volley, as the archers fired almost as fast as they could. Before the shortbow volley even reached the ground, the commander of the shortbowmen was ordering another volley, yelling "FIRE!", as all of the other archers had readied another arrow.

[Gianne Basete]

Her eyebrows rose nearly into her hairline as the longbowman close behind her stuck an arrow straight into the eye of the lead yukmen. She almost felt sorry for the creature as it was trampled; it never stood a chance. Soon after, the rest of the rank followed, their arrows arcing high into the air. The sight of devastation actually calmed her. Gianne felt her trembling stop. So many were in the same boat as her, and with this many comrades surely she would be fine. Took her long enough to realize. As her own commander gave the order to fire her fingers automatically released the string. Her arrow went sailing away with the rest, lost in the mass of deadly projectiles. She couldn't be sure if her's took out a yukmen, but many felled the monsters as well as outright missed. In the closest line of yukmen she noticed a handful of arrows pierce skulls and throats. Surely those would be dead? Gianne already had another arrow out and nocked, and had just reached full draw when the second order was shouted. Quickly she released and her bow hummed powerfully as it again sent an arrow flying. Once more she pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. Her hands were no longer clumsy; it was like that first arrow had carried all of her nerves away, leaving only determination behind. She lifted her bow parallel to herself again and easily pulled the string back to the corner of her mouth. A very simple rhythm was now setting in. The screams of the yukmen were so much closer now, but she glared down the shaft of her arrow, knowing those monsters would lose. There was a kind of feral delight in knowing she was having a part in their demise.

[Rosela]

Seeing the first yukman fall turned Rosela’s stomach and her aim wavered. She tried desperately to keep memories from overwhelming her, and loosed her arrow a second after everyone else did. She looked away as she fumbled for another arrow, not wanting to see where it landed. She didn’t want to see where anyone’s landed. She drew the arrow in and fired again, watching the arc of it as it flew, but looking away once it began its downward descent. A flurry of violence spasmed in her peripheral vision as the volley of arrows landed, and she was already readying her next shot. Unbidden, a memory, the memory, rose to her mind’s eye. The last time she’d used her bow against another living being. She shook her head minutely to clear the thought, and focused on her arrowhead. She lowered her aim ever so slightly, to fire further back into the army of yukmen. She’d die – she’d surely die – if a stray arrow of hers landed too close and hurt one of their own. She knew the look of an arrow as it penetrated skin, and the sound as it crunched through cartilage. The spray of blood was more from the back, getting surprisingly little on the Rosela of the past. Her stomach turned and she discreetly transferred the bow to her alternate hands, relaxing the hold on the string for just a moment. Breath came in quick gasps through a dry throat. The sound of an arrowhead hitting a stone wall, and a heavy body hitting the floor. Gurgled gasps around pouring blood. Had the Grandmother even been dead when Rosela had ran from the room? She dragged a spare hand over her face harshly, dislodging the images. Now was not, not, not the time for this. Forcing a deep breath into her lungs, she licked her parched lips and wished for water to settle her churning stomach. She glanced furtively at the other archer, and tried to imitate her ease.

[Mist]

Perhaps if Gianne could look into the mind of the yukmen, she would not feel pity for it. All it thought of was death and killing. Maiming those in its way. Ripping and tearing flesh. Biting. Devouring. It ran more or less on instinct, simply doing what it was born to do... It was not sentient enough to pity itself, or the things it killed. So some might wonder, why would Gianne? Fire! Gianne's shot was lost amongst the volley, which peppered the oncoming horde, felling many, and wounding even more. In fact, it seemed like the method was reasonably effective, as it did well to thin the numbers of oncoming foes. But as more and more yukman came pouring in, thicker and thicker, more and more remained after the volleys. After a short time, some of the ranks were making it to the frontline forces, and then more and more. Some fell under the onslaught, but most of the frontline made mainly of Akalaks held and repelled the attackers, slaughtering them. But ever more were behind them to replace those they had killed. Fire! Another new volley was ordered to be shot, over the heads of the frontline. Those that had already reached the frontline were on their own for their fight, for it was to large a risk to hit one of their own to fire at them. Instead they continued to attack the ones still a ways off, before they got to close. Fire! This time as another volley was ordered, the sound was echoed from far behind, as the large artilleries was fired. Huge chunks of rock went flying over head from catapults, to plow into the horde, cleaving a long gash into the yukmen, as it struck the ground and then tumbled and continued with its forward momentum. After the initial strike took out several, many more lost there legs as the rock bounced, adding up to quite a few. Fire! The ballistas began, to fire, huge bolts launching through the air to spear through several bodies, killing them instantly if they were hit in the chest or head, and crippling them if it hit them in the legs. Then a new sound echoed over the air, very different, yet similar to the previous ones... It sounded like a mix between a lions roar, and a yukmans cry, but deeper and louder... YUUUUUK!!! YUUUUUK!!! Many people were unnerved by it. Yukmen were one thing, but what the petch was that sound coming from?