/bump for the soon to be departed Masnark

((Just came back from Israel. I will complete this in the following week I hope. Sorry for the long wait))

Page 9? No.


Write please. Thank you.


Edit: Still learning how to count.

Page 9? Hmm…


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Night fell. Throughout the day, more Hibernians trickled into the keep. When the sun finally started climbing up the sky, coloring the horizon and the clouds ominous red, we had no more than fifty Hibernians with us. At least a third were not even Masters of their professions, their studies not yet finished. We worked in silence for most of the day. Making the doors stronger, going over defense strategies, fixing the armor and weapons. We were able to scavenge enough material for two Trebs – we placed one near the Lord room and the second at the bottom of the Lord tower. We had a small amount of ammunition for them. The sun fell to the west, signaling the end of the day. And still no sign of the Midgardians.


As the moon rose, we were all standing on the walls of the keep, not one of us daring to break the silence. Watching south and east towards Svasud, we stood there, some holding hands with each other. Zlara and Gethin were standing very close to each other, their shoulders touching. Shelter was standing on one of the rampants, holding Lunahopper on his left shoulder. I was standing behind one of the rampants, Saorise standing on it so that we were about the same height. My hand kept creeping to her shoulder, somehow wanting to draw courage from her, but afraid of her reaction, I always took my hand back to my side.


Then we heard it. At first it was like the distant roar of a waterfall. But the sound grew louder. Then, we could feel it in our bones, as if they were shaking inside us. Then we saw the lights. Dozens of torches, like a mad swarm of fireflies in a long line. The sound grew and we could feel the hundreds of boots thumping the ground, hear the songs of the skalds. They were getting nearer to the keep.


I cannot describe the feeling when we saw the awesome army that Midgard has summoned to vanquish us. Our hearts sank. As they neared the keep, the norse started fanning out. They formed as a crescent in front of the keep, stepping in place, making that noise that shook our bones inside our bodies. Then, when they were positioned just right, a Dorf raised his arm. They all stopped stepping and silence took over. I focused my eyes and looked at the Dorf. It was Kawn, his one visible eye shining at night. To his left, I could see Leylie standing. She bent over and playing with his beared, she whispered something in his ear. He smiled and nodded without uttering a word. She planted a kiss on his cheek, and straightened up. Looking at the Shadowblades all around her, she nodded at them. They all disappeared.


During all of this, none of us uttered a word. It seemed like all of us were holding our breath. There were no less than a hundred and fifty Midgardians there. At the very least three times our number. From my right, I could hear a bass voice. It sounded like a Firbolg lamenting a loved one. As the sound grew, I realized I was wrong. It was Shelter. He was laughing. In all the years I have known that bolg I have yet to hear him laugh once. All the Hibernians were looking at him, all secretly fearing that that great warrior has finally lost his mind. As his laughter subsided, he swept a look at us. “Look what you have done Hibernians! You have made the Mids wake up from their slumber. You have made them afraid! Look at their eyes. They are scared! Of us!” We were all silent. The old bolg has finally lost it, some of us thought, I am sure.


“Off the walls!” He bellowed, all serious again. ”Shadowblades coming! Be ready for attack.”


From below, I could see the Master Skald Kawn lift his stubby arm again. When it went down, the horde of Mids attacked the keep. The sound of their angry shouts alone seemingly enough to blow the walls down.


They didn’t seem so scared to me.

I still like it

 

-----signature-----

Time seemed to freeze.


Then it started again in fast motion.


Then it froze again.


Then it started once more, and the battle began.


Then froze for a third time.


Shelter bellowed, "fookin lag!"

Bravo! Really beautifully written. Made me smile before I start my day.

They swarmed over the hill. The fore-runners haven’t even came up to the keep as shouts started erupting from the walls of the keep, where some of us still stood. We ran to the court yard, ready to hold the doors. We could hear the rams being built. I shot a look at Zlara. She nodded at me. I took a deep breath and tried blasting the Midgardians at the doors. I should have known better. Not half a second after positioning myself near the door, I was bombarded by massive amounts of magics. Not only that, but parts of the doors were already giving and one of the norse was trying to poke me with his spear. All that time, Zlara was standing there, waving her hands, fixing what was getting torn. Quickly I stumbled back – I stumbled, shocked from what my body went through. Saorise caught my hand and helped me stabilize myself. “First door going down!” I shouted. From the time the Norse came to the top of the hill to the time the first door was about to fall, not thirty seconds passed.


Closing the inner door with the help of Grunwave, Shelter called out to the Hibernians “The inner door will not hold against this. Set up in the tower! We are doing a Saorise Defense again. But be ready – when I say the word – be ready to fall back to the lord room!” As the bolt on the inner door clunked into place, we could hear the outer door splinter into a hundred pieces. Jander appeared near Shelter, smiling. “What did you see, Shade?” Shelter asked him. Still smiling, he answered. “Three rams on the outer, two rams will be on the inner – no space for more. But that’s not your problem today Shelter. They placed a dozen Trebs outside.” Shelter’s face went white. He slowly turned to look at us, assembled at the courtyard. He looked at Jander. “Twelve Trebs? You counted them?” Jander looked at him and grinned again. “I may not be one of them casters. But I can still count, bolg.” The grin never touched his eyes.


We all ran to the second floor of the tower, waiting for our inevitable deaths.

Well written, great way to relive past rvr history.