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Written by Okadoka
The arrival of the Resistance at Greygate was heralded by the crack of ballistae and onagers, hastily cobbled together siege engines hurling rocks which slammed against the old fortress's walls. Their advance through the city had proceeded mostly to plan under the careful eye of Vallavaan Ino-Femunn, who not once throughout the day had put away his smoldering whip, using it to make vaguely threatening gestures towards any soldier who began to even imply delays or faltering from schedule. This harsh attitude had paid off, because now they stood beneath that familiar old bridge just as strife at Demetrius erupted overhead, with a mind to join the action. At Vallavaan's call, ranks were formed. The Mercenaries took the front, for greater pay than usual of course, while the regulars formed a block in the middle and volunteer civilians took up the back. However, as soon as a breach was opened in the front gate- despite Vallavaan's best efforts- this order rapidly dissolved, chaos breaking loose in the charge.
First through the breach were Garth Rodsvar, Wilhelm Wulfmacht, and Jakob Kopfeldjäger, who clambered over the rubble with a glint in their eyes and eager for glory. They were quickly faced with a Vampiric lieutenant and their small army of followers, unlike for the duration of the siege where they had normally outnumbered their attackers, the Resistance in the heart of the Vampiric stronghold was now notably not able to keep up man for man. But this did not deter the three, who viciously fell on the band. Garth's throwing axe marked the Lieutenant in the head, keeling him over before he was able to offer any real resistance, while his shield swung around, battering aside any who tried to approach him. The last of his enemies was finished with a quickly drawn knife plunged into the neck, the Northman making sure to stare into his eyes as he fell.
Wilhelm, meanwhile, was concerned with lining up his Puretek shots. He proceeded with a cold, clinical precision, letting Garth handle the big man in the front while preferring himself to kill as many as possible, even if it was more glorious to down a commander. Any Vampire in his path was quickly shot in the leg before being hacked down by the black steel of his longsword, unable to close the distance before falling to the ground. His time as a Rokhaal had steeled his nerves when it came to fighting Vampires, and in the push, it clearly showed. Jakob dutifully took up his side, keeping enemies off of the Wulfmacht's back when they slipped through his charge. His Hallowtech weapon crackled with light, shifting from sword to dagger to bow and back again, as his fingers pried the transformation toggles with perfect accuracy for each individual moment, being the one to down the final attacker of the first wave with a strike plunged straight through his forehead.
Many more were heartened by this successful charge, and quickly followed. Of particular concern was a gatehouse on the left side, which if left unchecked, could deploy a backup portcullis and end the charge as soon as it had begun, making time for the Vampires to push the Resistance back to their field artillery. But there were some determined to stop this, and at the head of the infantry unit were Ewan Howlester, Humaira di Civita, and Lyonel Deceres. Nothing quite compared to Lyonel's brutality as he prepared to push his way forward to the recognizable oaken door in the adjacent wall, throwing his two-handed warhammer overhead like a tomahawk at the first two Vampires he saw and dashing their brains against the cobbles. Thinking him unarmed, a third rushed him, but not before Lyonel grabbed him by the legs and slammed him against the ground, instantly snapping his spine.
Taking advantage of this diversion, Ewan confidently called out for the main body of the charge party to follow his mark. The young lord made a bold show of his swordwork, cutting down Vampires amidst the calling of orders, voice still audible in the din of combat. For each Vampire whose neck he slit, three more were cut down by a halberdier or a shieldbearer who took his lead, the gatehouse soon after being available for the taking. Just as they were about to capture their objective, the winch held behind the squat little door, all were surprised by the cracking noise of a suit of armor warping under incredible pressure. Humaira stepped forward, swinging her axe from overhead and cutting clear through the last remaining Vampire hiding in the corner like he was butter, simultaneously destroying the entire gate control mechanism, blow so powerful that it smote the stone underfoot and broke it in several places, the complicated control panel of wood and brass utterly destroyed beyond repair. Luckily for Humaira, its default state was open and not closed- with this threat handled, the breakaway unit redeployed to join the main front, where fighting still raged.
The last person the Vampire front guard at the next checkpoint expected to be surprised by was Haeddi van Hal, the Duchess of some hundreds of thousands of subjects jumping him like a wildcat sighting its lunch. He quickly fell with a pocket knife through his throat, Haeddi dusting herself off while the first behind her dashed forward in shock and surprise, the woman offering them only a shrug and a simple "Well? He was in the way. Get on with it." The task of getting on with it was left up to Jahanka Ahura, Lyall Howlester, and Aldane Justyr, who clambered over the body after giving her a strange look, crossing into the first atrium room. They found couches and bookshelves rearranged into makeshift barricades, a cruel reversal of the odds under which the Vampires had taken Greygate for the first time. There the fighting was fiercer and hand to hand, the old soldier Jahanka wearing the grim Draconic scowl of a Songaskian in complete Elder Shift. He leapt into the air, feet planting into the chest of the man unlucky enough to come upon him, barreling him to the ground. A spear through his throat soon followed, before Jahanka could turn his attention to the next interloper, bringing him down with a lunge through his center mass, exemplifying efficiency.
Lyall Howlester, much like her relative Ewan, found herself practicing footwork and style on the Vampiric masses sent to stop her unit's charge. Only unlike Ewan's sword, it was a poleaxe which she spun about, a heavier weapon which coursed overhead in vicious circles, beating and decapitating, far from his lighter blade's simple grace. But Lyall revelled in the bloodshed, pummeling each enemy with a series of quick, indiscriminate blows before downing them with an axe-strike, often to the head. She was in her element, despite the cramped quarters: every corner of Greygate was known to her, both from visits as a child and tenure as an adult, and it was her personal pleasure to finish every Vampire who had the audacity to presume to hide in what she very well saw as her castle. Aldane meanwhile took up the back, after all there had to be someone making sure that one of the frontrunners did not get inelegantly cut down amidst their displays of peak form and have their story end then and there. He did his dirty work with a falchion, battering with the hilt, slashing with the blade, digging at thighs and knees. Much to his own surprise, he found himself the last to clear the room, weight swinging upwards to bash in the skull of the final Vampire with his heavy metal pommel. A quick nod was his signal to continue, reinforcements streaming in behind them. The charge resumed.
The honor of breaching the first courtyard went to Jan Stormheart, Atwood Nak, and Igramnovire Duggall, who raucously shouted with each Vampire they felled. The three cleared the pristine colonnades with quick bladework, Igramnovire's greataxe making fine company to the shorter blades of the other two who moved nimbly around his massive form, and with his savagery alongside Atwood's leaping, plunging blade as well as Jan's well-timed slashes, they had no trouble at all cutting a swathe for others to follow in. There the paths diverged, some leading further into Greygate, while others spilled off into its side wings, extensive corridors that would need to be painstakingly subdued and cleared of Vampires, each room checked for any hiding, who could pose a risk or escape in the future. The initial orders had clarified to stop at that point, considering the chance of shelling that Demetrius still posed once Xilthruum's men had been driven from the castle, but much to their surprise the battle ahead did not quite go in Demetrus's favor, the entity gripping the Dreadfort obliging it to make a quick getaway before any irreparable harm could be done to it, and leaving the Resistance soldiers content in the knowledge that if they only pushed on, today could be their day, and Greygate could be retaken in full.
The side wing on the left led towards the former prison cells, and a sizable detachment peeled off there in the hopes that they could be captured, and used to store some of the captives subdued earlier in the fight. This group was led by Naajy Almakira, resplendent in his golem of smooth gears and copper, alongside Naram Utu-Hengal and Barbossa Yaotl, the large Eronidas and Allar respectively making imposing figures at the head of any breach. Together, they slammed through any doors that held them back and fell on the scattered, disorganized Vampires left in the hallways, unable to mount any proper resistance without a place together. Naajy stood in the back, hooking and pulling them in with the pronged grappler attached to his Golem's arm, just into a range where Naram's axe could bury into their shoulders and then heads, callously discarding each body as he finished with it, tossing it limply to the ground. Barbossa was little different, but worked with her savage talons instead of a weapon, subjecting every fallen sentinel to a far worse fate than rapid decapitation as she tore them to shreds and left them there the moment they stopped fighting back.
Leaping past them and clearing the rest of the way were Sargon Gishkim, Huo Ran'in, and Forcus Ironfist, the Dwarf doing his best to keep up with his two far larger companions. His slowness would end up coming in handy, as a group of enemies who would otherwise have burst their ambush on the Eronidas and Sihai chose him as a target instead: their mistake. For even though he was surrounded and mobbed, nothing could seem to bring him down, shield shifting to cover every point of his body as it was struck at. After a brief but bloody struggle, the Dwarf flung his foes off, wounded, but up and kicking. Doubling back, Sargon and Ran'in gave him their aid, Sargon's strength doing him service as he battered into Vampires with his shield's metal-lipped rim and grabbed their foreheads, beating them into the brickwork. Ran'in meanwhile enjoyed the levitations of his Weapon Song, feeling the keening motion of his sword in his hand obeying his every thought and call, dancing between throats. The three of them cleared the hallway together, looking over the ground slick with blood when they were finished, but feeling a sense of determination that it had all been followed through with.
The main party, meanwhile, was cutting its way to the stairwell that would take them to Greygate's second level. Froya Fjordefil, Urijah Jamesson, and Aleksandra Dragic stood at the head of this subgroup, which cleared a road for the others. It was Urijah who curiously fought the most savagely of them all, throwing himself in front of enemy blows, clearing them away with his axes, in a strange mixture of abhorrent hatred for the Vampires he was killing, a total lack of regard for his own safety, and spite towards those who had allowed him on the assault, to prove that he was somehow better than their men and have something to brag about later. Froya and Aleksandra held up their own ends however, with Aleksandra's well-placed Magic Bolts disabling Vampires just so she could nail them through the stomach with her arming sword, treating each one she downed like a personal conquest, whispering phrases in Vladno. Protecting her while she took the time to do so was Froya, who used her height to tower over Aleksandra and swing her glaive from on high like Sihai guardian sentinel statue, disabling anyone who would deal the Altalar harm with a judicious strike to the forehead.
Frejnir Rodsvar, Markus Delmotte, and Matzki Maz-Vyzal led a detachment beyond them, struggling to clear their way halfway up the steps. There they came across another Vampiric lieutenant like the one who had been downed at the outset of the assault, a towering Velheim man bearing a great spear which glinted with malevolent red Essence. Matzki went first to cut a path, biting and scratching with his talons, felling three men at once with strikes from different directions, always unpredictable in a blur of motion. His bravery opened the road for Frejnir to raise his longsword aloft and initiate a duel, something in this appealing to the Vampire's twisted sense of honor, who started off on the backfoot, but then quickly began to drive Frejnir back with his superior range. When it looked like he might drive him off the stairwell and take him out of the fight with a sizably uncomfortable fall, an unexpected ally stepped forward in the form of Markus Delmotte, who knocked down the Vampire's strike with his shield. The young Baron seemed to be carrying five different swords in his belt, items he had looted while others weren't watching earlier in the fight. With a pained expression on his face, he gave up every heirloom saber, plunging them into the lieutenant's stomach one by one while Frejnir held him in a bind so that he could not counterattack. With the bloody deed done and five oddly mismatched Regalian officers' swords protruding from their foe's chest, the party continued, with others hot on their heels.
Soon after came Calibur Ashford, Heinrich Wulfmacht, and Natharia Mac Conall, eager to take a piece of the glory for themselves. Calibur slung Vampires about like they were sacks of potatoes, dashing them into one another, against the stairwell's handrail, and even over the side and plummeting down it, much to the consternation of some Violets below who had their gallant charge rudely interrupted by a hundred pounds of prostrated Vampire falling on their heads. Heinrich meanwhile was lost somewhere in his own mind, delighting in substantial overkill at the business end of his long dagger. Every Vampire he downed, he downed with a cacophony of blows to the upper shoulder area, hoping that he could stab down to their heart. Even the blood-cursed were given pause at his outright insanity, as he not only stabbed foes once they were down, but scrabbled in a bid to tear out their innards, unconcerned with anything except inflicting as much violence as possible. Natharia was a stark contrast to him, moving slowly, gracefully, only striking when she could pin an enemy through the chest in one blow, and gently lowering them to the ground much like a mournful lover as she finished. The General gave Heinrich a dirty look when it was over and their part had been played, mouth setting into a firm line, many words about what he had just done left unspoken.
Nyx Richter, Delimira Minarith, and Ridley fought together on a side balcony while others moved up the stairs, working together in the bright sunlight. Or rather, attempting to work together, because Delimira and Ridley did their best not to look at each other while they staved off Vampires, preferring to work alone with the slight convenience of sometimes having an enemy besides them dealt with, without acknowledging that the other had done it. Delimira's work was in a haze of blazing green embers, which coursed through small crowds of Vampires, blowing them away on the wind as if they had never been there to begin with. Ridley, ever the uncomfortable flirt, preferred to fell his enemies with Magic Bolts blown as streams of heart-kisses on the wind, beating them to death with his rather unfortunately oversized Magitech hammer as soon as they had been knocked off balance. Still, his effectiveness was undeniable, and there was no staving off the odd panache in the eyelashed winks he gave each man he was about to kill. Nyx meanwhile took caution in field testing her abilities as an Archblood, a trail of lightning pushing one way there, her halberd changing shape now and again, never over-doing her boundaries but performing well while staying well within them. Her participation in the assault was almost ended by a figure which suddenly careened from the sky, the body of a man which had been thrown from Demetrius just before its departure, only now reaching her. It crashed into the balcony at terminal velocity only a few feet away from her, shattering the stone where it landed and flattening the last two Vampires under its weight, while Nyx and the other two retreated inside so that they did not fall right off the crumbling brickwork.
While soldiers of steel, song, and banner carved their way through the front gate, and the front hallway, and the front stairwell, the Dragon Wardens (and Archblood) had an altogether different idea. Silver had been at the back of the line while everyone poured into the breach, and with his mouth forming into a taut little line and head curtly shaking in disapproval, he made a quick hand gesture for his friends Cyran and Vivienne to follow along with him as he went for a side wall instead. Familiar Draconic claws extended from his fingertips, and with Vivienne hopping on his back and Cyran going alongside him, he scurried up the wall, finding a conveniently located third-story window to kick in with the iron heel of his boot. They clambered into a room of Vampires still armoring up to reinforce their comrades in the brawl below, and leapt on them, Cyran doing the dirty work with his own two hands and feet. Dragonscale blunted Vampiric clawstrikes as his heel met its mark on an enemy's temple, Vivienne following close behind with her careful swordwork poking through any Vampire that got too close to outflanking Cyran, while Silver took great pleasure into protecting her in turn. When it looked like one of the Vampires was going to run out of the door and alert the others to the fact that the Dragon Wardens had found a side way into their compound, Silver's head snapped to look at him. The man sighed, his foot dragging back against the ground, and a trail of silverlight danced under his steps, blinking him to the other side of the Vampire in the blink of an eye. He raised a finger to his lips, suggesting 'shh', while driving his sword into the unfortunate sentry's gut, Vivienne soon replicating the gesture from the other side, casting him down together.
But last and most indomitable of all were the Viridian Knights, who representing their ancient Order, finally caught up with the rest of the charge at the top of the stairwell into the final offices where the last remnants of Vampiric Mage-command were holed up. Howland von Schwarzkrau took the front of the echelon, with Theodore Vandervelde on his right and the Shieldmaiden Theresia Kaeppler on his left. They protected their Grand Ducal-Sergeant on the charge, as his sword emulated the finest work of the Primae Yvrize, dipping and ducking, slipping through holes in armpits where armor was not properly aligned, in his element. Howland's mind burned with thoughts of the injustices they had endured during the occupation, of the countless days spent immersed in the mud and filth. He thought not of himself, never a complaint on his mind, but of the poor he had seen, the needy and hungry, driven from their homes, those for whom there was not enough room, turned loose into Vampire food, the friends he had lost to the red-eyed scourge, men he respected and loved. But his eyes were cold. He showed no mercy to any who got between him and his task, and any who he missed in the moment, were cut down by either Theodore or Theresia. They found themselves in the densest hall yet, where all the Vampires who had routed earlier had retreated, some packed so closely like sardines, that they could not be targeted and picked out as individuals. Howland did not care; they quickly became the replacement for the floor-panels under his feet, boots squelching atop their bodies. With his two companions, he drove the enemy before him, cutting his way to the final door, which he ceremonially beat open with the boss of his shield, weight springing forward at his call.
Then Vallavaan did proceed, whip imperiously curled about his forearm, chin tilted high. The Suvial sneered at the cowering Vampiric commander, ducked behind a desk inside the room, but was given brief pause when the expression was mirrored. He had walked into a trap, the tell-tale hiss of alchemical explosives sounding in the room's corner, and might have met with a grisly salvo of shrapnel if not for both first Howland's shield, which tossed into the doorway was crumpled into a useless scrap of metal by the force of the blow, and the Knight Philippe du Langelier, who as if appearing almost out of nowhere interposed himself between Vallavaan and the sneak attack. Howland's careful aim protected him from being turned into a ragdoll, but all the same the armor on his right arm warped like a tin can under pressure, the Bloodcast soon collapsing to the ground, losing control of the limb. Brushing himself off, Vallavaan stepped forward: he answered cowardice with fury, the coil of his whip lashing forward to grab his counterpart by the neck and drag him forward until he was on his knees in supplication. The Suvial reached a hand forward, and muttering a phrase in his tongue, "merëya chakhajiye jäiya. imaakhi Mahadyuta," grabbed the Vampire's forehead. Flames bathed him, the cleansing fire of Enneia called by ancient words of power; and he was soon left without a body to even collapse to the floor with, ashes blowing away on a nonexistent wind.
Without a General, and defeated on all fronts, the Vampires had decidedly lost Greygate. With their remnants mopped up, and the Resistance's wounded being diligently tended to by the medic Ana Cervantez, who ran back and forth curing the wounds of fifteen different soldiers at once with hands that blurred between different alchemical bottles and surgeon's tools alongside other doctors of considerable, but less prodigious prowess, there was nothing left to oppose Resistance hegemony over the castle of Greygate. As signal flares all around the city screeched into the air to indicate that the Resistance had been victorious elsewhere, too, Vallavaan summited Greygate's final stairwell, taking him to an open-air balcony above the last office room. A smile crept to the corners of his mouth, as he raised his hand and jetted a stream of red-orange fire into the sky. His own, personal signal of victory.
It was over.
The arrival of the Resistance at Greygate was heralded by the crack of ballistae and onagers, hastily cobbled together siege engines hurling rocks which slammed against the old fortress's walls. Their advance through the city had proceeded mostly to plan under the careful eye of Vallavaan Ino-Femunn, who not once throughout the day had put away his smoldering whip, using it to make vaguely threatening gestures towards any soldier who began to even imply delays or faltering from schedule. This harsh attitude had paid off, because now they stood beneath that familiar old bridge just as strife at Demetrius erupted overhead, with a mind to join the action. At Vallavaan's call, ranks were formed. The Mercenaries took the front, for greater pay than usual of course, while the regulars formed a block in the middle and volunteer civilians took up the back. However, as soon as a breach was opened in the front gate- despite Vallavaan's best efforts- this order rapidly dissolved, chaos breaking loose in the charge.
First through the breach were Garth Rodsvar, Wilhelm Wulfmacht, and Jakob Kopfeldjäger, who clambered over the rubble with a glint in their eyes and eager for glory. They were quickly faced with a Vampiric lieutenant and their small army of followers, unlike for the duration of the siege where they had normally outnumbered their attackers, the Resistance in the heart of the Vampiric stronghold was now notably not able to keep up man for man. But this did not deter the three, who viciously fell on the band. Garth's throwing axe marked the Lieutenant in the head, keeling him over before he was able to offer any real resistance, while his shield swung around, battering aside any who tried to approach him. The last of his enemies was finished with a quickly drawn knife plunged into the neck, the Northman making sure to stare into his eyes as he fell.
Wilhelm, meanwhile, was concerned with lining up his Puretek shots. He proceeded with a cold, clinical precision, letting Garth handle the big man in the front while preferring himself to kill as many as possible, even if it was more glorious to down a commander. Any Vampire in his path was quickly shot in the leg before being hacked down by the black steel of his longsword, unable to close the distance before falling to the ground. His time as a Rokhaal had steeled his nerves when it came to fighting Vampires, and in the push, it clearly showed. Jakob dutifully took up his side, keeping enemies off of the Wulfmacht's back when they slipped through his charge. His Hallowtech weapon crackled with light, shifting from sword to dagger to bow and back again, as his fingers pried the transformation toggles with perfect accuracy for each individual moment, being the one to down the final attacker of the first wave with a strike plunged straight through his forehead.
Many more were heartened by this successful charge, and quickly followed. Of particular concern was a gatehouse on the left side, which if left unchecked, could deploy a backup portcullis and end the charge as soon as it had begun, making time for the Vampires to push the Resistance back to their field artillery. But there were some determined to stop this, and at the head of the infantry unit were Ewan Howlester, Humaira di Civita, and Lyonel Deceres. Nothing quite compared to Lyonel's brutality as he prepared to push his way forward to the recognizable oaken door in the adjacent wall, throwing his two-handed warhammer overhead like a tomahawk at the first two Vampires he saw and dashing their brains against the cobbles. Thinking him unarmed, a third rushed him, but not before Lyonel grabbed him by the legs and slammed him against the ground, instantly snapping his spine.
Taking advantage of this diversion, Ewan confidently called out for the main body of the charge party to follow his mark. The young lord made a bold show of his swordwork, cutting down Vampires amidst the calling of orders, voice still audible in the din of combat. For each Vampire whose neck he slit, three more were cut down by a halberdier or a shieldbearer who took his lead, the gatehouse soon after being available for the taking. Just as they were about to capture their objective, the winch held behind the squat little door, all were surprised by the cracking noise of a suit of armor warping under incredible pressure. Humaira stepped forward, swinging her axe from overhead and cutting clear through the last remaining Vampire hiding in the corner like he was butter, simultaneously destroying the entire gate control mechanism, blow so powerful that it smote the stone underfoot and broke it in several places, the complicated control panel of wood and brass utterly destroyed beyond repair. Luckily for Humaira, its default state was open and not closed- with this threat handled, the breakaway unit redeployed to join the main front, where fighting still raged.
The last person the Vampire front guard at the next checkpoint expected to be surprised by was Haeddi van Hal, the Duchess of some hundreds of thousands of subjects jumping him like a wildcat sighting its lunch. He quickly fell with a pocket knife through his throat, Haeddi dusting herself off while the first behind her dashed forward in shock and surprise, the woman offering them only a shrug and a simple "Well? He was in the way. Get on with it." The task of getting on with it was left up to Jahanka Ahura, Lyall Howlester, and Aldane Justyr, who clambered over the body after giving her a strange look, crossing into the first atrium room. They found couches and bookshelves rearranged into makeshift barricades, a cruel reversal of the odds under which the Vampires had taken Greygate for the first time. There the fighting was fiercer and hand to hand, the old soldier Jahanka wearing the grim Draconic scowl of a Songaskian in complete Elder Shift. He leapt into the air, feet planting into the chest of the man unlucky enough to come upon him, barreling him to the ground. A spear through his throat soon followed, before Jahanka could turn his attention to the next interloper, bringing him down with a lunge through his center mass, exemplifying efficiency.
Lyall Howlester, much like her relative Ewan, found herself practicing footwork and style on the Vampiric masses sent to stop her unit's charge. Only unlike Ewan's sword, it was a poleaxe which she spun about, a heavier weapon which coursed overhead in vicious circles, beating and decapitating, far from his lighter blade's simple grace. But Lyall revelled in the bloodshed, pummeling each enemy with a series of quick, indiscriminate blows before downing them with an axe-strike, often to the head. She was in her element, despite the cramped quarters: every corner of Greygate was known to her, both from visits as a child and tenure as an adult, and it was her personal pleasure to finish every Vampire who had the audacity to presume to hide in what she very well saw as her castle. Aldane meanwhile took up the back, after all there had to be someone making sure that one of the frontrunners did not get inelegantly cut down amidst their displays of peak form and have their story end then and there. He did his dirty work with a falchion, battering with the hilt, slashing with the blade, digging at thighs and knees. Much to his own surprise, he found himself the last to clear the room, weight swinging upwards to bash in the skull of the final Vampire with his heavy metal pommel. A quick nod was his signal to continue, reinforcements streaming in behind them. The charge resumed.
The honor of breaching the first courtyard went to Jan Stormheart, Atwood Nak, and Igramnovire Duggall, who raucously shouted with each Vampire they felled. The three cleared the pristine colonnades with quick bladework, Igramnovire's greataxe making fine company to the shorter blades of the other two who moved nimbly around his massive form, and with his savagery alongside Atwood's leaping, plunging blade as well as Jan's well-timed slashes, they had no trouble at all cutting a swathe for others to follow in. There the paths diverged, some leading further into Greygate, while others spilled off into its side wings, extensive corridors that would need to be painstakingly subdued and cleared of Vampires, each room checked for any hiding, who could pose a risk or escape in the future. The initial orders had clarified to stop at that point, considering the chance of shelling that Demetrius still posed once Xilthruum's men had been driven from the castle, but much to their surprise the battle ahead did not quite go in Demetrus's favor, the entity gripping the Dreadfort obliging it to make a quick getaway before any irreparable harm could be done to it, and leaving the Resistance soldiers content in the knowledge that if they only pushed on, today could be their day, and Greygate could be retaken in full.
The side wing on the left led towards the former prison cells, and a sizable detachment peeled off there in the hopes that they could be captured, and used to store some of the captives subdued earlier in the fight. This group was led by Naajy Almakira, resplendent in his golem of smooth gears and copper, alongside Naram Utu-Hengal and Barbossa Yaotl, the large Eronidas and Allar respectively making imposing figures at the head of any breach. Together, they slammed through any doors that held them back and fell on the scattered, disorganized Vampires left in the hallways, unable to mount any proper resistance without a place together. Naajy stood in the back, hooking and pulling them in with the pronged grappler attached to his Golem's arm, just into a range where Naram's axe could bury into their shoulders and then heads, callously discarding each body as he finished with it, tossing it limply to the ground. Barbossa was little different, but worked with her savage talons instead of a weapon, subjecting every fallen sentinel to a far worse fate than rapid decapitation as she tore them to shreds and left them there the moment they stopped fighting back.
Leaping past them and clearing the rest of the way were Sargon Gishkim, Huo Ran'in, and Forcus Ironfist, the Dwarf doing his best to keep up with his two far larger companions. His slowness would end up coming in handy, as a group of enemies who would otherwise have burst their ambush on the Eronidas and Sihai chose him as a target instead: their mistake. For even though he was surrounded and mobbed, nothing could seem to bring him down, shield shifting to cover every point of his body as it was struck at. After a brief but bloody struggle, the Dwarf flung his foes off, wounded, but up and kicking. Doubling back, Sargon and Ran'in gave him their aid, Sargon's strength doing him service as he battered into Vampires with his shield's metal-lipped rim and grabbed their foreheads, beating them into the brickwork. Ran'in meanwhile enjoyed the levitations of his Weapon Song, feeling the keening motion of his sword in his hand obeying his every thought and call, dancing between throats. The three of them cleared the hallway together, looking over the ground slick with blood when they were finished, but feeling a sense of determination that it had all been followed through with.
The main party, meanwhile, was cutting its way to the stairwell that would take them to Greygate's second level. Froya Fjordefil, Urijah Jamesson, and Aleksandra Dragic stood at the head of this subgroup, which cleared a road for the others. It was Urijah who curiously fought the most savagely of them all, throwing himself in front of enemy blows, clearing them away with his axes, in a strange mixture of abhorrent hatred for the Vampires he was killing, a total lack of regard for his own safety, and spite towards those who had allowed him on the assault, to prove that he was somehow better than their men and have something to brag about later. Froya and Aleksandra held up their own ends however, with Aleksandra's well-placed Magic Bolts disabling Vampires just so she could nail them through the stomach with her arming sword, treating each one she downed like a personal conquest, whispering phrases in Vladno. Protecting her while she took the time to do so was Froya, who used her height to tower over Aleksandra and swing her glaive from on high like Sihai guardian sentinel statue, disabling anyone who would deal the Altalar harm with a judicious strike to the forehead.
Frejnir Rodsvar, Markus Delmotte, and Matzki Maz-Vyzal led a detachment beyond them, struggling to clear their way halfway up the steps. There they came across another Vampiric lieutenant like the one who had been downed at the outset of the assault, a towering Velheim man bearing a great spear which glinted with malevolent red Essence. Matzki went first to cut a path, biting and scratching with his talons, felling three men at once with strikes from different directions, always unpredictable in a blur of motion. His bravery opened the road for Frejnir to raise his longsword aloft and initiate a duel, something in this appealing to the Vampire's twisted sense of honor, who started off on the backfoot, but then quickly began to drive Frejnir back with his superior range. When it looked like he might drive him off the stairwell and take him out of the fight with a sizably uncomfortable fall, an unexpected ally stepped forward in the form of Markus Delmotte, who knocked down the Vampire's strike with his shield. The young Baron seemed to be carrying five different swords in his belt, items he had looted while others weren't watching earlier in the fight. With a pained expression on his face, he gave up every heirloom saber, plunging them into the lieutenant's stomach one by one while Frejnir held him in a bind so that he could not counterattack. With the bloody deed done and five oddly mismatched Regalian officers' swords protruding from their foe's chest, the party continued, with others hot on their heels.
Soon after came Calibur Ashford, Heinrich Wulfmacht, and Natharia Mac Conall, eager to take a piece of the glory for themselves. Calibur slung Vampires about like they were sacks of potatoes, dashing them into one another, against the stairwell's handrail, and even over the side and plummeting down it, much to the consternation of some Violets below who had their gallant charge rudely interrupted by a hundred pounds of prostrated Vampire falling on their heads. Heinrich meanwhile was lost somewhere in his own mind, delighting in substantial overkill at the business end of his long dagger. Every Vampire he downed, he downed with a cacophony of blows to the upper shoulder area, hoping that he could stab down to their heart. Even the blood-cursed were given pause at his outright insanity, as he not only stabbed foes once they were down, but scrabbled in a bid to tear out their innards, unconcerned with anything except inflicting as much violence as possible. Natharia was a stark contrast to him, moving slowly, gracefully, only striking when she could pin an enemy through the chest in one blow, and gently lowering them to the ground much like a mournful lover as she finished. The General gave Heinrich a dirty look when it was over and their part had been played, mouth setting into a firm line, many words about what he had just done left unspoken.
Nyx Richter, Delimira Minarith, and Ridley fought together on a side balcony while others moved up the stairs, working together in the bright sunlight. Or rather, attempting to work together, because Delimira and Ridley did their best not to look at each other while they staved off Vampires, preferring to work alone with the slight convenience of sometimes having an enemy besides them dealt with, without acknowledging that the other had done it. Delimira's work was in a haze of blazing green embers, which coursed through small crowds of Vampires, blowing them away on the wind as if they had never been there to begin with. Ridley, ever the uncomfortable flirt, preferred to fell his enemies with Magic Bolts blown as streams of heart-kisses on the wind, beating them to death with his rather unfortunately oversized Magitech hammer as soon as they had been knocked off balance. Still, his effectiveness was undeniable, and there was no staving off the odd panache in the eyelashed winks he gave each man he was about to kill. Nyx meanwhile took caution in field testing her abilities as an Archblood, a trail of lightning pushing one way there, her halberd changing shape now and again, never over-doing her boundaries but performing well while staying well within them. Her participation in the assault was almost ended by a figure which suddenly careened from the sky, the body of a man which had been thrown from Demetrius just before its departure, only now reaching her. It crashed into the balcony at terminal velocity only a few feet away from her, shattering the stone where it landed and flattening the last two Vampires under its weight, while Nyx and the other two retreated inside so that they did not fall right off the crumbling brickwork.
While soldiers of steel, song, and banner carved their way through the front gate, and the front hallway, and the front stairwell, the Dragon Wardens (and Archblood) had an altogether different idea. Silver had been at the back of the line while everyone poured into the breach, and with his mouth forming into a taut little line and head curtly shaking in disapproval, he made a quick hand gesture for his friends Cyran and Vivienne to follow along with him as he went for a side wall instead. Familiar Draconic claws extended from his fingertips, and with Vivienne hopping on his back and Cyran going alongside him, he scurried up the wall, finding a conveniently located third-story window to kick in with the iron heel of his boot. They clambered into a room of Vampires still armoring up to reinforce their comrades in the brawl below, and leapt on them, Cyran doing the dirty work with his own two hands and feet. Dragonscale blunted Vampiric clawstrikes as his heel met its mark on an enemy's temple, Vivienne following close behind with her careful swordwork poking through any Vampire that got too close to outflanking Cyran, while Silver took great pleasure into protecting her in turn. When it looked like one of the Vampires was going to run out of the door and alert the others to the fact that the Dragon Wardens had found a side way into their compound, Silver's head snapped to look at him. The man sighed, his foot dragging back against the ground, and a trail of silverlight danced under his steps, blinking him to the other side of the Vampire in the blink of an eye. He raised a finger to his lips, suggesting 'shh', while driving his sword into the unfortunate sentry's gut, Vivienne soon replicating the gesture from the other side, casting him down together.
But last and most indomitable of all were the Viridian Knights, who representing their ancient Order, finally caught up with the rest of the charge at the top of the stairwell into the final offices where the last remnants of Vampiric Mage-command were holed up. Howland von Schwarzkrau took the front of the echelon, with Theodore Vandervelde on his right and the Shieldmaiden Theresia Kaeppler on his left. They protected their Grand Ducal-Sergeant on the charge, as his sword emulated the finest work of the Primae Yvrize, dipping and ducking, slipping through holes in armpits where armor was not properly aligned, in his element. Howland's mind burned with thoughts of the injustices they had endured during the occupation, of the countless days spent immersed in the mud and filth. He thought not of himself, never a complaint on his mind, but of the poor he had seen, the needy and hungry, driven from their homes, those for whom there was not enough room, turned loose into Vampire food, the friends he had lost to the red-eyed scourge, men he respected and loved. But his eyes were cold. He showed no mercy to any who got between him and his task, and any who he missed in the moment, were cut down by either Theodore or Theresia. They found themselves in the densest hall yet, where all the Vampires who had routed earlier had retreated, some packed so closely like sardines, that they could not be targeted and picked out as individuals. Howland did not care; they quickly became the replacement for the floor-panels under his feet, boots squelching atop their bodies. With his two companions, he drove the enemy before him, cutting his way to the final door, which he ceremonially beat open with the boss of his shield, weight springing forward at his call.
Then Vallavaan did proceed, whip imperiously curled about his forearm, chin tilted high. The Suvial sneered at the cowering Vampiric commander, ducked behind a desk inside the room, but was given brief pause when the expression was mirrored. He had walked into a trap, the tell-tale hiss of alchemical explosives sounding in the room's corner, and might have met with a grisly salvo of shrapnel if not for both first Howland's shield, which tossed into the doorway was crumpled into a useless scrap of metal by the force of the blow, and the Knight Philippe du Langelier, who as if appearing almost out of nowhere interposed himself between Vallavaan and the sneak attack. Howland's careful aim protected him from being turned into a ragdoll, but all the same the armor on his right arm warped like a tin can under pressure, the Bloodcast soon collapsing to the ground, losing control of the limb. Brushing himself off, Vallavaan stepped forward: he answered cowardice with fury, the coil of his whip lashing forward to grab his counterpart by the neck and drag him forward until he was on his knees in supplication. The Suvial reached a hand forward, and muttering a phrase in his tongue, "merëya chakhajiye jäiya. imaakhi Mahadyuta," grabbed the Vampire's forehead. Flames bathed him, the cleansing fire of Enneia called by ancient words of power; and he was soon left without a body to even collapse to the floor with, ashes blowing away on a nonexistent wind.
Without a General, and defeated on all fronts, the Vampires had decidedly lost Greygate. With their remnants mopped up, and the Resistance's wounded being diligently tended to by the medic Ana Cervantez, who ran back and forth curing the wounds of fifteen different soldiers at once with hands that blurred between different alchemical bottles and surgeon's tools alongside other doctors of considerable, but less prodigious prowess, there was nothing left to oppose Resistance hegemony over the castle of Greygate. As signal flares all around the city screeched into the air to indicate that the Resistance had been victorious elsewhere, too, Vallavaan summited Greygate's final stairwell, taking him to an open-air balcony above the last office room. A smile crept to the corners of his mouth, as he raised his hand and jetted a stream of red-orange fire into the sky. His own, personal signal of victory.
It was over.
