Annasfire
the
Whitereigns
and the
Lancers of the Light

A magnificently unusual breed of horses the Whitereigns make the Loerjaan Lancers of the Light unique, this tale is the eventual formation of them with the help of a Lady of great renown. Bear with me awhile as I describe the origins of this tale and the details of the unit history before we go into battle for the first time with them as they courageously put their lives at risk as is the need for good to overcome evil when all else fails.

Twas a crisp frosty morning outside the building in the village of Roalchen when the cries of a newborn were heard, Loerjaan did not know at that time what a marvellous gift had been bestowed upon it. The Halraldic singing style language of the Messengers the Butterflies of Belluundoon echoed through the streets in celebration of this great and fortuitous event. For this Day a little girl came into existence that would be known by the name of Annasfire and as the years past she would obtain the title of horse whisperer and protector of the Whitereigns, to be known across the length and breadth of the plains of Balfreign as is spoken of by Ruffenraan the Revealer of the Truth said to of written the Book of Biillchene which contains the written histories of Loerjaan.

From the time she could walk she spent her days out on the plains watching and talking with the Whitereigns, they seem to sense her presence as she would leave the village and head for the open space of the Balfreign. Some said that they understood her every word and sound, whatever it came to pass that she was a part of this phenomenon and it was as if it had always been this way. So it was as a young woman of mature and learned knowledge she found herself one day approach by a man she had not met before although a feeling crept over her of goodness wisdom things this man held dear, he came to see her to seek the possible use of these beautiful horses in the service of Loerjaan, it was the man said that he had come for the purpose of the forming of a unit of armed men, one where men of uniqueness  would meld with the horses in a formation of great courage and unity beyond any normal sense of such a thing.

Now this man who would lead such a unit, was known as Lastoen of Loewenstone, so called in the ancient language as he is the only survivor of his people who lived in what is now a small deserted hamlet that being on the outside of the realm along the edge of Maisendenwald Mountains not far from the Arch of Aachenlach on the canal which holds the loch, the gateway on the border of Loerjaan, but that is another tale for another day.

Whitereigns are huge in stature yet said to possess great agility and speed. It is said that only Annasfire can match rider to steed such is the meld of the man and beast that makes the Lancers of the Light renown of Loerjaan. A plan was formed that such a unit would be created with the combined efforts of Lastoen and Annasfire with the guidance of Talen Greystone and it came to pass that the Lancers of Loerjaan were garrisoned at Raalfendoer Castle. A unit of 48 in number made up of four troops of 12, when in formation the stark white with contrasting grey of the mane and tail of the horses alongside the uniforms of white with gold trim were indeed a site to behold. However for battle the ability of this unit in a magical sense mist like, perhaps even ghost like to blend in with the terrain it is moving through make is a formidable foe to overcome.

Now the training of this unit requires many months and those that are chosen spend a great deal of time with Annasfire and her horses on the open plains. This does ensure that there are always replacements in time of need for this specialist unit, but it is important to note here that these are not superhuman men by any means but men of true heart, fine morals and a feeling for life that exceeds the normal bounds. Each and every one of the Whitereigns is a part of the whole and when one is lost or hurt that is felt through out the group in a mass spiritual cleansing and healing that is also unique to this breed of horse.

Of course the weapon of choice for long range combat is the Lance of lightweight yet sturdy wood made from the trees of the Forrendoen Forest. Forrendoen Forest is known to contain the spiritual nature of the Great Gaalfendal Guardian of the Spirits who lives within the bounds of this place. These lances are also tipped with the famous Elfin metal. Elfin folk who have lived in the Fareignfeld Forest for centuries past, spend their days in perfecting the very best of metals that can be found. Close combat is left to the extensively trained use of a short sword of the finest elfin metals the secrets of which have been passed down for generations.

Now on to the tale of the Loerjaan Lancers of the Light and their first encounter with an enemy. Cold harshness, shiverring, shudder, as if to throw off the sense of evil about . The light of dawn is rising, the Whitereigns stir and the men prepare for battle, they have known it would come to this since these many days of trouble. Woelgon Wailers, 6 foot creatures of hunched statue, muscular, well known as a fierce fighter but constantly wailing which takes great courage to overcome and advance into close contact with, had been harassing the border villagers protected by Loerjaan and it was for such noble purposes as these that the Lancers of the Light had been formed. The loud haunting wailing had been heard throughout the night but the brave souls under the leadership of Lastoen of Loewenstone are up to the task having spent some minutes mentally preparing themselves and the Whitereigns for the hours ahead. Mounting and forming into the ranks they assemble at the edge of the river.

Advancing slowly out across the river the squadron advances in four lines of 12, there lances point to the morning sun, as the smokey appearance of many horses steady breathing permeates through the air, still cold as the earth warms to the coming day. The Butterflies of Belluundoon the Messengers have already passed on the intelligence of the predawn to Talen_Greystone who in turn has sent the same to Lastoen, he now signals to the end of the line and the bugler raises his instrument to his lips and sounds the Charge. “Men of Loerjaan”, Cries out Lastoen. ”Advance, Charge the enemy, fear not, have courage for the Lancers of Light fight on the side of good”. “Take the battle up to the rank of evil and thrust fear down their wailing throats”, he said.  A roar runs through the ranks as the War cry holds sway “True of Heart, Courage and Unity to the Fire of Purity we commit our souls” the troopers cry out as one.

Lowering the Lances as they increased speed, within moments they crash into the bedraggled ranks of the Wailers dispersing and dispatching some, but alas the ranks of the enemy hold as the clashing of steel and the screams of agony immerse one with another amid the sounds of fierce fighting. Onward the battle rages as the constant grating of the Woelgon’s wailing wear down the resolve of the mighty warriors of the light, yet lest they fail, Lastoen rears his mount and roars out encouragement to his men.  “Hasten my brothers to victory for darkness will soon be upon us and we have need to be done with this days deeds”, said Lastoen. “Stay steadfast in the ranks and will shall soon better this evil before us”. Wiilal the Woelgon the leader of the creatures who numbered some one hundred fold, could been seen raging up and down the ranks of his troops plunging in and out in a fanatical display of ferocious hacking and slashing with weapons in both hands flashing about madly this way and that causing wounds of great depth.

 It became apparent that in order to win the day Lastoen would need to take on this creature himself, calling on his reserves and with his courage of steeled determination of the righteousness of his mission he urges his Whitereign steed forward. Loel, Lastoen’s mount braces and steadies, his agility and speed tributes of his breed; surging forward he easily carries his companion up to the enemy, not a trace of fear in this masterful animal. A snorting of fierceness emanates from his nostrils in distain for the creatures beneath his girth.

Noticing the movement Wiilal turns and charges toward Lastoen. “Not this day shall you take my life evil one death will be your comforter” Lastoen cried. As his short sword strikes across the shoulder into the neck of Wiilal, a wail of teeth gritting, nerve grinding proportions streams from him. “I am not done for yet, you of the light for my task is your destruction before this day ends”, cried Wiilal in agonized pain. Sword and axe swing shavingly close to Lastoen, yet with agility and the speed of his great steed he avoids and counters the desperate lunge, stabbing with a sharp, swift movement towards Wiilal, who in this moment has lost his chance of victory. “Your reign of terror ends now my enemy and with gladness I am the deliverer of your fate”, cries Lastoen. Already mortally wounded the strike penetrates Wiilal’s heart and bloods spurts and oozes from him as with a last wail he sinks to the ground. “Death is my fate and all is lost”, gasps Wiilal with the faintness of his last breath.

The screaming wailing from the creatures as they witness their leaders fate is horrendous and they turn and flee in a bedraggled flood of beaten beasts, as a roar crescendo’s across the battlefield. The Lancers sweeping with the turn of the tide of battle take heart and swiftly take up the chase to the backs of the enemy until not one of these creatures of evil are left to pursue. Although faint wailing could be heard in the far distance of the early evening, to give chase at this late hour would be fatal and it was most unlikely that these Woelgon would every return for a very long time to come. Silence and loneliness surrounds the field of death, a murmur here, a groan but what is left, when the blood lust is gone only just despair, the aftermath of destruction, the natural down that sweeps over a weary warrior as is the way with them after such exhausting a battle. The Lancers rally and return to the banks of the river they had crossed so many hours earlier in the day.  Huddled in small groups they contemplate the irony of death, the necessary waste of life when needed but at what cost. Tending to the wounded in a surreal state, knowing full well that such things should be avoided when ever possible as war is not good but sometimes necessary for good to overcome evil, but then is it not far better where possible to live in peace.

The Whitereigns group and consummate the healing and spiritual rebirth as a shedding after the battle is done, far reaching as the flow of energy searches forth to the Balfreign and back. A rippling in the realm is felt this night even as Annasfire stands a field with her precious herd, a wilful child like whimpering stirs from the Whitereigns and then a calming silence comforting in the peace and tranquillity of the open plains. Back on the Battlefield the campfires are lit and an ambience of evening softly flows over the battle weary of Loerjaan as hearts turn to thoughts of family and home and a new tomorrow.

This was the first blooding of the Lancers of the Light and remains a reminder of the sacrifice and futility of fighting unless all avenues of peace have been exhausted. So I tell you this tale as a historic encounter not to glorify the deeds but to give you a better knowledge of how to perhaps yourself prepare for whatever faces you in your life, a teaching by trial one might say, until another time...

Storendel the Storyteller