Battle of Angrath: War

She had asked him to be waiting for her as she rode through the gate. Knight-Commander Bannam stood atop the ramparts, looking down at the open gate. A large group of black-clad figures suddenly appeared at the gate, streaming in like a river, but Ferren rode amongst them, a queen in the distance. He smiled as he fixed his gaze upon her. She was the key to all of this. If he obeyed her, she would win this war for him. He wished he could just fall into her arms...and so he did fall from the battlements, coming down to crash hard upon the cobbles, the sickening crunch of his bones breaking echoing in the air. The black-clad figures flowed as a river around the broken Thorn, who lay unmoving as a winged Barma-speaker swooped down from the sky to collect him. The appearance of the Dragonspeaker sent the blackclads into action, dispersing into smaller groups, one group going to pursue the Dragonspeaker while the others spread out.
Bal's Irregulars were the first to give the blackclads resistance, old Ser Mattias apparently recognizing them ("Bloody Hand scum!") from previous encounters. Thus, the Battle of Angrath, almost not a battle at all, was begun in the streets of lower Angrath, blood running into the sewers. The Irregulars held firm against the black-clad operatives, apparently not equipped for pitched battle. Scattering the group they encountered, they raised an alarm that echoed through the city, taking up defense of the often-ignored slums of Angrath. Joining the Irregulars was an old ghost of Angrath's past, the supposedly dead criminal kingpin Tirrik Blackshield, as well as Ser Eagan of the Ebon Thorn. Ser Mattias, who had raised the alarm, was seen being carried to a nearby warehouse. The Irregulars held Lower Angrath against the invading forces until the first wave of heavily-armored Bloody Fingers made their way through the open gate, cleaving through what little resistance remained.
In the center of a column of Fingers rode Lady Ferren, whom no guard could seem to bear to bring to harm. Swords raised against her would sag, their wielders allowing themselves to be slain by her Bloody Finger guardians. This column of Fingers met with the Irregulars, and young Ser Eagan cried out in alarm, recognizing three of the men in Ferren's honor guard as former brothers. His shocked exclamation and desperate appeal to their oaths met with two brutal blows that the young Thorn knight barely parried. With grim determination, Lady Ferren's honor-guard routed the Irregulars, leaving two of their number slain and Ser Eagan in shock. More Bloody Fingers piled in behind Ferren to secure the ground behind them as they marched on.
The city guard and the rest of the Ebon Thorns met the Fingers in the town square, turning it into an abattoir. No one knew how the gates had been opened to the enemy, or how the enemy hadn't been seen coming. Above the reek of battle wafted the sickly-sweet stench of the aftermath of the rites of the Barma-speakers. Lady Ferren screamed as she felt the death of one of her minions; his last thought, Knight-Commander Bannam's last thought, had been of her, and how his only regret was disappointing her, and she knew it. Bannam's blood decorated the altar of the Barma-speakers as they completed their grim ritual, bringing their patron's fell might to bear. The winged Dragonspeaker hovered above them, drunk on his Dragon's power, and opened his mouth. Acrid, acidic, caustic bile blasted the ranks of the Bloody Hand arrayed before them, dissolving blades, disintegrating armor, melting flesh. The piercing screams of the men that died in that instant - some of them unfortunate Thorns, for Barma's wrath was indiscriminate - filled the air. Suddenly, the Bloody Hand's sure victory was called into question as half their number was wiped out in an instant. Fortunately for Lady Ferren, one of her own honor-guard had given his own life to save hers, pushing her from her horse and taking the vile blast full on. There was nothing left of Tiberius when the dust settles.
The Dragonspeaker bellowed, 'How could you hope to stand against the might of Yalakhbarma? No mortal blade can pierce his scales!' The winged Dragonspeaker breathed in, preparing to unleash another blast of bilious ruin when, suddenly, he fell to the ground with a cry, one of his wings shorn free, one of those black-clad figures standing near him. He looked up in horror at the Dragoneater before the black-clad man drove an elegant bastard sword into his chest, ending the Dragonspeaker. One of the two remaining Dragonspeakers met a similar end, slain while trying to avenge his brother. The third fled, perhaps wisely, abandoning the field of battle. The Bloody Fingers cheer for the Dragoneater as he feasts upon the heart of the winged Dragonspeaker, the gruesome ritual stirring up the invaders into a frenzy.
Even with half their forces missing, the Bloody Hand fought like demons possessed, not a one fleeing the field, fighting through terrible wounds. They pressed slowly into upper Angrath, slowly grinding down the resistance of the city guards and Ebon Thorns. They pushed all the way to the gates of the castle, there meeting the regal figure of King Nikolai VII who, much to the surprise of everyone, leapt into the fray himself, crushing Bloody Hand skulls with the scepter he is often depicted having. Ferren recognized it before anyone else, because the King was proof against her Willworking - the King himself was a Willworker, an apparent master of the Path of the Body. Lady Ferren is forced to flee before King Nikolai turns his wrath on her. The Dragoneater confronts the King directly, fighting an epic duel with him that compelled both sides to simply watch. The Dragoneater matched Nikolai blow for blow, stroke for stroke, until finally, Nikolai's scepter was sundered and the old king was forced to surrender. At that moment, the dread warlock Bloodbane, the commander of the Bloody Hand's army here, arrived to take stock of the battle and accept the king's surrender.
Meanwhile, in Lower Angrath, another warlock was up to a bit of mischief. Guided to a certain sewer grate by strange dreams from his patron, Connor found himself running off into the Grakesian night, out of the capital, wearing a bracelet he pulled from the muck of the sewers. While Connor was mantled in its filth, the bracelet was, miraculously untouched. Off he went to hide it in a very specific spot, earning himself a favor of his whimsical, very clever patron and, unbeknownst to him, saving the city from a hidden threat.

Conflict Type

Battle