The Conflict
Prelude
In the dying days of the War of Shattered Shields, the fledgling human realm, the Kingdom of Fyfeldor, was largely disorganised and there was poor communication between the various armies and warbands that roamed the land. As a result, the Giant forces were able to pick off the warbands one by one using ambush tactics and overwhelming numbers. Seeing the state of disarray of his forces, Aethelwulf decided to coalesce all his forces into a single army, hoping to bring the Giants to battle and put an end to the threat once and for all. Disappointed to be relieved of their command, some of his Thegns rode into exile in the kingdoms of Galdor and Galere, taking a portion of their most loyal troops with them. Undeterred, Aethelstan set out to find Vathlauss' army and put them to rout.
Meanwhile, Vathlauss had already gathered his forces and embarked on a vicious campaign of burning human towns and villages, and had personally led his forces in several ambushes and pitched battles against Fyfeldor's armies. When he recieved word that Aethelwulf had assumed command of a large force, he was keen to avoid it. He had seen firsthand how strong Aethelwulf was with The Gift. If he could slip by Eord's forest unnoticed, Vathlauss would be free to plunder the poorly defended underbelly of the Kingdom of Fyfeldor.
Both armies marched across the land, eagerly sending out scouting parties to hunt for one another. Finally, the two gargantuan forces sighted one another on opposite sides of the Harrier's Marsh, a huge stretch of swampland punctuated only by a single hillock at its centre. To cross the marsh would be suicide for either party, as getting bogged down in the water and the dense undergrowth would allow the foe to decimate their troops with arrows and magic.
Aethelwulf, knowing Vathlauss's plan to break through the Kingdom's southern border, was perfectly placed to block his advance. For obvious reasons, Giants could not ride horses, and any attempt to flee on Vathlauss' part would be met with a thunderous cavalry charge that no Giant could hope to outrun. Having missile superiority, Aethelwulf ordered his archers to fire intermittently throughout the day, showering the Giant camp in arrows. Either Vathlauss would flee and be ridden down, or remain in place and be slaughtered in a hail of arrows. The flanks of the marsh were secure, so his only real option was to attack Aethelwulf head-on, and risk crossing the marsh.
Vathlauss was now faced with a choice- he could either withdraw and regroup, to attempt a different strategy, or he could go to battle. Not one to shy away from an honest battle, Vathlauss encamped on the marsh's western side, with Aethelwulf on the eastern side. Both armies sent out raiding parties, stealing supplies and burning tents wherever they found them. All the while, the two armies were in full view of each other, separated only by an expanse of marshy ground. Arrows flew constantly over the marsh, but the Giants lower number of archers failed to cause significant damage to the encamped humans. Their larger, heavier arrows would often fall short.
After around two weeks of indecisive skirmish and tense observation, Vathlauss became impatient. He was losing more and more soldiers every day to the incessant arrows, in spite of the wards put in place by his hired Mage-princes. After considerable deliberation with his advisors, Vathlauss decided a frontal assault was his best option. His heavy troops would be able to easily smash the human frontline once they crossed the marsh, and he could position his archers and mages on the hillock at the marsh's centre where they could rain fire upon the foe. The Dwarven pikemen would be kept in reserve, to swoop into action when the inevitable cavalry charges came. Although the marsh would certainly be a hindrance, the height of a Giant meant it would affect him much less than it would a human, who would be almost waist-deep in stagnant water. Vathlauss decided to engage the humans on their terms, before feigning a retreat to draw their vulnerable foot-soldiers into the marsh where they could be easily dispatched.
Meanwhile Aethelwulf spread his forces along the marsh's eastern edge, making sure to leave no gaps Vathlauss could hope to exploit. However, this made his front line somewhat thin, and his troops were spread wide which made communication difficult between the commanders of the various militias and warbands. The Feon Wildmen were particularly unruly, often leaving their posts to scavenge, hunt and raid without permission. To their credit, however, they were incredibly effective at destroying the Giant's supplies as they slept.
Vathlauss decided to launch his assault at sunrise, just as the sun crept over the top of the hillock. That way, his entire army would be synchronised and know the exact moment to strike without waiting for orders. He also hoped to catch the humans relatively unaware. The Mage-princes strengthened their arrow wards, and the charge began.
The Giant forces had already made it halfway across the marsh by the time any significant resistance was met. Arrows fell like rain, but the Elves steadfastly held their wards and poured all their concentration into their maintenance. The Giant archers scaled the hillock, and now in range of the human camp, began the counter-attack. Their huge arrows destroyed tents and wagons with a single impact, somtimes skewering multiple unfortunate humans in the process.
The Fyfeldorian commanders had not expected this. Aethelwulf rushed to the front, as scores of his troops were roused and made ready for battle. He summoned thunder and lightning, taking on the aspect of the thunder god Ylgrim Stormspear. The Elven mages arrayed against him turned their attention to deflecting the lightning strikes that threatened to decimate Vathlauss' army. In turn, this allowed more human arrows to find their mark in Giant flesh.
Vathlauss and his contingent of armoured Giants were at the forefront of the charge, with their mighty great weapons held high. They smashed into the pathetic human shield wall, decimating the barely-trained militiamen who made up the bulk of Aethelwulf's forces. A Giant alone was tough, but a Giant in armour was nigh unkillable. Soon after, the thunderous charge of the remaining Giants resounded through the earth. Puny humans were sent flying and trampled into the mud.
Aethelwulf sent out word to his farthest cohorts, calling them back to the centre, seeing that Vathlauss had opted to try and break through his lines with a concentrated attack on a small area. Invoking the raven-god Hruntir, Aethelwulf crackled with furious energy and cleaved his way through the Giant lines, leading the Giant Slayers in a counter-charge. On horseback, they were able to strike quickly with their lances before withdrawing and circling for another charge.
All the while more Fyfeldorian troops poured into the fray, returning from the far edges of the marsh where they had been stationed. Even so, Aethelwulf worried that they would not be able to stop the Giants breaking through. The combined strength of thousands of Giants would be able to topple buildings, and it was directed at the militia's shield wall.
The Feon Wildmen, entering their characteristic mushroom-induced battle rage, moved almost unnoticed to the right flank of the Giant force. They charged, taking horrendous casualties, but managed to rout a group of Giant swordsmen and even cut down an Elven Mage-priest, whose life ended in a flash of light that scorched the earth.
Eventually, the Giants' charge was blunted by the shieldwall of the Fyfeldorian Gesithas, whose spears and javelins exacted aheavy toll on their assailants. Sensing that the tide was perhaps turning, Vathlauss signalled for retreat with a blast of his horn. Trying his best to imitate a terrified expression, he fled back into the marsh. Hearing triumphant cries from the humans, he knew his gambit would work.
While the well-trained and disciplined Gesithas saw straight through the obvious trick, the unruly militia charged headlong after the Giants, and right into the quagmire of stagnant water, mud and bodies. Once they were waist deep, the horn sounded again. This time, the Giants turned and resumed their bloody work. The Gesithas could do nothing but watch in horror as their underlings were cleaved in two as they scrambled over one another to escape. Vathlauss himself counted 200 dead by his hand.
The sight of such one-sided slaughter filled Aethelwulf with rage. He and his Giant Slayers charged like a righteous hammer into the left flank of the Giants, carving a path through the towering shapes with lance and sword. Each blow he struck was met with a rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning streaking across the sky. Eventually, having trampled hundreds of Giants underhoof, his horse was killed from under him by a stray arrow. He watched as his fellow riders continued their fateful charge, leaving him in their wake. As he fell, a Giant wielding a battleaxe cleaved his back wide open. If it weren't for the protection granted by his mail, he would have been cut clean in half. Dismounted and injured but not defeated, Aethelwulf drew his sword and shield and continued slaying his way through the crowd of Giants. He would not stop until he had killed Vathlauss. He hacked his way back to friendly lines, narrowly avoiding a fireball thrown by a mage-prince.
After what seemed like an eternity of battle, Aethelwulf now stood at the centre of his crumbling battle line. "With me, Men!" he roared, as a cheer went up among the soldiers. Their strength was restored upon seeing their leader with bloody sword held high."As long as we draw breath, mankind endures! I swear this as your King!" Upon this cry, the invigorated Men surged forward, this time being careful not to be drawn into the bog. Aethelwulf, reunited with the remaining dismounted Giant Slayers, charged into the centre of Vathlauss' formation. Soon enough, the pair faced off in a fateful duel amidst the bloody fray.
Vathlauss, with a bellowing war cry, attacked the King of Men with ferocity, beating his weapon against Aethelwulf's shield again and again. Splinters flew in all directions. However, with each strike against the stalwart shield, his weapon grew hotter and hotter on account of the enchantment thereon. Soon, his flesh began to burn and boil, but his furious onslaught did not abate. The links of his hauberk began to fuse with his melting skin. Aethelwulf was knocked down by a final mighty blow, and as the Giant prepared to finish him, he was dragged away by the remaining Giant Slayers.
With their leader thought dead, the army of Men lost its second wind and crumbled. They fled the field in ignominy.
In the wake of the battle, Vathlauss had trouble controlling his troops who were chasing down the defeated humans as they fled the field. It took him over a week to regroup his scattered forces, some of whom had become separated and encircled by fleeing humans. Hit-and-run attacks from the famed Giant Slayers are estimated to have claimed 1,000 lives as the unruly Giants chased them down.
Aethelwulf, lucky to have escaped with his life, fled back to Kynestol to gather more troops and organise a fresh defence of the realm. The injury he sustained during this battle, a deep cut across his back, would plague him for months. Alth
Comments