The Fortress/Excalibur Chapter Three

Excalibur Chapter Three

Fortress Team Anaconda Team Battlehawk Team Cold Cell Team Dark Watch Team Excalibur Fortress News

Chapter Three, RAMPARTS Written by Avatorous, Silas Reg, Tristana, Couponballer and Zuton, setting their tale in the 1400s. It befell in Chalderwood on a dear day, There was made a shurting (feast) after the assay (trial) Kynge Ava was thine hoost, as gentil (noble) as in fable, His gestes, the Knyghtes and Ladyes of the Round Table Greet chiere made oure Hoost us everichon (everyone), And to the soper sette he us anon. (supper straight away began) He served us with vitaille at the beste; Strong was the wyn, and wel to drynke us leste. Sir Stark of Senap, the knyghte of Havok, With a crie, oure aller cok (awoken us all) “Telle us som myrie tale, by youre fey! som murie thyng of aventures, we yow preye” Kynge Ava seyde “Who shal telle the firste tale. As evere mote I drynke wyn or ale,” Spake up the Mayde Zuton, “Now herkneth, alle” she swore. For we wol telle of the tours (towers), Haslock and Blackmore” Lord Avatorous stood up and placed his hands on the large round table of those known to be allied with The Fortress. His rich purple cloak rippled behind as it shimmed to fall into place. “Our current plan is to with in the next week or two to mount an assault against the lands of Riddleybank.” The room went incredibly silent. “The undead legions of the RRF have been taking the opportunity to pull the human population into parts by the movements of the Big Bash hoard. By having to defend their homes they can't leave to go defend against the Big Bash and by defending against the Big Bash they can' be at home to defend their villas.” He began to move around the edge of the table circling the sworn ambassadors of the many nations. “Considering the Big Bash is currently being partially led by a RRF member it's a brilliant tactic. With the problem that they are spreading rather thin. And with them spread out as they are, it's time to go bang on a few doors”. Those in attendance began to whisper amongst themselves thinking of the losses and the potential gains and of it what could and would gain from such an endeavor. Nodding his head he spoke once again this time with more compassion, “The goal of this siege is not to take their lands. Frankly we can't actually do that and hold it, they will pull the Bash back. But what we can do is force them home with a good swat in their codpieces and give some relief to the sorely hit villages. If we can take and hold Blackmore Tower for a short period of time perhaps even light a few buildings around it. I think it will do what is needed. The longer we hold it the more forces they have to call back. But in that the more dangerous it becomes.” Many shook their heads as he spoke of attack and war. Many were fighting at home trying to fend for their very own lands. To spare fine young warriors and healers would be detrimental they thought. At a time as such it was hard pressed to give. ”Excalibur, my forces,” Ava said. “are not large enough to even think of doing something like this alone. But, I can organize like a fool. If anyone wants in on this please speak and let us know if any dare to join me.” With his words many stood and walked from the table. The Commander did not waver as he looked to his allies in arms. He looked to the other Commanders of the Fortress and he could see they were already committed to battle. Standing to his feet with no hesitation a warrior dressed in well worn battle armor raised his hand and saluted. “Aye, my forces and I will be there.” Lord Greystone stood most impressively as he nodded. “We stand now in the hills of the Brookes. We will battle for the cause and stand along aside. Already I am preparing plans to have them meet with you to fight to the END. I can only hope we don’t miss the festivities.” He let forth a deep chuckle that resonated about the hall. Slapping the table he looked as some of them stopped and realized the king did indeed possess the potential to accomplish his means if he were to gain support. Another stood to the cause, the most Blessed Guard. “As for the Army Control Corps, we're currently in the village Stanbury alongside one of the other Fortress armies and the Cannonball Crew. Was there any sort of time frame that you all hope to execute this plan? It would probably take a few days to mobilize our forces, but our Special Forces… could immediately move out to help take and defend Blackmore castle and surrounding structures.” Smiling Avatorous nodded while the other ambassadors paused and watched. “As for now my army heads to the Haslock Tower in the north east. If you would care to join with me Greystone there we can assist in retaking it with the natural inhabitants. And head to join with the other forces at Nicholes Square just outside of the lands of Riddleybank. I'm most positive Lady Commie will be please to know we are coming to lend aid. I will send missive immediately.” Turning from the table once more the rich purple flowed almost bathing him in a reflection of sheer color. “Rest well my brothers and sisters. For tomorrow we ride!” And with that he made his way from the room. Maid Zuton had spent a restful night at the Cathedral dedicated to St Luke. She was overjoyed with the peacefulness that filled this imposing white edifice. She wasn’t sure if it came from God, or from Man’s use of space and light. Looking around, she saw evidence of freshly tossed confetti, along with scribblings on the wall. Who would dare to deface the house of God? It wished Sir Daniel and Dame Melanie most fervent congratulations. There must have been a wedding here. Maid Zuton sighed, clutching her hand to her heart. When would she find a knight to wed her? She left the comforting walls of the temple, and walked quickly through the woods. Even here the dead were stirring, the graves had opened, and hell walked on the earth. Protecting herself with the sign of the cross, Maid Zuton headed towards Haslock tower. Even from a distance she could see that it was ruined, she counted one dozen and three death-walkers standing outside the tower. She looked for a place to rest her head for the night. Nearby there was a blacksmith’s forge, it was still standing. There were six other people in there, peasants by the looks of it, although there were two pike-men, clearly wearing the mark of THEM, the keepers of Haslock Tower. The maid quickly wrote a note on a scrap of parchment, drawing a brief map. The blacksmith’s was around 40 miles north-east of Ackland, the market town where her companions were waiting. She opened her basket, and gathered the pigeon. Tying the note to it’s leg, she stood outside the forge, and threw the pigeon into the air. It circled twice, then headed south-west, in the direction of Ackland. Lord Ava heard the tinkling of a bell, a pigeon had arrived. He ripped the note from the leg and read it. Glancing at the map he swore under his breath. The knight Silas was now headed in the wrong direction, and Ava had no way to tell him. He hoped that he would be alright. He fastened Excalibur’s scabbard to his belt and strode outside, calling for Sister Tristana. The nun had anticipated his call, as she came from the stables, leading his roan gelding, with her own bay mare. She grinned impishly as she passed the reigns to Ava. He swung into the saddle, and they cantered off towards the gates. The gates slowly swung open, with Ava impatient to leave. He nudged his horse forward before being halted by a booming bellow. His friend, Baron Cannon Fodder, came alongside him. "Greetings, my lord Ava. I am glad I have caught you. I have gathered the forces of the END, we will join you at Haslock Tower the day after tomorrow.” “Thank you my friend, your aid will be invaluable.” Ava glanced at the darkening skies. As much as he wanted to discuss tactics, time was against him. He bade the baron farewell, digging his heels into his horse’s flanks and riding north. Speeding through the trees, Ava and Tristana were able to dodge small bands of the walking dead. As night fell, they slowed. It was hard picking their way along the badly rutted roads. It was a clear night, and Ava used the stars to keep them heading north east. In the distance he could make out a tall dark shadow. Tristana rode up alongside him. “Is that Haslock?” she enquired. “It must be” Ava affirmed. As they got closer, faint sounds of battle drifted towards them. “Come on” Ava yelled, as he spurred his horse to a gallop. Tristana followed on cautiously. Arriving at the gates, Ava saw that the battle was over. A broadshouldered pikeman had just killed the last of the walking dead. As he brought the body out of the tower he stood stock-still on seeing Ava on his horse. Leaning down to the Pikemen, Ava said “Pray tell, is the Lady Commie here abouts?” The pikeman studied Ava carefully before speaking “Aye, sir, she be inside. ‘tis a foul night for ye to be ridin’ these ‘ere hills, who be ye?” “I am Lord Avatorous, Duke of Excalibur, and I come at the Lady’s bequest.” “She’ll be rightly glad to see ya, tha’s for sure, what with six score death-walkers about. We’ll need all the swords we can get to hold the to’er.” This news worried the Duke. With 120 zombies nearby his knights might have a tough time getting to the tower. He prayed that they were able to hold the tower long enough for the reinforcements to arrive. The blacksmiths was a gloomy place to sleep, and freezing. They didn’t dare light a fire incase the deathwalkers noticed it. Maid Zuton shivered, and pulled her cape tightly round her. Looking over at Haslock tower she thought she noticed a light in one of the arrow slits. She watched for a minute and could see lights in two of the other arrow slits. Haslock was back in human hands. She shivered again, it was time to go and get warm. Gathering up her meagre possessions, she marched towards the tower. The gate was barred and the portcullis down, but there was a rope leading from the roof of the stables next door. She shimmied up the rope and onto the tower. Climbing down the stairs she saw quite a crowd, and a glimmer of purple. Lord Ava was there, wrapped in his purple cloak, standing next to a striking woman wearing a polished suit of armour. Zuton greeted Ava warmly, and was introduced to Lady Commie, the commander of THEM and the keeper of Haslock. Lady Commie was a white witch, and her potions could bring the undead back to life. Ava was studying her potions and discussing the merits of their ingredients, he was an apothecary by trade, and a Lord by default. The potions here could provide an answer, a way to end this curse. Silas’ head hurt and he was tired. Things were definitely not looking anywhere near good. East boundwood was thoroughly ruined. The church was ready to collapse on its own, but it would have to hold. He did not know whether it was a man’s error or God that brought him here; it was not as he wished, for the area was infested and well past saving. He had been heading north, that was certain. As the celestial guide cannot be seen by a man looking north – the aster, ever punctual, never travels there – he must have mistaken East for its opposite side. The knight wiped his face and sucked his leather sleeve to drink the sweat. I need to keep running, he thought; by God, those unholy creeps are fast. Around him the lands deserved the appellation “here be lions” given to unexplored wastelands in the South. Not a standing structure left. He was tired from running all the time but he could see no sanctuary. He chose the final option, those all knights dreaded to take. Like bears, those beings seemingly oriented themselves by smell, and this trick was commonly used when hunting the beast. Though it was very much less appealing when the blood was a man’s. He drenched himself copiously with a severed arm he found nearby. (It would have horrified him before, but now it was so common…) What one doesn’t do to avoid swelling their legions! He began to run away from the setting sun, towards the east, now sure. His fellow men and women where waiting for him there – he did not know precisely where, but he would find them. He had to. The smell of blood protected him, but not enough, as it appeared. Some of the figures, presumably those with functional eyes, began shuffling towards him. He raced still, and drew his short sword – not his flambard with undulating blade to better cut when dragging it across flesh, but a dagger-like affair, easy to draw while riding a horse or running. He picked up the pace, holding the rusty old blade by his neck. When one of the foul things got too close, all he had to do was race the dagger across its neck. Often this unbalanced them enough to continue running; older, fragile exemplars were simply decapitated by this method. Now though he had stripped himself of all but the most necessary pieces of armor, the weight began bearing down on him. But he could not stop. He went on, his own shadow preceding him. He would reach his companions by the morrow and know them safe. Over in Stickling village, Sir Couponballer was also struggling. He was in Whipping Tower, searching it for the rumoured elixirs of life. His lord wanted to study different potions and elixirs. Cursing as he only found empty pots, Sir Couponballer left the Bottlery. Ignoring the empty Great Hall he climbed the rickety ladder to the Lady’s Apartments. There, in the Bower, was two pots sealed with wax. Letting out a whoop of exuberance, the knight quickly departed. He had a long ride to Haslock. Zuton was on the battlements when she heard a shout of pain and anguish. Looking down into the Gatehouse she saw that Sir Silas had arrived, followed by two death-walkers. His armour was gashed, and he was bleeding profusely from many wounds, but he still fought bravely on. She ran down the stairs, taking two or three at a time. Already the injured knight had slain one of the death-walkers, but the blood was drenching the floor below him. There was no time for Zuton to kill the other death-walker, she had to stem the bleeding. She wound the poultice laced bandage around Sir Silas’ thigh as the death-walker lunged in to attack once more. Sir Silas’ repost severed the remaining tendons in the neck, and the corpse fell forward, its head rolling in to the fireplace. Zuton half-carried Sir Silas to the Great Hall as the pikemen threw the corpses out before they could rise again. The clanking of the portcullis reassured her as she treated her wounded companion. Sir Couponballer had ridden hard through the night, and now he was amongst the hills of Raines, his horse had gone lame. It was a good mount, but there was no time for sympathy here. The knight petted it once before severing the artery. He stashed the horse as best he could, there was good meat on it, and then set off walking towards the tower. Exhausted, he stumbled. He was still a mile from the tower, but here was a traveller’s inn, and he so desperately needed to rest his head. He staggered inside, determined to get some sleep when he spotted a man barely alive. PFC MiniMac was unconscious and bleeding profusely. With the last ounce of strength Sir Couponballer cauterised the wounds and did the best he could. Knowing that without more help the man would die, Couponballer prayed vervantly for deliverance for him, before crawling closer to the fire and falling asleep. Sister Tristana hadn’t enjoyed her journey to the tower, the ride had been hard and fast. She was glad to get the chance to recoup there. Before long she was called on for her healing skills. They were fast running out of medicines, so she went into the woods with Dawn Daehlin, one of Lady Commie’s handmaidens, to gather herbs. They were soon laughing and joking like sisters of old. They were digging for Arnica root in the rocky ground in the Chancel Wood, Tristana leant forward, trying to pull out the foot long stem. As it snapped she fell backwards into a bramble-bush. She cried out in shock and pain. Dawn pulled out her sickle, and cut Tristana free, before looking her over. "Let me see" Dawn requested. "Oh, you’re bleeding. We need to get a bandage on that." Dawn quickly led her back to the tower, where Pdeq, THEM’s doctor, was hard at work. He had a thick accent which Sister Tristana struggled to understand, but he quickly bandaged her before offering a pickle. Tristana gratefully accepted this, before turning to see Zuton scowling. “My dear Maid Zuton, why are you scowling?” she enquired. “How come you get a pickle, I wanted a pickle too.” Zuton couldn’t keep up her scowl for long, and soon giggled at her friend to show she was joking. Tristana swatted at Zuton in mock-anger. It was time to return some of the death walkers to life, Zuton grabbed some potions, shimmied back down the rope to the stables, and headed into the ruined hall next door to the tower. It was here that deathwalkers were guided to be returned to life, here where the magic worked it’s strongest. The trick with the potions was getting it in to the deathwalkers, they were unable to drink so the potion was put into a specially hollowed blade and forced into the deathwalker’s brain. She used it on three deathwalkers, and they fell to the floor, as the magic potions began to work. Lord Avatorous was hard at work in the kitchens. He was pleased that the elixirs had arrived from Whipping Tower, he had poured the contents of one of the pots into a bowl, and was carefully examining it. He sniffed gently at the dark blue liquid, before turning to Lady Commie. “My Lady, what do you make of this?” The white witch was stirring a small cauldron nearby. She came over and dipped a small spoon into it, before touching the contents with her tongue. “Ah, I see, this is interesting. They’ve used Sulfur Flower and Meliot, yet no Poppy. There’s something else in there, but I can’t tell what it is. And you’re saying this Elixir works?” “Only one way to find out” Ava grinned, as he picked up the other pot and bounded outside. Lady Commie followed him as he grabbed a death walker and forced the contents of the pot down the hollowed blade and into the brain. Watching as the death walker fell to the floor and started writhing, Ava smiled back at Lady Commie. “I’d say that works. Now, if I may try your potion next.” Lady Commie handed over a jar, and Ava repeated the process. This time there was no writhing. Ava was slowly counting under his breath whilst watching the two bodies. Finally satisfied he stood up and returned to the tower, the bemused witch following him. “What, pray tell, did you discover?” She enquired. Ava closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Your potion works in a similar way to most reviving potions I’ve seen. They provide succour and restore life within a few minutes. Yet these potions do not allow for nature to take its course. For of course when they die they rise again. Whipping’s elixir seems to have a more powerful effect. It causes convulsions, and restores life faster. In fact I’d say it restores life twice as fast as your potion.” He reached for some parchment, and dipping his quill in the ink, started making quick notes. “Now, if we could somehow combine elements of this elixir and yours, we might see even stronger results. I need to know what that other herb is.” Lady Commie nodded, then reached for the bowl. “If I may?” She poured the remaining elixir into a cauldron before setting it on a hook above the fire. “Now we need to leave this for a few hours.” Zuton was bored of life in the tower. They had been here a few days, and already the death walkers had mostly wondered off, searching for easier fights. She hated the waiting, and only felt alive in the heat of the fight. Leaving the tower she wandered into the neighbouring Curton Manor House. The carpenters had been hard at work, and the fallen beams had been raised back into the ceiling. Finding a wardrobe she spent a happy couple of hours trying the beautiful gowns on. They were fabulous, but not as practical as her leather armour. She reluctantly put the armour back on. She had to go and find some clean bandages, she couldn’t bring herself to cut the gowns up, but had noticed a monastery nearby. She was able to find several bandages, and some dried herbs, but discarded the jar of leeches. There were some things she was not prepared to use. Avatorous sat on the stolys, studying his precious copy of Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. He chuckled at the end of the Miller’s Tale, before closing the leather-bound book and placing it carefully in the middle of his pack. Strolling down the stairs, the Duke of Excalibur stopped by the kitchens to check on the elixir. Seeing the fire was out he rushed forward, admonishing the luckless servant for not gathering enough wood. He carefully repositioned the small cauldron, and lit a new fire under it. He was surprised that the Lady Commie had not been there to keep an eye on the elixir, and wondered where she was. Walking into the Great Hall, he observed a strange scene. Lady Commie and the doctor, Pdeq, were talking to two badly injured men who kept waving them away. Ava strode to their side, enquiring “May I be of assistance?” The man closest to him was dressed in rags, and smelled pungent. He looked at the purple clothed Lord and made a sign of the horns, as if to dispel evil. Just then his similarly clad companion started coughing up blood. Ava realised that he bore the plague of the walking dead. They had only a few hearbeats to save his life. Pulling out a vial he said “Come, let us help your friend, before he dies.” The first man slapped the vial out of his hand, growled “Nay, whoreson, yon witch is not ta come near us with the devil’s brew.” By now he too was coughing up blood. His companion collapsed in a heap. The guards moved forward, ready to throw the fresh corpse out. As they came alongside, the corpse stood up and lashed out. Catching the first guard by surprise this corpse overpowered him and bit at his throat. Speared by a pike, the corpse continued its biting unabated. Ava’s sword lashed out severing an arm. By now the poor guard was dead, and the one armed corpse turned its attention on the other guard, who smashed his gauntleted fist into the corpse’s face, forcing it away. It was a momentary reprieve as the rag-clothed man had also expired, and now rose from the dead. Ava and the guard were now fighting two vicious death walkers. With swift strokes of the blade Ava forced the one armed deathwalker back, as the guard gathered his pike and brought it down on its neck. Ava turned to face the other deathwalker. It raised its clawed fingers towards him, Ava parried with the flat of his sword. He jabbed forward aiming a riposte at its unprotected stomach. The deathwalker moved fast, and Ava was soon backing away from a ferocious attack. His foot tangled in the legs of the dead guard and he fell, twisting to land on his back with his sword facing upwards. The deathwalker batted the bladed to one side as it leapt on his chest, baring its teeth. The head exploded in a pool of blood, Ava looked up to see the Lady Commie loading another bolt into her crossbow. Kicking the corpse away from him, Ava pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you most kindly, my Lady, I am in your debt.” “Hah”, replied Commie, with a twinkle in her eye. “I have granted you hospitality under my roof, it is my duty to protect my guests.” More guards appeared, carrying the three corpses outside, the guard’s body being reverently placed next to the Gatehouse, with the others dumped into a pit. Lord Avatorous bade the Lady fairwell, and mounted his horse. His knights were already mounted, and awaited him. He now knew the secret ingredient of the elixir, and had a signed declaration of alliance with THEM. His plan was coming together, the allied armies were on the move, and they would soon be at Blackmore, where he could study its own uisge beatha. The Ridleybank water of life was rumoured to be the most potent of the reviving potions. To be continued ...