Topic: Tale of Guenstyr

Nethis · Date: 2009-03-15 21:43 EST

Nethis was an average boy, there was never anything exemplary or amazing about him. He was brought up in a well mannered, middle class household. Both of his parents, his mother Cassandra, and his father William, were fine citizens and nurturing to their son. They taught him manners, respect, his mother taught him kindness and passion, and his father taught him honor and bravery. Nothing strange about his upbringing in the least, just another child in the city of Rhy"Din.

He could still remember parts of those lessons; remember spending time with his parents.

"Nethis remember, if someone makes you mad, you can't just hit them, you have to show self restraint," his mother told him after he had been sent home for fighting in school. "They'll say mean things, people always do, but you have to show that you're not a boy, but a man, and let them pass, just ignore them." She was soothing him with both her words, and touches as she worked to clean the scrapes and cuts from his little scrap.

"Yes mother," he said shamefully, with his head bowed in defeat.

"And don't look so shamefaced," she said kindly, offering him a soft smile. Nethis would never forget her smiles, so soft, kind, and warm. They lifted his spirits every time he saw them, pure and joyous, full of love and content. His mother was a kind soul, one undeserving of her fate.

"But if they hit you," his father chipped in. "You knock them right back, if any of your instructors tell you otherwise, tell them I said you could, fight back and be a man, but your mother's right, don't go hitting the other kids for their words.?

He looked over at his father, a tall and strong man; Nethis looked an awful lot like him. Strong armed, well built, with golden blond hair, and a stern, but kind face. Nethis was the spitting image of that man, except for those sapphire blue eyes of his; he got those from his mother.

He idolized his father, a strong military man, one who fought in wars, one who worked around the city, helped people, served in the city guard, volunteer fireman. He was everything little boys wanted to be, a hero, proud, strong, respected, and happy. Nethis nodded to his father's words, and positively beamed at the man, grinning from ear to ear as he always did when his father entered the room.

Nethis · Date: 2009-03-15 21:46 EST

Nethis was twelve, it was dark, night time still, perhaps early morning, he didn't know. He had woken up to the sound of voices, struggling to stay quiet, but shaky and excited.

"Where's Nethis?" it was his father, he recognized that much.

"He's still sleeping, William, what?s going on?" his mother as well, she sounded frightened.

"Sleeping" Good. Apollyon. He's awakened, the king needs help, and he's summoned me. He's also demanded that I bring Nethis as well, says the boy needs to start learning about what he really is."

"Apollyon?" his mother sounded terrified as she spoke the name. "He can't be awake. Didn't you and the Priests of Seven banish him?"

"We did," William said grimly. "But banishment has loopholes, he's found them."

"What are you going to do' You can't take Nethis, he's only a boy, and he can't go off and fight in a war against Apollyon." Nethis frowned at that, in the boy's eyes, he was a man, capable of taking on any challenge his father would.

"I know"but I have no choice, the king, we owe him, Nethis owes him, Nethis won't be fighting, not yet. He has to learn first."

"William?" his mother was sobbing now, that had Nethis" frown deepen. "What of you? Will you be the one teaching him?"

"No, I'll have to fight, I'll be at war," the boy's eyes widened with the revelation, his father was going off to war"

His father walked into his room then, and blinked at seeing him awake. "Come Nethis, get your things together; we're going on a trip.? Silently, Nethis nodded, and did as he was told. His mother cried in the background.

Nethis · Date: 2009-03-15 21:47 EST

Nethis was sixteen; he stood in a platoon of twenty, four rows of five. His squad was the first squad, to his right, was the squad leader Vilntra, to his left, his friend Morik. Vilntra glanced over at Nethis, and then patted the young soldier on the back. "You worried Nethis?" Vilntra was a good man, older than Nethis, in his mid thirties, kind, strong, a good soldier, good leader. Nethis shook his head. "No sir," he said firmly. Vilntra chuckled. "It'll be alright Nethis, just remember, work together, live together, work alone, die alone." It was a saying of sorts amongst their platoon, a rule that kept them alive. "Yes sir." He nodded firmly once more. Vilntra again patted him on the back, and then turned forward.

Before them was a vast battlefield, with a war waging on, two sides fought, one side wore the dark and ridged plate mail that had their numbers looking like large demonic creatures, and the other wore various forms of armor. Some wore steal plates, some chainmail, others little more than leather, it depended on one's skills; there were mages in robes, arches in tunics, and so on.

His commander shouted for them to start forward, to march to battle, and as one, the platoon marched forward. They reached the chaotic battlefield, weapons drawn, held at the ready, and waited as a wave of the enemy stormed toward them. Nethis gripped the hilt of his sword tightly in his right hand, and angled his shield defensively with his left arm. He took calm and steadying breaths, stared directly ahead, and waited.

What few seconds it took for the enemy force to strike them felt like hours upon hours on end. But when they struck, the struck hard, it was like a wall of metal rammed into their ranks, with sharp spiked jutting out at them. Only, this metal was moving, the spikes were slashing and stabbing swords, swift and powerful. He braced himself against the impact, and then slammed out with his shield, bashing an enemy soldier in the face. Were it not for the helm the demonic armor clad man wore, the blow surely would've have knocked him out of consciousness. Instead, he sneered at young Nethis, and lunged carelessly forward, mistaking the boy's age for lack of experience. Nethis put his shield in line, and slammed out again; knocking the man's hand aside, while driving his sword forward for his first, and cleanest, kill. The sharp metal bit right through the armor, through the skin, muscle, tissue, and bones, pierced lung, heart, and cut through his spine. Then it was wrenched free and the man was dead.

And so the battle waged on.

Ten days later, Nethis, Morik, Vilntra, and a man from another platoon were marching along, hands bound behind their backs, their weapons taken, and most of their armor stolen. Captured, prisoners of war.

"Move faster," the soldier charged with guarding them ordered as he jabbed Nethis harshly in the shoulder blade with the tip of his spear. "Move faster, we'll leave ya for dead." Nethis at that moment would've preferred death to the march. He was tired, hungry, his throat burned for water, he was sore from battle, scared, isolated, captured, almost certainly walking to his death.

Four years ago, he was just at home, enjoying the life every young boy should have, then next thing he knew, he was off learning how to fight, then at war, now marching to his doom. Where did it go wrong" The battle, what he could remember of it, was going well for them, they were winning, but somehow"they lost, it made no sense.

Nevertheless, Nethis walked faster as commanded.

In seven days, he ate and drank little, but managed to survive. In seven days, he was saved.

One night, while the march was stopped, he and his companions were all tied together, sitting with their backs to a tree. They watched the group that had them captured sitting around a camp fire, helmets off, drinking and eating, joking, chatting, and laughing at their prisoners angry faces. One man pointed at Nethis in particular, for his glare was the most hateful, and shouted something obscene at him, but his insults were cut short by a gurgling sound as blood poured from his mouth and an arrow protruded from his neck. The end of that arrow had eagle feathers that meant one thing. Elves.

The elves had come to save them, most likely they were just lucky, but either way they were thankful. The faerie folk descended upon the camp silently, the soldiers were glancing to and fro, worried, wondering where the arrow came from, and standing ready with their weapons in hand. Nethis and his companions were cut free by the archer, handed small elven blades, and set loose.

Nethis charged forward with abandon, ignoring the cries of his companions and the warning of the elf. He dashed toward one particular soldier, the spear wielder, and lunged at him with a sudden ferocity that had the man stumbling backward. He awkwardly jabbed out with his weapon, sneering at Nethis, who sidestepped, and then drove in. Now too close for the weapon to be of any use, Nethis stabbed forward, aiming for the line under the man's helmet, and cut through his throat. It was a sickening sound, the gurgle that escaped the dying man's lips, the crunch of bone, the coughing up of blood.

They freed themselves that night, with the help of the elves, and were guided back to the main bulk of their army the next day.

The fighting continued.

Nethis · Date: 2009-03-18 03:38 EST

Nethis was twenty three, standing in front of a battalion of soldiers, commanding them all himself. He delegated some of the authority, breaking the battalion into groups, each with a commanding officer. The war was far from over, they were far from winning, but equally as far from losing. Nethis stood in front of this battalion, this group of dedicated and well trained soldiers, watched them all as they watched him in return, and nodded.

"Commander Guenstyr, we're awaiting your orders." His lieutenant whispered as he stood next to the commander. Nethis nodded silently to the man, patted his shoulder, and then turned to view the troops under his command.

"We march today," Nethis started, "we march to battle, and Apollyon's army is at our doorstep, knocking heavily on the door. The king has been hidden; he counts on us to drive back this threat. The demon's army is large, his troops are strong, they outnumber us, they are better equipped, and they are better prepared. The odds are stacked against us, as they always have been," the young commander went on, "but as always, we shall prevail, shall come out on the top, victorious over this daunting foe. They have numbers and weapons, we have strength and spirit, they fight because they're master forces them to, we fight because we love and protect. We march today, to the Plains of Archimilies, to do battle with the demon's army. The general fight with them, Durgamone, now's the chance to rid this world of that abomination. That is our charge, the death of the general, the death of Durgamone, a crippling blow to Apollyon, and a beacon of hope to our cause." His speech was finished, it wasn't a very powerful one in his opinion, nor was it meant to be. But the soldiers, his men, they seemed rallied by it, threw up their weapons and let out a ferocious battle cry, a call and demand for blood.

"Let us march." He finished as he turned to face the plains they were meant to storm, and started forward. The entire battalion followed right after him, their steps in perfect time with one another, the sound of metal against the ground echoing far ahead of them, easily alerting the enemy to the march. But the soldiers wanted not the element of surprise, let their enemy know they're coming, and let them fear it.

They met in furious battle. Like two great waves, they crashed into one another with the sound of metal against metal, sword against sword, men screaming and dyeing, it was a bloody event. Nethis was thick in the fray, charging forward, ducking, leaping, and dodging attacks left and right. His sword worked furiously to gain the advantage over his opponents, while his shield moved swiftly to block incoming attacks. Many believe the gods blessed Nethis that day, for his strikes landed true, his movements swift and precise; he suffered no damage from the main battle, but killed enemies by the score.

He slowly tore through that army, his own soldiers backing him up the entire time, good men they were. Finally, Nethis made it to the main camp of the enemy army, where the general Durgamone waited with his elite guard. No words were spoken, it was instant battle.

The first guard charged, the second soon followed, both wielding long and wickedly enchanted spears. One thrust for Nethis" hip, the other went for the opposite shoulder. Both missed as Nethis lifted his shield up, blocking the shoulder strike, and ramming forward to throw the weapon off balance, while stepping to the side and slicing his blade down to parry the other spear. His feet, nimble that day, took him forward, taking advantage of the off balanced foe, and had him rushing with his shoulder angled to hit the man in the chest, following up with a vertical slice up his middle, cutting through armor, bone, and organs alike. That one dropped, the second one stabbed at Nethis" spine. He met a wall; something just stopped his attack, Nethis made a mental note to thank his mage friend later. The man took full advantage of his foe's confusion, spun and sliced, cutting his throat out instantly.

Durgamone was swift in joining the battle, the towering demon general lunged forward, slashing his double headed axe left and right with abandon, thick tree trunk arms moving swiftly and effortlessly. Nethis fell back, lifting his shield to block, and nearly had his arm torn out of its socket when it was batted aside. Growling, he charged forward, slashing, stabbing, and feinting, all rapidly, with too much speed and seemingly randomness for the general to follow. He worked quickly in blocking Nethis" attacks, moving his weapon swiftly in odd angles to intercept the man's blade. Then Nethis was struck on the back by a spear, the spell again defended him, but he was still knocked off balance.

Durgamone used that overbalance to drive forward, taking the offensive once again; he cut swiftly, forcing Nethis to retreat. Nethis slowly backed away, his sword working frantically to block the furious onslaught of attacks that came at him, he was tiring, his sword arm was growing numb with the heavy hits, and moving slower with each block and parry. Then, as if it couldn't have gotten worse, he stumbled, while walking backward Nethis tripped over a loose stone and fell flat onto his back. His sword fell out of his hand, a foot or so out of his reach, and Durgamone came down.

That large and wicked axe went straight down for Nethis" face, in hopes of rending his skull in two. It met, bone cracked, blood sprayed, but the axe was thrown back by the stone skin spell, it broke of course, but managed to stop the brunt of the blow. That left Nethis with a large painful gash, blood blinding his eyes, and Durgamone with a cracked weapon, off balanced and confused. Nethis took the opportunity. He rolled over suddenly and took up his sword, then rolled back over and thrust straight up. Steel bit through steel, pierced flesh, cracked bone, and sliced into organs. The blade struck Durgamone's abdomen, sliced up through his ribs, and bit into his heart. The demon was dead with that one fell strike.

Nethis? soldiers soon stormed the camp, killing what was left while Nethis glared with hate at the dead demon general, and was escorted away by clerics to heal his wound. Just as Nethis foretold, they won that battle, and delivered a crippling strike to Apollyon.