Aethanian ground troops line up behind their defenses, the strong walls of their foe rigid and unmoving before them.
Atop the wall stand crossbowman, weapons primed and ready.
Waiting for the assault down below, Liossan footmen stand ready to stand in the breach.
The defenders look on upon the siege machines of their enemy.
The lines are drawn, food is scarce, it's time to fight or die.
With mighty thunder the siege machines let their loads fly.
The catapult claims first blood, splattering a crossbowman.
The ballista follows, flame and fire purifying a defender.
The Aethanians, with a cry, begin their advance.
The last shreds of food sit over a fire, their cook taking one last look before the fight. Will he live to see this as his last meal?
The ballista on the wall fires its last shot, skewering a foe.
Crossbow bolts sing in response toward the foe, two men scoring kills.
Aethanian bows answer and score one of their own.
A man loads his spear into the machine. One more shot.
His shot fouls, stuck in the fetid remains of a long dead warhorse.
The Lord Commander hears something amiss among his warriors, what could---
Surprise! With a too-pleasant "Happy Helloween!" a spirit bursts forth and claims a life.
Two men sprint to the wall, conscripts added from the citizenry out of desperation.
And so the battle begins with the sound of bowstrings and fire.
The mighty war machines send more hatred to the enemy.
The wall crumbles with malevolence. One crossbowman is kill by the fall, the other dazed.
A soldier shurgs off the flung stones of his foe.
Under fire the foot troops continue their advance, their archers unable to draw blood.
The defenders, however, spill the blood of three. The lone soldier wields his fallen comrades crossbow with skill and defiance.
Ground troops rush to fill the breach.
The Spirit of Halloween gleefully strikes down another.
"It's time for a costume change!" he giggles. Somewhere far away, a park ranger finds her uniform suddenly missing.
From behind the Spirit feels two blades. He falls to dust, leaving behind only his hat, his cackling fading into the wind.
The conscripts head for the wall.
The battle continues, the dead beginning to pile.
The catapult is out of ammunition and its operators take a rest.
Undeterred, the mighty ballista fires again.
The round sails toward the gap in the line.
A footman draws his javelin, and with a quick calculation, heaves it toward the falling bolt.
Improbably, it collides with the bolt midair.
The explosion drops men to their knees and rains sulfur upon the ground, but no lives are lost.
The Aethanian advance claims its first victim.
The men move quickly toward the hole in the wall, but their archers bad luck continues.
On the opposite side of the field a ladder is deployed and men begin to ascend.
The High Admiral joins the procession, banner waving proudly.
The soldier shoots down a climbing foe, throwing him back to earth.
He crouches behind his battlement.
The lone crossbowman nails his foe from behind his tree.
Atop the gate, a crossbowman is unable to harm his foe.
Into the teeth of the enemy charge the Liossan defenders, spears singing in the breeze. They take down an officer.
Into the breach they file.
Aid arrives from below, a welcome sight for the lone soldier.
Onwards advance the combatants. Into blood and blade they march.
The gatehouse erupts in flame, removing the defender upon it.
From across the field, with surprising accuracy, an arrow finds its mark.
Equally unbelievably, another arrow weaves its way to bury a conscript.
The men advance, the line drawn in blood and dirt. Archers again cannot bring down their enemy.
Up the ladder they come with anger and fury, but none fall.
The lines collide, each side drawing blood.
The crouching soldier fells another man on the ladder, his lifeless form falling to dust.
With thick armour and broad shields the defense pours out from the wall. Two more attackers fall in death.
The wall fills with men eager to defy their enemy.
The battle rages on. The defense can feel their victory close at hand.
The High Admiral reads the writing on the wall and calls back to his ballista crew. "Upon us!" he bellows.
Faithfully they loose their final bolt.
Into the midst of the defense it lands, shredding limb from limb and choking the air with fire.
The conscript on the wall is tipped over, falling to his doom.
Archers unload on their heavily armored foe, bringing him down.
Close by the Lord Commander is slain.
The Aethanians pour across the threshold of the wall, unopposed into the heart of their foe.
The defense of the wall crumbles, axes singing with bloody intent.
As the city falls, a mother turns to her daughter, seeking to distract her from the inevitability of their fate. "Darling," she asks, "What do you want to be for Halloween?"
In the ether, the Spirit grins widely.
"A dragon."
With a mighty roar she transforms into a beast of defiance and vengeance. Her wings spread wide as her mother faints.
Men flee from the breach in the wall, the mighty beast poised to bring bloody death.
She brings her bloody vengeance to the wall, limb breaking from limb.
"Flee from me!" her child's voice screams in the air as the dragon roars, "Fear my bite and my breath!"
Above the fires of the enemy camp the dragon climbs the Fortress Ship that brought the invaders. "None will escape my wrath!"
The siege ends, blood soaking into the earth. Broken bodies cry out for vengeance below the broken walls.
Shoutout to Nuju Metru on Flickr for the dragon, which I bought and, sadly, haven't put into a battle until today.
