The thunderous crack of splintering stones echoed across the valley as the trebuchet's boulder slammed into the gatehouse, shattering its upper ramparts and sending a rain of stone and wood down onto the defenders below, as the archers on the curtain wall continued their suppression of the advancing enemy. With the drawbridge groaning down over the moat like a beast exhaling its final breath, the attackers surged forward a tide of steel, fury and blood.
Heavily armored knights led the charge, their visors down and war cries muffled beneath iron helms. Behind them came the men-at-arms, less protected but no less determined, wielding spears, axes, and swords with desperate resolve. The narrow throat of the gatehouse became a killing funnel, where bodies collided and blades sang their brutal chorus. Steel clashed against steel in a cacophony of violence. Axes bit into shields, swords rang off helmets and plates, the air was thick with the iron stench of blood and sweat. Screams of agony echoed off the narrow walls of the gatehouse as limbs were hacked, throats opened, and men were trampled beneath the press of bodies. The defenders fought like cornered wolves, thrusting pikes through gaps in the stone and pouring boiling oil from the murder holes above, but the breach had begun, and the tide was relentless. Mud churned beneath iron boots, slick with gore. A knight fell, his helm caved in by a mace, only for another to leap over his corpse and drive a blade into the gut of a spearman. The gatehouse walls reverberated with the clash of war, a grim symphony of desperation and death. The castle's heart was under siege, and it would not beat quietly.
Bodies piled in the narrow passage, a grotesque barricade of bloodied steel and shattered bone. The attackers pressed forward, shoulder to shoulder, their shields slick with gore and their blades dulled from relentless use. Every step was contested, every inch paid for in blood. A knight roared as he drove his longsword through a pikeman's chest, only to be dragged down by two more defenders who hacked at his joints with hatchets. His screams were drowned by the clash of weapons and the thunder of boots on stone.
"Hold them back!" A defending knight screamed as he held a man in a head lock while blocking an oncoming axe with his sword, his voice vibrated through his helms visor and off the walls of the once pristine gatehouse the tunnel leading into the castle's courtyard had now become a charnel house as more dead both attackers and defenders piled up.
Above, arrows rained from the battlements, some finding gaps in armor, others ricocheting harmlessly. As the attacking army rushed the walls bringing siege ladders and climbing hooks while the men above used pole arms and dropped rocks to keep them at bay.
Back in the siege lines, dug out trenches and make shift encampments, far away from the blood-soaked battlefield on the upturned soil of the farthest hill sat the attackers war camp, rows upon rows of tents and cook fires, a small city filled with thousands of men waiting their turn at the blood bath happening below, some lounged around fires trying to keep warm from the fridged air, off to the far side furthest from the far side was camps infirmary dozens of men lie dying and sick, one man was being held down on a table as the surgeon hacked away the stump that was one his right leg amputating as best he could while the man screamed and begged for death to take him.
This was war the true ugly face of war, not some glory song that nobles would pay the bards to play in the taverns not the stories people tell of victories one, no none of these men dying on the field had a single drop of nobles blood in them, but they were here, here because they swore an oath to serve, here because duty called them forth, or simply here because war could make them rich. That was all said for one.
In some far-off section of the war camp nestled in a small corner and well fitted wit cloth walls surrounding it similar to battlement walls surrounding the keep, the cloth walls surrounded a solid black tent with no banners nor emblem at least no on the outside that is, inside the smaller enclosed space around the tent at least a thirty or so soldiers all wearing black homespun clothing were seated around the cook fire as a servant girl handed out each persons ration of meat and bread, it was common for war camps like this to have large gatherings of camp followers though the soldiers here did not associate with many outside this small pavilion of black cloth walls and tents.
The largest tent's flaps were closed keeping the cold out from whatever or whoever was inside. Inside the largest a large black oak table dominated the center of the tent, the floor not only cloth but lined with the furs of many different animals, against the center post, two finely crafted scabbarded blades leaned against the wood one bladed was maybe four foot in length from hilt to blade tip, the handle was wrapped in fine black leather and the pommel was a masterly crafted ivory piece carved into a wolves head, the second blade was much larger almost six foot in length with a wider blade, the hilt was wrapped in the same black leather and the pommel was a well rounded eight sided shape with letters engraved on each side the blacksmiths mark no doubt, next to the swords on a chair was a scattered assortment of chain and plate mail armor pieces the helmet smooth and flat shaped similar to a fox or wolf head with pointed ears, and a elongated snout like visor small triangle slits to form the eye holes and three small cuts along the bottom of the visor on each side so the wearer could breath. Haning from a nail or hook in the post was a kite shield with a rampant sable black wolf fangs bared and crowned on a field of gules red, with the words in gold around the bottom that read "Lupus Non Moritur" or the "The Wolf Does Not Die."
On the other side of the post was a quiver of arrows and a clean well maintained, elm longbow finely made and fit for a noble man. In the far corner of the tent a large bed was placed covered much like the tents floor in a pile of animal fur. The flap of the tent opened the cold sunlight of the fridged land filtering in as a grizzled man walked in.
He was about six feet, maybe even taller, slightly plump clearly well fed despite the harsh conditions of the war camp outside but was most striking thing about him was not the slight plumpness or the scares on his face and hands no it was that his skin was a deep azure blue and his hair was bright orange. He was a Gal, a race of nomadic warriors that believed in the fortune telling of the stars and celestial bodies.
"Lord Edric the battle has begun its time to wake up." The blue skin man pulled on the furs covering the bed disturbing who ever was in it. "Enough lazing about Lord Hawthrone has requested all the commanders be present."
"Leave me be Dravik, let those idiots kill each other for all I care." The voice was young and came from the bed's inhabitant, a young man of sixteen with pale skin and cream colored hair, but much like Drravik the blue skinned Gal the most obvious thing about this young boy was not his pale skin or unusual hair color, no it was the long bushy cream colored tail and the large fox like ears, the claws at his finger and toe tips and the small but visible fangs when he yawned, and his dark blue eyes. For the most part he was human, but he was only half human on his father's side, his mother was a Fence or a humanoid fox if you will a rare sight in these cold river lands.
"Lord Edric, I would remind you that you are here representing your father and house Blackmere in this campaign to help recapture the castle and lands of house Trigan." Dravik moved to the side of the bed grabbing Edric's black tunic off the floor of the tent. "Now get up before I have one of the chamber girls bring me a bucket of ice water to drowned you in."
Edric slowly rose letting out another big yawn all four of his fangs on display as he stretched and reluctantly grabbed the tunic from Dravik and began to get out of bed and dress. As he did, Dravik moved to the center of the tent grabbing the wolf hilted longsword from the pile of gear, bringing it over to Edric and securing his lordships belt and sword for him while Edric finished straightening the sleeves of the tunic he just put on.
"I swear your father would have me thrown out of the Black Wolves if he saw how much I allowed you to get away with." Dravik tightened Edric's belt, double checked his young lord's tunic and sword, licking his thumb and then wiping a strand of the boy's cream-colored hair out of his face before moving behind him to tie it into a short ponytail.
"Honestly Dravik I can't tell if you or the nurse maid that looked out for me is more overbearing when it comes to how I present myself." Edric squinted one eye as Dravik pulled his hair back into the ponytail.
"Dorthy is a good woman and a good caretaker but unlike her, my job is to keep your head on your shoulders, this isn't the courtyard or sparing yard of your father's estate, this is a battlefield a single stray arrow is all it will take for you to meet the celestials before I do." Dravik finished his inspection slash dressing of his young lord picking up his own helm from the table he had sat it down on when he walked in.
"Oh, have the stars told you that today will be my end oh great Gallan sooth sayer." Edric's tone was mocking at his would-be nanny's beliefs it was well known that the Gal believed in the prophecy of the stars and oracles they would often change the entire direction of one of their nomadic caravans if one of their sooths sayers said they read it in the stars to do so.
"Boy don't make me punch you in the back of the head again, I have told you and your father a hundred times both I only read my stars and my stars say I won't die today, as for yours well lets just say you have the luck of the fool more then anything on your side." Dravik moved towards the tent entrance opening the flap and letting Edric out first as was proper of a servant to their lord.
"Yes, but it's the fool who has the most fun, you taught me that." Edric stepped through the tent entrance to the cold outside of the siege camp.
"And I regret being your instructor for so many years at this point more and more each day." Dravik followed, allowing the tent flap to fall behind him as he joined his young lord outside in their makeshift pavilion. As the two stepped into the cold sunlight the rest of the soldiers, all wearing similar blackened armor like Dravik's jumped up and stood at attention a mix of races, mostly human.
There was a total of thirty soldiers that made up this retinue not counting Dravik and Edric, there was ten knights that formed the heavy infantry and calvary of the unit, eight men at arms equipped with spears and short swords, seven archers, two squires and a page and two specialists a scout and healer.
Of this merry band the most notable of the group where Garm and Dorf the two Wer or half giants among the knights, Garm and Dorf were brothers both standing about nine feet tall with Thor like bodies big beer bellies and long golden blond hair and beards, their accents where thick and it was at times hard to understand them, but you defiantly wanted their war hammers which to them were just regular hammers given their size on your side when the fighting started.
Next was Fay, much like Edric's mother Fay was a pure-blooded Fence her body was covered head to toe in cream colored fur, her tail wagging behind her as she strung her bow, Fay acted as the group's scout and was extremely energetic even by Fence standards. Beside her was the groups healer a half elf by the name of Ballad Eversong, a fellow noble man whose family had been longstanding friends of house Blackmere for at least ten generations so he and Edric had basically grown up together and even shared the same wet nurse.
Garm punched his brother Dorf in the shoulder as Edric and Dravik walked by each standing up to follow them, Fay was the next to join the group almost skipping as she took her place beside Edric, as Ballad grabbed a satchel bag following just behind everyone else.
"I take it them daft bastards want us Black Wolves tae clean up the bloody mess?" Dorf asked, his thick northern accent very apparent as he spoke while elbowing his brother Garm in the gut for the punch to his shoulder.
"Aye, who else they gonna send? Ain't no one else big enough tae smash through that meat grinder but us." Garm replied to his brother Dorf as he shoved him, making Dorf stumble slightly.
"You two big idiots cut it out; you are walking with your lord to a meeting with other nobles so act like proper knights and not the stone brains that you are." Dravik snapped back at the two Wer brothers as they continued to horse play.
"What in the blazes crawled up yer arse today Davik? Besides, our lord doesnae seem tae mind." Garm responded, not really caring what Dravik had to say in the matter when it came time to be serious, he and his brother could be relied on, and everyone knew it.
"You two should stop picking fights with the old man we all know he can kick both your asses with one hand behind his back." Edric glanced back over his shoulder and everyone except Dravik laughed at the joke.
As the group walked through the war camp servants and soldiers moved out of the way, clearly trying to avoid a nobleman's retinue it was rare even among those outside of the Black Wolves to see a noble walk through the mud like a normal everyday person and not caring that his boots were dirty.
In the center of the camp a large tent had been erected the fabric a bight white with red and gold trim, the emblem of its noble house's owner embroidered on the sides, a kite shield with a golden eagle on a split field of red and white, the tent of this armies commanding officer and Lord Marshall Thalric Aurevails, former Grand Marshal of the Royal army under the late King Alric, now commanding the united lords still loyal to the royal line of Virela.
"Announcing the arrival of Sir Edric Blackmere, son of Lord Thane Blackmere, Lords of the Vale." The herald standing by the tent entrance spoke loud and clear for all the noble lords around the table to hear.
"Ah so the young fox decides to join us after all, was wondering what you were doing besides sleeping, young lord Blackmere." The voice that spoke was rasp and harsh weathered by age and hardship. It was Lord Thalric an older man in his early fifties, his hair gray and thinning his thick beard still had some traces of its original red coloring but even that to had lost is luster.
"Apologizes Lord Aurevails, I was not aware that this campaigns success hinged on if I woke before noon." Edric sat down at the table handing his sword to Dravik who stood beside him.
"You little..." Lord Thalric's son went to respond to Edric's clear insult at his father only to be hushed by his father raising his hand.
"While it is true that the castle gates have fallen, this siege has now lasted two days longer than we had hoped, with winter setting in I had hoped to return to Highmere Keep before the first snow, but it seems that will not be an option." Lord Aurevails spoke in a cool levelheaded way he had dealt with too many court nobles in his life to let the words of a child get him riled.
"I will admit I am surprised that your father allowed you to take part in this campaign let alone that he gave you command of so many of your families Black Wolves." Lord Aurevails gestured to the group behind Edric.
It was true that the Black Wolves of House Blackmere were renowned for their combat prowess and often cited as some of the realms best knights what's more was that they belonged to a Baron on the frontier no less.
No one really knew what connection that House Blackmere had to the royal family, but they were allowed to govern their territory as they saw fit where a normal Baron often was in service to a higher-ranking lord such as a Count or Earl at the least, No the Blackmere's owned their own lands a few hundred acers had full rights of governance over it and were even allowed to have a standing military outside of a household guard. This was in part due to the fact the Blackmere's were Border Lords or Marcher lords their territory was along one of the most contested borders in all of Virela and were often in conflict by raiding parties from the barbaric northern tribes. But almost know one outside of the Lords of Blackmere or the Lords of the Vale as they were often called also had been loyal to the royal family for over ten generations