The Atherdaine, Ortem Gate (3012, Age of the Elves)
"Why!" the shout sounded more like a roar, and those who heard felt the fury and the disappointment behind it.
Past the corpse-laiden street and a gate swung open, was the elven prince in full battle armor, bloodied all over. The intricate sword he had on his hand was wet with the blood of those who had tried to stop him from fleeing. Atop his large white horse, he had with him an air of nobility. That day, however, was not a day of glory, and the prince was fighting for his dear life.
Behind him was a meager force of mounted elven warriors, composing his personal elven guards. The defiant look in their faces, the splendor of their glistening armor, and their white horses, made them look formidable and intimidating. Highly skilled and superior in every way, but heavily outnumbered.
They face a large and mighty host of men, led by the Chaeldean king. Their spears pointed against the prince, their shields making a large wall that prevent their escape.
"Kingdom rises and falls, and the turn of elves has come." replied the king. He was not anywhere near in terms of majesty in comparison to the elven royalty, but he was nonetheless fearsome to look at. Clad in plated armor and coated in furs, he led the column, mounted on his warhorse.
"Most noble prince, I advise that you surrender and accept the changing of times. Your life shall be spared along with your men." he pointed at the prince with his large waraxe. The mocking smirk on his face, betrayed the supposed intention behind his offer. He was insulting the downtrodden elf.
'How bold! Do you think you can hide behind numbers? I swear, I shall have your head today, Frederick, son of Alfred!" the prince snarled back, shaking the blood off his blade.
"I had hoped that this might not come to this. You have helped my forefathers build what is now my kingdom. Should you only lower yourself, the Atherdaine is all that you will lose."
"Silence! I had enough of your arrogance!"
"Arrogance! You make me laugh, my prince! It is your pride that shall be the death of you!" the King swiftly rebutted.
"We shall see." the elven prince said through gritted teeth, clenching his jaw in anger. It was the first time he had been blatantly disrespected.
"We shall see indeed." the king lifted his waraxe. "Anyone who brings me his pretty head shall marry my daughter!"
Soon, joining the king's laughter was the sound of a hundred marching boots, advancing to where the prince stood. The ground beneath them shook, and their shouts and jeers were deafening. But the elves showed no sign of cowering.
"We are warriors of a hundred battles, we have faced the mightiest of beasts, and they march to feed themselves to our swords!" the elven prince rallied his troops, his warriors responded with resounding roars.
"Into the fray!"
The elven warhorses bolted towards the shield wall. They swung their swords in the air as they let their horses ran in full speed, and their capes fluttered majestically in the wind. This was despite the spears horizontally lowered to meet their attack.
Their foes looked on, impressed with their ferocity and braveness. But their action appeared to be out of desperation, and suicidal.
"Hold your ground!" shouted the king from behind the lines. The elves are almost upon them. He grinned at what seemed a reckless charge, for him, they were only meters away from being skewered. The elven prince was at the head of the riders, his eyes aimed onwards, and was without any hesitation.
When he was near, the enemy soldiers adjacent to him pushed their spears to hit him. But with amazing dexterity, he evaded each and when he was past the tips, he cut the shafts in one clean strike.
The other elves did the same, and the pikes did not slow nor lessen the weight of their charge. The shield wall broke, and the first of the soldiers fell to the swift elven blades.
The elven prince continued to lead them even further, penetrating deeper into enemy ranks. He leaned backwards and forward, and from side to side, evading and striking. His blade slit throats like a hot knife through butter, and he so easily gushed out blood from his foes. His long silver hair spiraled at his body's every twirl. A vicious smile appeared on his face, triggered by the thrill he can only get in the heat of battle.
At the sight of this, the soldiers before him cowered. The elven prince's grin widened when he saw the first soldier flee. A single elf was yet to fall, and so the fear quickly spread among the soldiers. One man's retreat soon turned into a full-blown rout.
"Why are you running! There's only fifty of them!" the king tried to reason with his soldiers, but his shout was lost to the noise. His captains could not do any better, with some joining the retreat.
The elves knew that the battle was over. Most of the dead in the battlefield are slain during the route. Like swooping hawks, they chased down the fleeing soldiers. What seemed an army moments ago, was reduced to squealing men throwing down their swords just to run away faster.
King Frederick, however, had too much pride to abandon the battle. In an act of final defiance, he led a small retinue to meet the onslaught.
"For Chaeld! Spare not your lives!" he shouted on the top of his lungs. But all in vain, even the bravest of his men were no match to elven prowess.
Frederick rode fast towards the elven prince, hoping to, at least, bring him down with him. He was able to close in, and the prince noticed his advance, who then turned to meet him.
"Meldor! Today, you shall be cut down!" he bellowed, as he lifted his heavy axe in the air.
Their horses swiftly carried their masters in the center of the battlefield. It was not long until the prince was in front of Frederick. With a shout, the king swung his axe at the elf as soon as their mounts were side by side.
The elven prince recline backwards with his back almost touching the horse. The axe hit nothing but air. He immediately sat back up and from below, he made a swift upward swing. His sword severed the king's hand on its way before finally reaching his neck.
Frederick's head flew in the air, while his body stayed on the speeding horse until it eventually dropped.
With their king dead, the last flames of resistance died out. The battlefield was left to the victorious elves. Hundreds of enemy soldiers lay dead on what was earlier unsullied ground. But there was no time to celebrate.
A hail of arrows suddenly rained down from above. One of his guards was hit in the neck, immediately dying on the spot. When the prince pivoted his head, he saw something that would change his life forever.
Thousands of enemy crossbowman had manned the ramparts. Above the gate, leaning on the embrasure, was the imperial general, Athelius.
On his hand, hanging by the hair, was the decapitated head of the elven king.
"Your father wants a talk with you!" the general mocked. His comment triggered laughter from among his men.
The prince and the elves were stunned. All their life, they and the world had looked upon the elven king, as the greatest and mightiest of all. Only to fall in the hands of a man, and have his two-thousand and five hundred years ended in such a horrible way.
They knew defeat was evident when the wall was breached and the battle reached the castle. The king had asked the prince to escape, and though at first passionately against it, he gave in to his father's pleadings. He had hoped that his father would be somehow spared, or at the very least be given an honorable death.
"Curse you Athelius! Curse you!" the elven prince shouted. Regret welled up in his heart. Should he have known his father would meet such a fate, he would have stayed at his side to the very end.
"Why don't you try to make your father proud?" the general taunted, "Why not come and get his head off me?"
The pent-up rage, within Meldor, was enough to make the toughest of man lose their senses. Everything within him trembled and shook, as he tried his best not to recklessly charge forward. Tears flowed from his eyes, the first time since he was a child.
But he turned his horse away, in a heart-wrenching decision to fight another day.
"I swear upon the heavens, I will not die until I avenge my father! I will carve out that smirk off your face!" he bellowed as he readied his horse to flee.
"Do not die until then, I beg of you."
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Siege of the Atherdaine (3012, AoE)
Belligerents
Empire of Hombard
Kingdom of Polymir
Kingdom of Chaeld
vs.
Kingdom of the Atherdaine
Commanders:
Athelius the Great
Haldrad the First
Frederick the Brave
vs.
Meldor the Just (Elven King)
Meldor the Heartless (Elven Prince)
Strength:
50,000 Imperial Heavy Infantry
10,000 Imperial Light Cavalry
10,000 Imperial Crossbowmen
10,000 Polymir Footmen
500 Chaeldean Footmen
vs
3,000 Atherdaine Heavy Infantry
3,000 Atherdaine Bowmen
Casualties
Empire of Hombard (20,000 slain, 40,000 wounded)
Kingdom of Polymir (8,600 slain, 1,000 wounded)
Kingdom of Chaeld (250 slain, 250 routed)
vs
Kingdom of the Atherdaine (7,800 slain, ~50 routed)
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