The Battlesite of Mourning Pass (bardic)

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This page is about the bardic story. For other uses, please see Battlesite of Mourning Pass (disambiguation)

By: Asmodron Posted on: 1st May, 2018.



The pages of history set the scene of the Battlesite of Mourning Pass as one of great triumph and tragedy. Centuries ago, during the Wars of Succession, the Royal Elites of Seleucar were taken by surprise as Ashtani forces poured through a portal en masse, winning a dominant victory for Catarin deSangre.

Today, the site still lies at the base of the Pass of Shadow's Mourning, but falls prey to the ever-encroaching Atrousian Jungle. It is rumoured that the ghosts of fallen warriors from both sides of the battle still roam the field, awaiting an end to the fighting that has already left them behind.



Malrian galloped through the grassy plains with purpose, his eyes examining the battlefield. The Vashnar Mountains loomed high in the distance, the sun grazing their peaks as its gaze rested upon the battlesite. The clash and clanging of steel upon steel echoed through the Pass of Shadow's Mourning. A song of death filling the fields as Seleucar forces did battle with the Ashtani.

He was not sure what had occurred..or perhaps, was not sure how to explain it. A great tear appeared within the Pass, ripping away at existence itself. The tear gained form and cohesion as a legion of troops suddenly charged forth from within. What powerful magics it was, he had never heard of. They had bypassed all of their strategic defense points leading up to Seleucar. All of their careful planning. All of their troops stationed along the winding roads to the city. These demons from Ashtan had found a weakness to exploit, and exploit it they did.

The reserve forces remaining within Seleucar had to march forth to do battle, for there was no other option. They left us with no other option. Shadow's Mourning was too much of a vital point to lose to the rebellious threat. Seleucar would easily be under siege should that come to pass. Malrian and Farista were quickly ordered to gather the troops, rushing to organize the defense. As the only two available commanders under the leadership of Knight Commander Lord Ethran, they had to maintain and guide the Seleucar forces stationed in the city against the threat.

Malrian had lost sight of Farista during the fighting. The Ashtani swarm had proven to be more than expected and the Seleucar forces had been split. A bad move.

Farista had always been by Malrian's side as they grew up together. They joined the Seleucar training corps and became recognized at barely the age of twenty-one for their prowess, later officially joining the Royal Elites of Seleucar. In only three short years, they both made lieutenant and continued to rise ever since. Every battle they fought or obstacle they faced, they could depend on one another to be by the other's side in this journey of life.

He clutched at the piece of paper in his hand and attempted to banish these thoughts. A falcon had delivered a dire message from Seleucar and he thankfully had noticed it in time to gather the message before the falcon was shot down. To his displeasure, the note brought ill news. The harbor was also under attack by the traitorous Shallamese. Sarapis damn them! It's a two-pronged attack and Seleucar is stuck in the middle. He had to find Lord Sarapis, how long will those reinforcements be? Seleucar must not fall. It cannot fall. By the divine right of Sarapis, it exists.

Malrian continued through the grassy plains, the shouts and screams of dying men echoing around him, adding to the cacophony of sorrowful steel that sang as it sliced through flesh and bone. Lord Ethran had journeyed far into enemy lines, a trail of bodies left in the wake of his battalion. Suddenly, the world lurched, the earth rising up quickly to reach him, striking him hard against his helm. He lay confused, uncertain, his vision blurry and dazed as he made out the screams of agony of his steed. As his vision came too, his eyes would rest upon his steed, lying in a pool of its own blood with several arrows protruding from his chest. He gathered himself and quickly pressed on through the Pass.

He came upon the sight of a pile of corpses, both Ashtani and Seleucarian tabards overlapping one another as they lay still upon the many brave deceased soldiers that once championed their cause. In the corner of his eye, he saw a gleam as the ever rising sun above sent forth a flashing signal, touching upon illustrator golden armour. Lord Ethran.

Malrian rushed to him, finding him face down on the ground, unmoving, the great plumes of his helm tattered and torn. He turned him over, his bloodied face almost incomprehensible. His body, lifeless and unresponsive. Sarapis...what of you...

A sudden rustle caught his attention, and he looked up from the deceased remains of his Lord Commander. A few feet away, an Ashtani warrior was advancing, battle-axe grasped as his black eyes peered from behind a half-closed helm.

Offering a quick prayer to the Gods for the soul of his lost Lord Commander, Malrian rose. He drew forth his longsword as he took into account his opponent's height, size, and possible weak points. He took note of the uniform and amount of stripes rising up his adversary's sleeve; a lieutenant. He shall show this foe the strength of the Royal Elites.

The Ashtani lieutenant quickened his pace, his battleaxe raised. Malrian stepped forward with equal strides, longsword ready as he went forth to meet his adversary. The battleaxe came crashing down as Malrian swung his longsword in a wide arc.

For Glory. For Truth. For Seleucar.

Onto eternity....