Talrith Storm-Sword

The Crusaders that are still mounted are riding down the fleeing enemies. As they dwindle in the distance, those that lost their mounts through injury, death, or shock are still scattered around. Each is searching for those among the fallen that may be alive. As Talrith glances around, he sees one Crusader raise a sword. Feebly, a hand reaches up toward him, as if to ward off the blow, and then he drives the blade down hard and deep. Another man kneels at the side of an ally, who is bleeding from a head wound.

At the edge of Talrith's vision, a small motion catches his eye. One of the archers, the one his griffin had picked up was lying atop a dead one. He was reaching weakly for his sword. Blood streamed from eight punctures in his shoulders, and every movement seemed agony to him.

Talrith quickly covered the struggling archer with his sword, aiming it at the man's throat. "Who are you?" he demanded, pressing his sword ever closer to the man's skin, "And why do you serve the Death-Kindred? What do you gain from allying yourself with those who wish to destroy?"

When Talrith's sword appeared in his vision, the man stopped struggling. He painfully turned his head to set his baleful gaze on Talrith. After studying him for a moment, the man spat out his name along with a groan of agony. "Thrush," after a moment, he continued, "and I serve because I must. It's either the ranks or the farms for one like me."
Behind him, Talrith hears the soft rasp of claws sinking into turf as a griffin approaches. It's Idhras, but he remains silent as he observes the scene.

Talrith pressed the sword ever closer to the man's throat, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

The man's eyes reflected no fear, but Talrith seemed to discern a gleam in them. Thrush's voice was steady as he replied: "You shouldn't kill me because I didn't kill you. If I had, then I would be fit for death, but since I did not, there is no reason to kill me is there?"

Thoughts of his Father flew through his mind, taunting him. The image of his father’s bloody face, of his battered and bruised body. The memory of when he and his mother were visited by a officer bearing the news. The intense sadness he had felt then. that was why he had come to the Crusader's guild, to fight against what his Father had been killed by, and now he had his chance.
“No,” Talrith said, his lip quivering with rage, “You announced your death sentence when you joined the Death-Kindred. And now I will gladly administer the punishment!” With that, he raised his sword high above his head. The sword reached the pinnacle of its height, and then, slowly but with growing momentum, began its decent toward the helpless man.

Seeing his doom imminent, the man shut his eyes and inhaled. His face contorted in pain when the sword pierced his chest, but he let out no cry. After a few seconds, the muscles in his face relaxed as he breathed his last.
Ilekos snorted as Idhras reigned him forward. As he passed Talrith, Idhras nodded his assent. He raised his voice to those gathered: "Those who do not have mounts must either return to the city (Did we name it already?) or make for the fortresses. We cannot slow for armored footmen to keep pace with us. Decide amongst yourselves what ye shall do."

The assorted nine or ten crusaders standing amid the carnage glanced around at each other. One who was named Laruss wiped his bloodied face with a piece of cloth torn from a dead man's clothing. "Could we truly call ourselves Crusders of the King if we returned to our comfortable homes instead of putting our lives to service defending the fortresses?"

"You speak wisely, Laruss Fellwind," Another man stepped forward. "We cannot return, we must press on to the fight!"

"I agree!" Talrith said stepping forward "We cannot return in good conscious while our brethren are in the field! I for one will press on to the fortresses."

"Very well, it is settled!"

The journey passed quickly as the miles fell away behind the small group of travelers trudging on. Once in the distance they espied a black clad company that seemed to be fleeing in vain from a group of long-legged greenish creatures, probably Naa'Jurrid. They soon passed out of sight over a hill, and they continued on.

Upon arrival at the fortress Pesimian, they found it in shambles. Stones were falling off the walls in several places. Blood had been spattered all around, and great heaps of charred bones lay where the defenders had piled their slain enemies.

Well, I'm going to have to delay this a bit... life is busy here

As the small group approached the fortress, they were challenged by the sentinel atop the walls. When their crusader's clothing was recognized, the gate on their side opened to allow them entry. Inside, they found utter chaos. The wounded were lying on beds, where there were any, and the ground where there was not. Discarded armor and weapons lay strewn about in a hectic pattern, where the medics had stripped the wounded of unnecessary weight. A quartet of soldiers filed past, moving from one station to another. A haggard looking Tavorrian glanced over at them, then approached. The shredded remains of a commander's sash marked him as an officer. He stopped in front of them and smiled. "Ahh! Crusaders!" He exclaimed. "It is good to see you here. Our numbers are steadily diminishing with each assault. Do you know of others coming to our aid?"
After a moment of uncertain silence and shaking of heads, he continued. "Well, it is enough that you are here. I--"
Suddenly, his words were cut off by the clanging of the alarm bell from the top of a tower. Immediately, all the activity on the grounds increased. The commander's head snapped around, then swung back to the Crusaders. "To the walls!" He cried, and then hurried up a set of stairs to the ramparts.

Talrith followed the commander up the stairs and atop the walls, drawing his sword as he did so, he paused briefly to let a group of archers pass him then took his place in the hastily forming line of raged, battle-weary troops. A deathly silence filled the small garison, as the enemy came closer, and Talrith began a rough estimate of their numbers

At first, Talrith could discern easily the numbers. Two, six, twelve, but then then the ranks began to appear in uneven numbers. Two in one row, over twenty in another. Talrith was keeping good count, but then the ranks began to mill together, exchanging members with each other, making it impossible to judge their numbers accurately. The grunts of annoyance from the troops surrounding Talrith told him that everyone else was experiencing his difficulty. "They show more knowledge of tactics than is normal for their kind," Laruss, who was standing next to Talrith muttered. "They must have a leader more skilled in combat than they ever have had before."

When the available space on the wild side of fortress Pesimian grew black with the bodies of yelling monsters, they broke ranks and suddenly charged the walls. The archers atop the walls began to fire volley after volley into the pressing darkness. It seemed not to break the flow at all. Ladders soon appeared out of the shimmering mass and smashed against the wall as huge metal barbs on great hinges engaged against the wall, locking the ladders in place. The defenders worked madly at the ladders, trying to topple them as enemies begam swarming up them.

(just post a word or two if you want me to stop and wait for you to do an action, otherwise ill continue the story after a few days)

As Talrith stood, waiting for the first press of enemies to top the walls, he could see several ladders topple and crash to the ground, crushing any who were not quick enough to evacuate the area. The archers madly fired at the demons on the ladder, picking them off as the dark tide slowly made it's inevitable journey to the top of the walls. As the first beasts topped the walls, they howled in triumph and leaped down on the soldiers below.

Motioning to the two men nearest him, Talrith moved towards a ladder that had risen near his position, and furiously engaged the growing pack of small creatures that made up the first wave, swinging his mighty sword in wide arcs in an effort to take down multiple foes with each swing. He would have to conserve his strength, for the small monsters acted only as a meat-shield, to occupy and tire out the defenders while the bigger stronger creatures made their way to the battleground.

After several moments of cutting down the fodder creatures, an unexpected lull in the press of monsters ensued. The two men on either side of Talrith took the chance to unlatch the barbs on the ladder from the wall. Before they could push it off however, the next wave crashed, and they were driven back to stand with Talrith. Suddenly, from behind the immediate line, a small creature, about 5 feet tall leaped completely over the heads of the others and directly onto Talrith! The momentum of the creature bore him to the ground. The men about him could do nothing to help him directly, but instead came together in front of him to protect him.
The ugly creature atop Talrith was furry, with large glistening yellow eyes. It slashed with a rusty hook it held in its hand, but it's aim was off and deflected by Talrith's arm. The hook buried itself in the chain-links of Talrith's hauberk, catching in the layers on the side of it under Talrith's arm. Tugging at the weapon, the enemy attempted to free it, to no avail, as it was snagged deeply within the chainmail.

This is a close-quarter-combat situation, your sword is unwieldy to use unless you try to use the hilt one handed as a battering weapon or something like that.

His broadsword useless in such close quarters, Talrith struck out at it with his iron gauntlet, hoping to land a blow that would drive it far enough away so that his sword might once again find its purpose.

The gratification was instantaneous as the heavy fist smashed into the back of the creature's head. It snapped around, making the worst kind of crunching noise as three vertebra broke. Talrith found himself alone for the moment, as the ladder nearest his position had been toppled. To his right was a group fighting with a horde of small creatures. More were swarming up the ladder, and the defenders seemed to be in imminent danger of being overrun. On his left was a band of ten or twelve half-orcs who had topped the wall and were fighting their way down the steps into the courtyard. Their backs were turned to Talrith.

Talrith scrambled to his feet and charged the half-orcs, the men would have to hold off, as he reached the end of the line he broght his sword down on top of he beast with a giant two handed cut, then he swiped at the another, while planting a solid kick in the gut of a third.

The unseen assault from behind wreaked havoc on the stairs. Two monsters went down immediately to Talrith's blade, and they, plus the one Talrith kicked, pressed against the backs of their allies, who in turn tripped and dove headlong into the defenders below. Both sides lay stunned for a moment after the unexpected event, but Talrith could see that a great number of the half-orcs had been skewered on swords and spears when they had lost their footing. The defenders arrayed on the ground before him now outnumbered the enemy at least two-to-one.