Post by The Stranger on Jul 15, 2008 0:26:12 GMT -5
Byren tried to encourage his weary men as the green basilisk banners came into view, and the large enemy host marched towards them.
“Men, let us show them the fury of Westeros! Let us teach them what happens when all of Westeros rallies against a common foe! For King Rickon Baratheon! FOR WESTEROS!” Byren yelled as loudly as he could. He did not have a strong voice made for yelling, yet even so he yelled at the top of his lungs. How else could courage be brought to the men to strengthen them?
The soldiers around him looked up, their faces exhausted and coated in sweat, but a glimmer of pride appeared in their eyes. That is enough, Byren thought, enough to steel them for battle. Byren sat up a little straighter, and held his face a little smugger.
After the two hosts clashed, it was minutes before Ser Byren Selmy and the men of Harvest Hall met the enemy in battle, for they had been closer to the rear. Byren charged at the strangely garbed enemies, his sword held high. He fought vigorously, his very best put forth to meet the battle, but it was clear that even with his best he did no more than hold his own against the onslaught of enemies. The enemies seemed to continue to pour in, and soon there were two of them for every one Stormlander.
“Hold strong, men! We cannot fail now, we have come on a mission from the Seven! These foreigners must be driven from our soil! Forget your aches and injuries, and fight on with the strength of The Warrior in your blood!” Byren screamed into the roaring battlefield, with the few moments he had until the battle reached him again. The battle seemed to start turning for the better, and the seemingly endless supply of enemies seemed to be dwindling, as fewer of their reserves poured into the battle. It seemed like a ray of sunshine was peeking through the clouds.
Byren was more tired than he had ever been before, he had never been in a battle before. This was definitely a christening in blood, and Byren was meeting it head on. He seemed to be high with the battle, his blade flowing in a grace that he had not known before. He gave his full attention to the combat, setting aside the role of commanding his troops he had been focusing on before. As a blade came out of nowhere to strike Byren down, he raised his sword to stop it. He threw the attack to the side, biting into the man’s armor as he stumbled backward. A second thrust found a hole in his opponent’s armor, killing him instantly. Suddenly Byren realized his hand was bleeding, and his battle high rushed to a stop as real time came flooding back. He suddenly grew very tired, his adrenaline reserves empty. He looked around, and rallied his men.
“To me, gather to me!” He yelled into the battle, as men slowly group around him to form a bubble. “There is strength in numbers! Together we will be stronger than we are apart! To me!” He yelled again, as more men flocked to him. Soon there was a large group around him, and the enemy soldiers around them grew fearful.
“CHARGE!” He yelled, forcing his legs into what is best described as a brisk jog. The men slinked forward, building up momentum until they crashed into the enemy lines.
Byren once again held his ground as best he could, just managing to parry the strikes made by his opponents. He slowly brought an end to each single combat, pushing his skills to the limit to preserve his life blood. He was now too weary to command the men properly, or to cut a swath from the enemy lines. He now contented himself with slaying one more foe, lasting one more minute. The battle seemed to drag on for endless minutes, dreadful hours, time slowing to a crawl. Time started speeding up again, as more movement started to occur. All of a sudden Byren realized there was a gap around him, and to his dismay realized that the Stormland troops were retreating. He suddenly became afraid, for around him there were fewer and less allies to hold fast with him. A fear took hold of him, a fear that he would not yet master as a novice of war. Byren yelled for the men to retreat, as he followed the hurried falling back from the enemy.
A lone man charged out from the mass of running men, and many followed him. Byren started to regain control, and realized that it had been a tactic. The men that had charged forward called out for help, for the men to join them. It was too late now though, the men were already falling back too far to regain themselves and battle again. A dread filled Byren, a guilty dread that he had been caught up in the fear, when the other men had looked up to him to command them. As the official horns of retreat called from the generals of the Stormlands host, Byren contemplated what had happened and made sure that he would not do the same again.
Results:
Ser Byren Selmy improves towards Master Sword Fighting
Ser Byren Selmy reaches Noteworthy Battle Command
“Men, let us show them the fury of Westeros! Let us teach them what happens when all of Westeros rallies against a common foe! For King Rickon Baratheon! FOR WESTEROS!” Byren yelled as loudly as he could. He did not have a strong voice made for yelling, yet even so he yelled at the top of his lungs. How else could courage be brought to the men to strengthen them?
The soldiers around him looked up, their faces exhausted and coated in sweat, but a glimmer of pride appeared in their eyes. That is enough, Byren thought, enough to steel them for battle. Byren sat up a little straighter, and held his face a little smugger.
After the two hosts clashed, it was minutes before Ser Byren Selmy and the men of Harvest Hall met the enemy in battle, for they had been closer to the rear. Byren charged at the strangely garbed enemies, his sword held high. He fought vigorously, his very best put forth to meet the battle, but it was clear that even with his best he did no more than hold his own against the onslaught of enemies. The enemies seemed to continue to pour in, and soon there were two of them for every one Stormlander.
“Hold strong, men! We cannot fail now, we have come on a mission from the Seven! These foreigners must be driven from our soil! Forget your aches and injuries, and fight on with the strength of The Warrior in your blood!” Byren screamed into the roaring battlefield, with the few moments he had until the battle reached him again. The battle seemed to start turning for the better, and the seemingly endless supply of enemies seemed to be dwindling, as fewer of their reserves poured into the battle. It seemed like a ray of sunshine was peeking through the clouds.
Byren was more tired than he had ever been before, he had never been in a battle before. This was definitely a christening in blood, and Byren was meeting it head on. He seemed to be high with the battle, his blade flowing in a grace that he had not known before. He gave his full attention to the combat, setting aside the role of commanding his troops he had been focusing on before. As a blade came out of nowhere to strike Byren down, he raised his sword to stop it. He threw the attack to the side, biting into the man’s armor as he stumbled backward. A second thrust found a hole in his opponent’s armor, killing him instantly. Suddenly Byren realized his hand was bleeding, and his battle high rushed to a stop as real time came flooding back. He suddenly grew very tired, his adrenaline reserves empty. He looked around, and rallied his men.
“To me, gather to me!” He yelled into the battle, as men slowly group around him to form a bubble. “There is strength in numbers! Together we will be stronger than we are apart! To me!” He yelled again, as more men flocked to him. Soon there was a large group around him, and the enemy soldiers around them grew fearful.
“CHARGE!” He yelled, forcing his legs into what is best described as a brisk jog. The men slinked forward, building up momentum until they crashed into the enemy lines.
Byren once again held his ground as best he could, just managing to parry the strikes made by his opponents. He slowly brought an end to each single combat, pushing his skills to the limit to preserve his life blood. He was now too weary to command the men properly, or to cut a swath from the enemy lines. He now contented himself with slaying one more foe, lasting one more minute. The battle seemed to drag on for endless minutes, dreadful hours, time slowing to a crawl. Time started speeding up again, as more movement started to occur. All of a sudden Byren realized there was a gap around him, and to his dismay realized that the Stormland troops were retreating. He suddenly became afraid, for around him there were fewer and less allies to hold fast with him. A fear took hold of him, a fear that he would not yet master as a novice of war. Byren yelled for the men to retreat, as he followed the hurried falling back from the enemy.
A lone man charged out from the mass of running men, and many followed him. Byren started to regain control, and realized that it had been a tactic. The men that had charged forward called out for help, for the men to join them. It was too late now though, the men were already falling back too far to regain themselves and battle again. A dread filled Byren, a guilty dread that he had been caught up in the fear, when the other men had looked up to him to command them. As the official horns of retreat called from the generals of the Stormlands host, Byren contemplated what had happened and made sure that he would not do the same again.
Results:
Ser Byren Selmy improves towards Master Sword Fighting
Ser Byren Selmy reaches Noteworthy Battle Command