Fantasy To Glory!

[Axel The Englishman]

TO GLORY!

The Ranks | OOC

The unpredicted arrival of hot steel made itself apparent to those taking position within the ditch. A number had embedded themselves in the helmets within the Files - only to be halted by the coif of Ferrusan hidden beneath the steel. Though, those who had been struck we launched down into the depths of the ditch. Unconscious, or simply too dazed to steady themselves.

The File of Fusils ready themselves in the mud that now tainted their oiled encasements. A Scribere shook with extreme tension. Clearly new to the concept of war. And clearly unprepared.

The Suffragium to the File ordered each of the men and women to ready themselves against the foreseen hostilities. Against the wave of pure white that dared approach.​

 

[Axel The Englishman]

An armoured figure slammed into the mud forming the ditch. Edward, it appeared to be. Equipped with everything a Fusil needed for combat. He readied his weapon along the dying grass that presented itself - with a quick pull to the bolt to release a round that had been spent on dinner.

The Fusil flashed a look down the iron sights of his weapon, and awaited the he commanded of the File Dominus. His encased fingers laid steadily upon the trigger to what he held. He readied himself for the oncoming attack.

The noble would flash a look left and right towards his comrades. A total of seven in the File. All had managed to evade the streaking metal that besieged their fellow combatants. He prayed to the Lord that they were as prepared as he assumed he was himself.

 

[Knight-Errant]

Sprinting towards the position the noble has taken, Alistair drops down into a low slide taking up a prone position slightly to the left and behind Edward. Fusil or not it wouldn't look favorably on Alistair's parole if he let the noble get shot, so he readied his. His well seasoned hands giggling the bolt back and forth to clear any caked mud before raising slightly to peer over the edge of the ditch, his cheek against the hardwood stock of his cheaply made weapon.

"I hope you know what your are doing my prince".

Alistair muttered lowly to Edward in a clearly northern accent garnish with a large amount of distain. His narrow squinting as he centered his sights forward across the area beyond the relative safety of the ditch.

"I don't know about you, noble but I'm not so fond of dying for our ever so beloved King but whom am I to question divine monarchy. So I suggest we take it so."

Alistair continued to mutter albeit his tone had soften slightly it was unclear whether it was to do actual friendliness or if the aggressive tone was tempered by deep thought as it was want to do by men like the once outlaw.

 

[capMARVELOUS]

Bullets fired. Soil exploded. Soldiers flew. Bodies charred. Screams penetrated the noise.
It was enough to make a softer man go crying home for Mommy.
But Heinrich Volfang was no soft man.
With remarkable speed and panache, the Canonneir kicked around his stationary cannons and dropped his red-hot iron onto each fuse point. Each shot of the cannons brought forth another explosion and more flying enemy bodies.
It was beautiful, in its own horrific way.