Taking A Pounding - A Handful Of Units #44
Prince Argiz and Chief Warlord Shriw brought their forces in fast, wasting no time beginning the attack.
Ronjermy could see the cruel gleams in their eye as they soared in, saw them relishing the expectation of an easy victory. A long line of stacks came full speed at Well Hung's rooftop landing, great gwiffons gwiffing, flying lions and tigers roaring, men screaming war cries, etc.
It was very dramatic.
With Thispian's flair for the theatric of course. Long colorful banners trailed behind the spears they were attached to. A number of cavalry units blew horns, announcing the attack. All their boots were polished. Ronjermy expected them to parade around in formation for a while before attacking. But a swift and direct assault it was.
"Overconfident," Ronjermy thought. Still, ultimately, to attack, one had to attack. He chided himself to never consider any enemy an easy victory. And to never attack without a secret weapon, whenever possible.
Korse's forces stood motionless, watching the wall of attacking host quickly close the distance, like a tsunami wave of croak on wings..
Overlord Ronjermy raised his arm, his gauntleted hand a fist.
Behind him, hidden in the shadows of the fruit trees, Cirke completed the casting of the spell she had been holding ready.
Suddenly Argiz's and Shriw's eyes widened, mimicked by a dozen other warlords, as suddenly their heavy mounts could no longer hold themselves aloft and dropped on a sudden vector that pulled them swiftly below the rooftop.
Ronjermy could no longer see them, but heard the heavy, crashing thumps as their forward and downward momentum smashed most of them against the unyielding stone walls of the city.
Ronjermy wished he could see them fall. But there was no time to look. He was busy watching the enemy stats as confusion set it, but still they came full speed.
He knew Larry the Shockamancer was manning the air defenses and was not surprised as the front stacks suddenly slowed as if caught in a thick substance.
With sudden suspension of momentum, stacks of flyers began to pile up from behind.
At just about the amount of time it took a unit to fall three hundred yards and impact against the steep jagged rock of the mountain below the city, the stats of the invading units dropped. Significantly.
Ronjermy pumped his fist in the air.
He couldn't help an instinctive wince and turn of his head as Larry set the second phase of Well Hung's magical air defense off. With the sound of a vast, wet, slurpy explosion, the invisible quagmire blasted out. Invisible (to Ronjermy's eye, anyway), but he felt the concussive displacement of air and the results on the incoming stacks of fliers and their riders was immediate and devastating.
Without the defensive bonuses of their suddenly absent and croaked royal prince, level 10 chief warlord, a dozen other warlords of various levels, and the heavies they had been mounted on, the flyers and riders had drastically smaller bonus to resist the blast. With forward momentum stalled just at the epicenter of the air defense's blast, the bulk of the invading force took the full impact of the blow.
And the full splash of wet bits that blasted back from the weakest of them hit those in the rear.
It was an intense burst with almost no range. But with the morass of magic they had flown into that packed them together, fully half the attackers were instantly destroyed.
More that were just stunned, fell.
More that weren't killed or stunned but who sat on mounts that were, dropped.
Again, Ronjermy would have enjoyed watching the majestic visual of that great change of momentum and direction, but the rules were the rules. After the schmucker shot comes the clean up.
He dropped his fist and freed his weapon, a spike footed handle attached to twin short lengths of solid chain attached to two now freely swinging, heavy metal balls. While he freed his weapon, a tight volley of arrows reached out into the front ranks of oncoming attackers.
In unison the Rocs screamed a hunting cry as the dropped from their perch.
A seemingly endless stream of flying fish and twelve warlords again fountained from the innocent looking garden fish pond.
The Sirens opened their mouths and let loose their offensive magic, a sonic scream that ripped the air in waves out in front of them.
The air defense spell was spent, offering no resistance. Enemy flyers that were still caught in the momentum of their attack came onto and over the deck, right into the path of the Siren's combined oral attack. Some were broken apart. Some tumbled to the deck; the rest met the head on attack of the warlords, flying fish, and the next of many volleys from six stacks of archers with a loud and audible *crunch* and clash.
The Rocs in tight unison dropped into some of the remaining oncoming stacks with an crash of stone on soft bodies and armor, taking a horrible toll with their claws and their weight, dropping out of sight below the deck and taking units and screams with them.
"Now Ensten." Ronjermy sent that command to his Thinkamancer, and then waded into the pile up of bodies across the deck, followed by Rebeche and his battle axe, both hacking their way through the downed and wounded and keeping an eye out to engage upwards to hit at flyers as they could.
Ronjermy missed the feel of Mjighty in his hand. Still, he felt a certain amount of pleasure when he swung his heavy balls into the anguished face of an enemy Sylvan and watched her go down heavily, choking and gagging.
The air was a chaos of sounds. Various wings flapping, screams, grunts, snarls, war cries, the slice of blades and arrows through air and flesh, bodies landing heavily. Ronjermy took pleasure when his battle mind noticed that his warlords fought without noise; silent but deadly, focused, and effective.
He was quickly joined by his Siren bodyguard, the two that were left. With the warlords and flying fish fighting the low air battle just overhead, the Sirens stuck near their Overlord, lancing opponents, targeting others with smaller targeted use of their mouths, using up the last of their juice.
Almost 10 minutes it lasted, but totally one sided after about 5 minutes. Unled units forced to attack until the very end threw themselves at the now superior numbers, and then it was suddenly quiet.
Surviving warlords and at least a hundred flying fish rose and circled the airspace, patrolling for stragglers and veiled units. The untouched archers came forward, slinging their bows and drawing their short swords to finish off any wounded.
Rebeche hefted his axe to his armored shoulder, surveying the rooftop covered with bodies sprouting arrows like wheat. The bodies of flying fish filled the gaps between larger forms. Two Rocs now sat perched on the beam over the city.
Ronjermy couldn't help but notice how some of the bodies, foe and friend alike, lay together, some with arms around each other like lovers in a final embrace.
Rebeche was not even breathing heavily. Ronjermy liked this experienced warlord more and more.
He thought it was fitting to give him the honor of his next order. "Rebeche," he pointed to a group of croaked flying lions, "Make me some rugs out of those."
Last edited by OneHugeTuck
on Sun Jul 01, 2012 4:36 pm, edited 1 time in total.