TVC - Chapter 25 - The Battle for Sylvania

[Disciple of Nagash]

As he heard Merovich's shout, the Dukes fast twisted with rage inside his helm. Mircea would have to wait. Splitting his forces in two he left a contingent of Blood Knights and mounted wights to attack the front line, whilst he redirected his personal body guard towards his hated daughter. As he thundered through Mannfred's skeletons he reigned in his temper, he would not allow it to get the best of him. Today he would not fail, Katrina would die and he would be avenged.

 

[Gree]

Mircea looked out grimly at the approaching troops and commanded his reserves into action. Ranks of wights, skelteons and ghouls moved out in thick ranks. The earth shook as a stampede of hooves sounded the earth as Mircea commanded his Black Knights into the charge.

He tested the grip on his blade and fund it to be to his liking. He had had left Vlad's blade behind in his tent. Not willing to let the blade fall into Mannfred's hands, instead he carried a enchanted runseword that enchanced his speed and stength. Around him the ranks of his personal grave guard drew up, flocks of fell bats flapped above.

Looking around he took notice of the rampaging giants and sent out the commands to his reserve elephants. He wanted to wait until he had the killing blow for thos euntis, but he had no choice. He pointed his finger to thbe sky and shot a purple streak of magic.

At the signal Jan and the twenty undead elephants of Mircea began the charge towards the out of control giants, the cackling vampire riding the lead one. The first three slammed into the giants, their immense dirty yellow tusks driving the constructs to the ground and the huge elephants knocking them down.

The rest of the elephants continued their charge into the ranks of Mannfred's troops, trampling all beneath their rotting reet.

Then there was a strange sound near Mircea, looking about he noticed a swirl of dark mist depositing Lesa and the other Necarch whose name he could not remember. His upper lip curled up into a sneer, exposing his fangs. ''Took you long enough''' he said.

 

[Ghouly]

Katrina stood among her Graveguard flanked by Krug and Mouse Watching calmly as the forces of blood keep bore down upon her Merovich taking the lead a savage gleam in his eyes. "Fool" she thought Closing her eyes, she called upon the winds of magic. just before the Blood Dragon charge met with the Draconian line a wall of fire erupted between them cutting off their charge.

 

[Apocryphus]

Dragos cursed under his breath as the torrent of flame leapt up to gorge itself on dead flesh and the blood of Katrina's kin. Looking to his sons and the fire in their own eyes, a glimmer of lunatic abandon flashed across his.

"We're going over," he screamed as he hopped from stirrup to saddle, planting his feet on the nightmare's back and loosing Wraithtear from its leather binding. Face to fire, he yanked the undead horse to a stop and pushed with every ounce of strength his cold muscles could conjure as a line of steel shod eyes, led by a rather startled Merovich and an unreadable Red Duke, watched six silhouettes sail over the burning wall before them.

They came up cackling, the lunatic dead loosed to slake their thirst for battle on calcified bones and brittle, rusted armor. Dragos' already immortal skill, enhanced tenfold by Wraithtear's daemonic hunger, cut swathes through the battle line. They fought back to back, a whirring hurricaine of death, planting the dead and packing them into sod with the weight of dusty bones and rotting bodies.

"Watch for the mounted ones, my boys," Dragos laughed, "And be sure to cut all four legs out from under them!"

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

As Lesa and V'azrin stepped out on to the battlefield, the both felt the tide of dark magic wash over them. It was so powerful it was almost gagging, and though neither vampire like to admit it, showed strength far greater than their own.
At Mircea's comment, Lesa looked at him disdainfully,
"Trust me, I'm not here out of any loyalty to you. I'm still hoping Mannfred or the Duke separates your head from your shoulders before this is over." The von Carstein's face twisted in a snarl at the insult, but before he could do anything the earth surrounding Lesa cascaded upwards as her shadow dragon burst forth.
"I will see what I can do from above," she called to V'azrin, "perhaps it would be best to see if you can this front line from crumbling, after the failure of Mircea's so called tactics." With that last mocking comment the dragon shot up into the sky, until it came to rest high over the battlefield.
From up there Lesa could see a layout of the battle and magic as clear as day, and it was not good. The front line that was surrounded was slowly being crushed, even with Mircea and Aurelius in their midst. The necromancers and vampires of the council could not match Mannfred for magic, and even as their own troops were crushed, they were risen once more against them. Suddenly the line seemed to solidify and with surprisingly speed lash out at Mannfred's forces. Through her magesight she could see the casting, and was impressed with the old Necrach. Not only had he secured the full frontline to stop the undead being usurped, he had also managed to fill them with unholy energy. It was not enough to break free however now at least the units seemed to be holding firm.
Elsewhere was not as lucky. The insidious necromantic arts of the Count of Sylvania had managed to turn the last of the giants, and now there was a titanic battle between the undead giants and elephants. The initial charge of the beasts had crushed many of the stolen troops, restoring order the rear line however, a few giants still remained.
A pulse of dark magic caught her attention, and as she watched saw saw the spell attempt to grow further and ensnare more of the councils forces, this she could not allow.
Calling on her own powers, she spoke words of unbinding, as she focused of the weave of Mannfred's spell. It was fantastically intrinsic, and it took all her concentration to work out where to break and unravel it. Even still she only managed to stop it spreading, securing the rest of the council's forces.
As a screech rang in her ears she reacted instinctively, causing the dragon to roll and dive. It was not a moment to soon as barbs of black magic flashed past where her head had just been . Looking at the trail of the spell she realised with horror it had come from Mannfred himself. Not only had he managed to cast a powerful spell below, he also managed at the same time to cast another at her.
Well she would not be undone by a whelp a quarter her age, crown or no crown. Concentrating still on her dispelling, she began to gather energy.

**********************

As his horse let out a snort of fear at the flames, the Duke reined in the beast. Rage ripped through his body, the bitch had dared used magic against him, her sire! He swore that when he finally got hold of her, she would experience pain like no other.
His own magical skills were poor, as he had concentrated all his life on the blade. The only abilities he had were the innate control and raising of the dead that all his kind had.
He heard a cry to his right and suddenly saw Dragos and his suns leaping from their steeds over the fire. Part of him was angered that his son had ignored his command and not attacked Drako as ordered. However he could not help feel a flash of pride as Drago fearlessly through the magic flames.
As he prepared to follow suit the flames started to spit and as quick as they appeared they were gone, quenched the necromancers of Mannfred's army. As he caught sight of his daughter face the Duke kicked his steed into a gallop, determined he would not be thwarted again.

 

[Belladamma Voltaire]

On a relatively quiet flank of the battlefield, a small troupe of seven Vampires appeared in an explosion of bats. Each of them robed, hooded and each of them walked at a melancholy pace. A few ghouls hopped almost playfully at the lead but were nothing but husks of dust before they reached them. Any forces that tried to get close found themselves as nothing more than ashes to the wind. As they got into the fray, a great hole appeared where they stood in the forces of both sides. A trio of Mannfreds thralls approached the warriors. One of the robed men stepped forward and from where he was now stood a great gush cloud of steam engulfed the trio. In moments, their bones hit the ground, for this was holy steam being fired upon them.

The lead vampire took the hood from his head revealing grizzly features and a wicked smile. It was Valda, and he was pleased.

"My Forgotten Warriors, we are here today to fight this so called Vampire Council, and their quarry Mannfred Von Carstein. Equilibrium must be restored to Sylvania in the blood of the weak bloodlines gathered here. We, the strong, must prevail."

As if his final words had been a signal, the other six figures removed their robes to uncover a gross bunch of undeath. The Seven Forgotten Warriors had reunited on the battlefield and what had once been a quiet part of the battle had gotten lively again as they began to cut a swathe through all of the undead nearby. None rose again to fight them as all who opposed were cut down beyond repair. Content with the sheer annihilation in a few scant minutes, Valda gave the warriors their orders.

"The Legion of Forever and 'Avatar' will hold Mannfreds forces at bay. We are to fight this Council personally, for they may be worthy foes for us."

The content smile began to spread through the Seven like plague. It was infectious. Valda turned and pointed his hand into the heart of Mannfreds army. Like an army of ghosts, the entire might of the Legion of Forever swept into their numbers, giving a scant hope to the Councils forces on this flank. Extending his other hand, Valda began to chuckle as he shouted to the Seven.

"Find your quarry and bring me the head of Mircea Von Carstein."

The Seven advanced, their only herald was death itself. They ran to where the fighting was fiercest reasoning that was where he would find Mircea Von Carstein. Sighting his opponent in the distance, Valda's smile faded as his arm ached and he let out a furious roar. Zombie, skeleton and ghoul alike all fell as he advanced. He had a score to settle and it would be evened here.

 

[Gree]

''Hmm, more renforcements'' Mircea muttered as he began shifting units forward. Bah! What did that Lahmian know about tactics? The empty headed whore would not know how to run a troop of drummer boys. Then he notiched someone coming towards him.

Valda! ''I thought he was dead'' the vampire lord said to himself. And he was appearantly none to happy to see him, seeing as he was cutting thought a path to him, regardless of both sides fighting around him. What was he doing helping shore up the flank while trying to get to him.

''As much as I appriciate your help, it would not bode well if you keep on killing my soldiers'' Mircea shouted out. ''You told me that you did not leave your enemies alive, I have the same rule as well'' shouted back the other vampire. ''So it seems that you are intent on killing me, despite the fact that Mannfred wil break throught at any moment and I have the ring? You are a bigger idiot then I thought'' the von Carstein laughed as he drew his sword.

 

[Belladamma Voltaire]

The twisted mind of Amadeus Valda ducked and dived in turns and the prospect of the ring of Vlad Von Carstein was an interesting one. A bitter-sweet irony of facing Mircea was this time around he had no trinket, no Claw of Nagash. It seemed now that an arm for an arm was a necessity. Turning his attention momentarily, Mircea was right, the Council was to be overwhelmed soon. Turning to Ra'en behind him, Valda gestured at Mannfreds forces. The remaining forgotten warriors turned their attention away from the Council and to Mannfred forces as the Legion of Forever made an arc to reunite with Valda and his kin.

"This council is no good to any of us dead." He returned his attention to Mircea as he finally got within fighting distance. "Your ring Mircea? You have resorted to grave robbing to boost your own strength. Vlad is spitting on your name now I bet."

The Seven were doing their job admirably as a giant fell to Ra'en driving his entire strength through the beast. A second one fell over as its shins were no more, one crushed and one simply cut off. Klimpt and Heinemann doing the necessary work. A lone vampire, the member of the Seven known as Berkerach stood, each morsel of undeath he looked at becoming nothing more than ashes and dust. Thralls and assorted Blood Knights fell as Rakmananoff fired his immense cannon into their midst. The only one of the Seven who was not present aside from Valda was Akamantis, the ghost.

Adopting a defensive posture, Valda made a gesture for Mircea to come at him. Their fight was only one of the war that lay ahead.

 

[Trevy the Great]

The Red Duke charged through the flames as they began to wither, the heat singing his icy flesh. His Blood Knights followed him, loyal to their master even in death, and very few stayed behind in cowardice. They would be dealt with like the cravens that they are. His Nightmare hit the ground heavily, it's legs absorbing the blow and bunching to spring forward at it's master's enemies. That chance was never given to the creature.
A flare of blue fire erupted about the Blood Knights' steeds, engulfing several of the Vampiric riders as yet more fire rained from the sky like droplets of precipitation in a spring gale. One struck the Red Duke's steed, burning through much of the Nightmare's fabricated flesh and exposing the hellish heat that dwelt within it. The beast's scream of death echoed in the Duke's ears as he toppled to the ground. Tumbling expertly, he recovered quickly, jumping to his feet. The scream still echoed around his heavy helm, growing louder until the Blood Knight found it came from a different source. A tiny speck that floated above the battlefield upon wings of flame. The sound of the cry filled his dead mind with visions of fear and dread that would send any living man fleeing in terror for his life. But the Red Duke was not living, and he shook the doubt from his mind even as it surfaced an explanation for this sudden development.
"Vekarin." He spat the name like a curse, and was answered quickly by a mighty voice reverberating across the open battlefield for all to hear.
"Those of the von Carsteins and his misguided wretches from the cursed lands within Brettonia, look upon your doom!"
The Duke's tore his eyes away from the tiny shape of Vekarin in the skies as a host of skeletal riders appeared as if from no where before his advancing forces, charging without thought for their own lives but with the singular goal of the Duke's death. Tens of thousands of eyeless sockets filled with soulless light stared ahead as fleshless hands swung weapons and leveled lances at his knights.
"The Violet Rose marches to war for the first time in an age, and you are foolish enough to stand in defiance to it!"
The Duke turned swiftly to the exposed flank of his knight's charge, and his eyes widened they beheld as three thousand Knights of the Rose bearing down upon his own knight's previously unthreatened flank. His feeble attempts to warn them were lost in the clamor of battle, and those who did hear him were quickly swept away as the Knights' of the Rose charge hit home.
The Duke looked again to Vekarin in fury to see the flaming horseman bearing down upon him, a massive, glowing spear clutched in his gauntleted hand. The Red Duke drew his own blade and stared up at the approaching figure in defiance.

 

[Gree]

''Idiot, what did you know of Vlad? I served with the man personally. Your words are meaningless Valda, however you seem to have an incredible fascination with fighting me'' He readied his blade. ''Fortunately I have capable lieutenants to take over temporarily while I deal with you'' he sneered.

''Your arrogance astounds me at this stage, do you not believe that I am a credible opponent?'' Valda raised an eyebrow at him.
''I believe that you are credible trash! Now perish like a insect!'' Mircea snarled as their swords clashed.

 

[Belladamma Voltaire]

Valda laughed "My arm still twitches where you chopped it off and took the Claw of Nagash from me. Where is it now Mircea?" He kicked the Von Carstein in the gut as their sword clanged. The return backhand slapped the taste out of his mouth as their swords bounced off each other. The fight was very even.

"If I am to perish as an insect Mircea, I would want to perish as the cockroach. Its survivability means it is never truly gone until completely removed." He made a stabbing gesture at Mircea's stomach. It was a feint. As he made the gesture, he readied his other hand in a punch aimed squarely at the Von Carsteins nose.

 

[Gree]

The voivode fell back from the punch and lashed out with his own blade the sword tip cutting a shallow wound on Valda's left cheek. ''I don't know were the Claw is, however I can tell you if you want to die as a cockroach then I will chop you to bits! Starting with your arm!'' the vampire lord lauched a flurry of blows at the other, forcing him back several steps.

Then Valda feinted to Mircea's head and kicked him in the the knee before bringing his sword back like a lance, he thurst forward but Mircea grabbed the side of the blade and turned it aside from stirking him, black blood dripping from the gash on Mircea's palm as he gripped the sword near the hilt, the two vampires suddenly a few inches from each other. Then the voivode brutally headbutted his opponet back, sending the other vamprie lord back stumbling. With a cry of rage Mircea lauched another flurry of blows which Valda recovered and blocked.

 

[Belladamma Voltaire]

"Please, you'll never cut me to pieces. You can barely cut a good retort." Valda tried to aim his blows precisely but was failing miserably. The same was true for Mircea however. A split second opening in Mirceas guard let Valda regain the few scant feet he had lost moments earlier. He barely noticed he has exposed himself momentarily. The arm that had been cut off was exposed in an almost exact repeat of last time. As Gree made an immense chop for his arm, Valda felt his hand become bloodied as he held the chop back with his gargantuan strength. Standing to his full high. Valda had let go of his sword for a moment. They were both incredibly exposed but too intertwined to do anything.

Putting his head in use as a weapon, Valda shattered the nose of Mircea and watched as it healed moments later. Such was the power of the Von Carstein ring. Hitting again, Mirceas nose shattered then re knitted itself a second time. Finally, Valda kicked his foe in the gut with the flat of his boot and picked up his sword. He would have been exhausted normally. This was a good fight. A true battle.

Extending his bloodied hand, he gestured for Mircea to approach once more and as he did, he swung his sword in a sharp circle around his head, aiming for the Voivode's neck. It missed completely. A quick attempt at a kick also missed as he now almost ear to ear with Mircea. He whispered as they got close.

"Why don't you just give up so we can have a game of 'Simon Says'."

Laughing, he pushed Mircea's head back in an almost joking way. He had wanted the words to hurt as much as the fight.

 

[Gree]

''I do not play games!'' Mircea snarled as he brought his blade around and slashed across Valda'a chest with both hands, the phenomonal strength of the vampire piercing the other lord's armor and carving a deep wound across the torso.

Valda fell back with suprise written across his features as Mircea leapt at him again, swords colliding. Magical sparks flew between the enchanted blades as the two lords stood, hilts locked.
''Were is your arrogance now, Von Carstein? questioned Valda as he lashed out with a leg, kicking Mircea back. His blade flew thought the air as he was pierced through the chest by Valda's blade.

''I said I would end this fight? This is were your arrogance got you, voivode'' Valda said, his sword tip bursting out of his opppnet's back, blood trickling down Mircea's lips. Then the vampire laughed and lunged forward, grabbing Valda's arm by the wrist, holding hm fast despite the blade being driven deeper into him.

Mircea's hand twisited into a claw and drove forward, smashign throught a weak link in the other lord's armor, errupting out of his back. ''It pleases me that thier are still fool in the world like you for me to kill'' laughed the voivode as he withdrew his hand from Valda's chest, the other lord wretching his sword from Mircea's chest as both of the lords leaping away from one another to regard the other. Black blood trickeld down as Mircea reclaimed his sword

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

V'azrin watched the two duelling vampires, shaking his head in pity. Such small minded creatures. So locked in their own worlds, that they failed to see the bigger picture. Even now as the battle for Sylvania hung in the balance, they were fighting over some petty slight.
However he was much more wiser than that, he thought smugly, before raising his arms and casting once more. The strain on him was tremendous, as through is own prodigious skill he kept the besieged front line from crumbling. He cackled as his power flowed through him, knowing that no vampire could match him. Mannfred's skill was only from using the crown, not of his own and V'azrin had no doubt he could crush him if they were on even terms. Yet even as he though about it one shadow clouded his mind. Eyes cast skywards he caught sight of Lesa, and he could see the strands of magic she was weaving.
She was the only stain, the only slight to his pride. Even now he could see her pulling forth power whilst expertly holding a counter spell, and inwardly he seethed. She did not know half of what he knew, pure magic flowed through his veins. Yet somehow the harlot still managed to outstrip him!
An unlucky vampire who stumbled near had the Necrach's frustrations taken out on him, black barbs flaying his skin off before the arcane energy reduced him to dust. A brief flicker of satisfaction crossed V'azrins face before he once more returned his thoughts to the battle. The power of Mannfred was going stronger, and it would not be long before the Count unleashed whatever he was preparing.

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

The Duke had always known this day would come. Ever since he had first encountered Vekarin those many years ago, every since that first day he knew he detested him. And he knew they would pit their skills against each other.
As the the massive Blood Knight bore down on him, he stood there, muscles tense, as he waited for just the right moment. Even as the razor sharp of the lance thundered towards his head he didn't move until....... Suddenly with speed that belied his armoured form he rolled to the right, bring his blade whirring round. He was rewarded with a satisfying thunk as the blade pierced Vekarin's mount shearing through its front legs. The great steed screamed and buckled, but still retained enough sense not to rear, allowing its master to vault to safety.
"This has been a long time coming," the Duke bellowed over the noise of battle. He watched his older brother warily, blade ready to strike at a moments notice. Running his eye over Vekarin's armour and sword he couldn't help but sneer,
"Still putting your faith in trinkets Vekarin? I would have though you of all vampires, the so-called favoured" the last word spat with undeniable venom, "of Abhorash would have followed his teachings better. If you hide behind magical armour and swords, how can you truly say it is you skill alone that defeats your enemies?"

 

[Trevy the Great]

"These?" Vekarin gestured to the massive armored plates that covered his body and the Dark Blade that hung at his back. These are but trophies taken from enemies defeated by the same skill you speak of." The massive warrior threw the Banespike aside and casually drew the Dark Blade from his back, it's dark powers casting an aura of shadow about the battlefield. "Unfortunately, I will not have to take one from you...brother." Vekarin spoke this last word as if it was a word of terrible implications, like a child uttering a curse. The two warriors began to circle each other, sizing up the other's weaknesses.
"You put your trust in the von Carsteins, cursed demonspawn of Nagash?" Vekarin asked after several tense moments. "You know as well as I that the aristocratic sons of Vashanesh care nothing for the honor we look for in ourselves and our opponents. They care only for power to solidify their aspects as gods. You are a fool to throw your lot in with them."

 

[Dark_Archetype]

Drako snarled as a blade lashed out at him. Blocking the attack he struck off the Blood Knight's head, his backhand cutting down the dead knight's steed. A favoured pupil of Walach, there were few, even amongst the Blood Dragon bloodline who could match him in combat, which his foes were finding out the hard way. Around him the Knights on both sides fought like daemons. Vladmir and Bertruade had spotted each other and were now battling through their floes to face each other; Derek fought with his usual calculated ferocity, using the savageness of his foes' attacks against them; Baron Adrulza had just cut down a castellan, roaring 'BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!' the whole time. So far no one seemed to have the upper hand. Catching a the smell of a familiar foul stench, Drako looked up to see the arrival of its source: a large force of his Bloodfist Ogre allies. Eager to make up for lost time, the beasts hurled themselves at the Knights under Bertruade's command, their huge cleavers reducing several of the Blood Knights, along with a sizeable number of zombies, to a messy pulp. Thanks to the reinforcements, the tide had changed for Drako's Knights. Mindful of their objective, Drako left Vladmir with a third of the remaining Blood Knights and several Ogres to deal with Bertruade's force, while he led the rest towards their true objective: Mannfred von Carstein.

 

[Apocryphus]

Dragos cackled as Waraithtear punched through the chestplate of one of the Knights of the Rose.

"A knight?!" Dragos spat on the ruined husk of Vekarin's pupil. "You would dare imply yourself a knight! Your master employs parlor tricks and magic to hide his weakness! A coward I say!"

Here now was battle! How appropriate, it seemed that the get of Abhorash had spawned two opposing knightly orders. He had thought that his disobedience would anger his father, but the appearance of Vekarin and his get at Katrina's line changed things. This was honorable combat at its finest. Two lines of warriors, blood hotly stoked in the flames of battle, fighting for the glory of their progenitors. The magic Vekarin displayed at his arrival was proof that the Knights of the Rose needed to die. They were anathema to the purity of combat. Anathema to the teachings of Abhorash.

"You are worthy of my malice," he yelled, impaling a second of Vekarin's children through the bastard's screaming mouth and spinning on his heel to decapitate a third. His sons were having similar success, weaving through shadows of themselves and cutting them down to glimpse the purity of righteous combat. Katrina was indeed erroneous, an impetuous child that deserved to die. Dragos' undead swarmed the line, dire wolves snapping at ghostly steeds and wight lords mired in combat with the ancient dead. Dragos picked the Knights of the Rose out one by one, challenging them to single combat.

"Let us pray, brothers! Let our litanies be sung on the ringing of steel and lauded by the spray of emptying arteries! Glory unto Abhorash, glory unto the Blood Dragons!"

Dragos ducked low and hacked the legs from beneath one of the charging knights' nightmares. The equine undead toppled forward, hurling the rider from his saddle. Dragos waited, allowing the knight to stand. He waited still, allowing the knight to charge. At last, his foe came down with a mighty, screaming swing at Dragos' neck, and the son of the Red Duke exploded into motion. Moving with his enemy's momentum, Dragos caught the vampire at the wrist, pulling him down and slamming Warithtear home through the opening in the knight's armpit. The daemon blade skewered the vampire's heart, drinking deeply of the blood that hemorrhaged from the ravaged organ as Dragos dropped the lifeless corpse to the ground.

 

[Simon von Carstein]

Aurelius watched as Mannfred's bloodknights penetrated his lines everyone was fighting now Mircea against Valda who had appeared from nowhere with his allies and Vekarin who was now trading blows with the Red Duke. The first bloodknights approached him "draw your sword and fight with honour von Carstein!" snarled one. Aurelius grinned "I don't draw! I incinerate!!!!" he clapped his hands together and a flaming sword burst into life from them darting forward he swiftly decapitated the one who had spoken "alive or dead you can still burn" he said pointedly to the others.

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

As the assembled vampires below fought the air took on a greasy texture. The taste of tin filled the air and sparks of electricity randomly jumped from person to person.
V'azrin glanced up as he recognised the build up up of powerful magic. Overhead it look as if Lesa had finally completed her spell, and though he was loathe to admit it, the power she was holding was immense. Suddenly she trust her hands up towards the black clouds which responded with ominous growl. Arcs of lightning appeared, not striking downwards, but through the clouds themselves. Faster and faster they came, a pattern starting to emerge as the all seemed to be heading towards one spot. As they joined together a bright blue orb materialised, starting small but increasing in size as more bolts hit it.
As he looked down V'azrin saw that Mannfred was stood directly under the gathering energy, and knew that Lesa intended to end this battle. The eerie glow of the orb now dominated the battlefield, causing vampires and necromancers alike to gaze upwards wonderingly. A deathly hush caused V'azin to realise the spell as ready as the spell sucked the sound out of the surrounding area, before an massive beam of light exploded downwards.
It was as if the sun had fallen to the ground. The light blinded everyone, before moments later a shockwave lifted most off their feet. Those closest to the impact were incinerated immediatley, whilst others hit by the concussive wave have their bones snapped and organs jellified. The entire battle was thrown into disarray as commanders tried to regain their sight and hearing in the aftermath.
Lowering her arms and opening her eyes Lesa allowed herself a small gratified smile. Though she felt more tired than ever before, she had not only managed to counter Mannfred's magic, but also at the same time cast a spell strong enough to destroy the Count of Sylvania. She felt a sense of triumph, even with the Crown of Nagash she had overpowered the bastard was was one step closer to saving Milosh.
Down below the light was starting to fade, and she could finally see the destruction her spell had wrought. The forces of the Council were relatively undamaged thanks to Mannfred's choice to remain at the rear of his forces. As their vampiric leader and commanders regained their senses, the troops of the dead reorganised themselves and were thrown into the fray once more.
Suddenly something struck her as being wrong. The forces of the Council were still be held in place, the front line still besieged. But with Mannfred dead at over have of their foes forces should have simply crumbled. A cold feeling crept into her gut as suspicions grew. The last of the glare dissolved and Lersa's instincts were proved right. Surrounded by a plain of destroyed dead, in an orb of glittering protective energy stood Mannfred.

**************************************

The Duke had barely begun to speak before Lesa had cast her spell, and the glare had stopped both him and Vekarin in their tracks. The light had permeated everything, temporarily blinding even those who would not normally be affected.
Someone less experienced might have tried to take advantage, but the Duke knew it would be folly to. Only a fool rushed in blindly, and it would be a dead fool who rushed in blindly against Vekarin. Moments later he could see shapes starting to form and knew his sight was returning. Yet, the light was still around them. That was when he realised that the dark blade his brother wielded was ducking in the magic around them. It was not strong enough to negate the spell, but enough to dull its brilliance in the area surrounding them.
The both looked at each other, both watching and waiting for the moment.
"So is that your response? You use them because you dispatched their former owners? I thought you was the son of Abhorash, not a warrior of Chaos. His teachings was that of ones own skill, of personal growth. I wear only plain amour, wield only a mundane blade, both forged by my own hand. I know that the battles I win are done so by my own abilities. But with your magical toys, who knows whether it is your skill, or the items that have won you the day. You my brother, are nothing more than a hypocrite."
Both warriors sprang at the same time, a blur as clashed into each other with skill unmatched anywhere on the battlefield.

 

[Trevy the Great]

The Duke struck quickly, his blade weaving like a snake among grass. He struck out beneath Vekarin's defenses, but the massive warrior simply stepped aside and attacked as well. The Dark Blade whistled through the air, leaving what seemed to be a trail of blackened air where it passed, but the Red Duke was not there. The smaller Blood Dragon danced away, his sword twirling and striking out yet again at Vekarin, who knocked it aside easily.
"Perhaps you believe that these trophies are not called for in the teachings of our sire, brother." Vekarin whispered loudly, so the Duke could understand him as the smaller figure ducked under a massive, sweeping swing of the Dark Blade and a wide strike with Vekarin's gauntleted hand.
"But in your own arrogance you believe you will defeat me even with them." the Red Duke took a advantage of Vekarin's committal, striking downwards to land a blow of Vekarin's undefended back, but the larger warrior spun quickly, pushing the Duke's sword away and attacking again, a blow that the Red Duke nimbly avoided. The duke struck yet again, his sword weaving faster than a human eye could follow. Of course, Vekarin was not human, and the blow was caught high with the crossguard of the Dark Blade. Vekarin swung his other hand up, quickly grabbing hold of the Duke's sword arm.
"Is arrogance what our sire taught, brother?" Vekarin asked, "Will your own bombastic aplomb lead to defeat?"
The Red Duke snarled and swung his fist up, hitting Vekarin hard in the face. The blow bounced off the Mask of Skull's enchanted iron, barely leaving a dent. Vekarin thrust his skull-like, grimacing helm closer to the Duke's own face as the Duke gradually began to feel himself lifted from the ground on his sword arm/
"Will it, brother?"

 

[Sweeney Todd]

Sweeney Todd watched as a very short distance away, the armored spearhead of the Red Duke's Blood Knights thundered past him towards the council's own Blood Dragon forces. Cutting through undead whose only redeeming quality was their persistent refusal to stay dead(even when obliterated) had thoroughly bored him. The arrival of the opposing Blood Dragons, in such close proximity to him, made his undead heart skip a beat in eager anticipation of some masterfully violent and (for Todd) entertaining swordplay. With an eye on the first enemy Blood Dragon that vaulted over the magical wall of fire, Todd began to hack his way through the skeletons that stood between him and them. Behind him his ghouls followed as a howling tide of degenerates, driven on by his subconscious will.

 

[Belladamma Voltaire]

Clutching at his armour as it began to re-knit itself, Valda felt a slight pang of defeat in his chest. Mircea was a good match for him skill-wise but with the Von Carstein ring he was proving to be a handful. Lashing out with a fireball, he looked over to the pile of ash where Berkerach was holding off Mannfreds forces with child like ease. Noticing Valdas look, he began to levitate from the floor and approach their fight. Valda threw a second fireball and watched as it unfolded into a tornado of flames, burning the bodies of those littered around. It was heading straight for Mircea.

"Lets see how you deal with that, Von Carstein."

The reprieve for a few moments would be nice, just to heal with wounds. Overhead, Valda saw fell bats dropping as Klimpt was slicing through them. Assessing the battle for a moment, his next actions became clear. Still though, he had this Von Carstein to deal with.

 

[Ghouly]

As his brother went after his sister Merovich bellowed in outrage,
"Dragos you sniveling cur! Katrina is mine!" Kicking his skeletal horse in the ribs the steed reared, before lunged towards the traitor at a gallop.
"For the Red Duke," Merovich cried, sword raised above his head. With an almighty clash he met the Katrina's forces, and began hacking his way to his target. With each stroke a warrior died, his determination adding to his speed and strength.
A massive Wight King attempted to block his way, a glowing rune blade in his hands. Evading a blow that would have otherwise incapacitated him, Dragos used his full vampiric strength to ram his blade through his enemies thick armour. With a twist he dragged the blade upwards ripping it out through the wights neck removing his head at the same time.
"You cannot hide from me coward," Merovich bellowed to Katrina, "even if I have to destoy them all, I will kill have your head!"

Katrina swore as her spell was canceled out by Mannfreds minions. The knot of tension she had felt in her stomach grew as her fathers forces started to cut through her own army. At Vekarin's arrival she had thought she might be saved. The two brother's armies seemed intent on destroying each other as much as Vekarin and the Duke did. But one person had not forgotten about her. In the distance she could see Merovich cutting a slow path to her. Whilst she was skilled in combat, she was no match for her brother, and she had no delusions of teh outcome should he reach her.
Suddenly a glaring light filled the sky. The signature of the spell was unmistakable, and Katrina knew that Lesa had cast some sort of spell. Taking advantage of the temporary distraction Katrina turned to Krug,
"Retreat to the tower" she ordered pointing to the west where they had seen the burnt out ruins of an old tower before battle. "Their horses will be next to usless there." Though she coud not see the Krug, she knew her orders woud be followed. As her sight began to return she could see the Draconian forces closing ranks, before they began to fall back from the battle.