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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jul 11, 2020 14:49:44 GMT -5
The battle began with the sounds of horns and the roll of drums... followed by the thundering of elephants and their trumpeting cries. They bolt down from Aegon's right flank, barreling down upon the enemy troops under the Baratheon banner. Silvertusk, the mightiest of them, led the way as the drivers urged them on. The mighty creatures came within range of the shieldwall, arrows and javelins peppering them along the way. Then, before Jon Snow's eyes and that of his men, the land gave way followed by the screams of both man and creature as they pierced the battlefield.
Prior to the arrival of Aegon, Baratheon's troops had set up new traps, one of which was located in front of their left flank. The camouflage gave way under the weight of the charging elephants and soon, their limbs and bodies were pierced with all manner of sharp objects. Riders were flown off of their mounts and against the speartips of Baratheon's warriors or skewed by the spikes below. Half of the elephants went down into the traps and were killed or severely wounded by it. The sudden death, including Silvetusk, caused the elephants to reel up in alarm. The arrows and javelins didn't help and the drivers couldn't get the beasts under control. What remained of the elephants became a divided mess but as more and more missiles landed on them, the elephants, in a frenzy, turned and charged against their own men. The charge was not devastating, but it did disrupt Aegon's right flank entirely as the elephants turned in circles, drove through his formation, and smashed men beneath their feet, his men. Cohesion was breaking apart as the troops seemed more concerned about the frenzied elephants than moving forward. Aegon was among the carnage and the disorderly right flank.
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From the center, Harry Strickland surveyed the carnage for a bit, but returned his focus on the task at hand, as he led the charge at the center. Once more, the ground gave way as traps were revealed, hidden just before the enemy lines. The ground heaved and collapsed within seconds. His steed reeling up at the sudden change ahead before the old mercenary was thrown from his horse and impaled by the spikes. His death was instant upon impact. Droves of men fell into the spike traps, pierced across their bodies. Those got too close to the Baratheon lines were killed by spears and arrows that flew down from above. The soldiers of the center were doing their best to regroup, but with the loss of Strickland, the men looked to any other commander among the Golden Company. Gorys Edoryen, the Company's quartermaster, managed to regain control of the center and prevent them from being too demoralized.
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On Aegon's left flank, the two sides clashed between the Targaryen and the Baratheon as Stannis' right flank. Manwoody led the charge against the Baratheon shieldwall. The soldiers, under the command of Lester Morrigen, held the line firmly as the two sides clashed. Unlike the other two flanks, no ground gave way as the spike traps were either not present or they had not activated.
Whatever the case, Aegon's army seemed in disheveled. The elephants were barreling around his flank, Strickland, unknown to his King, was dead from being impaled by a spike trap and the center heavily demoralized. Only his flank, under Manwoody, managed to come in contact and strike the Baratheon line, but it held firm against his charge.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jul 11, 2020 15:41:57 GMT -5
The battle was a fierce contest, one that drove back and forth over grueling hour after hour. The lines shifted to and fro until Aegon's army had had enough. The horns blew and the troops began to withdraw in good order, thanks to the rearguard of Martell sellswords. They firmly held against any pursuing force with tenacity. The army began its trek back to Hayford, which was the nearest of allied castles. In total, Aegon lost two thousand and seven hundred men of his seven thousand man army. However, half of his elephants were dead and Harry Strickland's body was left, impaled, within the spike trap. Command of the company fell to Gorys Edoryen as acting commander of the Company. However, the Baratheon troops said they saw Aegon the Pretender being carried away by his men. They weren't sure why, but his person seemed very bloodied.
On Baratheon's side, Stannis lost two thousand and six hundred men, leaving him with around twenty-one thousand tired soldiers. After two great battles, the men were certainly fatigued. While not as great as the previous battle, this stalemate was nonetheless a good move. It had blunted Aegon's advance through the Riverlands and shortened the amount of troops he had in total. However, there was still word of a battle to occur just a few miles away. The Army of the Vale had encountered a Dornish army, heading for Maidenpool or around Baratheon's position, according to a messenger. Lord Arryn was moving to engage.
Jon Snow: 61, free
Stannis Baratheon: 45, free
Lester Morrigen: 87, free
Aegon Targaryen: 11, major wound (comma)
Harry Strickland: Dead
Dickon Manwoody: 11, major wound (comma)
Baratheon losses: 2,100 men (21,000 remaining)
Targaryen losses: 2,700 men (15,400 men + 12 elephants remaining, retreating in good order to Hayford)
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Post by pontifex on Jul 11, 2020 15:48:23 GMT -5
Word is sent for the Kingsguard to join the Targaryen forces and for any additional Reach forces to join Aegon's army.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 11, 2020 16:50:16 GMT -5
With the elephants lured towards the pitfalls and rampaging around the enemy lines, the Baratheon men marched forward to meet the enemy. Shield walls clashed on the uneven ground, the grass once more drinking the blood of men and animal alike as they fell to spear and sword. Stannis himself remained detached from the melee, watching of dispassionately as Horpe carried the royal standard into the thick of the fighting. On the right, the enemy had clashed with Lord Morrigen’s lines, and the King could see as the Lord of Crow’s Nest once more waded into the fray on horseback, leading the king’s knights. Dented and tired from the rigours of battle, they nonetheless drove back the assault of the Golden Company time and again. Snow’s northmen were similarly effective, the Winter Wolves leaping into the enemy lines like madmen to leave gaping holes in their ranks. The melee drove to and fro for some time, men roaring and dying in the chaos. When there were gaps in the line the King sent his reserves forward as needed, Ser Farring leading a counter-attack in the centre that led to a breakthrough. As Morrigen’s knights smashed the right and Godry broke their centre, the Golden Company pulled back from the battle, leaving many hundreds dead once again. Exhausted from two days of battle, the King’s men chose not to pursue, the Targaryen’s rearguard blunting their ability to take advantage. The sun was setting, and the day ended on another hard won - but inconclusive - victory.
”Send outriders in pursuit. We remain in camp here, and wait for news of Lord Arryn. Lord Sweet, send word to Lord Tully that he will bring me Lord Tarly dead or in chains. I will not have half the Reach stalking the Crownlands as I march on the capital.”
Declared the King, his armour spattered with blood as he unbuckled his gorget and breastplate. He felt a twinge under his arm again, the pull of last battle’s wound. His bannermen had been assembled before him again, the survivors of long years of hardship.
”Tomorrow, we press on for King’s Landing. For your valour, Lord Morrigen, I will trust you to lead the assault on the gates.”
Lester had proven himself battle after battle as the commander of the King’s knights. The man’s bravery and skill were undoubted.
”Give me King’s Landing, and I will see you rewarded. Should Highgarden continue to defy me, I would consider you worthy of such an honour.”
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Post by oznerol on Jul 12, 2020 10:38:39 GMT -5
The Northern host had been called by Stannis to bolster his ranks before an impending battle. Jon duly raised banners and formed with Baratheon, forming the left of the formidable army. The Northern lord wore the plain steel he was used to, fighting on foot at the front of his men, under a banner with a white direwolf on a black field. His ward stood by his side, an intimidating and fearsome presence that many even did not dare to look at, red of eyes and white of fur, as recently fallen snow. Longclaw left the scabbard and Jon raised it on the air, readying his men for the onslaught to come. He saw beyond the field, the massed elephants of the pretender, with towering estructures over their stone-like skin, full of archers and skirmishers. But, the king had commanded pits and caltrops to be prepared for that contingency. The wildlings blared horns, defiant, the Warden of the North surrounded by his hundred wildlings, threatening in their furs and heavy mail and leather. All around him stood the lords sworn to Winterfell, thirsty for battle, many of them grey and veteran men that would rather find death in the battlefield amidst gore than freezing in hovels grovelling at the feet of a keep's curtain walls, while snow piled over their heads. The heavy infantrymen the North was reputed for stood shoulder-by-shoulder, carrying large shields and large spears and pykes, offering a solid shieldwall. The enemy started to charge, the elephants roaring as they closed by, the floor trembling.
"Steady! Hold!"
Yelled Jon at top of his lungs, while the Harle twins started to command the archers to fell the beasts and their handlers with arrow fire, the first bolley released as they were but three hundred feet away from the battle line. And, then, they trampled the traps laid by Stannis, their charge ending into a messy carnage of screaming beasts and agonizing men.
"Winterfell! Stark! Move! Move! Winterfell! The North!"
The Northmen advanced to the border of the pits and trenches, with solid pace, in a thick-locked shieldwall, with pykemen skewering the men that had fallen and those that tried to move beyond the carnage, avoiding the dying elephants and the traps laid the night before. The formation openned for skirmishers to pass through, raining javelins over the beasts and the men caught in the pits. Around the open land men started to pour, clashing against the hard steel of the North, who managed to fend off the offensive effectively. Jon moved back and forth, hurrying himself to the points where he felt most pressure was exerted. Soon enough the Valyrian steel had its ripples covered in blood and gore and the direwolf's fur was reddish, the bared teeth plunged into the weak flesh of man, exposed throats and faces, the animal was as strong as to torn limbs and where it went people either met their end at the end of Jon's blade of that of Ghost itself. And, then, the three-headed dragon fell, the banner toppled, and the enemy wavered, after a struggle that didn't feel too long, cut short by what looked like a butched charge, the elephants turning on their own people and the pretender meeting what looked like an abrupt end to his claim.
Jon sent word to Stannis reporting on cassualties, fairly low, and soon thereafter he himself arrived atop a horse, wearing a leathern armor and a shirt mail, discarded the plate for a lighter garment to confer with the triumphant king who, yet again, had successfully claimed a battlefield for himself.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jul 12, 2020 17:33:59 GMT -5
A rider, bearing the emblem of House Arryn, rode into the encampment of Stannis Baratheon. He bore a message that the Valemen had successful repulsed and defeated the Dornish at the Ford a few miles away. A notable was reported to have been captured, Ser Dagos Manwoody. Lord Arryn awaited further orders on what their next move was.
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jul 13, 2020 0:03:32 GMT -5
Once more Massey had fought, not as a commander, but a warrior under Stannis' direct command this time. Fortunately the battle did not require him to advise a retreat at any stage, unlike the Blackwater, and instead found the Crownlander constantly moving forward once the counterattack began under Ser Godry, fighting alongside Ser Richard Horpe. The Giantslayer may have had the glory of leading the decisive strike in the center, and Horpe had the honor of bearing the royal standard forward, but Ser Justin had done his fair share of bloody work, cutting down Golden Company and Westerosi serjeants alike and at one point getting tangled in a melee with a Golden Company officer; the man, a purple-haired and scarlet-bearded Tyroshi, had had his spear hacked in half at the shaft by Massey's blade, but closed in to punch the Crownlander hard enough to rattle his teeth through his visor and knock him down. Justin had retaliated by lashing out with his feet, sweeping the Tyroshi's own from under him and sending him sprawling to the ground, and impaling him with his own broken spear before he could regain his footing.
When the army of Aegon-called-Targaryen was forced from the field, Massey was eager to give pursuit, but soon the orders came down from Stannis himself: only the outriders would give chase, everyone else was to stay put and rest for the night before continuing to the capital. Thus Justin lifted his visor, spat blood and saliva into the corpse-strewn dirt beneath him, and made his way back to the King's position. He looked on as the King promised Morrigen (who he'd not seen all throughout the battle) Highgarden should the Tyrells not bend the knee, speechless: an enormous honor, made all the more enormous by coming from Stannis' hand, which the Lord of Crow's Nest must have worked tirelessly to earn indeed.
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