End of Night Eleven
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The Hundred Year's War, c.1430
The dramatic reversal of French fortunes continued following the success against the Burgundians at Dijon, with Jeanne d'Arc's forces continuing to reclaim several minor provinces in the name of the Dauphin over the following weeks; however, the time had come to truly bring the fight to the English by reversing one of their greatest triumphs.
Jeanne had been a mere three years old when the English emerged victorious against the overwhelming numbers of the French at the Battle of Agincourt, yet her knowledge of the battle was on par with the military tacticians who had studied the proceedings for many years to avoid such a crushing defeat again; even Charles found himself dumbstruck at how an illiterate peasant girl could know so much about something that was, for all intents and purposes, before her time.
In truth, Jeanne had received another of her 'visions', one that instructed her in both the superior tactics of the English longbowmen and the shortcomings of the French men-at-arms that had contributed to the crushing defeat; she listened intently for over two hours, her head bowed and hands clasped together in prayer, until the true reason for the history lesson became apparant... she was expected to lead the French deep into enemy-controlled territory, back to the site of their defeat fifteen years ago, whereby she would teach the English a true lesson in humility.
Jeanne opened her eyes; a week had passed since the vision, and she was now stood upon a hill, overlooking the narrow pass between the forests of Agincourt and Tramecourt that had played host to the battle so many years ago. Thousands of French soldiers had massed at the site, waiting with baited breath for the red-hued dots that marched across the horizon, drawing closer by the minute; the potential of reversing the humiliation of Agincourt was sufficient to bolster the morale of the majority of troops, but even the doubters had to find solace in Jeanne's blessed presence.
An hour passed before the English were truly upon them, with the battle beginning in the bloodiest of fashion as thousands of arrows blackened the skies, raining down upon the French frontline and felling several dozen men in a matter of seconds; undeterred, the French held their ground, shields at the ready to deflect attacks from both blade and bow as the lionhearted English cavalry charged at full pelt under the cover of their fabled longbowmen.
"Hold the line, we will break them like water upon rock!"
Jeanne had joined the fray, dashing through the ranks until she was at the forefront of the fighting, her forces repelling the English cavalry with a combination of agile swordplay and short-ranged crossbowfire; the volleys of the longbowmen ceased soon after the cavalry charge floundered upon the French defenses, as it became increasingly apparant to the English leadership that the French would have to be engaged toe-to-toe if their line was to be broken.
It was at this point that Jeanne knew that her tactics were working, and that victory was within her grasp; she ordered her men to march forward to meet the Englishmen that were hurtling towards them with swords held aloft, ensuring that their defensive formation was maintained in the event that the longbows resumed fire... it was a matter of minutes before the two forces clashed; England versus France, red versus blue, subjugation versus liberation.
While her leadership qualities and effect on morale were never in question, it was the physical prowess of Jeanne d'Arc that often caused questions from the French ranks; this battle posed ample opportunity to rectify those preconceptions, as she expertly cleaved through many an English soldier, her sword glinting in shades of grey with a slight golden sheen to it. The battle had begun to favour the French entirely, yet she had her doubts which were proven to be true when the Regent of France rode into the fray, several of his personal guard at his side.
robbiecon's prowess with a sword was on par with Jeanne's own, even as her own blade acted almost independently of it's owner; for every horizontal slash she levied against him, the Regent deflected with an upwards thrust; for each downwards strike, he parried with his sword held parallel to the ground... she had met her match, and the fatigue of hours of combat was beginning to take it's toll.
Before the Regent could disarm the peasant girl, a figure broke from the crowd, leaping at the English leader and slamming him to the ground, a shortsword embedding into his neck; Jeanne motioned to thank her mysterious benefactor, but the man had vanished back into the fray before she could so much as look at his face. Perplexed by the outcome, but thankful nonetheless, she dusted herself off for a moment before immersing herself into the battle once more.
"Fight on, victory is within our grasp!"
As English morale began to wane in the wake of the Regent's death, many of their forces began to disperse into the forests; Jeanne noted with particular interest that one particular combatant was escorted from the battle by the deceased Regent's personal guard, as though they were following his dying wish. She had no qualms with allowing the defeated Englishmen to leave the battle with their tails between their legs, but
Husar had other ideas.
"Let us chase the fools down and end this now!" he yelled, drawing his sword and motioning for several crossbowmen to follow his lead; he found his path blocked by Jeanne d'Arc however, who was unwilling to strike down defenseless foes.
"God stays our hand against the meek, sir", she stated earnestly, her body dropping into an increasingly defensive posture.
"Out of my way, girl!", the constable roared,
"my loyalty to the Dauphin transcends even your nonsensical visions!"
He hurled himself at Jeanne in a fashion that had an odd familiarity to her; the man managed to knock her to the ground, but Jeanne managed to turn her body as she landed, throwing the constable aside and deftly regaining her feet as she did so. The stalwart female drew her blessed blade as her foe climbed to his feet and charged again, his own sword clashing against hers, their eyes locked together as they struggled to break the sword-lock.
Jeanne moved first, using the superior strength that the blade afforded her to push Husar backwards, whereby she began to press the advantage with a flurry of quick strikes intended to unsettle her opponent and keep him off-balance; however, the constable's training had all but nulled him to such efforts and his own parries created an opening that he capitalised on with a quick riposte, turning Jeanne onto the defensive.
The exchange of blows continued for some time, while the soldiers around them ooh'd and ahh'd at each strike; it appeared as though the constable had gained the advantage and that the battle was swinging his way until Jeanne's blade suddenly began to sparkle in shades of gold as it caught the afternoon sun.
"My Lord...", she gasped, the power of the sword invigorating her, her sense of fatigue evaporating in seconds.
With renewed hope, Jeanne swung the artifact through the air horizontally, cleaving Husar's blade in two; the shattered sword clattered to the ground only to be followed by a dull thud... the powerful strike had not only cut through steel, but bone too, and the constable's decapitated head now lay next to his broken blade, his lifeless body following suit seconds later.
