A Plea for Aid (History)

[Master William]

Gleemox Torn walked across the Plains of Sacrifice, leading his group of twenty other Svahiac across the wet grass to their destination. They were followed by a group of Embari as well as a small platoon of Von Guards serving as escort. Torn didn't feel the need for an escort, but he had accepted it without question. The more troops the better.
The village of Heldari had called for aid, and the Alliance hadn't been the quickest to respond. It had taken them eight hours to assemble enough people from various locations for the march, and Torn knew the village wouldn't last that long alone. But he hoped that some villagers remained to rescue. The barbarians didn't kill people unless they resisted, and most of the villages around the Alliance had been taught long ago what to do in case of a barbarian raid. 'If you don't think you can push them back with certainty, send for aid...and surrender. Aid will come.' That was the promise the Council had made. And they were here today to fulfil it.
Torn looked back over his shoulder to see his co-commander marching not far behind. He gave a nod to Councilor Alec Blackthorn, the Svahiac smile, and turned back to observe the field in front. They were getting close to the village now, he could see it.
They crested a hill and the field spread out before them, Jordan Lake visible in the distance. And Heldari as well. Burning.
Torn cursed the slowness, and raised his arm and pulled his hammer off his back, his cape dragging in the wet grass. He heard his Svahiac pulling out their weapons as well, and he smiled. They knew what he wanted.
"Let us take this village back! Protect any survivors, and cut down all enemies! Fear no evil, fear no death, and above all, glory is there for all! Take it, it's yours!" And just as the Embari reached the hill, Torn led his charge. He hoped Alec had a plan for his Embari.

[Master Onike]

As with the beginning of every battle, there was a brief moment of silence in Alec's mind.

Not true silence, of course. In reality, men were yelling war cries, Svahiac were brandishing their massive weapons and the air crackled with magic as his group of embari prepared to unleash their spells. But in Alec's mind, all he heard was silence. The proverbial calm before the storm.

Alec glanced at the village ahead, Heldari, and in an instant the man took everything in. He saw the ruined buildings, the flames leaping into the air, and the lines of barbarians, just now turning to see the Alliance force barrelling down on them.

Idiots, he thought. They should know better than to play with fire. They might get burned.

Though he was a veteran of many conflicts this would be his first battle as commander, as a member of the Alliance's High Council, and Blackthorne was determined to avoid mistakes. He allowed the Svahiac to lead the charge as he fell back, and considered the situation.

The best route would be to send his Embari in on the flanks - the barbarians would be totally caught off guard. He made a couple gestures to his men, largely pyromancers under the big man's tutellage, but also some mages of other disciplines, and the group split into three, running sideways to to flank the attack of the Svahiac and forwards, to reinforce the initial charge.

Alec led the middle group.

Dimly, he was aware of the Svahiac hitting the front line of barbarians. Then, in a flash of explosive sound, Alec's mental bubble of silence burst, and the world exploded into a blast of metal on metal, screams, and eruptions of magic.

But the first sound his heard, quite distinctly, was the fireball sizzling out of his hand, and into a nearby barbarian's chest. [dice=25]

It had begun.

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[Master William]

Torn barrelled down the hill like a freight train, ground almost shaking under his thundering foot steps. The barbarians before him looked menacing, but not as menacing as they should have. Clearly they'd heard his name before. Most of the people in this area had. The Construct who dared to fight back. That was how people knew him, and he was proud of it.
But it wasn't this reputation he saw lingering in the back of these barbarians' minds. He had another too. Niceroth Sventlin was the name he'd been given by the enemy. In Alliance terms it translated to something Torn could live with very happily: Barbarian Slayer. And that's exactly what he aimed to do here. Clear the village of these powerful pests, and make sure they never come back.
As he ran, Torn raised his great hammer over his right shoulder, ready for a swing. The first barbarian in the line threw a short spear at him, but it literally clanged off his iron chest. But it did manage to get Torn's attention, and that's the target he chose. [dice=25]. The barbarian crumpled under the hit, his body making all kinds of wonderful bone-crushing sounds.
Torn gave a Svahiac smile, and kept battling. He didn't enjoy killing, but he didn't find killing barbarians disgusting either. It was a job that had to be done. And he was a master at it. [rand=538550986675545657132343808189038849151812028148924691658467054]