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Regulate; HREX
Topic Started: Apr 24 2011, 12:12 PM (209 Views)
John de Vere
Unregistered

late May 1512

Ah, all was going just as planned. Perhaps a siege machine or two had not been placed precisely where they should have been, maybe a few dozen footmen ran out of place or the archers did not shoot as fast as they should have, but ultimately commander Oxford was pleased. Theouranne had fallen fairly easily, the English loosing only minimal soldiers to the garrisons, and the King and his men moved onwards from the ruins with only the next city in mind. France would be theirs, and if they had to take it wall by wall, then so be it. Oxford would be there to fuel the very heart of it, to take down whatever his sword came in touch with, and would forever relish in the victorious bloodshed. It was in his nature, his born right, and as he rode with a leveled chin on his horse beside the King's, he could only wonder of how to savor it.

"You made no mistake, Your Majesty, in calling us here." He turned his head and smirked at the young King riding beside him, his armor glorious and the crown atop of his head just as opulent. There was a thick entourage of noblemen and knights surrounding the monarch, protecting him with everything they had, including their own flesh, as they traveled through the French interior towards the targeted city of Tournai. There, nothing would be spared. The English numbers were expected to double, at the very least, and it would be there the French would realize their most absolute loss. Louis will have no other choice but to surrender to at least a treaty, and though de Vere hoped Henry would settle for only conquest, he was ready to take a submissive retreat from the French. The sight of the hounds with tails between their legs would, of course, be a worthy sight.

"Louis has spent more time wallowing in his treasury than fueling his army.." he scoffed and shook his head, glancing forwards to the field of crimson men before them. "You would think with such coin, the reinforcements would be just as golden." But alas, they had proved to be nothing but thin, weak and ultimately futile. Their city was gone and France would soon tremble in fear. As he turned his head to speak once more, John was suddenly silenced by a whizzing arrow, one that zipped by in the small space between the King and Oxford and right into the chest of an unnamed knight behind them. Immediately the men surrounding jumped into action, drawing their swords and bows and looking frantically for just what had sent the blue feathered arrow. The Earl saw only enough of the man falling from his horse before spurring his own in front of the King's, revealing his sword just as a horde of Frenchmen came sprinting from the hills ahead. A small garrison, but an angry one nonetheless, one with solid intentions but futile strength.. pests.

The footmen around them surged forwards, anxious for a small skirmish for the trek to Tournai. Oxford watched carefully, ordering them as they moved with their weapons drawn, but remained precariously close to the monarch behind him and the other men closely surrounding. "Keep your eyes open, Your Majesty," he spoke, glancing around the field as the soldiers began their plight against the small group of nearly defenseless garrisons. Putting away his sword, John spurred his horse forwards if only a few strides before drawing his bow and arrow, aiming with a single eye and shooting with all the precision that had been implemented nearly in his bones. It caught only seconds after into the thigh of a Frenchmen, spearing the muscle and sending him to the ground so that a soldier dressed in English crimson could easily finish him with his sword. He did this time after time until he could tell the slower movements in his men, a sure sign the numbers of his enemy were disappearing.

Pivoting his horse to return to the monarch's side, John emitted a long breath and watched his men nearly run over that of the French. "Pests, Your Grace... pure and simple pests."
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