The East PacificBoard

Shavara wrote:

Would you want to RP a battle where knights from the RTK battle with a bunch of Hispanic Arquebusiers?

The burly Tyrist closed his eyes, moving his thumb across the ᛏ-shaped pendant in his hand, silently praying for Tyr to grant him strength so that they may win the battle and he may return to his wife and son. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see his old friend and brother-in-arms with a solemn look.

"It's nearly time."

The Tyrist nodded quietly, picking up his Zweihänder, tightening his armor, and dropping the pendant, kicking some dirt on top of it as an offering to the Gods.

His friend offered a hand, and pulled him up from the rock he rested on. The pair walked to the edge of camp, where the knights were gathering. A few of the younger, newer knights were joking. The older ones were silent. They heard the sound of a man clearing his throat, and looked up to see their leader.

King Gotthard was middle-aged, worn by over two decades of battle and one of rulership. He was blessed with the brains of King Odin and the muscles of King Thor. He retained a very strong family resemblance to King Gramor, the founder of Reformed Tyrism, whose statue was second only to Tyr's in popularity.

Gotthard wore the same plate armor as his men, the only difference being the Iron Crown he wore in place of a helmet. His blade was handed down over generations from King Gramor himself, or rather taken from corpses over generations since King Gramor himself. Gotthard had challenged his father's rule and seized the throne in single combat. He had been wielding a sword since he was a boy. They all had.

"Men!" He roared, loud enough to scare away the ravens that had gathered to herald the coming conflict. "Those damned Christians think they can get away with raiding our villages and killing our guards! Those damned Christians think they can get away with occupying a key peninsula of Lerasi and then pushing inland into our rightful territory! Those damned Christians think they can challenge our strength! They think they can challenge a thousand years of Tyrist rule! They will see! Just like Onrus and Atasi before them, they will taste our blades, bleed on our soil, and surrender to the divine right of the Tyrist Kraterocracy! WE WILL TAKE THE FIGHT TO THE DOGS, WE WILL SEND THEM RUNNING WITH THEIR TAILS BETWEEN THEIR LEGS, WE WILL TAKE WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY OURS, AND WE WILL FINALLY TURN TO STAMP OUT THE VINDHOLM WEED! WHO'S WITH ME?"

They all cheered, roared, banged their swords on their armor, or thrust them in the air, towards Valhalla. They were reading to send their enemies to Hel, or to be carried on the wings of Tyr's glorious warrior wives to his realm where they would prepare to fight the Last Battle at the End of Time. All roads led to victory, to a better world. In life or death. That was what Tyrism was about. Victory, and a better world. That's what the colonizers from across the bay didn't understand.

The army charged through the mountain pass and right into the Dolorem puppets' base.