06-Feb-2001
revised: 16-Sep-2002
Author: Dan
Title: Wyrd 1/?
Archive: GWA
Genre: Decidedly AU
Timeline: in a place far, far away and a time long, long ago; but, at the same time, during EW. It makes sense. Honest.
Warnings: Lots of violence and mayhem. Some yech factor. I'll prolly get yelled at for OOC, but, eh, <shrugs> I don't really care. Weird celtic words
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
Further Disclaimer: Not only is GW not mine, many of the nifty things that will later be referenced in this fic (Balrog, sluagh, Nightflyers, Haod's wings--if I give him wings, still not sure about that, the idea of the Cardovic) come from various sundry places. Which I will cite at the bottom of the fic parts.
Men stamped their feet against the seeping cold that caused their Men stamped their feet against the seeping cold that caused their breath to hang in the air like ethereal phantoms. Horses stamped their hooves in nervous tension, displeased at being so close to their distant cousins, the Nightmares. The seemingly endless ranks of infantry waited in the tense darkness for some sign of the approaching battle. Men stood beside sworn enemy with no murmur of complaint. Theirs was no idle war.
A slender figure walked down the line of the infantry, the heavy winter cloak sweeping over the muddy broken snow, occasionally stopping to say a few words to infantryman who watched in awe, or to clasp an archer in a warrior's grip. All along the lines the whispered tide of respect followed the almost delicate figure as the men murmured one word.
"Warlord."
Charmiane pulled the heavy hood aside as she walked up to her forbidding-looking second in command. She looked out into the misty forest as twilight crept towards them, friend of their enemy. For one moment in her longing she saw the wind swept ocean of her home and unconsciously moved her hand as if shifting through the heavy nets. The retreating sun blinded her eyes for a moment as it was reflected off an infantryman's shield. She smiled as she let go of the image. Haod saluted his warlord and regarded her with respect rare in his often-chaotic world when she turned to him.
"No word then?" she asked in her low, husky voice.
Before the dark-haired half-breed could answer shapes began to move among the twilight filled trees. Chanting and obviously armed, the darkening horded seemingly appeared out of the misting chill.
"There, Warlord, is your answer."
"I suppose we will not be getting back our emissary."
"Most likely not."
She sighed. "Persistent bastards, aren't they?"
"Aye, Warlord," Her second in command was amused at the wry observation. "That is why they are demons."
A young page bowed low before Charmiane, nervously holding the reigns of her massive Nightmare, Umbra. She delicately removed them from his shaking hands and sent him to the back of the lines before turning back to Haod.
"At my signal, unleash hell."
Haod barred his teeth in a feral smile as the girl nimbly mounted the black steed. How could he not honor such a warrior when she said such things and expected them?
"Aye, Warlord."
Haod turned to the Squire that hovered anxiously near his elbow. The boy was pale, but did not tremble, He noted with approval. The fifteen-year-old looked up expectantly.
"Ready catapults," Haod barked. The boy took off towards the heavy war-machines.
A mage materialized next to him, but not so close as to be within Haod's striking range. The half-breed's distrust of magic users was too well known for that.
"Spell-fire ready?" he snarled.
"Aye," came the quiet reply.
"Then get back there, and watch for that damned signal."
The mage smiled, bowed, and vanished.
"Damned mages," Haod growled. The archer nearest the dark-haired warrior hid his grin as he double checked his bow string.
"Archers?"
"Ready." The archer looked up at the tall man. "Faith and honor."
Haod looked at the man that was his brother-in-arms. A man he whose name he would never know. But a man he would gladly die for. "Ah. Faith and honor."
Confident that Haod could handle whatever the gods sent to them in the coming battle, Charmiane wheeled her steed and thundered towards the waiting ranks of the cavalry. Standard warhorses stood next to their winged, flame-eyed cousins, and shifted uneasily in the mid-winter chill. Soldiers watched their golden haired Warlord as she assessed them with a gaze as frigid as the weather.
"Think of where you want to be in three months and you shall be there." Charmiane smiled faintly at the thought of her ocean swept home. "Ride near me and you shall live, but if you suddenly find yourself alone, riding through green fields, do not be alarmed-for you are in Elysium, and you are already dead!"
As her voice rang out in the misty chill the awaiting mage sent a glowing burst of magic into the sky. It sparked and glittered but not one of Charmiane's riders noted it. They were already thundering towards the battlefield, swords drawn and voices lifted in anticipation.
The warhorses pounded through the dim forests as the Nightmares skimmed above the heavy trees towards the battlefield already alight with the mages' magic.
Haod watched as the signal flare lit up the evening sky and promptly roared at the mages who stood waiting well behind even the archers' line.
"NOW!"
Explosions ignited the field as each mage unleashed a perfectly planned attack upon the advancing horde. Mage after mage, more magic users gathered in a single army than had ever been gathered anywhere in Fearun, released the spells they had been holding in their minds. Each spell erupted across the battlefield within seconds of the last giving the advancing tide of screaming darklings no reprieve from the violent magic.
Haod barred his teeth again in his feral smile. Thrice-cursed bookworms had their uses. He raised one heavily armored hand for a second before dropping it sharply.
"FIRE!"
A rain of arrows screamed through the mist, striking down the first ranks of the approaching wave. The catapults volleyed fiery loads deeper into the lines. The hellish screams of the dying clung to the air as their owners could not cling to life.
Haod dropped his hand again, calling forth another volley of magic, arrows, and fiery death. The infantry held their places.
The cavalry exploded into the unprotected back lines of the enemy like a boulder thrown into calm water. Unexpected and terrifying, the mounted troops wrecked havoc upon the confused enemy infantry. It took the demons all of ten minutes to reform themselves to deal with the two-pronged attack. They paid no heed to their worsening situation and continued to scream for blood. Anyone's blood.
Charmiane growled in frustration as she attempted to find the opposing warlord amongst the shrieking, blood-smeared, writhing mass. They had no rank, no file, nothing to distinguish the lowest trash from the highest.
Umbra charged at the first of the flying demons as it made its ungainly way towards them. The golden-haired warlord vented her frustration on the pathetic creature, opening it from neck to crotch in one long stroke. As if the Nightmare could feel his rider's fury, Umbra snorted flames and torched the next foe.
Haod saw his warlord charging towards them on her massive steed and allowed himself one moment of pride. She had ripped off her helm-a stupid move that he would bitch at her for latter-to allow her hair fan out behind her. It fluttered like a banner in her Nightmare's wake, shining like a beacon for her troops.
"There is your lord, men!" A roar of approval erupted from the infantry in response to Hoad's sudden cry. "Do her honor!" He commanded the lines of infantry who continued to hold their formation despite the swollen black wave rushing towards them. The men offered him another cheer to see their warlord causing such devastation among the enemy.
Haod smiled grimly and called for another volley upon the enemy front lines.
Charmiane snarled as she cut down one winged foe with a gaping, bloody maw. All she could find were the fodder. Only the little winged imps were courageous enough, or stupid enough, to face her cavalry. She's not seen one black wingtip of a greater devil.
Unholy hands tore at her cloak and she cut them off with a back swing, striking down another shrieking enemy on the return arc. Her Nightmare reared, killing another with flaming hooves. She turned her head, seeking the leader of the horde like a wolf scents prey.
She struck down one misshapen orc and grunted in pain as another sunk its green claws into her calf. A back kick from Umbra rid her of that pest as she continued towards the field, shrieking her war cry as she bore down upon her enemy.
Haod reached up and lowered the massive visor as the black mass swept up to the first lines of the infantry. He yelled for his troops to hold. Sheer strength of will kept the men in their place as the gibbering, misshaped horde bore down upon them and broke of the line like the tide over rocks.
Charmiane shrieked her war cry as she cut down the last of the Balrog's defenders. The enormous monster turned with a speed made unreal by its size. It chuckled, a sound that clung like cold lake slime, as it eyed the blood spattered Warlord.
"Foolish mortal," it hissed, "No man can kill me."
Charmiane smiled as she launched herself into the air, double-bladed sword held high overhead. Hot heart's blood exploded over her hands as she dragged the blade down the length of the stunned Balrog. She smiled, wicked and cruel, as its dying curses filled the air.
"Unfortunately for you, I am a woman."
Now on foot Charmiane fought in a confused vision of screaming mouths, and dully flashing blades. Umbra stomped, bit, and kicked any enemy foolish enough to attack her back.
Charmiane paused in mid swing as she turned to strike down yet another enemy. Only to grin at one of her own infantrymen who grinned back at his bloodied, but proud Warlord. They fought back to back with Umbra guarding the air above them as the fighting slowed, the sound of the men screaming in agony dimmed, and fat, white flakes of snow began to fall again.
The Warlord held out a hand black with mud, blood, and smeared intestines and watched in wonder as incredibly pure flakes of snow settled and melted on her outstretched hand.
Relena was screaming before she woke up.
She struggled against the covers that seemed to rise up to suffocate her before she became aware of herself. She jerked herself back into the reality of the softly colored room, muted further by the soft dawn light.
Shivering with the shock of the dream, she hugged herself as she stared out her bedroom window. As she watched the dawn break over the ocean of her beloved home she fought to convince herself that it was only a dream. It was just a horrible dream where she gleefully plunged a blade into the heart of another living being. Not real, not real, not real, she told herself.
Relena shivered. But the dreams felt real. They felt like memories. She stared at her hands for a long time, convincing herself that they were not black with the blood. Such wars, such horrible, horrible wars, haunted her dreams. And that woman, Relena felt her pleasure as the heart blood poured over her hands. The blonde shivered in the timid morning light.
"Not real, not real, not real," she whispered.
The morning light slowly flooded her garden, rioting with spring flowers. Relena laid her head against the smooth glass of the window and wished for her friend. After the war she had lost her only close friend, and now she felt lost and alone. Since her sleep was already shot by that god awful repetitive nightmare she decided to pack for next trip to the colonies. Who would have guess that the position as Junior Minister of Foreign Affairs would demand so many trips to remote colonies?
End Part 1
End Part 1
Charmiane's very snazzy speech to her riders is from 'Gladiator', sans the 'What we do today will echo in eternity" I'm having enough fun as it is. Don't want to play with *that* concept.
Actually, listening to "Wheat" And "Battle" on the Gladiator soundtrack helps to set the tone of the battle scene.
Balrog is, as I'm sure we all know by know, from Lord of the Rings (and the Hobbit, btw.) The little bit of dialogue between the two is also from LOTR, though changed to suit my nefarious purposes
Nightflyers is a concept lifted from LKH's Merry Gentry series, in particular "Kiss of Shadows"
If I finish this fic, expect more sections like this. o.O;; I fully plan to lift from various sundry sources to create the mythology for this world.
(:./dan/wyrd1)
