During the Gather, in Barran, northwest of Knoch'len in the Barony of Valgard
“I call upon Earth to grant you Life,” Branwen reached down with a clawed hand, clasping the inner forearm of one of Valgard’s champions as she gasped back to life, channeling shimmering healing aura into the Oathsworn woman. As Draena realized who, rather what was healing her, she started to scramble back.
“Calm yourself, Tha’rune. I mean you and Barran-Khet no harm. Now, ready your blade. Another garrison approaches. May I mend your armor?” The white raven asked, turning an inscrutable gaze on the champion and waiting, her own black blade with winged crossguard held ready. With a nod from Draena and a wordless touch from the Raven Fey, her armor knitted itself back together in pulses of white shimmering light. Others that Draena feared lost as she fought to her last breath were regrouping to take orders from the Lady of Val’ren, champion of Baroness Valgard and Warden of Western Reach. “Warriors, to me! Another garrison is approaching! Form up!”
Branwen tipped her head back, feeling the wind stir over her feathers, and held her sword pointing toward the sky. “I call upon the powers of Port Morgan to cast the Whispering Winds ritual. Polaris, ready the Starlight League at the battlements. I will lead the Cabals and the men of Clan Fitheach at the Northern Front. Anan’ta be with you. Faugh A Ballagh!”
In a shimmering haze of light and leaving a white feather resonating with magical power in her wake, Branwen was gone as surely as she’d been there at Draena’s side, appearing with a motley crew of Wildheart wylderkin and steadfast Sylvanborn. The men of Clan Fitheach, faces painted with woad in the shape of feathers below their eyes and on their brow, had already carved out a circle. Three begun to chant in unison in the middle, raising a circle of power and walking deosil together, raising the power of an Earth circle of power that would endure. It was a fallback point.
Across the valley, from the ramparts, volleys of arrows and magic rained down upon a Kingdom garrison that was trying to push into Val’ren at Brenfel Keep, the jewel of Valgard. At first, the intensity of the shots raining down started with a dim glow, flashing against spell and elemental shields. Then, the Starlight League redoubled their efforts, gouts of flame and bolts of lightning intermingling with shards of ice and a hailstorm of magical stone. Those who ran through or broke through to meet fighters on the ground were assailed in a clash of silver and steel.
In the distance, as they fell, the Kingdom soldiers began to rise again. Beyond them, a contingent of undead crowded around the unmistakable form of Legion in his true form as a massive skeletal dragon with ichor dropping from his bones in globs, flesh sloughed off. Bone-pale necromancers and liches raised the dead and… they were walking into the Shaded Strait, to the North, not bothering to fight further. As they walked into the water, it drew attention from warriors on the ground on both sides.
“Sons of Yseult, forward! Stop our soldiers from walking into the water,” Branwen commanded, her imperious voice steady and calm but loud over the din. For her part, she leapt from her position and glided down on ephemeral wings to strike some of them back to life with the flat of her blade, and urged them back behind the line and toward the healers in the circle.
“Should we fight it?” A man drawing up aura into his sword looked to his commander, unsure of what the dracolich’s game was. “Fight what tries to harm you or push through the line, lad, but today is not the day to be a hero!”
Even some who would not otherwise fall were corrupted, and Branwen herself grabbed a healer who lost situational awareness and came uncomfortably close to Legion’s contingent. She rifted him back to the circle of power and deposited him, leaving it again to hold back and help cut down some of the necromancers who had entered the fray before the Kingdom decided to pull back.
“Leave him! Do not chase the dragon!” Branwen called out, her voice carrying over the pass. There were some who fell and who walked into the lake. As the battle raged on, messenger birds came to handlers on the front, reading off the messages. “Three more spirits have reached the Earth Circle. What shall we do?” an Adhorcrai falconer asked, holding their messenger on their arm.
Branwen looked out upon the field, watching the Kingdom retreat, for the moment. Legion taunted and blustered, picking off those who broke ranks. “We stay together and pull back, do not engage. The dragon is whittling down resources and numbers. Deny it the satisfaction.”
“I call upon Earth to grant you Life,” Branwen reached down with a clawed hand, clasping the inner forearm of one of Valgard’s champions as she gasped back to life, channeling shimmering healing aura into the Oathsworn woman. As Draena realized who, rather what was healing her, she started to scramble back.
“Calm yourself, Tha’rune. I mean you and Barran-Khet no harm. Now, ready your blade. Another garrison approaches. May I mend your armor?” The white raven asked, turning an inscrutable gaze on the champion and waiting, her own black blade with winged crossguard held ready. With a nod from Draena and a wordless touch from the Raven Fey, her armor knitted itself back together in pulses of white shimmering light. Others that Draena feared lost as she fought to her last breath were regrouping to take orders from the Lady of Val’ren, champion of Baroness Valgard and Warden of Western Reach. “Warriors, to me! Another garrison is approaching! Form up!”
Branwen tipped her head back, feeling the wind stir over her feathers, and held her sword pointing toward the sky. “I call upon the powers of Port Morgan to cast the Whispering Winds ritual. Polaris, ready the Starlight League at the battlements. I will lead the Cabals and the men of Clan Fitheach at the Northern Front. Anan’ta be with you. Faugh A Ballagh!”
In a shimmering haze of light and leaving a white feather resonating with magical power in her wake, Branwen was gone as surely as she’d been there at Draena’s side, appearing with a motley crew of Wildheart wylderkin and steadfast Sylvanborn. The men of Clan Fitheach, faces painted with woad in the shape of feathers below their eyes and on their brow, had already carved out a circle. Three begun to chant in unison in the middle, raising a circle of power and walking deosil together, raising the power of an Earth circle of power that would endure. It was a fallback point.
Across the valley, from the ramparts, volleys of arrows and magic rained down upon a Kingdom garrison that was trying to push into Val’ren at Brenfel Keep, the jewel of Valgard. At first, the intensity of the shots raining down started with a dim glow, flashing against spell and elemental shields. Then, the Starlight League redoubled their efforts, gouts of flame and bolts of lightning intermingling with shards of ice and a hailstorm of magical stone. Those who ran through or broke through to meet fighters on the ground were assailed in a clash of silver and steel.
In the distance, as they fell, the Kingdom soldiers began to rise again. Beyond them, a contingent of undead crowded around the unmistakable form of Legion in his true form as a massive skeletal dragon with ichor dropping from his bones in globs, flesh sloughed off. Bone-pale necromancers and liches raised the dead and… they were walking into the Shaded Strait, to the North, not bothering to fight further. As they walked into the water, it drew attention from warriors on the ground on both sides.
“Sons of Yseult, forward! Stop our soldiers from walking into the water,” Branwen commanded, her imperious voice steady and calm but loud over the din. For her part, she leapt from her position and glided down on ephemeral wings to strike some of them back to life with the flat of her blade, and urged them back behind the line and toward the healers in the circle.
“Should we fight it?” A man drawing up aura into his sword looked to his commander, unsure of what the dracolich’s game was. “Fight what tries to harm you or push through the line, lad, but today is not the day to be a hero!”
Even some who would not otherwise fall were corrupted, and Branwen herself grabbed a healer who lost situational awareness and came uncomfortably close to Legion’s contingent. She rifted him back to the circle of power and deposited him, leaving it again to hold back and help cut down some of the necromancers who had entered the fray before the Kingdom decided to pull back.
“Leave him! Do not chase the dragon!” Branwen called out, her voice carrying over the pass. There were some who fell and who walked into the lake. As the battle raged on, messenger birds came to handlers on the front, reading off the messages. “Three more spirits have reached the Earth Circle. What shall we do?” an Adhorcrai falconer asked, holding their messenger on their arm.
Branwen looked out upon the field, watching the Kingdom retreat, for the moment. Legion taunted and blustered, picking off those who broke ranks. “We stay together and pull back, do not engage. The dragon is whittling down resources and numbers. Deny it the satisfaction.”