The 33rd Knight Company crossed a narrow channel known as the Nassin-Strovosi Strait that cut between the southern most reaches of the Kingdom of Strovos and the Northern Nassin. For the third time in the past fifty years the Southern Tribes had banded together to overtake the Northern and were now pushing towards the Kingdom. So far they had been repelled back towards the Kvar Mountains – a jagged zig zag of tall icey peaks that separate the more temperate Northern Nassin from the dry, arid south. Their casus belli, reason for war? Frequent droughts led to thirst, hunger, famine, and eventually a greedful excuse to gain and consolidate land holdings. The Northern Nassin, while not an outright ally to the Kingdom, were important trading partners, and without Kingdom support would fall easily to the Southern Tribes whose warriors outnumbered them five to one.
Newly promoted Knight Captain Leongarde Astoros traveled with the group of knights that he commanded up the mountain path, ankle deep in harsh, bitter snow.
"Keep going, men!" Leongarde yelled back as he proceeded ahead of his men. He had always been taught ever since he was a squire that leaders do not lead by words and orders, but through action and trial.
"Better to die by warm steel than by nature's cold wrath," his lieutenant shouted humorously. Albeit, it was their spilt blood that'd make the steel warm.
"Aye, that be true," Leongarde said. "Forward, march!"
The knights laughed and pushed onward against the gradual incline. Their journey took them towards a narrow passage known as the Altar of Horns, a single path that cut through towering rocky hills that were barbed like the Plain Beastkin's horns. It was called an Altar because it rose so high in the sky as to touch the Heavens above.
The further up they traveled, the heavier the snowfall they came across. Their visibility became gradually more obscure, turning the fog of war into more of a blizzard. After what felt like several hours of endless meandering, they spotted the forward company standing motionlessly in the snow.
"Captain, we've finally caught up," the Lieutenant said, picking up his pace ahead of Leongarde.
Leongarde narrowed his eyes. Their stillness was too unnatural. Almost frozen and doll-like. As they grew closer, the Lieutenant reached the company first before stumbling back.
Leongarde saw it too – what he thought were bits of dark stone, ash, or soot from the mountain range peeking from the snow's surface were frozen carmine. Blood.
"Th-They're dead where they're standing," the Lieutenant said in mourningful shock. They had died in the middle of combat, frozen both by fatigue and the frigid elements where they stood. The shock was palpable to all of them, even the steadfast Leongarde. Shock that turned to sudden confusion and terror as an arrow silenced his lieutenant's throat with a gurgle.
"Fall in! Shield wall! We're under attack!" Leongarde commanded, his men leaping into action with their shields raised. They stood back to back in a circle, kneeling down in the stinging snow on guard against the coming onslaught. Arrows hailed down at them, being repelled by their interlinked shields. They had no idea where the enemy was perched, and could not move against them otherwise.
A distant rumble echoed in the sky, briefly breaking the cacophony of iron arrowheads dinging iron shields. The rumble was followed by a burning light that crashed down about several hundred feet ahead of them.
[Meteoric Crash]!
An explosive force temporarily parted the air, revealing the Tribal Archers who shot from a nearby ridge.
"Where did that come from? We don't have a mage in our company!" cried out a subordinate knight.
Leongarde smirked. He knew of only one mage in this campaign that could bombard the enemy with such an explosive spell. He silently thanked her.
"Draw your swords! Advance! Advance!" Leongarde boomed.
The remaining archers struggled to regroup as Leongarde and his men charged forward, swords on high, seeking vengeance for the fallen.
Leongarde himself drew in deep breaths, stirring his Fighting Spirit into gear.
He braved himself ahead of his men, acting as their vanguard. He used [Reinforcement] to increase his defense, [Quicken] and [True Strike] to quickly take the first two archers he came across, cleaving them from thorax to sternum, and [Martial Focus] to increase his awareness for the enemy lurking behind him, a curved kukri blade aimed at Leongarde's exposed back. Leongarde twists around almost inhumanly fast for a man of his size, deflecting the enemy's blade in one upward motion of his shield, and sundering him with a downward stroke from his sword. He turned the opposite direction, both hearing and seeing the depleting archers reinforced by the Dancing Blades, the bladed Nassin footmen. Each wielded a scimitar in each hand, renown for their prowess in the skill [Dual Wield]. Leongarde slammed his shield into the snow and gripped his weapon with both hands; he needed the full range of the blade to fend against the Dancing Blades who, like their namesake, were known for their acrobatic movements and swift swordsmanship. One Dancing Blade launched himself forward, both swords raised and poised for strike, a literal tumbling ball of fury coming down to strike Leongarde. Leongarde braised himself, turning his sword to the side and preparing his [Parrying Strike].
[Incineratel]
A blazed breeze wafted past Leongarde's cheek, followed by the screams of the enemy as his entire body is alight in flame. Leongarde turned around to see the Vasque Court Mage, Y'Silda with her hand clenched in a vice grip. The Dancing Blade was dead before he hit the ground, immortalized in a huddled, charred ball of anguish.
"What took you so long?" Leongarde asked as Y'Silda joined his side.
"Covering the retreat. What took you so long?" Y'Silda said, raising an eyebrow in question.
Leongarde had no time to answer as the enemy came upon them. Y'Silda covered Leongarde's back, sending sparks hither and yon, not having the courtesy to carefully pick her charging targets. Leongarde guarded against the enemies that avoided her barrage, focusing on quick one-two motions of his sword to quickly slay the Nassinites. A ring of enemy warriors surrounded them in a swarm, cutting them off the other knights who were now engaged in their own struggle. Leongarde steeled himself, ignoring the fatigue building in his muscles, further channeling his Fighting Spirit, his Aura, into [Turning Tide] to replenish his will to fight.
The snow storm continued to intensify but even in the icy mist with poor visibility the enemy still continued to pour in. The Knight Captain and Court Mage found themselves on the retreat, cutting down and silencing the dancing warriors who somehow, through sheer martial will, ignored the frigid cold as easily as the desert sun. The two battled up an incline away from the Altar of Horns, being pushed against the cliff face. Leongarde deflected several arrows that attempted to silence the Court Mage, her Thaumaturgy being one of the deadlier threats to them.
The distant battle from their compatriots deadens from the wind as the blizzard joined the battlefield in full fury. Leongarde peered over his shoulder after parrying a blow and dispatching another warrior. Up the incline he saw the deep recesses of a cave.
. . .