Editing Qwixalted/Sunrise of the River Kingdoms (section)

== (Part A): Enemy at the Gates ==

The defeated troops filed through the drawbridge, bloodied, heads bowed in shame: the last of the outriders, light horsemen, hooves clopping unevenly across the wooden drawbridge. Maybe a dozen horsemen left out of a proud colmun of a hundred.

Standing in his citadel's tallest observation tower, Mithric surveyed his foe's troops, determined gaze staring into the distance as he watched the Seftarian army start to establish siegeworks in heavy artillery range. The cries of foremen leading sappers and engineers mixed with the hammering of mallets on wood and other sounds of an industry aimed at one sole purpose: to overthrow the walls that defended the last of free Aelysia.

He contemplated the reverse he had just suffered gloomily. He barely had enough of an army to hold his walls now, and he faced a horde the size of which hadn't been seen in the River Kingdoms since the last war against the Realm. His citadel had been well-built, in an oxbow that made the rushing river a natural moat on three sides of the castle; a canal had been dug in front of the fourth side, and the wall was thickest here. When the time came to storm the walls, if that time came, the main attack would surely fall here...

<s>Turning to his council, the young Solar knew they needed options. They needed time. They needed troops. They needed supplies. They would need luck. They would need everything...

"Well, my friends..." said Mithric, opening the discussion. "What now?"</s>

<font size="-2"><b>Posted by Chronicler</b></font>
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The Sunrise Prince sighed in near-resignation as he surveyed the vast Seftarian forces arrayed against him. The sheer number of troops preparing to lay siege against his last stronghold was a disheartening sight to behold. But he steadfastly held onto his courage. The Unconquered Sun had seen fit to grant him the gift of Exaltation, and he was ready to defend his kingdom with every ounce of power that he now had. <i>I will make Johr pay dearly for every inch of ground that he dares to take,</i> he vowed grimly.

The resolute Aelysian prince straightened up from where he had been leaning against the rough-hewn granite of a reinforced battlement. Resting a gloved hand atop the jeweled pommel of his orichalcum warblade, he turned to meet the hard-eyed stares of his advisors. "Our enemies are beginning to assemble their siege engines. Once their construction is complete, it will only be a matter of time before our walls fall to their onslaught." He glanced up at the sky's waning light. "I'm guessing that we will have at least one last night of respite before they strike. Make your peace and prepare yourselves. Come morning I shall lead our remaining soldiers in one final direct assault."

The fierce intensity of his determination was matched only by the incandescent brilliance of the sun-burst symbol on his forehead. "It is only fitting that I, the Sunrise Prince, make my defiant stand at dawn's first light," he announced fervently.

<font size="-2"><b>Posted by Aprogressivist</b></font>
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The Chatelain, Umber Resot, keeper of the Citadel, overcame the fear and pain in his heart at his liege's words; the Dawn Solar's leadership uplifting even in the face of certain death. He clapped his hand on his chest, gauntlet clanging against the breastplate. "I will gladly follow you, my liege, as will the remaining soldiers and guards. We will give them something to write about in the scrolls of history!"

He sighed gently; an old man, his beard flecked with grey, he suffered from a limp in his right leg, from a battle wound earned during previous skirmishes with the Seftarians. He had earned his title through decades of loyal servitude to the Prince's predecessors; and where a Chatelain may normally look forward to enjoying quiet years of peace and gentle semi-retirement away from the front lines, Resot instead faced death, the failure of his charge and the overthrow of his liege. No quiet years for he. "I only wish I were thirty years younger, my Lord, that my sword-arm would not tire quickly."

<font size="-2"><b>Posted by Tywyll</b></font>
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Swordsinger watched the advisers to sense their reaction.  He had pledged his sword and skills to the man called Sunrise Prince, both because it was right and because of the revenge it might bring him.  Many soldiers lay dead from his hand, but none were those who he'd personally sworn vengeance upon.  Inside he seethed at the injustice that they lived and laughed outside these walls, secure in the knowledge of their victory.   

The army outside waited, a bloated and hungry thing.  The Sunrise Prince spoke truthfully; short of a reprieve from the Unconquered Sun himself, this castle would fall on the morrow. 

But sometimes, you make your own miracles.  

"Sunrise Prince," he said with a nod, his voice quiet, "I would speak with you about a tactic for the battle to come."  He eyed the advisers wearily.  "In private, if you please?"

<font size="-2"><b>Posted by Chronicler</b></font>
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Prince Mithric smiled and laid a reassuring hand on the Chatelain's armored shoulder. "Have faith, loyal Umber. The Unconquered Sun is with us. Now gather the others and have them convene in the dining hall in an hour's time." Raising his voice for all to hear, he declared, "Tonight we shall feast!" In a lower-pitched tone intended for Umber's ears only, he added, "Double the guards along the walls. I would not put it past Johr to attempt some foul treachery under the cover of darkness." With that said, he dismissed the old man with a curt nod.

As his war council solemnly filed down the stairs, Mithric gestured to Swordsinger to follow him as he too descended below. With sure steps long familiar with the citadel's layout, he quickly led his fellow exalt to a private study. It was a spartan window-less chamber containing a desk, two chairs, and a bookcase, all crafted from imported high-quality Marukan mahogany. The workmanship was simple but sturdy, the epitome of practicality.

The blue-eyed prince waved to Swordsinger to take a seat while he shut the room's iron-bound door behind them. Moving to the map-covered desk, he absently tidied up the scrawled parchments into a neat pile before occupying a chair himself. He studied his ally momentarily, silently grateful that the Twilight was on his side. Clearing his throat, he prodded, "So, what is it that you wish to speak to me about? We will not be disturbed here."

<font size="-2"><b>Posted by Tywyll</b></font>
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Swordsinger watched the door shut with a feeling of finality.  This would not be an easy sell, he knew.  It was dangerous both for himself, and for this adopted land he had now found.  

Taking a seat, Swordsinger laid his hand upon the table.  It's simplicity and craft reminded him of another, in the study of another figure he had regarded with affection and respect.  That table was gone now; burned by zealots and fools.  Swordsinger fought down the anger inside him.  It would only distract him from what he had to do now.

"Prince Mithric, I will not belabor the point or dawdle on uselessly, but instead strike to the heart of the matter."  His green eyes met the prince's blue ones, holding their gaze with a fervent intensity.  "We both know that the castle and, with it, your dream will fall tomorrow.  Might of arms will accomplish a valiant and glorious end for us both, but in the end, Johr will succeed.  He cannot help but do so at this point."

Swordsinger watched the prince, looking for any sign of disagreement.

"As you know, I am not simply a warrior, but am also trained in the art of Sorcery.  I have held back from using my powers too much, as I know it terrifies those untrained and unfamiliar with the powers I can wield.  I would not have your army turn against you out of fear and ignorance of myself."

He sighed.  It was obvious that this was a familiar burden.

"But the time for subtlety is at an end.  I can use my powers to aid you.  I can call down terrible vengeance upon the army outside.  I will not mince words; I can boil the blood of the common soldiers, or send a deadly plague among them.  When I am finished, Johr's army will be gravely diminished by my efforts and the others may well break when they see the ruin I have called down upon family and kin.  The most effective weapon I possess is to call up the forces of Hell itself and send them amongst our enemies.  They may destroy the army before we lose another man."

"This is, of course, not without danger.  If I unleash this power upon them, those that survive, and even those of your own men, will <s>call you an Anathema lover</s> <i>claim that you consort with demons, that you are truly Anathema</i>.  We may survive now, only to draw greater enemies to us tomorrow.  It is your name and glory at stake Prince Mithric; I care little for what they say of me.  The choice is yours to make."

He watch the prince, looking for his reaction.

<font size="-2"><b>Posted by Chronicler</b></font>
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The Sunrise Prince sat back and steepled his fingers while he considered the grave implications of Swordsinger's dangerous proposal. While he wasn't thoroughly familiar with arcane matters, what the Twilight claimed he was capable of doing, <i>could</i> possibly save what was left of Aelysia. And although the risk involved was great, it was an option that he felt he had to explore. There was just no other choice. Because it was either that, or go down fighting.

The young Solar slowly stood to pace back and forth while he deliberated for a few moments longer. Finally he turned to face Swordsinger with a heavy heart. "Make whatever preparations you need to make. And whatever personel and resources that I have left will be made available to you. Your power may be what saves us all." Even if his own subjects ended up reviling him for condoning the use of sorcery, at least they would survive past tomorrow's conflict. And that was all that really mattered right now.

<i>We do what we must,</i> he thought grimly.

<font size="-2"><b>Posted by Tywyll</b></font>
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Swordsinger rose from the chair then bowed to the prince.  "I will do as you command.  When the battle commences tomorrow, our enemies will be on an entirely different footing.  We may be able to take the fight to them.  I will observe the current situation, and decide which spell would serve us best."

With that, he withdrew from the chamber to return to the castle wall and have another look at the enemy.  He must know what kind of resistance he would likely face and who would try and stop him before his spell was finished.  It would be a delicate procedure, to say the least.