Shouldn't there be more to this story?

^^^

Yes.

<sits patiently and awaits more>

We were doing badly. From the courtyard and outside the keep, the small room we were in kept being bombarded by trebs and by Runemasters. Our healers were besides themselves, they could not keep up. Furthermore, they were becoming exhausted. I could see Karath pulling Areinh to a niche in the room and hovering his hands above her body. She coughed blood, and stood up, her eyes in a haze. She looked left and right and he helped her to her legs. She stumbled to go help a keen who’s leg was broken. Grunwave picked himself from the rubble, an ugly gash on his forehead and his sword arm dangling, useless at his side. Zlara was still sitting on her knees near Llava, trying to fix him, mumbling complex words, singing softly. Doulour and Amergen pulled Shelter to relative safety and tried using what healing they had to fix him.


Through all this, the bombardment continued. Not only that, but the norse kept sending their horrible Shadowblades to harass us even more. Herrach and me took position behind one of the walls, and on signals from Jander and Leire, we would blast anything around us. Very few Shadowblades got in, though we didn’t kill any of them. I could see Shelter sitting, his back to one of the keep inner walls, talking to Doulour and Amergen. They both nodded gravely at what he was saying. When he was done, they both helped him to his feet. I could see how hurt it was. It was amazing that he was still able to breathe, let alone stand up. He raised his voice with a shout. “We are going to descend slowly to the courtyard. When you hear Doul or Amer raise a shout, we all charge the Midgardian horde.” We all nodded. I looked around us. I had no idea what charge he was trying to lead with this rag-tag of wounded, exhausted individuals, but I kept my voice down. As we were getting ready to go, as if from no where, Saorise was at my side again. I drew courage from her, and got ready to die. Again.


We all followed Shelter down the stairs slowly. I noticed Doulor and Amergen were not among us. I started to get really really worried. We were pretty close to the turn that would land us in the courtyard when we suddenly heard Amergen shout “Charge!” followed not 1 second by Doulor shouting “Get them!”. We ran. I know not where we got the strength to, but we ran. The courtyard looked like a picture of a battle-field. Mayhem and chaos with no movement. I finally understood what happened. The entire courtyard was mesmerized. On the floor, near the tower itself, I could see Doulor and Amergen, both lying on the floor. Amergen’s left leg was broken in a sickening angle and it looked like Doulor suffered a similar fate. They jumped from the tower and mesmerized all the Norse!! We charged blindly. Divon, Heraach, Sevharin and me creating a field of destruction where nothing would survive. Around us, the Hibernians fanned out. We killed without thinking. If we saw movement, we moved in to kill, pressed by the fact that the mesmerization would not hold for long. We had half the courtyard disabled or dead, when the spell started to break. The ones coming out of the mesmerization were still dazed and we felt like we had a good chance of finishing them off.


Just then, in a scary unison, four balls of fire fell from the sky, hitting the clump we were in. A lot of us caught fire. The damn Norse were training their Trebs on us, with little to no regard to their fellow Midgardians! I could see one more ball of fire in the air, drawing its path in the sky. I could see it falling, falling. And I knew that it was going to hit me. Everything went dark.

:o

How in the world did I miss this gem?


Amazing story Masnark!

It's seems impossible but it gets better.


WOW !

snark well said!

i'm still hooked...

I woke up. It took me a few seconds to realize we were all huddled in the Lord Room. I could hear the shouts from below. I tried talking, but my throat was so dry, I could not utter a word. Instead, what came out was a wimper. Roac came to me and put a jar of water at my lips. I drank a gulp and spilled about half all over myself. I was barely able to get up. I could hear the shouts of the Midgardian horde coming from below. They sounded so close to the Lord room already. It was only a matter of time before they washed over us. We were beaten. Most of us were exhausted to the point of unconsciousness. I took my position at the top of the stairs, but I could not concentrate long enough to cast a spell anymore than I could move the keep with my bare hands.


It was then that we heard the trumpets. It was like a dream. We have been fighting for over twenty four hours now, and the last thing we expected to hear was the war call of the Albion army’s trumpeters. We looked at each other then, trying to make heads and tails of what was going on. Hazarding a look from the tower, Saorise called out “The Brits! The Norse! The Brits are attacking the Norse! They are inside the keep!! Tigarian is at their head!” Everyone was stunned. Lunahopper’s gaze passed over all of us. He sighed, lowering his head. Slowly he raised his head again “This is our last chance, Hibernians. This will be the last charge. Give it all you have. No more backing away. We fight to the last drop of blood. To the last drop of honor!!”


And so we charged again.


The frantic Norse did not know what to make of what hit them. They were so sure of their victory, the waves of Brits, Highlanders, Saracens and Avalonians completely broke through the soft lines of their back lines. Some of the fighters stayed up top, too dense to realize the danger they were in, too bloodlust to understand that without their support they will be butchered. We took them out one by one with little effort. The look of surprise and defeat on their faces was complete. Killing and fighting, we descended slowly to the bottom of the keep. Our fighters moving to the back when they were too hurt and new ones replacing them. When we got to the bottom, we left a long trail of bodies behind us. But there were so many Norse; they were slowly overpowering the three dozen Brits who came to our aide. As the second charge was called, I could see the Sorcerer Schmindrik, his hair done in what must be considered good taste in the strange lands of Albion, wave his hands in a complex motion. I looked at the Midgardians, all stopping dead in their tracks. Every last one of them. We charged into them, slowly pushing them outside the keep, trying not to hurt our temporary allies. Towards the end of the battle, one could read the resignation on the faces of the ugly Midgardians. Some of them so depressed, they just sat on the ground, waiting to be taken or killed. As the last of the Midgardians was tied or killed if still fighting, the Albionites drew back to the bottom of the keep. We were standing there, watching their wounded soldiers, leaning on each other. Racius, in his shining armor walked up to Shelter, his Briton form seemingly miniscule near the gargantuan Bolg. Everybody was tense. Holding his fist to his heart and then a finger to his head, he said something which I could not decipher. Shelter looked at Tigarian. “He says their end of the bargain has been met. He says he expects you to fulfill your part as well.” Shelter eyed Tigarian carefully. “What is my part again, Celt?” Tigarian lowered his face and looked at the ground. “You have agreed to hand them the Horn of Valhalla, Shelter.” The large Firbolg nodded. Lunahopper turned and walked back into the keep without saying a word, Racius’ calculating eyes following him. Shelter turned to Racius and nodded once. “Tell him the deal will be honored, Celt.”