Fire Ze Missiles!

It had been a stroke of luck to come across the stables of the Imperial Couriers inside the city but Illyriel had taken full advantage of that fact. He charged through the streets of the Maughold on his commandeered horse, racing for the great wall. Illyriel's meeting with Tom Joad had had to be cut short due to the sudden attack but Illyriel was sure his plan was understood well enough. As Illyriel thundered down the deserted cobbled streets he began his song. It weaved with his breathing, a confident striding tune that slowly became words. By the time Illyriel reached and cantered up the stairs of the first wall his magic was cast.
A terracotta pot sailed through the air in front of the stairs, crashing against the ramparts and spewing forth a cascade of burning liquid on to the defending troops. The incendiary cut a swathe through them, not through death but fear. The onslaught of siege weapons against which they could not defend themselves was too much for the untrained militia and some began to turn and flee.
"Hold the line!" bellowed Illyriel, his voice amplified a hundred-fold by his magic charm. An aura of confidence and surety exuded from him into the minds of the hapless humans and they could do nought but obey him.
"You will stand and fight! You will protect your wives and daughters! You will make this city proud of you! Now stand!"
The men rallied, drawn by the magic of Illyriel's words. A cheer rose through them which quickly became a taunt to the forces outside. Illyriel nodded and rode further along the wall. He knew these men would hold themselves now and it was well this was so. Similar events were taking place across the walls - the magical shields were too strong for a conventional bombardment to be worth the time and commanding figures were rallying the troops all over. Vayu too could see this and the siege towers began to move.
Illyriel rode along the wide plateau of the Maughold's mighty fortifications towards the North gate where most of the towers would empty. Murad's archers opened fire as Illyriel arrived, their powerful bows reaping a notable toll on the mercenaries advancing forwards around the towers, ladders clutched like battle pendants. But their numbers seemed endless - whenever a unit seemed weak a battalion of Paladins would step in to take their place. The towers themselves were also almost impregnable - without counter-siege equipment the Maughold's defenders could do nothing but look on as they ground slowly forwards. One was brought down in a blazing inferno by a cascade of fireballs from Murad's magi's concentrated fire but there were many more still standing. "Brace yourselves!" Illyriel cried out, his voice still ringing with power and authority.
With a crash that shook the very wall, the hatches of the siege towers slammed down on the ramparts and the traitor Variags spilled forth onto the walls. The screaming warriors rolled over the militia like a wave up a beach - real combat was only joined as Murad and Maximilian's troops engaged them. Illyriel leapt off his nimble horse - it would be little use in a melee like this - and leapt into the fray. Almost immediately an axe swung for him full-force, crashing into the floor with a grating ring as Illyriel rolled to one side and thrust a blade upwards beneath the warrior's armour. Recovering his feet Illyriel fought over the man, a golden-armoured Son of Man shielding his left and a fierce easterner attacking on his right.

The Deathknelve king watched with narrowed eyes from the northern gate of the second wall. He was waiting for Illyriel's signal, although what that signal would be the silly bastard had neglected to mention. Tom sighed, longing for conflict but knowing his duty was simply to observe.
A flash caught his eye. Someone was reflecting light from a shield. The figure stood atop a siege tower on the left of the North Gate, waving his other arm frantically. Illyriel. Tom turned and gave his own signal to the Detahknelve assembled in the courtyard behind him and they immediately struck up singing. Tom's powerful voice joined them, channelling the song of his people. It was a battle song, a song of blood and death and fire. It emanated forth from the Deathknelve cohort, spreading across the city with an unstoppable force. It could be heard all along the first wall and beyond and it struck great emotion in all who heard it. In the friends of the King courage welled like a mountain spring where in his enemies anxiety and unease blanketed everything else.

Illyriel smiled as he heard the strange song flow across the battlefield and, throwing the stolen shield down on a Variag beneath him, leapt after it off the tower back into combat.


((OOC: Lengthy post to make up for how I haven't posted in forever ^^))

Yeah, in support of Vort there, the Maughold's citizen levy would be absolutely no match for Vayu's well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened Palatinate warriors, so if they do make the walls the militia will get the shit beat out of them They're only really there to fill space so our important troops (aka us, mercs and Deathknleve) don't all get shanked by giant Ballista bolts.

Well obviously Ragnarok hasn't come yet or else we wouldn't be here on crappy Midgard It's just like every other Apocalypse story in that respect.

((Yet again, apologies for the extended inaction on my part. RL is, as we all know, a bitch. Anyway, go fight scene!))

Illyriel couldn't help but think of the last time he had entered this foul city. He had been awed by the magnificent scale of the defences and the huge scope of the city within. Now all he felt was disgust. All he saw was grime, dirt, poverty and blood. The very land moaned in mourning for the aeons of suppression and slaughter in that place.
Illyriel's black mood darkened further when they finally entered the shadow of the outer walls and the slums that came with that illusory protection. All races could be seen in the filthy streets and they all looked at Illyriel with equal hostility. A heavy silence lay over the group as they made their way towards the city proper. Eyes were cast low and hands idled over weapons. But there was no occurrence, no event, no great happening. That was the way in the slums; the eternal doldrums of life. Nothing ever happened, nothing ever changed.
"Halt!" called out a strong voice as they approached one of the smaller but still mighty gates to the fortress, "there's a toll on entering the city limits." An armoured man stepped from the gatehouse onto the path before them.
"Don't waste our time," Morion scoffed dismissively, "we won't pay any toll."
"'Ere, don't you try intimidating me boy," spat the man, pointing a finger at Morion, "or you and your bull-men can pack off home." More armoured warriors emerged from the gatehouse, clearly sensing a confrontation. It looked to be an irregular militia of some sort that had somehow managed to secure themselves a hold on this section of the walls. It cast a grim reflection on the situation behind the walls that the great edifice itself was contested.
"So that's how it is," continued the man, "either you pay up or we make you." He smiled a grim, joyless smile. "Simple."
Illyriel watched in the corner of his eye as Tom's hands edged up to his swords, unconsciously doing the same thing. Tom caught his eye and nodded, almost imperceptibly. Morion's cold, mocking laughter confirmed their plan.
"The day you scatty band of morons force us to do anything is the day I roll over and die."
"'Aye," growled the man, drawing his sword with a slow rasp, "that is is."

But I don't want Narutards in my section! We try to keep the standard of writing at a reasonably high level and I would really prefer not to be flooded with...well, for want of a better word, noobs
Welcome to Revora by the way