A single horn heard, its eerie, deep song beckoning in
the silence. Three thousand men, silenced, standing tall
and weighing up their enemies, worthy combatants,
each vastly equipped and skilled in fighting. This was it,
the final push marking the end of a three year stalemate.
Each valorous knight stood amongst the army of the 7th
regiment clad from head to foot in heavily plate and
mail, regal looking red armour, all of which engraved to
fit a large, tribal sun enamelled in orange, the sight
before onlookers could baffle, the vast sea of deadly still
standing knights, elves and men and dwarves alike, a
curtain of blood red draped across the steep hill on
which they stood with the large, vast kingdom of
Etherille back dropping them.
Etherille was the kingdom they fought for, throughout
many ages it was the commanding kingdom of Ebon,
the multi-dimentular world for which many battles had
been fought. Although the kingdom may have been
scarce of resources for many years, the large, walled
city and surrounding villages had began to thrive, once
again restoring power and making changes. This
angered opposing kingdoms, who in turn, proposed war
This caused no problems; the army was strong, its
enemies unmatching in ability although almost
doubling in numbers.
A long silence gave way from the repetitive horn, the opposing army, consisting mainly of brutal orcs, heavily
muscular and wielding make-shift weapons began to
throw intimidating abuse across the barren field,
stomping their mail armour against rocks in an attempt
to unnerve the 7th who in turn, stared forward silently,
A single woman rode along the front line of the 7th’s
army, beautiful and elvish, her thick silvery white hair
tied into a tight leather thong at the nape of her neck.
She seemed neither young nor old, her physique slim
and her curves generous.
Her skin was pale, like it often was among elvish folk,
her lips full and darked with the remnants of a blood red
tribal tattoo. One beautiful, youthful eye could be seen
glowing brightly and readily, paired with a deep red eye
patch, a long scar detruding from under it, trailing down
her soft cheek.
The woman sat, fearlessly apon a heavily armoured
horse, the mail armour of which was draped with a red
and orange tabard embroidered with the orange sun
seen on many of the knights armour. The emblem of
As she turned to face the 7th, her men, her army, her
slender body clad in moveable plate armour became
apparent. She was heavily equipped, a large, impressive
looking rifle, the stock made from dark wood and the
barrel, triggered and butt from a strong, dark metal, all
of which was engraved with an intricate pattern,
enamelled with orange was strapped to the side of the
horse, easily accessible by her if needed. This was
paired with an equally designed axe strapped to her
back, a slight orange glow escaping from its impressive
metal face. It seemed almost to heavy for her to handle,
although she did do with ease.
As she faced to turn to the men, the first row of archers
bowed their heads in respect. They had been lead by
her before, her elite, her marksmen. She returned the
respectful gesture despite the situation, her delicate
features giving a slight reassuring smile to those behind
“Their numbers are far greater than ours, almost
doubling…” she said in a fairly average tone, speaking
to those around her before urging the horse back,
raising her voice to a shout, speaking to the entire
crowd. Her voice was strong and determined, that of a
“Do not be disheartened by their force, we have the
upper hand, you are skilled fighters, all of you, men,
women, marksmen, valiant warriors, battle mages and
medics alike. They will fall against us; crumble beneath
the blow of our swords”
She turned slightly, beginning to urge the horse into a
steady trot along the line of men, continuing to shout
across to the vast expanse of knights.
“They will fall! The sun shall rise upon our victory, our
people, villages, families and friends will bask in the
product of our victory, security and a safe mind. We
shall not give in to those brainless brutes, they lack
composition, we do not, they lack skill, we do not, and
they lack a strong heart, a strong mind and a strong will,
something we certainly, do not lack.”
The elvish woman rode back across the line, taking a
place in the middle of it, looking forward, emotionless
at her enemy.
“Heed my words, the words of your commander, men
of Etherille, stand proud, stand tall, do not show fatigue,
they will fall to –you-, they will fall on your behalf, your
The woman peered to her side, archers lining the front
lin, their bows raised intimidating at the enemy, their
expressions fearless and noble, awaiting command. The enemy stomped in time, the echo of their battle
cries bellowing across the land, make-shift spears,
swords and maces raised above their heads. After a
while of rampant noise-making paired with the silent,
fearless stares of the 7th, the orcish army stopped, the
eerie clack of armour shuffling in the light wind, before
the elvish commander narrowed her eyes, staring at the
large, brutish male Orc leading the orcish army.
“We meet again, Tal’Dan Wood.” she states, letting out
an absent sigh, shaking her head a little.
“I never thought it would come to this, but you cannot
do this, Etherille is not your to take… and we won’t let
“You are foolish” He replied drudgenously, his voice low
and husky. “You are not a noble woman, your place in
Etherille is false… It is a free country for any who are
willing to take, that is why I am here”
“A noble woman could not lead an army of men, a noble
woman could not protect the kingdom, and a noble
woman could, and would not kill you, fool”
“So be it, Dacilia” Tal’Dan replied in a growling voice,
turning his back and cried “We fight! Take Etherille,
show no mercy”
Dacilia grunted peering to both her sides, the fearless
faces of the strong marksmen to either side of her.
Flicking her wrist firmly, a sharp knife protruded from a
sharp box strapped with leather to the inner side flicked
out from under her hand as she leaned down to sharply
hit the plate armour on the side of her horse with it,
causing a bellowing bang. In return, a horn large horn
was blown from the depths of the Etherille city, thrice.
“Hold” cried Dacilia, watching the ever advancing
orcish army, their un-strategically placed warriors
holding their spears at a point.
“Hold…” Another few seconds, several marksmen
fidgeting a little as the opposing army continued
The heavily equipped elvish man by her side peered up
from his aimed bow, tilting an eyebrow at Dacilia’s
emotionless expression as the army advanced ever
“Dacey…?” he questioned, the front line of the army
now only meters away, Dacilia’s eyes narrowed.
“DACILIA SURION. FOCUS…” the male leaned up to
firmly slap Dacilia across the leg.
She glanced down momentarily, tilting her head before
looking up at the intruding army, their spears pointed
forward, determination in their eyes.
“… Shoot them down… SHOOT THEM DOWN”
Her voice raised, leaning down to quickly grab the large
rifle by her side, hauling it up into her arms and aiming
above the front line, to the orcish warriors in the
background of the army, shooting a few of them down
as arrows flew past her ears. As the second push of orcs cascaded across the hill and
the archers of the 7th parted revealing fully clad warriors
carrying large, double bladed swords.
The archers at the front took a few steps backwards,
keeping in formation all the while, the organization of
the army like that of a well planned dance, each man
moving in synchronisation with each other.
Men charged forwards, their valiant cries piercing into
the hearts of the opposition as Dacilia’s horse reared up,
her eyes focused on the battle at hand, although not at
those around her. It was the one downfall, comments
that were made… “A woman cannot command an army
of three thousand men… Her emotions get in the way”.
This was not the case, Dacilia was a strong woman,
almost unnaturally so, her heart changing from one of
compassion, to one purely driven by the will to survive,
the will to protect within seconds.
She had the will of a hundred men, her commanding
skills unmatched, her combat skills, with both ranged
and melee equally so.
This was the reason she was where she was, at the top,
stewardess of Etherille.
Her countless battles, both singular and with the help of
an army, the villages and cities she’d protected, the
allies she’d made and the enemies she’d slain, her
continuing effort to regain Etherille’s former glory, her
success in doing so and her logical, normally rational
mind set, winning both the support of her followers and
the deep hatred of her enemies.
As the siege of knights ran heartily past the archers,
who in turn continued to fire sharply headed arrows into
the crowd, Dacilia clipped her rifle back onto the side of
the horse, hauling her large axe over her shoulder with
incredible strength, her horse rearing high onto its hind
As she lifted the axe, the knights around her stopped in
their tracks, turning to look at her, a ray of sunshine
striking down onto the polished flat side of the axe,
causing a blinding glint.
As the horse reared back down onto four legs, Dacilia
allowed her axe to fall forward in a charging gesture,
letting out a determined yell.
The knights bellowed a cry in return, charging forward
into the incoming army, hacking them mercilessly to
And thus the battle began, a long fight lasting well into
the next sunrise.
Men fell, Orcs and 7th alike, their bodies scattered across
the barren hill in a bloody massacred carpet.
The battle was equally matched, the large numbers of
the orcs army pushing back against the skilled knights
of the 7th, cries of agony mixed with the valiant screams
of victorious combatants echoing across the valley
behind and way back into Etherille city, where women
and children cowered in their homes, in the streets,
sobbing for the men who had gone to fight, the sound
of which horrific.
Hours passed, each side becoming fatigued, sloppy and
unorganised although soldiered on, the will from both
the orcs and the 7th apparent.
Dacilia dismounted, hauling her axe down with her,
clipping her rifle onto her back as her horse rode off into
the distance, clearly trained to return to the safety of
the inner city walls. She wandered across the wasteland, her hand dragging the flat side of the large axe across the floor in an unenthusiastic attempt to get her bearings.
It fell almost quiet, just the occasional clattering of armour and weapons colliding with each other, the
slight moan from injured men, the cry as sharp weapons
pierced through armour and clean into the flesh of the
She stumbled across, avoiding the bodies littering the
floor, walking straight past pairs of battling orcs and
orange-clad soldiers, determining walking into the
centre of the battlefield, her axe continuing to drag
across the muddy floor.
She stood calmly, her eyes narrowed before raising her
voice, bellowing across the uncultivable loam.
“Tal’Dan, show yourself you coward, face me like a man!”An angered growl protruded through the beckoning,
deadly silence… “As you wish” Tal’Dans gravely voice
replied from somewhere amongst a pile of dead 7th
knights. The large brutish male hauled himself up and
strode over to the centre where Dacilia stood. He faced
her, towering above her slender frame, four times her
size with muscles rippling under his rough, greenish skin.
As they stood in silence for a matter of minutes, staring
each other down, both gripping their weapons
“You can give up now, leave while you’re ahead” Dacilia
“No, I never give in, and am I not about to start. Etherille
will be mine” Tal’Dan replied with a scowling look,
pulling off his helmet and throwing it into the space
between them; a challenging gesture aimed at solely
Dacilia let out a cold, emotionless scowl, removing her
own helmet, revealing her long cascade of silvery hair,
falling messily down to her upper thighs and chucked it
in the centre, causing a bellowing crash as it hit against
“Normal rules of Comba...-“ Dacilia began to exclaim,
before Tal’Dan ran forward, charging her and forcing
her to the ground, catching her unawares.
She squirmed, attempting to wriggle out from under
the bulky mass of Tal’Dan before falling still, a short
knife pressed against her throat.
Dacilia stared upwards, meeting the angered, psychotc
gaze of Tal’Dan, the knife very slightly cutting into her
skin, before the large orcish male faulted, dropping the
knife to his side and staggered up, a look of
bewilderment upon his face.
He peered for a minute absently forward, before falling
onto his knees with a withering cry of pain.
He absently fell forwards on his front, a feathered arrow
extend beyond his mid-back.
Dacilia let out a deep sigh of relief, staring upwards in
an attempt to presume what had happened.
Dacilia squinted, suddenly sitting up, her head a
jumbled mess of reminiscences from the past few hours.
A few moments of confused grunting passed before
Dacilia noticed a tall, Elvin male standing silently behind
the withering corpse of Tal’Dan wood, his bow held in
one hand by his side. Dacilia tilted her head, peering at
the man who in response bowed his head respectfully, a
slight grin curving the corners of his lips as his glance
moved across her slender body, her pale skin slightly
patched with blood and dirt and her wild hair cascading
past her shoulders.
She peered at the man silently before giving him a
warning growl, noticing his grimace, although he
merely walked forward fearlessly, the cheeky grin
turning into an almost loving smile. He offered her a
hand, the muscles of his arm rippling under his skin as
he leant down to pull her onto her feet.
Dacilia grunted, allowing the man to pull her up.
“Justyn” Dacilia registered, giving him a reprimanding
glare before glancing away from the masculine face
looking arrogantly amused at her and glimpsed around
“Dacey, you should not have challenged Tal’Dan alone;
you could have been seriously hurt”
“Oh do shut up, and it’s General Dacilia Surion too
you. ” Dacilia replied, glancing back angrily to Justyn,
who responded with a simple confident smirk.
“You need to remember who you’re talking too, Justyn.
That attitude of yours will get you into serious trouble
“Of course it will, Dace” Justyn grinned, swiftly
wrapping an arm around Dacilia’s waist, pulling her slender body close to his.
Dacilia growled angrily, slapping Justyn across the
“Justyn! Do I need to remind you that I am engaged,
your general and we are standing in the middle of a
Dacilia pulled back a little, attempting to wriggle out of
the arms of the muscular man, although the effort was
indeed rather feeble. Justyn was stunningly handsome,
his hair long, wavy and dark, framing his chiselled,
beautifully masculine face. He held himself with a sense
of old-world arrogance, his accent sensual and his strong voice incredibly sexy.
“You are impossible” Dacilia gave a sharp shrug,
releasing herself reluctantly from Justyn’s arms and
began walking across the ground littered with bodies,
several 7th men standing against swords, sat against
rocks tending to wounds or amongst other men, talking,
peering around to find friends and companions. In the
distance, a small pack of orcs ran away from the scene,
the remaining alive, obviously hearing the news of
Tal’Dans defeat they fled, leaving victory to the 7th.
Dacilia walked to a nearby warrior leant against a
Large rock while tending to a wounded magi. “Get back
to the city, carry the wounded and leave the dead”
She turned on her heel as the warrior nodded, setting Of to find the remaining living 7th.
Justyn strode along a few paces behind Dacilia, his calm
Gaze watching her feminine hips as she angrily walked
Onwards, turning only to stare frustrated at him.
“Stop it” she grunted.
“Stop what?” questioned Justyn, one eyebrow tilted.
“That! That insufferable look! That same insufferable
look you do whenever you’re on your high horse.”
Justyn smirked, his beautiful facial features distorting
To give Dacilia a mock-serious look, before bowing low,
One hand behind his back, the other in front of him.
“My utmost apologise, Lady Surion” he grinned, pulling
himself up to his full height.
He took her breath away, this simple teasing moment almost liquefied her inside, and he knew it. She would not give into his charm, his seductive voice and unmatched masculine beauty.
The way he gracefully strode across to her, the confidence he held when in her company, confidence others dared not show. He did not fear her, nor did he respect her authority, and it tore her apart.
After a hectic two days of paperwork, organising for the corpses of the fallen 7th to be burnt and tending to her own emotional war, Dacilia sat
- Title: Ebon (Beginning)
- Artist: Ms Disdain
A work in progress.
Again, havn't properly proof read it, if you find anything which doesn't read well, or if I've made grammatical mistakes or anything really, please let me know! >.<!
Just something I decided to write for the fun of it.
- Date: 02/22/2009
- Tags: ebon beginning