Impact

A Fantasy short story - Part 1 of Impact

Lord Von Steyr steadied his horse, as it was apparently unnerved at the sight of the enemy before it. It wasn't the only one - all across the line, none of his knights had managed to keep their horses calm. But, then again, perhaps that was to be expected, considering the foe they faced. The Nagarothii weren't to be underestimated, he'd learnt that after he witnessed the fiasco which had occurred when a young Hochland Captain had been too confident in his ability against them. Von Steyr just wasn't that kind of arrogant person.
Despite it being quite early in the year, it was a hot day, even for the northlands. At least the early afternoon sun was behind him, that would at least make his job just that much easier. Still, he wasn't exactly happy about leaving his position on top of the hill - the foe clearly didn't want to budge.
He scanned the scene before him. It was an admittedly large force on the other side of the field, even for the apparently dwindling elven race. he couldn't spot much in the way of artillery or monsters, but that infantry did unnerve him. Rank upon rank of Dark Elven spearmen, their polished weapons gleaming in the sunlight. behind them was what worried him, however. Once the cavalry had cleared the spear line, which wasn't going to come easily, they'd then have to face off the dreaded executioners. He'd seen their deadly potential in Hochland - they'd managed to decimate two full-strength regiments of Knights Panther in less than 15 minutes. Considering the reputation of the Panthers, his own Knights would have a hard challenge. The Order he had with him was one of the lesser Orders. nevertheless, the Knights of the Northern Cross were something of pride to the men of the northern Empire - especially Ostland. How they'd hold against the Dark Elves' finest though, only time could tell, really.
He'd held his ground long enough. He gave the order for the guns to open fire. From 130 metres to Von Steyr's left and right, a volley from several great cannons let rip at the Dark Elf line. A shower of bolts from his crossbow regiments also pierced the air. He squinted at the Elf line as he watched the shots hit home, whole columns of the Nagarothii disappearing under steel shot. That was apparently a signal for the foe to return fire, as he saw, seemingly from nowhere great bolts hitting his own lines. He could vaguely hear giant crossbow strings being released,
Yes, Reapers, he thought as the bolts hit his men.

It was time. He spurred on his warhorse. His Knights followed suit, slowly breaking into a run, steaming towards the Dark Elf battle line at full pace. He could hear his own infantry marching forward at a good pace as well, ready to take over the combat once the cavalry had made their impact. The knights all lowered their lances, Each of them aiming at one of the spearmen. As the knights drew closer to their target, Von Steyr could suddenly hear a high-pitched wailing. Sorceresses. Oh, hell no. This wasn't good. Suddenly, a fog materialised around him, taking his concentration for a split second. By the time he had regained his vision, The Dark elf line was right in front of him. He just had time to steady his lance before he made impact.
A sharp splintering of wood and the grinding feel of metal on metal told him that he had hit something - he looked down and, sure enough, he had skewered one of them on the end of his lance. His heart suddenly dropped when he noticed that he couldn't hear any horse's hooves apart from his own. He looked around and saw that his knights had all stopped at the front line and were hacking their way through the elves with their swords drawn, at least 50 metres behind him. As his heart began beating faster and faster, Von Steyr dropped his broken lance and drew his Runefang. If he could just get back to the front line before the elves managed to bring his horse down, he'd be safer until the infantry arrived, at which point he could redirect the cavalry. He sharply turned his horse around to face his own line, and galloped off, hacking at everything within reach at an attempt to carve a path from the dark elves back to the knights. He had nearly got there when his horse suddenly bucked and threw him off. He landed some feet away, in pain from the impact. He glanced over to his horse and saw what had happened - a giant crossbow bolt was embedded in in its front quarter. Didn't matter now, he still had to get back to his own line. Wait, where was his own line?- he had lost his bearings completely. Oh, Sigmar protect me, he thought, as Von Steyr saw not spearmen, but huge elves with massive longswords approaching. Where the hell did they come from?. The Executioners drew closer as Von Steyr raised his sword, desperate to at least take down a few of them with him as he died. A cry of FOR SIGMAR! left his lips, as his sword met hard Elven steel, in his ditch attempt to survive...


Part 2 of Impact released soon

The second part of Impact. Note: read part 1 first or this won't make much sense

As he watched the Knights crash into the Dark Elf spear line, Weimar continued marching towards the foe. He tightened his grip on his halberd. He had good reason to be nervous - he'd heard dreadful things of the Nagarothii. He'd seen High Elves in combat before, and they were a sight to see. If anything, the Dark Elves were even more dangerous - they had no sense of mercy or compassion - only the thought of blood.
It didn't brighten his spirits when Weimar noticed Lord Von Steyr disappear in to the elf horde. He couldn't see much beyond those spears, but he could tell that Steyr was in a state of panic. He was glancing around himself, trying to turn his horse around, obviously attempting to get back to the Knights. Not a lot of hope, Weimar noted, as Steyr drew his Runefang and began hacking his way back to his own line.Only too bad nobody could warn him of the line of wicked-sharp longswords fast approaching him. At the speed Steyr was going, those swords would reach him long before he reached the front. His heart dropped even further as he looked on helplessly as a massive bolt hit the Lord's horse in its flank. That was the last he saw of him as he was thrown through the air, and those swords finally reached him. A faint cry of 'FOR SIGMAR' met his ears, and that was the last.
Dirt scraped across the bottom of Weimar's boots as he turned his attention from Steyr to the spears. The knights were about to break off and leave the infantry locked into combat. Not long now, he thought, as he continued his march towards the hateful foe. The knights finally broke off, apparently ignorant of the fact their Lord had fallen. Weimar turned his halberd and charged. The warcry of Ostland left his throat as he crashed into the disoriented dark elves. He quickly thrust his halberd forward to try make a kill. It made contact with metal, as he looked up his heart leapt as he watched a single elf slump to the ground, blood spurting from a wound made on its left side. With no time for celebration of his kill, Weimar put what he had learned into practice and instinctively made a wide sweep to his right, the long blade on the halberd making a large gash in the side of another. swinging it to his left, another fell to the ground, blood spattering his face from a slashed jugular. I can do this, he thought as sweep after stab, he brought low the elves. The other men in the regiment were doing likewise, hacking through an already fractured line.
Weimar suddenly tripped and fell beside what looked like a dead elf body. What? i didn't kill that, he thought, as he looked it over. That one didn't attack him, and there wasn't any trace of any missiles having hit him from earlier. He suddenly noticed a clean cut, just below the warrior's throat. Then he remembered. The swords. He looked up and just 20 feet away, watched a group of like-looking elves thrusting into the middle of a ring, each time a thrust was made it was met by the sound of steel hitting steel. Steyr. He had survived after all. Every now and then an elf would drop to the ground, dark red blood gushing from a clean slash made on it. Then Weimar noticed one of them slowly making headway straight for him. He struggled around desperately for his halberd, as the giant warrior strode closer. His hand finally closed around something solid, as he hefted it up just in time to parry the monster's own blade. He then took further note of what he was holding. That wasn't his halberd, he noted. Ah, that was the sword of the dead elf. Now to focus on the beast attacking him. remembering battle drill, he gave the elf an almighty upward kick to its crotch. With his steel-plated boots, it sent the elf bent double, reeling from the attack on his manhood. Now was his chance, as he stood up, hefted the vast sword, brought it down on the elf and cleaved his foe in twain. Oh, bugger. He'd forgotten about his Lord. He turned around to face the group of elves hacking at Steyr. Now reduced to only half a dozen, they were nevertheless about to claim victory as Weimar saw Steyr bleeding from several places, across his body, large gashes hewed from his torso. Nonetheless, Steyr was in a state of desperate rage like nothing Weimar had ever seen, mindlessly hacking at everything within sight. Another elf fell to the Runefang, but he was weakening. Weimar saw his chance and thrust his blade into one of them, bringing it out and bringing off the head of another with one sweep. Taking the legs from a third, he thrust his blade into the dying elf's flesh and brought it out just in time to meet a ferocious blow - from the Runefang. Weimar met his lord's gaze as Von Steyr lost his last once of strength and crumpled to the ground, breathing heavily.
Weimar took his opportunity and dragged Steyr back towards the rest of the Halberdiers, who were now storming towards him to cover Weimar retrieving their lord. Almost like a final act of spite, a crossbow bolt hit the rear of Weimar's knee, forcing him into a slow limp at best, with Steyr's arm over his shoulder.

Finally, Weimar reached the ridge he had left only half an hour ago, and he let Steyr to rest on the ground. As the surgeons rushed over to remove Weimar's bolt and to tend to Von Steyr, the noble breathed something out weakly to Weimar. "Boy? I think you've earned that sword there...".
Weimar looked at his other arm and let a grin plaster his face. He still held the elf's sword tightly in his grip.

Part 3 of Impact will be released soon

This is nice Michael. Keep going with your work. Looking forward to part 3.

Nice, I really enjoyed those.

I can announce that, once i've finished Depredation and a couple others, Weimar is going to make a return. so look forward to that too
part 3 will be up tomorrow

Ok, here is Part 3 of the Impact short story. This is taken from the Dark Elf point of view

Finally. The 'elite' cavalry of the humans were forming up for attack. They'd have a hard time dealing with the massed infantry what with all the spears, and of course, if they cleared the spear line, ha, unlikely as it was, then the executioners could blood their blades. Oh, what it felt like to execute one of the pathetic manlings. The humans had no appreciation for the greater things in war. They didn't feel what it was to decide another's fate, to end their worthless lives. The Nagarothii knew. There would be plenty of glorious slaughter once the men made contact.
Ha. Men were weak. They actually cared about their casualties. They were afraid of losing. Pah. Only the weak die. That is, that when we witness our warriors die, we care not, for we know they were weak in life. Only the strongest survive. The humans don't have such a noble ethos. We'll show them...

Kraston watched the human knights make their charge against the massed Elf line. Their massed hooves thundered against the hardened ground as the spearmen at the front braced themselves for the impact. Kraston cared not for the spearmen. If anything, it would be best if they died quickly, so the executioners lurking behind them could taste the humans' blood.
A sudden wailing and a fog induced by the sorceresses put the knights off balance for a second, allowing the spears to brace.
The Knights hit the front line with an almighty smash. Most of them stopped after the front few ranks, drawing their swords and hacking at the lines of elves. However Kraston could make out one individual still moving at full pelt through the ranks of elves. Lance still locked under his arm, with a deceased elf still attached, this one looked like he had lost control of his steed. Wait.., thought Kraston, as the man approached, that one looked too noble to just be a knight. A man 'Captain', perhaps? Or even better, a Lord? By the looks of him, what with the ornately crafted armour and, yes, the human 'Runefang' he appeared to be drawing in desperation, the latter of the two this one seemed to be. What a worthy foe, if only he could get his blade near him.
No time to waste... pondered Kraston, as he drew his great longsword. The other 19 executioners in the regiment followed suit, each of them clearly hungering for this nobleman's blood. Kraston began marching towards his quarry, eager to take the man's skull for his own.
He seemed to be turning around - back to his own line in an attempt to escape, no doubt. Wildly slashing at anything within reach, the noble was carving a path back to his line. Nevertheless he was beginning to slow, his horse being bogged down by weight of numbers, both living and dead.
One of the Reapers suddenly let loose, as Kraston watched, a single bolt hitting the noble's horse , making it buck sharply before it crashed to the ground, and sending the rider hurtling through the air to land on hard ground some feet away. Now came the chance. Kraston broke into a run, avid to fight this prized enemy. The others followed suit, also eager to take the Lord's head for his own.
Kraston finally spotted the agitated Nobleman, sword drawn with a look of shock hitting his features as he took in the sight of the executioners filling his view. A paltry cry to his God left the man's lips as Kraston swung his blade in a great arc, meeting the 'Runefang' with a loud crack. The other executioners moved to surround the nobleman, each hunger-filled to claim his life himself. Despite his skill at arms, however, Kraston found himself unable to make a good blow against his quarry. The obviously desperate will to survive appeared to have revealed a primal rage inhibited within the human. The executioners had never seen anything like this in a man before. Usually, they were weak creatures, but this one seemed to be an exception to this. A worthy foe indeed..., pondered Kraston, If i could just land a blow on him, the glory would be mine.... Almost as an act of defiance, the human suddenly found a weakness in one of the elves, and exploited it without hesitation - a split second, and an executioner fell to the ground, a deep gash across his chest where the Runefang had found its target.
The combat continued as such, the Elves occasionally taking advantage of small weaknesses, but the human countering them all. In return, the Man laid low elf after elf, the arrogance and overconfidence of the elves' fighting styles becoming their weakness.
As Kraston observed the Lord fell his ninth executioner, his eyes suddenly glanced past the Lord for a split second. Kraston did a double-take. About 15 feet behind the elf the other side of the human was an Empire soldier, on the ground, just having tripped over one of the deceased executioners. He hesitated. Well, this one isn't going down soon... thought Kraston, as he stopped fighting the Lord, and stepped around the swirling combat towards the man on the ground. At 13 feet away, the human became aware of the monstrous elf approaching him. He began pathetically scrabbling around for his weapon, located a few feet from his feet. Kraston brought his sword above his head, heart racing as he prepared to make his kill. Closing his eyes, Kraston brought the weapon down, expecting to feel the soft bones and flesh of the man collapse under the weapon's might. Instead, Kraston reopened his eyes just as he noticed it was not flesh he had hit, but metal. It took a few moments for Kraston's mind to put together what had happened. In his hand, the manling held the sword of Dark Elf, not a human. The body. The human had stolen it from the deceased elf he had tripped over. Scum. He'd learn soon enough. As he brought the sword around for a second sweep, the human did something extraordinarily brave. with an almighty burst of adrenaline, the human kicked upwards right into Kraston's unprotected groin. Such a kick from a normal human would be painful enough, but with what looked like hardened steel-capped boots, it was excruciating. Bending over double from the agony from the blow, Kraston stepped back reeling, clutching his groin in pain. Eyes streaming, he looked up to see the human having picked himself up, striding towards him with the elf's sword in hand. Stopping just next to the agonised elf, Kraston could almost sense the longsword being hefted above the man's head. A final thought penetrated Kraston's mind as the human brought the sword down on his waist.
So, I am weak. Only the strong survive...
Then black.

Hope you enjoyed this. Weimar will be making a comeback in another short story, so look forward to that.
Cheers