Holgar stood at the helm of Valkor’s forces, his gaze sweeping over the 5,000 soldiers under his command. His mind worked overtime, calculating the strengths and weaknesses of his army. They were a formidable force, but outnumbered. His heavy infantry formed the core—1,500 men clad in chainmail, armed with tower shields and longswords, a collection of fighters, knights and warriors, ready to absorb the brunt of the enemy assault.
Behind them, 1,000 light infantry stood ready, spears and shortswords at hand, mostly hunters and the odd dextrous fighter or weapon master, poised for flanking maneuvers.
The archers, 1,000 strong, were perched on the high ground, longbows ready to rain death from a distance. The cavalry was held in reserve—700 heavy knights, their armor gleaming in the sunlight, ready to charge and shatter enemy lines. The light cavalry, 800 scouts and skirmishers, were prepared for quick strikes and to chase down any who tried to flee.
But Holgar knew his real advantage lay with the Vanticorate, the elite force of 400 men divided into three arms. Bradford’s Spearhead—150 soldiers, stood at the forefront, their role clear: to break the enemy line. Verath, commanding the other two arms, 125 soldiers each, was ready to exploit any breach Bradford created. They were the spearhead the vanguard tasked with pierce the Avalonian lines.
”the god of war Artis most certainly had a hand in the arrival of the vanticorate.” Holgar remarked to his officers, “without them, regardless of strategy we would have been slaughtered.”
His scout-officer was brooding and remarked. “They were setting up a Maw-ambush not half a day ago, they re-consolidated and regrouped with an unnatural pace.”
Across the valley, the Avalonian army, 9,000 strong, advanced with a precision that sent a chill through even the most battle-hardened of Holgar’s men. Their infantry, 5,000 in number, moved like one, their synchronization unnervingly perfect. Archers, 2,000 strong, followed behind, their crossbows and longbows ready to unleash a deadly barrage. The cavalry, 1,000 heavy knights, flanked their infantry, poised for both direct charges and flanking maneuvers. Avalonia had a less diverse force but valkor’s heavy infantry was stuck fighting close to 1 vs 5 while thousands of arrows would rain upon a flank exposed. which posed a big problem.
But what truly disturbed Holgar was the presence of a special unit—1,000 men and women who moved with an unbelievable speed and efficiency, he couldn’t quite make out what their class set up was and it unnerved him, their every step and action seemingly preordained. He suspected a dark influence.
Holgar surveyed the battlefield from his vantage point, the gentle slopes of the Valley offered a strategic advantage. His heavy infantry formed a wall at the center, light infantry positioned to the flanks. Above them, archers waited, arrows nocked, while the cavalry was held back, ready to strike. Bradford’s Spearhead stood at the forefront, the tip of the Valkorian spear aimed at the heart of the Avalonian forces.
The Avalonian army advanced with a terrifying synchronization that sent a ripple of unease through the Valkor lines. Their movements were eerily precise, as if guided by a single, unblinking will. Each step they took was in perfect harmony with the next, creating an overwhelming sense of inevitability as they closed the distance. Holgar, a seasoned commander with years of warfare behind him, recognized the danger immediately. His tactical mind raced, analyzing the enemy’s flawless coordination, searching for a crack in their impenetrable facade. But even as his gut tightened with unease, he had confidence in the plan he had devised. Bradford would lead the charge, his Vanticorate Spearhead cutting through the enemy lines like a divine blade, and Verath would be poised to exploit the breach with ruthless efficiency.
As the armies clashed, the valley erupted into chaos. The thunderous roar of battle consumed everything, drowning out thought with the crash of steel on steel and the cries of the dying. Bradford seized the initiative, his presence on the battlefield like a beacon of divine wrath. With a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, he led his Spearhead forward, the elite soldiers around him moving with an almost supernatural speed and precision. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their charge, and for a moment, it seemed as though nothing could stand against them.
Bradford’s aura of conquest radiated outwards, a palpable force that infused his soldiers with a deadly accuracy. Each swing of their weapons was guided by his divine presence, each strike a testament to their training and his unwavering faith. Swords cleaved through armor and flesh, spears pierced through shields to impale the soldiers behind them. The Avalonians fell in droves, their bodies crumpling to the ground as the Spearhead plowed through their ranks. Bradford himself was a force of nature, his every movement precise, every blow lethal. His blade was a blur, cutting down anyone who dared stand in his path.
But as Bradford and his soldiers pushed deeper into the Avalonian ranks, the initial triumph began to sour. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. Despite the carnage they had wrought, despite the near-perfect follow-up from Holgar’s heavy infantry and Verath’s deadly precision in commanding the flanking forces, the enemy lines refused to break. Every opening carved by the Valkor soldiers, every gap that should have been a fatal weakness, was filled almost instantaneously. The Avalonians moved with an unnatural speed, their coordination unbroken, their discipline intact.
Bradford felt the momentum of his charge falter as the enemy absorbed the assault like a sponge soaking up water. The tide of battle slowed, the fierce advance grinding to a bloody, gory standstill. The grass beneath their feet, once green and vibrant, was now slick with blood and littered with the mangled bodies of the fallen. Severed limbs and shattered weapons lay strewn across the battlefield, the air thick with the iron scent of blood and the bone-chilling screams of the dying.
Bradford’s mind raced, trying to comprehend the force that drove these men and women to fight with such eerie resilience. His divine insight flickered, catching glimpses of something dark and twisted beneath the surface, something that defied understanding. The Avalonians fought with a cold, mechanical efficiency, their faces devoid of fear or pain, their eyes empty of anything resembling humanity. It was as if they were no longer truly alive, merely vessels for something far more sinister.
Despite the mounting horror, Bradford’s resolve did not waver. He knew that they were facing something far beyond the ordinary. But he could not afford to hesitate. The battle raged on, the outcome hanging by a thread, and he knew that if they did not find a way to break the enemy’s unnatural cohesion, they would all be lost.
Holgar, observing the battle from his vantage point, saw the danger as clearly as Bradford did. His mind worked furiously, adjusting strategies, looking for any possible way to turn the tide. He issued orders that belied the urgency of the situation, directing his officers to press the attack, to exploit any weakness, however fleeting. But even as his men fought with everything they had, the Avalonians remained unyielding, their ranks closing in that defied all logic.
Verath, too, sensed the unnatural nature of the enemy. His soldiers fought valiantly, executing flanking maneuvers with deadly efficiency, but every gain they made was met with an immediate counter, every breakthrough sealed shut before it could be fully exploited. His heart pounded in his chest, not with fear, but with a growing sense of frustration and dread. He could see the cracks beginning to form in their own lines, the toll the relentless battle was taking on his men, and he knew that they were running out of time.
The 2000 archers on the avalonian side kept firing dangerously close to their own lines but it kept any advantage Bradford or Verath created to a minimum.
As the battle dragged on, the once-clear plan began to unravel in the face of the Avalonians’ relentless, resistance. Bradford, bloodied but unbowed, knew that they were facing more than they could chew. He could sense the dark omen of their defeat, it was palpable, and it was driving the Avalonians to fight with a bone-chilling, unnatural ferocity.
The battle raged on, with neither side gaining a definitive advantage. Clashing steel, the roar of men and the relentless pounding of feet on the blood-soaked earth blended into a cacophony of chaos. Holgar, saw the stalemate for what it was—a deadly quagmire that would grind his forces down if he didn’t act decisively. Their lesser numbers would not fare well in attrition.
Holgar's mind raced as he assessed the battlefield, the positions of his men, the movements of the enemy. The deadlock was wearing on valkor morale and he could see the fatigue in his men, the way their movements were slowing, the gaps in their formation growing more noticeable. He needed to break this stalemate before his army was reduced to nothing.
He ordered the cavalry to engage—his heavy knights, the pride of Valkor, clad in gleaming armor and mounted on powerful steeds. These were men trained to break the enemy with sheer force, their spears and polearms sharp and their resolve sharper. Holgar knew that if anyone could break the deadlock, it was these knights. The signal was given, and the cavalry moved into a V-formation, the ground shaking under the weight of their charge.
The sight was awe-inspiring as hundreds of knights thundered across the battlefield, their weapons aimed directly at the Avalonian lines. They hit with the force of a lightning bolt striking a big oak, the impact sending a shockwave through the enemy ranks. For a moment, it seemed as though the Avalonians would finally shatter under the relentless assault. Both Verath and Bradford wasted no time to take advantage, pushing their forces forward with renewed intensity. Bradford's Spearhead surged, exploiting the initial breach, while Verath's arms maneuvered to encircle the Avalonian flanks, both gaining ground.
But the Avalonian army absorbed the charge with some disruption. The lines bent and swayed like reeds in the wind, their superior numbers cushioning the blow. Holgar watched with a mixture of awe and frustration as his knights, men who had shattered countless lines before, were absorbed into the mass of Avalonian soldiers. It was as if the avalonian’s swallowed them whole. The enemy line, instead of crumbling, bent just enough to diffuse the impact, their discipline holding firm under the pressure.
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”This is impossible!” Holgar’s frustration, finally got the better of him.
Then, with a chilling precision, the Avalonian heavy cavalry counter-charged. From the opposite flank, a thousand heavily armored knights emerged, their dark armor gleaming ominously under the sun. The ground trembled anew as they charged, their formation tight and deadly. Holgar ordered his archer to focus fire but their heavy armor made them nigh invincible. Their timing impeccable, as if the enemy had been lying in wait for this exact moment. Holgar saw the danger too late—the Valkorian knights, having spent their momentum in the initial charge, were now vulnerable to the devastating counter-attack.
The Avalonian cavalry hit the Valkorian knights with brutal force. The clash of steel on steel echoed across the battlefield as the two forces collided. Holgar’s knights, already entangled with the enemy infantry, were caught off guard. The Avalonians drove into their ranks with terrifying power, their superior numbers quickly turning the tide. Knights who had moments before been driving deep into enemy lines were now attacked on all fronts, their momentum shattered by the ferocity of the counter-charge.
Holgar’s heart sank as he watched his knights, the pride of Valkor, being overwhelmed. The Valkorian cavalry, outnumbered and outflanked, fought valiantly, but the Avalonians were relentless. The battlefield became a swirling melee of horses and men, the once clear lines now a chaotic mix of clashing swords and falling bodies. The Avalonian knights, driven by some malevolent force, showed no mercy as they cut down Holgar’s men with ruthless efficiency.
Bradford, sensing the shift in battle, knew they were on the verge of collapse. He could see the desperation in the eyes of the Valkorian knights as they fought to hold their ground, but the weight of the Avalonian assault was too much. With his Spearhead now dangerously exposed, Bradford made a swift decision. He called for a regroup, ordering his men to form a tight defensive line. The situation was dire, and they needed to hold until Holgar could regain control.
Holgar, witnessing the dire situation, acted swiftly. Hoping there might still be a chance to turn the tide, he signaled his remaining reserves—the contingent of light cavalry and archers—to prepare for a decisive strike.
Bradford, seeing doom written, led his Spearhead in a brutal push. His divine powers flared, and he invoked his Sanctus Ultor, A Bright ray of light from the sky hit him and his divinity surged. Sword cutting through the Avalonian infantry like a scythe through wheat. Verath, with his forces now fully engaged, pressed hard on the enemy’s other flank,
As Holgar’s mind worked furiously, he saw it—a slight hesitation in the Avalonian lines, created by the sudden burst of light that slammed down the moment Bradford invoked the Sanctus ultor, momentary falter in their perfect coordination. It was small. “Impeccable timing Champion”, he muttered.
Holgar seized the moment, issuing rapid orders. He commanded Verath to withdraw his forces slightly, a maneuver that would appear as a retreat to the Avalonians. The timing was crucial—Verath had to fall back just enough to lure the enemy forward, but not so far that they could regroup. Holgar trusted Verath’s skill to execute it flawlessly but held his breath regardless.
Verath knew instantly what holgar had planned, he made a good showing of his grim smile towards his forces to impart the same realization and began their controlled withdrawal, the Avalonians took the bait, they pressed forward, their ranks stretching as they sought to exploit the perceived retreat. They moved with their usual precision, but Holgar could see the cracks forming. The Avalonians, sensing victory, advanced into the trap.
Holgar’s archers, who had been holding their fire, unleashed a devastating volley upon the exposed flank, targeting the overextended units with lethal precision. The effect was immediate and catastrophic. It created ground for retreat of the valkor heavy infantry which they took gladly inadvertently the heavy avalonian Cavalry kept pushing into the valkorian cavalry, The Avalonian line, so perfect until now, began to waver. Arrows found their marks, striking down soldiers who had pushed too far forward, leaving gaps that Holgar's infantry were quick to exploit. The light cavalry, who had been anxious to jump to the aid of their fellow knights, charged the back of the Avalonian knights, whose lines were now loose and ready to exploit with incredible speed.
Sensing the shift, Holgar pressed the attack with all the force he could muster. He ordered his troops to push harder, to drive the advantage home before the Avalonians could recover. The Valkor soldiers, inspired by the sudden turn in their favor, fought with renewed vigor, their swords and spears cutting through the enemy ranks with a ferocity born of desperation and hope.
The light cavalry not suited for prolonged engagement retreated swiftly, having given their heavy cavalry the edge the needed, retreated into the forest and made way towards the avalonian archers. Their speed once again proving vital as they tore through the avalonian archers like a hot knife into butter. The lighty armored archers, regardless of their sheer numbers fell to a volley of the Valkor archers and proceeded to get trampled over by the horses that galloped through and over them.
The Avalonians, who had seemed unbreakable moments before, were now struggling to maintain their cohesion. Their lines, began to fracture under the relentless pressure. Holgar could see the signs of strain, the way their formations were starting to come apart at the seams.
With the Avalonian forces showing signs of breaking, Holgar ordered an all-out assault. The Valkorian army surged forward, inspired by their commanders. Bradford’s spearhead, now a force of unstoppable momentum, punched through the last of the enemy resistance. Verath’s arms moved in from the flanks, completing the encirclement.
The Avalonian army, once a machine of coordination, began to crumble under the relentless assault. Their lines broke, and the battlefield descended into chaos. Valkor’s forces, sensing victory, pressed their advantage, driving the enemy into a full retreat.
As the Valkorian forces regrouped and pushed forward, a new threat emerged from the remnants of the Avalonian army. The dark-clad special unit, an elite force fueled by twisted magic, broke through the fraying lines of battle, surging toward the Valkorians with deadly precision. Holgar’s heart raced as he recognized the threat. These weren’t ordinary soldiers—they were the Avalonians' last and most dangerous gamble.
“Archers, ready!” Holgar’s voice boomed across the battlefield, He knew they had only moments to respond before the special unit could wreak havoc, drawing their bows back in unison. He gave the signal, and the archers, loosed a deadly rain of arrows upon the enemy. The special unit’s charge was a last ditched effort and charged across open ground.
The sky darkened as thousands of arrows arced through the air, descending upon the Avalonian special unit.. The arrows struck with brutal precision, slipping through gaps in armor and finding purchase in flesh. One by one, the elite warriors fell, their ranks thinning rapidly under the relentless onslaught.
The special unit collision into the valkor heavy knights, just done with the heavy knights of avalonia bruised and battered, took the hit badly. It was slow, the heavy knights tough as nails, were exhausted. The special unit battered the knights. The disciplined knights tried to hold the line, but these elite warriors were unlike any they had faced before. Their blades were sharp, their movements swift and precise, and their very presence seemed to sap the strength from those who opposed them. The valiant men and women buckled under the pressure, and for a moment, it seemed as though this dark force might break through.
But Holgar was not so easily outmaneuvered. the Valkorian light cavalry, having disabled the Avalonian archers, turned their attention back to the battlefield. They charged into the fray with a terrifying speed, smashing into the Avalonian special unit from behind. Saving the Heavy cavalry unit again. The impact was devastating, the combined assault from both flanks throwing the enemy into disarray. Holgar’s strategy had worked, balanced on a knife’s edge.
In the midst of this chaos, Bradford, still deep within enemy territory, felt the shift in the battle’s momentum. But his attention was focused elsewhere. The divine power coursing through him allowed him to sense the presence of something far more sinister something that had been guiding the Avalonians with near-perfect precision.
As he cut down the last of the Avalonian soldiers blocking his path, Bradford’s divine senses led him to the source of this dark influence. It was then that he saw it—the shadowy figure that had been a hundred paces from the ranks of the Avalonian army. This was no ordinary commander; this was a Dark Lord, a being of immense power and corruption.
Bradford’s blood ran cold. The Dark Lord’s presence, once no longer concerned with hiding itself, was overwhelming, its aura of malevolence suffocating.
Bradford body was enveloped in a radiant light, his every movement charged with divine energy. He got close enough to cross the gap with his Deus vult and made the first move. His sword slammed into the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord sensed Bradford’s approach and turned its gaze upon him. The air around them seemed to thicken, dark and light energy crackling , at war with one another. Bradford could feel the Dark Lord’s power pressing down on him, but he refused to be deterred. This was the moment that would decide the fate of the battle.
As Bradford closed in, the Dark Lord raised a hand, summoning a wave of dark energy that surged toward him. Bradford was surprised that for the first time in his life someone was able to react to his Deus vult near instantaneous nature. His divine guidance, his faith and humble nature saved him as he narrowly dodged to avoid taking the attackhead-on. The dark energy collided with a tree and it withered within moments to dust. For a moment, it seemed as though the Dark Lord might overwhelm him, but Bradford’s divine light burned bright and unstoppable.
With a roar, Bradford unleashed himself, his sword gleaming with holy light. bringing his blade down with all the power of the gods. The Dark Lord raised its hand and created a black shield to block, but Bradford’s strike was unstoppable. The blade cut through the dark energy and struck the Dark Lord’s form, sending a burst of divine light and shadow across the battlefield.
The Dark Lord let out a horrific screech as Bradford’s sword pierced its armor drawing blood. “A woman”, he idly noted. The shadows that cloaked it began to dissipate, burned away by the light. But even as it was struck down, the Dark Lord lashed out with one final, desperate attack. A wave of dark energy exploded from its body, knocking Bradford to the ground, his divine form flickering as the strain of the battle took its toll.
Holgar, seeing Bradford’s plight, quickly ordered the remaining cavalry to charge the Dark Lord’. Verath led his forces in a flanking maneuver, cutting off any potential escape. The Valkorian army converged on the Dark Lord, determined to end this. The loss of focus had caused the hold of the Dark lord on the army to falter.
As the cavalry and infantry closed in, Bradford summoned the last of his strength. He rose to his feet, his sword still glowing with divine light, and delivered the final blow. The Dark Lord let out one last, ear-piercing scream before its form crumpled to the ground. Bradford summoned a fiery smite and burned the body then and there leaving barely a trace. He slumped and was unconscious before he fell into the arms of the men he had led into battle. He was slowly laid down with a palpable reverence.
The battlefield fell silent as the Dark Lord’s presence vanished. The Avalonian forces, now leaderless and broken, scattered in all directions, fleeing in terror. The Valkorian soldiers, were too tired and exhausted to cheer.
The battle was won. The Valkorian army had triumphed, but the cost had been great. Holgar surveyed the battlefield, his heart heavy as he took in the sight of the fallen.
In a narrow but brutal pyrrhic victory at the Battle for Lost Haven
Valkor Army: of the 5,000 soldiers, approximately 3,600 were killed. The heavy infantry, which bore the brunt of the initial Avalonian assault, suffered significant losses. The light infantry and cavalry, particularly during the desperate final push, also saw heavy casualties. The Vanticorate forces, although elite, lost around 2/3rd of their men and women.
The Avalonian army: The Avalonian army, despite their eerie coordination, lost about 3,500 soldiers. All their archers and most of their cavalry. Their rigid, almost mechanical discipline led them to fight to the death, contributing to their high casualties. However, their numbers and resilience meant that even in defeat, they inflicted severe damage on the Valkor forces.