Progeny (Hadrian)

[Jason Alexander]

NoteI am sorry that I haven’t been post lately, had some stuff like finals and holidays. I read up and I hope this post follows the events of the thread and ends in the correct spot that Hadrian’s last post ended.

Leaning against his rock wall Jason tried to catch his breath before he tried to find a new way out of this mess. After attempting to help those who burned the tree and finding no one but a bunch of thugs surrounding the burning tree. The which he killed one of them s well as forcing the others back and defending himself, Jason was very tired from magical exhaustion.

Knowing he would have to move as this attack, the display of magic, the loud noises would attract the attention of the town. And Sunbreth is one town you do not want people to know you’re a user of magic unless you want to get stringed up like some common thief. With a sigh, the mage stood up from his sitting position and looked at his wall noticing it would was still standing strong. Knowing he was safe from the side he looked down to his injured arm. Seeing it was as he suspected and was just a graze. If he made it back to the knight’s camp they could take care of it. Slowly made his way towards the open end of the alley the terramancer checked both ways noticing a small group of people forming a few blocks down the road.

Pulling his hood over his head he slowly crept into the shadows of the buildings trying to sneak down the road without gaining the attention the now approaching crowd. Moving as fast as his exhausted limbs could carry him, started on the path towards the Knights territory within the city.
Looking over his shoulder Jason noticed the crowd fanning through the alleyways into the street that the tree was burning on. Continuing on his path, stopping only to check over his shoulder, he made slow but a steady pace in the direction of the camp.

Two or three blocks from where his fight took place with the thugs, the Sylrian ran into a group of his kinsmen. They were in the process of checking on the burning tree. Once they had checked him over and confirmed that he was indeed part of their company. They listened to what Jason stated had happened: about seeing the burning tree, making his way to where it was burning, to his fight with the thugs, his wound, the discovery of no one at the burning symbol, and what appeared to be the creation of a mob of Sunberth citizens. The group of knights listened to his tale of the events but they and a couple of other groups were ordered to check it out. They advised that Jason stay with them for his own protection, he did just that.

As the Knights continued on their path they made contact with the other squads of knights just as a group of people ran into them with what appeared to be the majority of Sunberth behind them.

[Hadrian]

Having taken care of the Benshira as best he was able, he could only hope Trente would retreat with them, but the longer they waited, the more of the various and sundry thugs would home in on them. And so, every nearby danger dealt with that he could apprehend, he pulled Trashava back toward the knights. Matilis still clung to his back. He didn't run, because he didn't want to leave Trente behind, but they had to make some progress. Trashava and the boy were vulnerable otherwise. At least Trente had his steel and his wits. But Hadrian wasn't sure how much more he had in him; the Flux would keep his body strong enough to manage the Konti and the boy, but every spell cast would weaken his magical reserves. He could only be a one-man army, and if Trente didn't rise, that's what he would have to be. "Trente, we've got to move!" he hissed. Just because there was this momentary lull didn't mean they mightn't have new foes to face at any moment. In fact, there were some coming, it seemed. If Trente didn't react, if he was unconscious, Hadrian was going to have to carry him too. That would be something.

[Trente]

*
Trente was an agile man, as men go, and with that came a certain sense of celerity, as such there was a level of surprise when the juggernaut of a man moved with unfairly superior strength and speed to him without need for recuperation after his calculated fall. His flail swept without heed over Trente, and those unlucky enough to be trying to stomp the young supporter of the mages were obliterated with a single blow, culling the street of a row of people. Trente did not heed either, but he had only made it to his hands and knees before the flux shifted and a heavy metal boot met with Trente's unarmored side with a gallant blow. Trente literally flew, a fracturing snap came from his less robust ribs and it took what seemed like forever to the mutt before the ground and him finally reunited. The weapon in his arm dug deeper, but caused no pain as the tender ache of broken ribs announced itself with each limp tumble.

The world dissolved from Trente's awareness as his mind pulsed distantly, his body exciting with frantic adrenaline. When his head rolled up and his eyes finally met with his aggressor's position, however, he was gone. At what seemed to bystanders as quick as the bellow he gave the crafty warrior kept on the move. This time he was after the fire slinger, and Hadrian knew the man was faster, despite his sporadic and unpredictable route he took, attempting to avoid the flames. His giant flail game him frightening reach, and it would take less then a moment for the death bringer to find itself in Hadrian's area of vulnerability. Still, Hadrian harbored the advantage as his visage wavered, and shield attempted to repair itself after the distortion of heat. Quickly he appeared to vanish. With luck, perhaps, quickly enough.

Trente grasped at his sword and struggled to right himself once more. The pain was distant and numb, but his coordination suffered as he found himself to his feet. Death began to look imminent and even more so as he looked beyond the stunned mob of bystanders to the small legion of support which plowed through the crowd together. They were smart, not splitting up, they condensed and kept an eye on their prize, the Konti, and despite the burning tree, and the walls of stones, the missing crossbowmen and the invisible man their moral was unbroken. They had true faith in their leader, and they showed no signs of breaking stride.

Trente decided not to waste any time counting his options or chances. He abruptly turned and and began at a fumbling pace away from the fray. He would still need to surpass the juggernaut, which for a moment caused him to consider trying to fight his way through the crowd which had begun to clear away from the flail wielding man, but in the spirit of denying possibility he followed his gut and dispatched the lone citizen still in his way with a clumsy slash to the throat before pushing on at full speed.

The rally of Syliran knights could be heard near by, arrows knocked, and magic charged. Behind him Kelvics took flight, and thugs drew blades. The gang had superior numbers for the time, but the Syliran no doubt would out class them with times. Time Trente may not have had. Trente prayed for a fleeting moment in what later he may think weakness to Yahal. Trente was no stranger to desperation, but this skirmish was on a scale he had yet to witness in his short life.
*

[Imass]

The Syliran Knights were resting as they prepared for the voyage to Sahova. Despite milling around at camp, the group of warriors was eternally vigilant. Ser Imass sat on top of his gilded steed adorned in full battle plate; chain under worn steel armor. He was armed to the teeth with a broadsword, Lakan, short bow, round shield, and lance. The proud Akalak always flew the Syliran colors on his lance so none would mistake who and what he was.

"Hail Ser Joren! Come hither and ride with me!" Ser Imass cried out as he walked his horse around the camp, "Hail Ser Joren!"

A Kalean man appeared clad in boiled leather on a brown horse. His shady beard went down below his belt and his weapons were primitive, but none the less Joren was a brother in arms. The fellow was one of the hunting masters that served the order. He greeted Imass in a harsh accent, "My life for Sylir! What do you want good ser?" The man's voice was edged for he didn't like pious men like Imass. The Akalak could care less though.

"Ser Joren, tell me what do you see?" Ser Imass asked. The Knights were supposed to remain vigilant always and this meant being on a constant look out. The Akalak took this to the extreme and patrolled nonstop. For the last hour he had asked Joren the same question at least two dozen times. The Kalean was getting a tad impatient.

"Nothing, Ser Imass, nothing! If I see something you will be the first to know! Now leave me be!" Joren sounded angry, but the Akalak was oblivious to his emotions. He ignored his friends rudeness and responded normally, "Verily and thankfully Ser --,"

At that very moment a bright tree appeared off in Sunberth. It was growing up and out of the streets and was in the image of their banner. The tree was so big and bright that the whole camp suddenly arose. Within moments it caught on fire and burned.

"There ya go Ser Imass, didn't need me to see that did you?" Ser Joren laughed.

Ser Imass ignored him and dug the heels of his spurs into his destrier. Banner flowing in the wind, the Knight reared back to the camp and alerted the Knights, "TO ARMS! TO ARMS! THE WINDOAK IS BURNING!" All the warriors looked up with lazy eyes as Imass pointed behind him at the fountain of fire erupting from the city. The whole entire camp erupted. Less than half the Knights where ready for battle and would take some time to prepare.

One of the Stewart Knights barked out an order, "Quickly, we need a dozen men for a sortie!" He himself was clad only in padded armor so he hailed Imass, "Lead the sortie to the city Ser Imass, I will be right behind you!"

The Akalak grinned. The gods where good to give him a battle, "Thank ye good ser... You sers," Imass said pointing at the mounted guard, "On me! HIYAAAAAH!!"

Digging his spurs into his destrier the Knight began to trot towards the city. Sunberth had no walls, so it wouldn't be long before they descended on the distress beacon. A dozen armored knights, including Imass began to gallop towards the location of the burning tree. Ser Imass was so excited he almost fell off his horse when he went over a ditch. Clenching the war beast with his knees the knight clenched his lance and grabbed the reins with his left hand.

The Knights began to sing a battle hymn as they raced to the location. They repeated the same verse louder and louder until they were yelling:

"Gold for the master!
Silver for the maid!
Copper for the craftsman, who works his trade!
'No matter' said Sylir standing tall!
'Cuz steel, cold steel, is the master of them all!"

As they rode everyone got out of their way and finally they reached the street all the commotion was happening. One hundred yards away, Ser Imass spotted the group of thugs fighting and forming. They formed two rows of six and dropped their lances. Another company of Knights appeared (the ones Jason talked to) and gave Imass the signal that the thugs where indeed enemies.

OOOOoooooOOOO

The horn was sounded and the sortie charged.

oocplease let me know if I botched the events up or the timeline

[Hadrian]

A small, compact fireball whizzed past Trente, slamming into the chest of the juggernaut. Hadrian was trying to be more economical with his expenditures of energy, but they needed to move. The best he could do was cover their retreat at this point. Then sounded the knight's horn, and a wave of relief washed over him. "Trente!" he screamed, his voice getting desperate and ragged now. Fireball, fireball, fireball. They sought out the fastest and the closest, trying to give Trente a fighting chance or, better yet, a fleeing chance. If he could hold them off until the knights arrived, all would be well. This rabble wouldn't stand up to a charge of caparisoned horses ridden by battle-hardened knights of Syliras. His shield was rebounding, knitting itself around him, Matilis, and Trashava thanks to the bits of energy it siphoned off from each fireball, even skimming off the top of the tingle of Flux under his skin. When he realized his fireball hadn't stopped the juggernaut's advance, he was too close for another attack so Hadrian gathered himself and threw himself to the side, taking both his wards with him and hoping the man's momentum would carry him past. Gods, grant them speed! he prayed. OOCYeah, Imass. Take out that juggernaut all you want. Hadrian's fading.

[Trente]

*
With lowered lances they charged on Imass' word, their battle cries climbing louder even then the beating of hooves from finely bred steeds.

The juggernaut took one of his lightning fast sweeps toward the last place he caught a glimpse of Hadrian through his quickly mending shield, then with grace far surpassing anything the knights could imagine turned and let his flail fly once more, meeting with precise mayhem upon the first horse's side. The tip of the lance hit him hard, denting his arm but only causing him to the stumble as the horse gave forth an audible popping sound as it's ribcage broke inward along with the rider's frail armored leg, and it flew off course connecting with the hindquarters of the horse beside it, which gave a buck and kick before threatening a fall.

A lesser horsemen would have peeled off the horse, and found himself underneath, but this leather clad knight forsook his lance, took hold a spear and abandoned the horse with celerity. A deft tumble brought him and his weapon safely to a kneeling position within striking range of his foe in the space of mere moments. The point thrust outward toward the foe, but caught nothing by his cold shell, letting out a dread report of steel on pressed steel.

The others of the charge swerved slightly away from the commotion as they sped forward, eyes set on the group of men approaching to assist the enemy commander. Two men wielding a long sword each foolishly stepped forward with confidence, bobbing back and forth with a tempting grin on their face, while the other pulled together or fled to the building fronts as time permitted.

Trente raised his arm and attempted to call out hail of Sylir, but with horror he found his voice weak and numbing as the rest of him had been. Without hesitation he began rallying to the front of a near by saloon, only to find a quick footed rogue before him with two sharp stilettos, which his stance indicated him skilled enough to use with efficiency. Trente's breathe froze and heart raced. Clumsily he brought his rapier forward, and was nearly caught off guard by the ease he adopted his stance even with little feeling of his body. Still, if his balance was hurting there would be little chance to survive, even against a novice at this point, let alone one of these well practiced murderers.

The charging line hit the two longsword-men in front and they gave their best, and an admittedly well trained attempt at stepping aside and lowering their blade to cleave at the legs of the steeds. The first barely managed to shift his weight, mistiming his feint and won a devastating lance in the chest for his troubles. The splinters flew outward, and the echo of the man's spine snapping washed over the other as he dodged the other lance and lowered the blade only to have the horseman spur his horse to leap, and clear the rebuddle with gallant ease.

The second of the slaver line clashed, and those two that did not gather or reach the building side were struck dead on the spot. Those that had banded together presented too tempting a target for a certain over zealous knight, however, which aimed straight for the center of them all and encouraged his steed faster.

Just moments from the group the man suddenly keeled off his saddle and lay with dead weight upon the ground. The lance fell beside him as it became clear to those closest the bolt protruding from his torso.

The crossbowmen on the far roof dropped his emptied weapon and drew up his dead companion's, already loaded and ready to fire. With a deep breath he pointed it out over the battlefield and began to select his next target.

The man with the stilettos moved toward Trente like a blur. His sporadic though not weak dual wielding style tying Trente's mind in a knot no matter his attempt at observing it with efficiency. The issue became moot in a moment, however, as an extremely focused gust of wind came from nowhere and blew the stiletto attacker upward, over Trente's head and farther into the battlefield. Trente cast a look to the knight he recognized from the road, and gave something just shy of an appreciative smile before diving toward the shop front, and pressing himself against the wooden wall and firmly shuttered windows.

The first charge finished their initial pass and turned to face the remaining nine troops and their commander, but their confidence wavered as a dirty women from the now dense crowd lunged forward with a butcher's knife and severed clean through the back hamstring of one of the horses. The man spilled off his horse in his heavy plate and the mob went crazy, lunging forward trying to curry safety in numbers, and indulge in true Sunberthian chaos.

With a surprising crash that nearly sent Trente out of his skin the shutters he leaned against seemed to explode from behind him, and replacing them were two large meaty hands, grabbing at his neck. Air seeping from his already confused head he rose his rapier to deter the arms, but all that met him were another set, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull the valuable blade from his hands. Wincing as another hand dug into the wound upon his shoulder he scrambled at his belt, and nearly dropping the second weapon he brought his dagger up and stabbed at the first set of arms, then the second, and stumbled away from the wall, back into the fray.

Panting he turned and surveyed the battlefield. There were screams both valiant and frantic, pain and glee. He spotted the building the crossbowmen shot from flickering with real fire, licking up its side, growing stronger biding no time in its attempt to jump to near by buildings. The leader before the second wing of knights ordered a mark upon the enemy commander and Trente could not even see Hadrian, the Konti, or the child. It got to him, hit him in the pit of his stomach. Never before in the entirety of his life, through all of the horror and death he had witnessed, had he ever seen such a clash. So much hatred and death together and one place, it was enough to make him want to cast down his sword and just disappear.
*

[Jason Alexander]

NoteJason is basically done, he used to much magic during his fighting earlier. This is something I could do to stay in the thread. PM me if there is anything I can do or change
Exhaustion spread throughout Jason’s limbs as the knights, he had met as he tried to retreat out of the city to the camp, joined forces with another group of knights riding horses and heading to see what was happening at the burning tree. The leader of the mounted knights was the blue knight he had seen on the travels from the city. He ordered the mounted knights forward and the footmen followed shortly after.

As the group approached the tree, the knights took in the scene and after a few moments they let out a battle cry and the mounted fighters charged towards the advancing thugs, who faced the knights or fled into the alleyways. Those thugs, who stayed, were cut down as they attempted to fight back except their commander who continued to evade the knight’s blows and strike when he could.

After the first line finished their charge and the second began, that is when things went downhill for those knights. The one remaining crossbowman had taken to firing at the knights from the top, the thugs who had fled were now returning reinforced with members of the mob that was forming back when Jason fled the scene the first time. The mounted knights engaged the numbers but were soon overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

As the mounted knights met the mob, the dismounted footmen rushed forward to help their brothers. Jason set back towards the end of the street. Casting all those spells earlier had drained his energy and he wouldn’t be much in a sword fight but just in case he drew his dagger from his belt.

The fighting continued, the knights held their own against the superior numbers by skill and technique alone but their numbers were falling quickly. Jason noticed a knight wounded on the ground trying to crawl away from the battle. Jason looked around for someone to help the poor knight but those who could help him were currently fighting for their lives against a horde of Sunberthians. With a quick decision Jason hurried forward as quickly as his tired limbs could carry him. Keeping his dagger in hand and an eye out for fighters that could break away from the battle and attack him as he tried to help the knight the mage made his way to the fallen warrior.

Taking a knee next to the knight, Jason spoke quickly “I am here to help. My name is Jason; I am of Sylrias and a member of your company. To help you out I need to get you out of this fight. This may hurt a bit.” All the knight could do in response was nod and grit his teeth. Grabbing the chain mailed clad knight by mail on his shoulder and slowly struggled to get him away from the fighting. The knight was heavy with his full battle gear on but he tried to help the best he could. Keeping an eye out of stray attackers, the reimancer continued to drag the knight toward the end of the street.

[Hadrian]

As soon as the knights crashed into their pursuers, they lost sight of Trente. But even so, Hadrian could have pointed through the fray toward his associate, so familiar was he with that aura. But the knights were already en route to his position, and Hadrian had two people to save who were not so able to defend themselves as Trente. "He's fine," he assured Matilis. "I can feel him from here. Now let's retreat toward the knights' camp, and I'll go after him if I have to once you two are safe. But I can't protect all of us at one time." He stumbled a little as they backed away from the violence, but Trashava held him up. He smiled ruefully. "I'm all right. I just need to get you safe so I can focus my energy." And so retreat they did. Matilis still clung to his back, and Trashava to his side. There was still a Flux of energy running through him, so it was just a matter of mental discipline now. "Trente is fine," he said, and again after about thirty seconds. He was keeping tabs on him as they retreated. And then he was putting Matilis and Trashava into the hands of the healer who had cared for him in his illness, and pulled away even when she advised he stay and rest. He sought out Trente's aura once more, hoping he was, in fact, fine.

[Imass]

And the hooves of justice roared down the pig sykte street of Sunberth. Battle cries rang from the charging Knights. Men and women alike wailed in the streets. Mud splattered in the air as they swooped down upon them. The juggernaut readied his mace. Longswordmen stood defiant in the knight way. Behind them stood the rest.

The Knight aimed lance directly at the first man's chest. Holding onto his horse with his knees, he leaned back into the stirrups and prepared for contact. It was simple enough to balance on a horse during the charge, but one the fighting began anything could happen.

Everything happened at the same time. Contact was made. By a enormous stroke of luck, the Akalak's lance slammed into the opponent sending him flying with tremendous force. Blood sprayed and wood splintered. The juggernaut assaulted the knight furtherest left of Imass. The horse buckled and knocked into Ser Joren. The nimble Kalean performed an extraordinary dismount from his horse.

The warhorse under Imass suddenly tripped up and the Knight lost his balance. Letting go the broken lance, the big Akalak tried to pull himself back on the horse. His left foot slipped off the stirrup and he was totally leaning to the right. The horse began to ver left into the line of slaves. With the two riders fallen by the juggernaut, the Knight's horse had a clear shot to the left flank. his warhorse continued galloping regardless of Imass' condition.

His horse made contact and a body slammed into him with the loud crunch of plate smacking bone. The Knight could hold on no long. Bringing his leg across the saddle he pushed off the war mount and dismounted. The Knight wasn't sure if it was the smart thing to do, but he acted on pure battle instinct now.

Pumping up to his feet, Ser Imass felt woozy from the fall. Fortunately the heavy plate protected him enough. Popping up to his left the Knight haphazardly drew his weapon with a loud ring and clasped the shield close to his heart. Resting the pommel on the hip, the Knight squinted through the dust filled visor and scanned the scene around him.

Cross bolts where being loosened from the roof tops. The second horn was sounded. Horses thundered and within two seconds, the slave line they smashed into was broken even before the fighting began. The area around him was vacant. Towards a build wall was a huddled group who tried to stand their ground. Already another soldier was descending on them. The floor was slick with bloody mud. Mangled corpses from the charge littered the floor. There was a fallen Knight. Ser Joren was taunting the juggernaut whilst the footmen came through the rear.

The pivoted towards the last of the slave line and sprinted; the lust for battle was in his soul and he wanted to kill his opponent. The clangor of the Knight's armor was noisy and drove terror into the slaves when he came upon them. Ser Imass took his broadsword in hand and shoved it into a slave's stomach. Blood and bile exited his bowls. Feeble blows bounced off his armor as the poorly armed opponents fought. More Knights closed in and killed them all in a few moments. Ser Imass parried a blow then split a man's arm in two with a powerful down ward swing.

Spinning around a wave of bolts flew at the Knights. Although they decimated their forces, the Sunberthian still held the high ground. Raising his shield over head the Knights on foot huddle together whilst reinforcements arrived to shoot the archers down. Arrows clattered and bounced off metal shields and armor. One found it's mark and a man screamed blood. The Knight didn't even think about it. 'Yahal has a plan for him' he told himself.

Scanning the scene again he saw the footmen closing in on the juggernaut. Ser Joren laid battered. Then he made eye contact with a young man, unmistakably not a Sunberthian. He was getting attacked by a man armed with stilettos. He was covered in muddy blood and his face was sweaty and red with heat. He carried a rapier. At the same time the second line of Knights where getting ready to charge again this time towards the juggernaut.

Suddenly the Knight was caught in a dilemma, 'Duty or Honor?' The lust of battle had overcame him! All Imass wanted was the glory of killing the juggernaut. The brave boy was alone and being assailed. Although he was no Syliran, the Zeltivans joined the Knights on this brave quest. It was Imass' duty to help him, 'On the battlefield the Zeltivan is my brother.'

"Our brothers are in need! Two men with me, you others help the lone fighters and the injured. Sylir wills it!" the Knight roared through his visor. After a moment's hesitation the group of Knight mutually agreed with the plan and broke formation. Ser Imass and two others sprinted loudly in full plate towards Trente. When they finally reached the young man, Imass grabbed him and formed a shield wall with the two other Knight's in order to protect from a hail of bolts coming Trente's way.

Under the clatter and guard of the shields, Imass yelled at Trente, "You good to fight?"

OOC
Sorry for not being as quick as I said I would. I hope this is enjoyable, I am on my phone so I'll comb it for grammar on a computer

[Trente]

*
"Those people!" Uttered Trashava in a panic, gripping at the fabric at Hadrian's shoulder as the three swept away like a raging river through the streets of Sunberth at the arms of the talented wizard. She had seen enough of the man, both his actions of present and past, and thus knew his heart though not pure was sincerely placed. "Hadrian," her voice came disarmingly calm and collected. "You have to take us back. I know that you are weary, but." She looked down as a soft glow emanating from from what appeared to be nowhere, penetrating their finely constructed shielding. "I have given an oath, one that you must respect." With those words she blindly set her off hand firmly pressed upon Hadrian's neck as he ran and a white heat poured like electricity into her savior, intertwining itself with his fluxed djed, shifting throughout his body with invigorating strength. His spent djed slowly repaired, miraculously pulling back together and just as his aching muscles turned from acidic burning to white hot light Treshava lay her lips against the sunworn skin of his forehead and a final crescendo of tantalizing heat flowed through his mind, lending him renewed clarity and wisdom.

Treshava knew that her actions drew them all closer to travesty, but a true battlefield of pain waged on behind her and if she could save the life of even one man, she must. "Take us back," she whispered again into Hadrian's invisible ear, this time a soft command he felt more than behooved to follow, in light of her warm healing touch still flickering with energy across the diminutive distance between her supple lips and his fragile ear.

Back in the fray Trente glared drunkenly at Imass then to the juggernaut who raced across the street in a single bound as if it were truly just a step to dispatch an injured man, before returning to the center to command the battlefield with a glorious spit flying taunt which shook the resolve of Trente, if not some of the Sylrian Knights themselves.

Trente then turned back to Imass with a look which practically screamed, "Are you kidding?"

But, he knew what it meant to be Syliran, and he knew full well that the man was not kidding, not one bit. The fool would throw himself at this beast of a man till every ounce of blood within him had been exsanguinated and then he would fight some more. And perhaps it was Trente's state, his numbed limbs, his blurred mind, but his response to the suicidal knight was a hearty nod of affirmation.

"I am still holding my sword am I not?" He gave a tired expression, and straitened as proudly as he could. "What are your orders?"
*