The army's captain, Lord Ryelon was a strict man, lithe and agile, fearless, tactical, and loyal to the one true king, not some pathetic little rebels from the seas.
But these cowards didn't fight honorably. They attacked from a distance with weapons that spit metal, and charged when their opponents were wounded.
Orisian had taken many hits from them, and was currently wearing a significant number of bandages under his plate mail armor, but he still moved with an easy grace, despite his form being heavier than most.
He handed the scout's reports over to Lord Ryelon, and drew his great sword from the sheath on his back, expecting to go in ahead of the rest of the army.
The lord muttered something that resembled 'cowards', or 'dishonor'.
"Prepare for a retreat."
Orisian immediately sheathed his sword and gave out the command for full company movement, his voice rough and edgy, like that of the veteran he was.
"They want to fight like cowards, we'll show them there is no place for them in Remor."
Reigning in his horse, he turned around and started to make his way towards the back of his company, while Orisian stayed behind to make sure the whole army was ready.
They had made it look as if they had retreated fully. The cavalry going on a full speed gallop back to the nearby villages, but the footmen having difficulty escaping.
That was what it looked like anyway.
In truth, the cavalry fell back to the villages, while the common soldiers waited in hiding, ready to ambush their enemies. Orisian was at the forefront of the small battalion, sword drawn and ready for blood.
It wasn't long before the sound of footsteps could be heard. The cowards thinking they had won without a fight, had pressed forward, planning to raid the villages. As soon as they were close enough, Orisian gave the order, and the King's men charged forth with the valor of the Angels.
Their opponents were caught by surprise, and a good number of them fell before they could retaliate, but their guns made fighting back child's play, passing through shield, armor, flesh, and blood alike with a loud symphony of powder blasts.
Orisian was still a force to be feared, however, taking the hits and staining the grass Crimson. His greatsword, old and worn but still deadly, was a flash of red and white, spilling blood and bringing whatever bone that got in the way with it.
Understanding that being close to him meant death, his opponents ran and tried to stop his charge with a focused assault, but Orisian was a raging bull, spelling death on the battlefield. It was a good long while before the only screams of pain were that of his enemies.
His brothers were dead, and the cowards he didn't kill were fleeing as quick as their feet would carry them. Orisian let them run. His armor was weighing him down, and he had already lost more blood than was in him. As he sheathed his sword, he thought it was a good day to die in the defense of Remor. But his work wasn't over, and it wasn't time to rest, so he started moving back to the village the cavalry and Lord Ryelon had gone to defend, but didn't take more than 10 steps before fatigue set in, and his armor pulled him to the ground.
He woke up, naked and covered in dried blood, with the ground rocking slowly beneath him. He was chained, hand to hand, and foot to foot.
As he looked around, he saw he was in a small wooden room, with about six others, faces he recognized from the cavalry. And Lord Ryelon.
"My lord."
Lord Ryelon looked up at Orisian, and a sad smile spread across his face.
"My old friend."
Each and every one of them were bloody, bleeding, and naked. Not one bandage was on them, nor was there a scrap of clothing anywhere. These cowards had no chivalry. Orisian himself was plastered in dried blood, bones creaking with every movement, and had a deadly headache.
"What do you think, Orisian? Shall we accept our defeat, or will we toss away our beliefs in hopes of achieving vengeance?"
"It's not my choice, m'lord. But they deserve to be baptized in the blood of their kin for the dishonor they bring their family name."
"Aye, t'was exactly what I was thinking. Well then, it's agreed? We give them one last minute of hell?"
His question was greeted by loud shouts of agreement from his brothers, and they all lined up in front of Orisian, who used his own chains as leverage for freeing his brethren. A little rattling, and a loud chink when the chains broke was the only sound it made.
As soon as the last was free, Orisian broke down the wooden door that was held closed by a simple wooden bar. The four guards were quickly overwhelmed, keys looted, weapons taken, and clothing recovered from a nearby chest, and weapons from a nearby weapon rack. One of the cavalrymen unlocking Orisian's chains, and then handing him a weapon, which he refused. Taking his unlocked chains, he gave it a few swings, and found he could get a significant advantage with range and power.
Charging forward, the small group blitzkrieged the seemingly large ship, taking whatever weapons their enemies dropped and using them to their full extent. That being, firing once and hurling it at the closest opponent's face.
At least, when they got a weapon, they did. It was nearly impossible, seeing as how they were shot before they got close. Their only edge in combat were the guns they had looted from the first few guards, and the other weapons from the weapon rack.
Lord Ryelon was the first to fall, taking multiple shots and wetting the hard wood floor with Crimson. But this only served to strengthen the King's men, forcing them forward with unwavering resolve. Of the few cowards that dared attempt hand to hand combat with them, they were quickly outmatched and killed, even with their allies raining hellfire.
But that was only a few, and the majority of them held back, wasting ammunition in an attempt at giving the ship a new layer of paint.
Without his armor, Orisian was moving much faster than he normally would, but their bullets were still much faster, and his wounds were taking their toll. He was slowing down, and he was getting clumsy, slipping on his own blood, or someone else's, and even trying to dodge the bullets after they hit him.
Which meant eventually he had to go down, which he did. Hard. Landing on his face with a heavy thud, the gunfire stopped. The ship rang with howls and cheers of victory, if you could call it that. The ship was littered with more corpses than the brave seven.
Soon though, they remembered their previous mistake of letting Orisian live, and gathered up some chains and a cannonball, tied it to his chest, and threw him overboard, yelling something about a locker.
Orisian was still alive, but the saltwater was burning his wounds, and his vision was darkening. The fact that he was quickly being pulled down into the dark depths of the ocean wasn't helping. Soon enough, the last thing he saw was darkness, as he prepared to meet his Gods.