Alice Astora

Alice Du Astora, also known as the Blood Dragon. ^{Not to be confused with the vampire chivalric order of the Blood Dragons.}  

Personal History

  Alice was born during the Sun Still. Her parents were overjoyed, as they thought their firstborn would be born in such a blessed day, and destined to great things. Reality wasn't though as exciting for Norman, her father, as he wished for a male heir to be born.   As Alice grew up, she found joy in aspects of life that would befit a lady. However, she constantly tried to prove herself to be as skilled as any male aspiring to become a knight, though her father failed to recognize it. She had a talent to wield the sword better than most, and that caused her to constantly challenge others to duels, which she more often than not won. All of her dedication would be fruitless however, if she could not find a way to become a proper knight.   She took her father's armor and rode towards Bastonne, to see the Royarch himself. In the way, she found a village that was being raided by goblins, and she fought against them single-handedly and managed to push them back into the mountains. Later on, when she revealed her indentity it caused great aversion and confusion among the peasants.   Upon securing the word of honor of Chrales du Artois after a duel, (One of Tristan's descendents, a Knight who became notorious after defeating the Black Grail Knights) She sucessfully appealed to the court in Bastonne and had permission of the Royarch himself to undertake the Errant Quest.   The noblemen seated at Bastonne did not agree in the slighest however, a woman becoming a knight was outrageos in every sense of the word. The long-rooted traditions did not strictly forbid it, but women were never elegible to become knights at all.  

The Greenskins

Alice's first adventure came when they were called to ride against a Greenskin horde rampaging across the countryside of Estokia.   That morning, the knights of Bastonne sat astride their Warhorses on the grasslands beyond the towering walls of Castle Astoria, their armour shined to perfection and colourful banners whipping in the stiff breeze. Fully armoured and wearing flowing cloaks that mirrored the colours of their livery, Alice knelt before her father, the Lord of Astora.   Alice's heart pounded with barely restrained excitement as she knelt before her father, though she felt a tinge of unease. On one hand, this was her chance, at last, to prove herself in the field of battle, and she was full of noble confidence in her own abilities. She could not deny however that her ageing father had grown frail of late, and prayed to the Lady for his safety. After being denied her father's blessing, Alice mounted her horse with a cheer. Squires passed her, and Alice felt trembling excitement at the prospect of war. She joined the ranks of the knights as her family's ancestral blade was brought forth to be wielded by her father.   Calling out for their victory, the Lord of Astora's voice was met with another cheer, and the host of Astora lifted their lances high in salute. Alice and the knights then turned to the west, towards the distant sea and the lands of Estokia. Blushing ladies threw flowers before the resplendent knights, and peasant children and dogs ran alongside them. Trumpets blared as they rode away from Castle Astora, and Alice gave the Castle that had been her home these last decades a final look, before kicking her spurs into the flanks of her steed, Charlemagne.   Alongside many other young Knights Errant, this would be Alice's first true battle, a battle in which her long years of training were put to great use. The young noble galloped into the fray, slaughtering musclebound Orcs with lance and sword, whilst both knights and greenskins died all around her. Her whole existence seemed to become centred on the tip of her lance, and she levelled it at the barrelling chest of a greenskin brute that roared its defiance as she bore down upon it. The creature leapt forward to meet the knights head-on, and Alice followed its every move with the tip of her lance. She took in every detail of the barbarous creature: its foul hide, which was the colour of rotting vegetation; the assortment of rusted armour plates that covered its broad shoulders; its malicious red eyes filled with bloodlust and bestial hatred. Gore dripped from the heavy bladed cleavers clasped in its massive fists, and thick tusks extended from its lower jaw. Its heavily scarred arms were immense, easily as thick as her thighs.   The lance tip smashed into the orc’s chest with a shuddering impact, and Alice tensed her muscles as she drove the lance through the creature’s ribcage, as she had been taught on the practice fields of Astora. The power of the blow shuddered up Alice's arm and into the body, as the vamplate of her lance was driven back into her breastplate, and her body rocked backwards in the saddle. The lance drove clear through the creature’s body, impaling it, and the weapon was ripped from Alice's hands. The fallen orc was trampled beneath Charlemagne's hooves, its bones crushed as it was kicked and stamped by the knights close behind. Then Alice was past the orc, her sword hissing from her scabbard in a flash of silver. In what seemed like a fraction of a second, she had been blooded in battle, and had made her first kill with the lance. Alice's blade flashed out, glancing off the skull of an orc as she surged past, and other greenskins were lifted into the air as they were impaled on the lances of the other knights.   Alice's earlier nervousness was replaced by an empowering surge of adrenaline, and she whooped savagely, voicing her enthusiasm and excitement as the formation of knights thundered through the village, running down and slaughtering the greenskins. Nothing could stand against them, and the feeling of power and speed was intoxicating.   Alice and the other Knights took a brief moment of respite before pushing on once more. She accepted a new lance offered to her by a soldier, bearing the colours of her father, and at the sound of a horn blown by one of the knights, the nobles of Bastonne rode from the devastated village and onto more slaughter, where the main bulk of the Greenskin army were fighting.   Alice's jaw dropped as she drew to a halt atop the rise and looked down upon the seething battle underway below. Clarion horns sounded, and thousands of knights churned up the earth as they thundered across the field, lances lowering as they smashed into the massed ranks of the enemy. The greenskins surged like an overwhelming tide, their numbers inconceivable.   Kicking her steed onwards, Alice and the knights of Bastonne powered down the grassy hill to meet a horde of brutal Boar Riders, who came pouring out of the Orc’s infantry ranks. Alice, her face flushed with anger, shouted a wordless cry, which was lost amongst the cacophony of war, as she urged Charlemagne on, willing the stallion to gallop faster.   Too late, the boar riders realised this new danger, and tried to haul their bulky steeds around to face the knights’ charge. The creatures were stubborn, obstinate beasts, and they snarled and slavered as their riders pulled brutally at them. Several of them threw their riders, bucking and spinning, and the massive tuskers gored each other in the confusion. The scent of blood drove them to madness, and they ripped at each other, as their riders tried frantically to control the wild beasts. Then Alice and the knights of Bastonne slammed into them.   Alice's lance glanced off the armoured shoulder of an orc, throwing it off balance, and Charlemagne's armoured bulk smashed the creature aside. It lost its precarious balance upon the ridged back of its mount, and fell beneath the flashing hooves of the warhorses, even as the boar was impaled upon the lance of another knight, spitting and snarling as it fell. A knight alongside Alice was thrown from the saddle as a spear struck her breastplate, and she saw her friend's lance break as it sank deep into the body of another boar. Tucking her own lance tightly under her arm, she drove its point into the face of a savagely painted greenskin, feeling the satisfying impact as the long weapon drove through its eye socket and brain, before punching through the back of its skull. Then the knights were free, having smashed through the flank of the boar riders, splitting them.   Then, in perfect unison, the knights of Bastonne pulled their steeds around to the right in a wide arc, wheeling to face the remnants of the boar riders, before charging into the green horde. Alice screamed in savage fury as she killed. Her lance was wrenched from her hand, so she drew her glittering sword and split the helmet and head of another greenskin...   Within the hour, the field had been won, and the remnants of the greenskin army were fleeing back into the trees, pursued by small regiments of knights and mounted freemen. Alice reined her steed in, breathing heavily. Her immaculate blue and yellow tabard was splattered with blood and ripped where a cowardly arrow, fired by the enemy, had glanced across her chest. Her shield, bearing her golden Dragon rampant upon a blue field, was battered and scratched.   This battle had proven to be both brutal and bloody, but in the end Alice had succeeded in her first duty as a defender of Amar. There was no time to revel in this victory, however. The Amarrians soon realised that the Orcs and Goblins had not been rampaging across the countryside as a mere act of aggression, but had been fleeing from another army... an entire Warherd of Beastmen.  

Beastmen

  This army was far larger and more organised than the greenskin horde they had defeated earlier, with dukedoms from across Amar pledging their knights in Amar's defence. The mighty Paladin Reolus had even ridden out to lend his holy wrath in the battle to come, an arrival which renewed the knight's spirits. Even with a Grail Knight and a Damsel leading them, the assembled Amarrians still faced a fierce and bloody battle, against an enemy that far outnumbered them... When the initial assault was launched, Alice stared in horror as dozens of Men-at-Arms were hauled away from the front lines. They were being dragged kicking and screaming back towards the distant tree line, where the Beastmen's monstrous leader, the Gave, stood pacing back and forth like a caged animal, surrounded by its armoured guard. She had no time to consider the grim fate of these men however, as trumpets blared, and the order to charge was declared.   Alice slammed down the visor of her simple, unadorned helmet and kicked Charlemagne into a gallop. All around the battlefield, knights charged. The ranks of the men-at-arms opened up before Alice and the Knights Errant, and they charged through the gap. They covered fifty yards in seconds, and Alice felt the thrill of battle wash over her. Beastmen streamed into the gap created by the parting ranks of the Amarrian infantry, and lances were lowered. Tensing for the impact, Alice picked her target, a hulking brute with horns spiralling from its forehead, wielding a pair of rusted cleavers.   The knights ploughed into the enemy, and Alice's lance took her foe squarely in the chest, punching through the ribcage. It fell to the ground, blood pumping from the wound, tearing the lance from Alice's hands, and her sword flashed into her hand in an instant. Swinging the blade in a low arc, Alice carved a bloody slash across the neck of another Beastman, and it fell with a scream, even as another lance tore into its shoulder, smashing it to the ground. On Alice and the knights charged, driving through the enemy ranks and smashing them aside. Spears and blades glanced off shields and armour, and dozens of Beastmen were crushed to the ground, trampled into pulp beneath the hooves of the warhorses. The ground trembled beneath the charge of the knights. Nothing could stand in their path.   Surging through the press, Alice's formation swung to the north, riding hard in front of a line of angled, peasant stakes, tearing through the enemy pushing forwards there. Faced with enemies on two sides, the Beastmen fought desperately. Hundreds of Beastmen surged forwards at the knights, screaming as they ran, covering the ground with swift leaps and bounds. They came on in an endless tide, and the air was filled with their braying roars. Alice shattered the horns and skull of another beast with a downward strike, and reeled backwards in the saddle as a blade slammed into her shield, almost knocking her from the saddle. She fought for balance, her arm tingling from the impact, but remained in tight formation with the other young knights. The Knights Errant swung around in a wide arc, cutting and killing, struggling to maintain their impetus against the sheer number of Beastmen.   A monstrous form burst through the tide of enemies, tossing Beastmen aside in its eagerness to kill. Its immense, mutated form was covered in spines of bone and snapping jaws, and rents in its flesh gaped open, exposing countless mouths and tongues that writhed like serpents. It trailed lengths of chain behind it, and rampaged forwards. A myriad of blood-shot eyes on stalks swung towards the young knights, and it screamed in pain and bloodlust, the sound coming from half a dozen throats. With a shout, Alice and the knights angled towards the monstrosity, cutting down the savage Beastmen in their path. A thick neck of glistening, exposed muscle burst from within the hulking mass, and snapping jaws closed around the neck of a horse, even as five lances drove home into the beast. Arms ending in bony spurs punched forward, skewering knights and tearing them from their saddles, and lashing tentacles wrapped around steeds, burrowing through flesh and eye-sockets, dragging them down.   Alice slashed with her sword, severing half a dozen eyestalks that spurted black, hissing blood as they were cut, and the remaining eyes retracted within the monstrous creature's body. More lances and swords met Alice's, plunging into its malformed bulk, and its lifeblood gushed forth in a torrent, spurting from a dozen wounds. It flopped to the ground, thrashing madly in its death spasms, killing another pair of knights as it died. A spear smashed into the side of Alice's helmet, and she reeled, her ears ringing, and she saw scores of Beastmen closing in around them. She kicked Charlemagne forward with a shout, and the knights were then galloping clear, leaving the dying monstrosity behind them.   Galloping back towards the Amarrian lines, the massed forces of the enemy scattering before them, the Knights Errant urged their steeds on. the men-at-arms again parted before them, and they thundered through the gap. The ranks closed behind them, and it was only then that Alice saw how many of her comrades had fallen. Suddenly fearful, she glanced around to see her friend. Bertelis was still there, at her side. Bloodied, Alice and her fellow knights cantered up the hillside, and wheeled around to face the battlefield once more. Peasants ran forwards, handing fresh lances to them and passing flagons of water. Hundreds of Beastmen were still streaming from the trees in a relentless, never-ending swarm, and Alice felt a stab of panic. She had barely survived the first charge, but it had made virtually no impact on the enemy ranks. Breathing heavily, she took a sip of water, before passing the skin back to a peasant and making ready for another charge. It was going to be a long night...   Soon, Alice was breathing heavily, having cut her way free of the enemy and rode clear. Her armour was dented and pierced in a dozen places, and she had cast off her helmet after she had sustained a ringing blow to her head that had wrenched the helm out of shape and partially obscured her vision. Parts of her chainmail hung in loose shreds, the links having been shattered by swords and axes, and the blue and yellow shield that proudly bore her personal Heraldry was battered and dented. Charlemagne sported dozens of cuts and wounds, but none of them were deep, the destrier's plate and chain barding having taken the brunt of the damage, though the proud red and yellow caparison was torn in dozens of places. The battle had raged for hours, and Alice had seen dozens of young men slain, never to gain their full knighthood. No more than half a dozen knights remained in the formation of knights errant that Alice had started the battle fighting alongside, and they had been joined by the shattered remnants of other under-strength regiments.   The sheer number of Beastmen was slowly whittling the Amarrian ranks down. Alice's heart raced as she heard the signal for a last, desperate charge. She was positioned towards the edge of the northern-most wing of the thick wedge of knights, and, though she bristled that she was not closer to the apex of the attack, just to be riding in such august company made her swell with pride. Had it not been nearing midnight and the battlefield swathed in darkness, the charge would have been an awesome sight, every last living knight riding forth in one final, desperate attack. She prayed that she would make a good account of herself, and that somehow her father would hear of it. Alice urged Charlemagne forwards with a kick, the mighty grey reacting instantly to her spurs. Her weariness and the pain of her injuries were forgotten as she rode towards the enemy.   Though she knew that she would almost certainly die, she felt suddenly powerful, invincible, like one of the companions of Gilles le Breton, whose deeds were recounted in ballad and song. Alice and her friend had both seen so much death in the last months. The reality of war was far different from what either of them had imagined. Alice felt stupid, for though she did not really expect things to be like the tales they had listened to as wide-eyed children, she realised that she had not really known what to expect. Certainly not the stench of the battlefield. For a second, her thoughts drifted to Reynold, and his face reared in her mind's eye. She saw his innocent, playful almond eyes. The scent of him had all but faded from the silk scarf tied around her upper arm, but its mere presence lent her strength. Alice lowered her lance, and the wall of knights slammed into the enemy once more...   This final battle proved to be far more devastating than the Amarrians could have realised, but nevertheless, thanks to the knights' bravery, they were victorious. After their last charge had broken through, Alice charged towards the enemy leader. They briefly duelled, but the young Knight Errant was defeated and her faithful steed slain. The Gave grabbed the injured knight, and probed into Alice's mind with its fell magic, learning everything it needed to know. Astora's peasants had found Alice, lying comatose amid piles of the dead, and at first they mourned for her. They bore her lifeless body back to camp, convinced that she had been claimed by Morr. It was only when physicians had examined her that a faint, fluttering heartbeat was felt. When she finally awoke, Alice relayed to her friend and Reolus that the entire invasion had been a diversion. At that very moment the tribe's leader, the Gave, was travelling across Amar, intent on destroying Castle Astora...  

The Gave

  Only twenty-five knights had been chosen, though Alice still did not understand the nature of the journey. Surely they had no time for this ritual, whatever it was. The Gave could only be the better part of a week ahead of them, and she had no idea how they were to find it, or catch up to it. It was all too confusing. She didn't understand what was occurring around her, and it made her anger rise to be kept in the dark so. She wished that her old friend could have joined them, but he was injured during the battle, and so it was impossible. She felt deep unease at the prospect of riding to battle without Bertelis. Her friend would remain with the rest of the knights, and she prayed that she would see them again. Mist began to rise from the still pond they were arrayed before, as if summoned by the Damsel's lifting voice. It flowed across the top of the mirror-like pool and coiled around her legs. It billowed upwards, and, with a gasp, Alice saw a ghostly form take shape within the mist. It glided forwards like a spirit, its body transparent, and she saw that it was a woman of incredible, haunting beauty. Alice breathed in awe, it was the Lady of the Lake.   Her hair flowed around her as if she was underwater, and her billowing dress rippled like the surface of a lake. Her arms were held out to either side, and she glided through the mist like an apparition. She seemed to glow from within, and yet Alice could see the trees on the far side of the sacred pool through her body. Her lips moved, but Alice heard no sound. The Damsel answered her, still speaking in that otherworldly tongue, and the ethereal, graceful Lady gestured with one elegant, slender limb. She inclined her head to Reolus, who bowed deeply, and then her almond shaped eyes roved over the gathered knights. Alice felt her mouth dry up as she felt the power of those eyes turn towards her. She lowered her gaze, toying with the reins in her hands, unable to meet her stare.   A swirling mist began to surround the gathered knights, and Alice saw that the vision of the Lady was fading, and she cried out to her, not wishing to be parted from her holy presence. A hint of a smile played upon her lips, and she was gone. Alice could see nothing of her surroundings now, the mist having swallowed everything. The other knights were gone, as was the Damsel, and she was alone, lost adrift in the mists. Then, the Damsel's whispering voice told her to step forward, apparently from a great distance, and Alice closed her eyes and did as she bid him, leading her chestnut warhorse.   It seemed like an age had passed before the mists began to clear and Alice began to make out shapes around her once more. Shadows of trees loomed over her, and she saw the stars overhead, glinting in between boughs and leaves. She recognised these woods, and her brow creased in confusion. Like ghosts appearing out of the mist, she saw the others walking alongside her, each one leading his horse, and the Damsel, walking out in front, leading her snow-white mare. A chill wind rustled the leaves overhead, and the mists lifted away, dissipating as if they had never been. Alice saw that her limbs were solid once more, and let out a breath of amazement. It was night, and Mannslieb was a glowing disc of light high in the heavens overhead, though it had been the break of dawn but moments before. The Damsel removed the scarf covering her mare's eyes, and the other knights did likewise. In silence, they followed the damsel through the woods, gazing around in wondering incomprehension. Finally, they came to its edge, and again Alice's jaw dropped. In the distance, out across the rolling, dark fields was her home, Castle Astora. It was on fire.   The main keep and two of the towers were ablaze, fires roaring from windows and lighting up the night hellishly. They galloped past rundown, peasant hovels, whose inhabitants were standing out in the night, wailing and staring at the distant fires in horror. Alice heard the damselchant, and a peal of thunder roll across the heavens. Heavy droplets of rain began to fall, just a few at first, and then more, until the skies erupted in a torrential downpour. The rain made it hard to see, and it seeped inside Alice's armour, soaking the padding beneath and weighing her down, but she pushed aside these minor concerns. On they rode, kicking their tired steeds forward.   Desperation and panic was growing within Alice. As lightning flashed, they saw a flood of black figures racing towards the castle, streaming through the shattered gatehouse into the courtyard beyond, and Alice gave a cry of despair, kicking her steed on with renewed vigour. In that split second of sudden light, she had seen countless hundreds of Beastmen spilling from the forest, and racing towards the castle. They came upon a herd of the beasts, who turned and hurled themselves into their path, and Alice's lance rammed deep into the chest of the first of them, lifting it off the ground. One knight fell, but the others continued on, smashing aside the enemy and crushing them mercilessly.   Lightning flashed again, and Alice cried out in desperation as she saw the sheer number of the enemy. They were but a handful of knights, and she saw no hope of stemming the tide of Beastmen, especially since the castle had already been breached. She rode on, regardless, determined to die defending her home if such was the Lady's will. They got closer, overtaking scores of Beastmen in the race to the castle, and Alice, having discarded her lance, swung a lethal blow into the back of the head of one of the enemy, her strike powered by desperation and rage. They thundered onto the cobbled road leading into the castle, and two more knights fell, one with a jagged spear jutting from his neck, and another as an axe hammered into his steed's chest.   They pounded across the lowered drawbridge. The portcullis was a shattered ruin, its black iron lattice wrenched completely out of shape by some colossal force. The heavy wooden doors of Castle Astora were twisted and contorted completely out of shape, writhing tree limbs and sap dripping roots having sprouted from the ancient planks and torn the gate apart. They passed scores of bodies, loyal men-at-arms that had died defending the castle. Their bodies had been viciously hacked apart, their limbs thrown haphazardly across the cobbles. Galloping after Reolus, the knights thundered through the gatehouse. A beast hurled itself from an overhead balcony and tackled a knight from the saddle. The man was instantly swamped with enemies, who hacked at him with axes and swords, rending him limb from limb.   Galloping free of the gatehouse, Alice saw that the courtyard within was teeming with the enemy. They were running riot, smashing burning and killing. Through the driving rain, she saw men-at-arms upon the battlements fighting hard against the creatures that swarmed up the stone stairways. From atop the towers, bowmen fired into the heaving mass of beasts within the courtyard, but it was like spitting into the wind. Flames licked up at another of the towers, and she saw men jump from its top, hurtling down to smash amongst the carnage below rather than be burnt alive. There, standing among the carnage, was the beast, the Gave, revelling in the destruction being wrought. It snarled, and directed its minions towards the knights with sharp sweeps of its staff. Then it barked, animalistic commands as it stalked up the steps towards the keep. Alice raked her spurs into the flanks of her warhorse, urging it towards the creature.   Then, the Damsel completed her chanting. Lightning flashed down from the dark sky, stabbing into the densely packed enemy ranks of the Beastmen. Dozens of creatures were consumed as the powerful energy coursed down from the heavens. and scores more were slain y a second blast, their flesh was cooked and their blood boiled. Alice struggled to remain in the saddle, clinging frantically to her steed's neck as it reared in terror. Several knights were thrown, hitting the ground hard as they fell. Alice wrenched on the reins, dragging the destrier back under control, and kicked it towards the shattered great doors leading into the keep, galloping over the burning and smoking corpses of those killed by the lightning strike. An acrid metallic stink rose in the wake of the crackling discharge, mingling with the repulsive smell of burnt hair and flesh. Alice slashed her sword into the charred head of an enemy as it struggled to rise, and pounded across the smoking courtyard. Other beasts were knocked aside by her warhorse's bulk, limbs broken beneath its hooves.   They rode up the great stone steps leading to the keep. The creature leading the Beastmen was pushing itself to its feet, one side of its body charred and smoking, its skin blistering and blackened from the lightning strike. Then Alice and her companions were past the creature, riding through the arched entrance, into the keep, the hooves of their steeds slipping on the smooth flagstones, echoing sharply. The beautifully carved, heavy doors to the keep had been smashed down, and shouts and screams came from within. The great entrance hall was wide, its walls lined with archaic suits of armour. The enemy was thick here, flooding the hall, intent on destruction and slaughter. Flames were consuming the ancient tapestries hanging on the walls. Priceless depictions of Gilles le Breton's famous twelve battles, which had taken a generation to weave, were destroyed in moments. The heat inside the keep was almost unbearable.   A huge chandelier covered in candles dropped from the high ceiling, the chain clattering loudly as it ran out. It slammed into the floor with a resounding clatter, crushing a pair of beasts beneath it. Clangs rang out as old suits of armour worn by past lords of Astora were kicked from their pedestals, and Alice saw a servant dragged from a side door and butchered. Another man was slammed head first into a wall, his skull cracking under the impact. Sounds of fighting echoed up from stone side passages, and she could hear men and women screaming as the beasts ran rampant through the keep. The bodies of men-at-arms and knights littered the flagstones. Alice and the knights rode up the hallway, driving the enemy out of their path, cutting them down with sword and lance. At the far end of the wide corridor, the doors to the audience hall were being forced open, the Beastmen heaving a crude battering ram with all their brutish muscle against it. Charging the fell beasts, Alice roared out for Astora and for the King.   Reolus charged, and the remaining knights thundered into the audience chamber. Alice took in the scene in an instant. She saw half a dozen knights in front of her, fighting back the dark beasts of the forest, their swords bloodied. She felt a stab of outrage as she saw a wasted, skeletally thin old man sitting in her father's throne, and it took a moment for her to realise, with a shock, that it was her father. Alice was filled with sudden grief. Her father's muscle was all but wasted away and his skin was a sickly grey.   Once the last of the enemy had been slain, Reolus called for the doors to be sealed, and Alice ran to them. The thick timbers that had barred them shut were splintered and useless, and Alice frantically looked around for something anything, that could be used to barricade the entrance. She leant her weight against them as the enemy hurled themselves against the doors from the other side, and her armoured feet began to slide across the blood-slicked flagstones. She cried out for the other knights to help, and they ran forwards to lend their weight. Others ripped long pikes and halberds from the walls of the hall and inserted them into the heavy iron brackets to bar the doors shut, but they seemed pitifully fragile against the force battering from the outside. There was a tremendous crash, and the knights were hurled backwards a step. The beasts had clearly resumed their former tactic, and were once again using their battering ram.   Then, Reolus ordered the knights to step back. As if his words were a charm, the hammering at the door ceased abruptly, and the knights looked at each other in confusion. They backed away, hands clenching around the hilts of their weapons. The tension in the room was thick, and Alice took the moment of respite to wipe the sweat from her forehead. The sudden silence was eerie, and she fully expected the doors to explode inwards at any moment.   Taking respite on the dias alongside her stricken father, Alice's life came crashing down, the Damsel revealed that Lord Astora was already dying, having received doses of poison from Elisabet, Du Couteau's second daughter. This was the reason behind his increasing frailty and bouts of sickness. The young noblewoman feared that Alice's father, who had long favoured his second wife and their son Bertelis, would disown her, leaving her poor and destitute - and by extension herself. Confronted, Elisabet confessed, tearfully pleading that she had only done it for the sake of their family. Her world collapsing around her, Alice stumbled down to the bottom of the dais stairs and fell to her knees, her sword dropping from her limp grasp. She ripped the silk token bearing the Couteau's heraldy from her arm and let it fall to the floor.   Still no sound from the hallway beyond the double doors, but then Alice heard a new noise. It was a groaning, creaking sigh, like a house settling in the cool of evening or the sound a ship made as it rolled from side to side in a heavy swell. The hairs on Alice's body stood up, as if the air was charged with static, and she felt an acid tingle on her tongue. The flagstones themselves were lifted by dark tendrils, and the door bulged with pressure. With a tearing sound, the doors were pulled apart by the sudden growth, and there stood the Gave, eyes alight with foetid magic. The doors were wrenched further apart, and a tide of Chaotic Beastmen swarmed into the audience chamber around their master, with the Knights leaping forwards to meet them head-on.   Finally facing an enemy upon which she could unleash her fury and grief, Alice swept up her dropped sword and entered the frantic combat. She roared wordlessly as she swung the blade, all thought of protecting herself swept aside as she let her rage overcome her. She fought like one of the berserk warriors of the icy north, venting her anger in the flesh of the enemy. She hacked the arm from the first Beastman that she met, shrugging off the hammer blow she received in the chest, and smashed her blade into the beast's head, cleaving through one of its horns and smashing its skull. She slashed around in her anger and sorrow, caring not at all for her own safety. She threw herself deeper into the fray, and blows rained down upon her, but still she killed, her armour suffering the brunt of the attacks directed towards her.   Then someone cried out for the knights to fall back, to protect the Lord of Astora, and Alice came to her senses. Her father was still alive, and she had a duty to perform in protecting him. Throwing her life away meaninglessly would be a dishonour to her lord, and she was suddenly determined to make her father proud, at last, to protect him with her dying breath. A meaty fist slammed into her temple, and she was sent sprawling to the ground. Dazed, she dimly registered the towering Gave as it strode through the melee, its backwards-jointed legs giving it an awkward gait. It smashed a pair of knights aside with a sweep of its staff, and stabbed its sacrificial dagger into the throat of another. Alice cried out as it took its first step up the dais towards her father.   Alice pushed to her feet, dazed and moved towards the towering creature. A Beastman threw itself into her path, its face a snarling blend of goat and man, and Alice tried to kill it quickly. Her blade flashed for its neck, but it swayed back from the blow and hacked out with its axe. The blow glanced off Alice's shield, knocking her back a step, agonisingly further away from the beast stalking up the dais steps. A pair of loyal knights defending her father stepped forwards to slow the towering beast. It ignored them, feral eyes locked on the lord of Astora, who was staring at it with eyes filled with horror and loathing.   Two knights came at the Gave simultaneously. With inhuman speed, it stepped into the attack of the knight on its right, releasing its grip on its staff, which remained upright, rooted upon the steps. With its free hand, it caught the descending sword-arm of the knight at the wrist, wrenching the metal out of shape and pulling him violently off balance. The sacrificial knife stabbed into the knight's neck as the beast spun, punching through metal and chain, and blood gushed from the wound. Still turning, the beast slammed the knight into its other attacker, sending them sprawling down the steps. Alice just avoided another brutal attack from the Beastman she was engaged with. The beast had put too much strength behind the blow and stumbled off balance. Alice killed it with a single thrust.   Another desperate knight ran at the towering Gave, his sword held in a two-handed grip. The beast swing its staff up, and thrust it into the charging warrior. It struck the knight in the chest and root tendrils writhed over his body. His boots slipped on the smooth flagstones, and he fell heavily down the steps, the staff attached like a leech to his body. The roots of the twisted stave wriggled madly as they burrowed between gaps in the knight's armour, pushing through chain links and digging deep into muscle and flesh. It was all happening too fast. Alice surged up the stairs towards the beast, screaming in hatred and loathing. It swung towards her with inhuman speed, and backhanded her across the side of the head, sending her crashing to the bottom of the dais..   A sword flashed towards the beast, and it stepped backwards quickly, its hand flashing down to grip the weapon as it lanced towards its heart. Blood welled beneath its long spider-leg fingers as it turned the blade away, and the knight, off balance, stumbled towards it. Releasing the sword, the beast wrapped its hands around the knight's helmet and twisted. A sickening crack sounded, and the warrior fell to the ground, his head almost completely turned around. Nobody now stood between the Gave and the Castellan. Alice rose to her knee, her vision blurred, and staggered back up the dais stairs.   The beast was closing in on her father, who was making an attempt to face it, Alice leapt up the stairs with a shout, hefting her sword, but the beast was too fast. It stepped forwards, its powerful legs covering the ground quickly, and swatted the Castellan's blade aside with a contemptuous sweep of its hand, the ancient sword of Astora spinning across the stone floor. Its hand closed around his thin neck, and it lifted him up into the air.   Knocking the thrones out of its path, it slammed the Castellan against the back wall. Alice cried out. The old lord's feet were a good foot off the ground, and he kicked weakly. The Gave bent forward and snarled, its face an inch from the Castellan's. Perhaps hearing or sensing Alice behind it, the beast swung its head around and levelled its dagger towards her, snarling in rage. Still Alice came on, and the beast bent its arm, placing the tip of the dagger against the lord of Astora's neck. The old lord, his eyes fearful, swallowed thickly, and a bead of blood ran down his throat. Alice froze, hatred burning within her.   A lone knight appeared behind the beast and speared it with his sword. The Gave snapped the sword in half, leaving the tip protruding from its body. Then, it tore the blade from its side and sent it hissing through the air. It struck Alice in the shoulder of her sword arm as she lunged forwards, shearing through her armour and sinking deep into her flesh. The force of the throw spun her to the ground, and her sword flew from her hand. The beast turned back towards the Castellan, who was trying to drag himself away, and it stamped towards him angrily. The Astora lord cried out weakly as the beast's hand clamped around his leg and jerked him back. Blood was running from the wound in Alice's shoulder, and her fingers felt numb. She looked around for a weapon and saw the revered Sword of Astora lying discarded on the flagstones nearby. Shaking off her shield, she lifted the exquisite blade from the ground. She held it two-handed, forcing her numb fingers to close around the hilt.   The beast was crouching over her father, revelling in his terror. Reaching behind its heavy head with both hands, one still holding the bloody dagger in its grip, Alice heard leather ties break, and, for a moment, she could not fathom what the wretched creature was doing. Alice stared in horror as the beast removed its own face. It clawed at its features, and like a snake shedding its skin, the stitched, rotting flesh was ripped away. Even its horns fell away from its head, and, it was only when they dropped to the floor and she saw the leather ties and buckles, that Alice realised the beast had been wearing a mask. The creature blinked, and its true features were exposed. Alice's mind baulked as she found herself looking at a broad, disturbingly human face. It was like the face of a savage, its cheeks and brow heavily scarred from self-inflicted mutilations, and smeared with mud and dried blood, but it was clearly a human face. Somehow that seemed to make it even more horrific.   Ice-blue human eyes darted around before fixing once more upon the Castellan. Thick ropes of matted hair hung down to its waist, and a long goatee beard hung from its chin. If one saw just its face, and not its unnatural bestial legs and furred body, it might have passed for human, albeit one that was feral and barbaric. Its lips drew back, exposing hundreds of small, sharp teeth, and the image was shattered. Alice's father called the creature an abomination in revulsion and horror. Alice asked what the creature was, her voice thick with disgust.   The Damsel replied, and told her it was their brother. Alice felt her sanity begin to fray as the damsel continued. It had been borne by the castellan's first wife, before she threw herself to her death in shame, a creature that should have been killed at birth. Looking past the filth that encrusted the beast's face, past the savage scars that crisscrossed its features, she saw her brother's face looking back at her. It was like looking in a bewitched painting, and seeing a corrupted and distorted vision of her younger brother looking back.   No one moved, stricken with the horror of the creature's true nature. None could dispute the familial resemblance. This beast was of the Astora bloodline. The Gave snarled down at its father. Then, with a movement fuelled by hatred, the beast rammed its dagger into the side of his neck. Alice screamed, yet was powerless, as the serrated blade sank through her father's flesh to the hilt. The blade was wrenched clear, and it clattered on the stone as it was dropped from long fingers. Arterial blood pumped from the fatal wound, and Alice roared in protest and horror, running forwards. The beast lifted the man to its chest, cradling the dying man almost like a mother holding a sick child to her bosom. An anguished howl ripped from its throat.   Alice swung the sword of Astora in a powerful, two-handed arc, blinded by grief and rage. The creature tilted its head back, exposing its neck. In the instant Alice's blade lashed out, all the bestial hatred, loathing and rage slipped from its face. Alice slammed the sword into the Gave's neck, the blade hacked deep into its flesh. Rich blood spurted from the shocking wound, and its head tipped backwards, only loosely attached to its body by tendons and sinews. The beast fell twitching as its blood pooled beneath it, mixing with its father's blood. Alice dropped to her knees, cradling her father's head in her hands.   The life was slipping quickly from his eyes, and his mouth moved as he tried to speak. He gasped for his son, blood gurgling from his neck. Alice comforted him, tears running down her face. The dying man's eyes searched past Alice frantically. He called for Reynold, and Alice felt a pain lance her heart as she realised it was not she that her father sought. Even in death, her father spurned her. The sounds of battle continued unabated as Reolus and the surviving knights continued to hold the enemy at bay, but Alice did not register them. Her eyes were locked on her father's gaunt, dead face...   Alice had already faced enough challenges and tribulations that would make any sane person recognize her as a full fledged Knight of the Realm.   She was later found completely covered in gore and blood, and after killing such a beast that found no match in the field of battle, her flaming sword and her callous behavior made the name Blood Dragon be spread by commoners and Knights alike.