Scroll: Claiming Ellish - Final Battle

From FiranMUX

Summary

This scroll was written by Centurion Kelarik Cylisti during the Campaign for Ellish in 42 A.U.

Scroll Text

Claiming Ellish

When the east gate of Ellish fell, and we'd pulled back, the infantry stormed forward to meet with the goats who spilled out of it like whiskey from an upended bottle. The pilots engaged with their aerial enemies, the conflict outside the gates to begin with.

I, sadly, missed seeing our forces take good Republic iron to the Shamibelians outside the gates of Ellish, as I was required to be tended to by healers for my burns. But what I have been told of the conflict is that it was an incredibly-hard battle to fight. The goats were tricky, and had learned some of our tricks, turning them against us. Further, they were grimly determined, as they did not wish to lose the city. They failed, and were routed back into the city's confines. We stood guard, collected our dead, and prepared for further battle.

Wagons began rolling from the city as the goats began to flee in small clumps - mostly their women, taking some of their slaves with them. As they requested quarter, quarter was granted, and they were allowed to leave to return to their foul city of Shamibel, although they were watched closely to make certain that there were no tricks hidden within. I do not know if the wagons were searched, but I cannot imagine that they would have been allowed through if they weren't.

When those who were leaving had gone, it was time for our forces to move in and to claim the city. I was among those fighting on the front lines of the battle, this time side by side with Dame Gemma, and Lady Tanya was acting as spearman behind me. We prepared, and when it was time, we marched on the city.

There was a great Ticanee totem pole which the Shamibelians had laid hands on, and they had erected it on the walls of the city. Countless thousands of Ticanees were being slaughtered, their blood splashing against the wood's surface. It was a horrific sight, but what it inspired is what made it worse. Each death seemed to give the dark priests horrible power, and it manifested in this humming or buzzing in the air which was ominous. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and it was like a crackling, accompanied by this deep, low, staccato humming.

What that humming foretold was quickly shown when the giant eagle flew over the city to scare away the enemy griffons. While Garissa and Sharin achieved their task, a bolt of vibrant lightning shot out from the Tower of Obala in the center of Ellish, and then a second, both slamming hard into the eagle's body and crackling through both mount and rider. On fire, grievously injured, Sharin slumped in his perch, Garissa flew back.

And the tower struck again, and again, as the priests continued to slaughter innocents. Our forces struck hard and fast, trying to act to keep the priests from their hideous task, but there were thousands of goats between us and the totem pole. Every pilot, every archer, every javelin was trained on one of the dark priests so that they could not continue their killing spree and fuel that tower.

Hmmmm, hmmmm, hmmm... the throbbing hum continued to echo in the air, and our pilots began to be shot out of the sky by blazing lightning bolts, blue and evil. Likewise, some arched downward to splatter and crackle through our infantry. Lord Fiero was downed by two of those bolts, Lady Melani another, and when they hit, the sound of screams echoed through the air.

But we would not be scared back so easily, and we fought on.

There was a sudden moment when the totem pole burst into flame, and then it exploded with a sound which I can only explain like the sharp cracking of a snow-laden branch - yet explode it did, the shrapnel from its demolition killing the three priests who remained at its base with their gory offerings. Yet the tower still let out that throbbing, aching sound, and lightning continued to erupt from its dark, obsidian walls, arching out to strike pilots and infantry alike.

It was then that the battle really began to rage, and I cannot effectively explain when or how it was that Lord Nydiam appeared. The skies had become misty, then rain had begun to fall, soaking through our clothing and making the weight of the armor harder to bear. The battle standard of Soli hung from my back, soaked through but fully intact, as I had carried it into Ellish in honor of my wife and children, and we fought on.

The foul beast Fudathim had heard Lord Zafir's cries for him earlier, and stalked out into the streets, baying his name like the dog he is. And without thought, without remorse, Zafir laid him out on the ground, then staked his claim - he did not kill Fudathim, the Shamibelian governor of Ellish, but instead he took him captive as so many of our people had been captured for so very many years.

Lightning still streaked out of the obsidian tower, hitting many targets - healers among them. Karana, Wylma, and Odoni were all struck by bursts of wicked blue light, searing skin and addling their senses. Fighters, too - Tyrsun and Karish, Prince Argin and Prince Savaren, each one blasted with one or two crackling bursts of energy.

Lord Nydiam cried out to the tower then, demanding that it strike him instead of the others, insisting he be heard... and the tower listened. His body almost glittered with the bolt of fierce energy that lanced through him, and he shook uncontrollably, his hair singing, his eyes almost glowing with a maniacal light before he fell to the ground, dead. But the tower shot no more after that sacrifice.

It was then that I remember running to kill the archer who had put Karana in his sights, beating him to a bloody pulp with my staff even as one of our own skewered him with arrows. And as my staff dispatched the goat, there was a bellow from atop a rooftop - a Shamibelian general, calling out to Lord Donos, demanding a duel to end the battle.

The challenge was accepted with due course, as I knew that the general would, and he walked out to meet the enemy general with pride and vigor in his step. The two exchanged blows, strike after strike, verbal and physical alike, but a lucky shot did indeed fall our general, and the goat skewered him through the heart with his spear, assuming it would make us run, would make us let him down.

We did not let him down.

The battlefield was a market square, and all around the Firan forces, we laid the goats to waste, trying to spare the slaves who were ordered to kill us so that we could focus on their horrible masters. Their general seemed surprised that we did not flee the field despite the fall of our general, and it was in very short order that we received the call to accept quarter from the goats, to hold off on slaughtering those who had fallen unconscious. They had surrendered, as had their foul general, and Ellish was ours.

Yet there was tremendous loss of our own forces in this battle. The dead and dying were numerous, the cost hard to bear. But we had done what no army had done in the forty-two years which Ellish had been under enemy control. We had not only seen the gates of Ellish, we had touched them, we had shattered them, we had marched, and we had reclaimed a city for the Republic.

While the healers began the job of trying to repair the bleeding and dying, I remember standing there on the street, looking around at this city which we now held control of, thinking of the cost and sacrifice that it had taken to reach this goal. My arm was shattered by a goat sword, my hip was broken by the blade of a slave, and I was leaning heavily on my staff, but I survived to tell the tale where so many had not. And the magnitude of that history descended upon me as hard as the lightning bolts that had flown from the walls of the dark tower.

I do not recall exactly how it was that I made my way back to our camp outside of Ellish, nor do I recall the hours right after the battle ended. But I will never forget that weighty sensation of fate's hand, nor will I forget the first sip of drink that I had before finding my way back to that camp... good Eagle whiskey, consumed on the soil of a freed Ellish, a quiet celebration of our success.

And now that we hold Ellish, the real battle begins in earnest. Forty-two years, we have been trying to reach this city held in chains, trying to free those who are there. Now, it is time to rebuild, to renew, to replenish and regrow, to bring those who have been captive for months, years, or their entire lives back into the fold of the Firan people and to help them reintegrate with their culture and their peers. There is still a war in Ellish, but the battle to reclaim it has been won. Now, the difficult part begins.

{Signature} The signature of Kelarik.

{Date} Dated Oct 30, in the year 42 A.U.