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Written with the lovely assistance of Sralia :) who's contributed to the violence that ensued
Lament of the Wilds
Chapter 3
It was in the early morning, when the first glimmer of the Sun’s radiance began to peek out from the Eastern Horizon of the sea that the Silantir once again set out on the Long Road, their Odyssey continuing. There was no mournful cry, no shouts of protest. That was the nature of the Silantir, and the land had provided all it could for these Wanderers.
Now, they moved southwest upon the southern side of the river that they had camped upon, towards the mountains where they would meet the forests, and then turn their gaze northward..
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Faromar sat atop his steed Wyn as the procession of the Tribe slowly, but gradually, continued on their path. He observed the comings and goings of the Waiwaroquen, as they went out and scouted ahead of the Tribe, looking for dangers or subjects of interest. He reminisced.
Once, he and Wyn were fully involved in that life. Going out and exploring alone, then returning to report their findings. But no longer. Now, he resigned himself to helping in the training the next generation of Riders. Teaching them the ways of the Waiwaroquen, not the least of which being the unbreakable bond between Rider and Steed. Each were two parts of a whole. Together, they were to work as a single entity, and had to cooperate and work together. They had to be friends. They had to be comrades. They had to be family.
As interesting as the life of one of the Waiwaroquen was, however, he had no regrets. With the appearance of Sirus into his life, he had to abandon that lifestyle, and turn his gaze towards supporting his family. In truth, he preferred this life to his previous one. He felt greater purpose in training the younger generation, and with raising a Son, he felt more fulfilled and experienced greater joys (and worries).
Faromar turned to look behind him, looking at the rest of the procession following behind. Walking some ways off were Sirus and Mainnatar, chatting happily with each other it seemed. They both laughed. Perhaps at a joke that one of them said? Or something that in hindsight was funny? Children were always a mystery. Always had their secrets and their personal little jokes that only they understood. But, the sight was heartwarming nonetheless, and a smile couldn’t help but be brought to one’s face.
Sirus put his arm around the back of Mainnatar’s neck, and pulled his head under his arm, putting him into a headlock. Concern came over Faromar. Where was this coming from? But then he saw that they both were still laughing. Horseplay then. The concern left him as quickly as it had come.
“Children,” he muttered to himself,” can warm your heart just as easily as cause you to panic…”
He looked at Sirus’ wrist, seeing a bracelet. Where had that come from? He’d never seen that before. He looked at Mainnatar’s wrist, and there was a matching one there. Same style of craft and the same silver bead attached. Could…?
No no. Certainly not. He put the thought out of his mind. He had other things to worry about. He turned his attention forward again, observing the forward procession of the Tribe’s caravan. In the past day or so of their travel, they had made slow, but gradual, progress. What hurry were they in? None, so as much time could be taken as needed. The Silantir were a people who for centuries had wandered Northern Sokos with no clear destination, and thus, had no need for haste in their travels unless need demanded such action. They were patient. Willing to wait. And it was the patient who learned and observed more.
Until recently however, many of the Tiroihráva, and even the Aran, had seemed tired of late, and hearing conversations among them, they spoke of rest frequently. What could possibly be going on with them? Rest was a word more associated with a temporary place of camp, but the way they spoke… it felt like something more. The more he thought of it, the more Faromar himself began to think, he too began to think differently of Rest.
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Aran Alassëa rode at the front of the procession of the Silantir Tribe, leading her people onwards in their Odyssey, with no set direction or destination. Simply onward. The Waiwaroquen went forth, and returned, bearing news of interest or malice.
Little seemed to happen in this flat, open land, the only blemish upon the sea of green grass where single standing trees, the scar of the river across its face, and the mountains that rose tall and proud in the West. There, she knew, dwelled some portion of the Race of Men. Her thoughts on that race where neither of malice, nor love, for she did not know them. Contrary, to what others would expect of her and her people, they bore no ill will. It was against the ways of Tiontaril to bear grudge. Yes, the centuries for many people were hard, but, in the end, some form of justice came.
All things, after all, must come to an end to foster new growth. Such were the ways of Tiontaril.
She looked to the North, where far beyond the green horizon, the Race of Dsen dwelt. Little was known of that strange Race. But, as was their way, what little was known could not be used to judge until the greater whole is understood.
As she thought deeply to herself, she heard a faint whisper from the South Wind. News, that disturbed her.
“Man marches to war. War of Gods and Faith. Holy symbols painted to their Shields, and held tightly in their hands.
Man fights to expel all others from their lands, and subjugate them to their Will.
Fear, Desire, and Anger feast well.”
While others could not see her face, for they were all behind her, disappointment crossed her face. Such was the ways of the world at large, that there would still be reasons for War and Suffering. Once, it was in the names of Empires now long dead. Now, it was in the names of Gods. She turned her gaze again forward.
The mountains rose high, the river rushing at her right side from those peaks. And she saw it.
A faint Wisp of silver light floated ahead of her, moving to keep a consistent distance. She felt ethereal eyes staring into her own, and with them came the feeling of Rest, as she had felt for many moons now. She saw glimpses of great forests along the banks of a long river that lead down to the World of Men. On each side rose mountains tall and vigilant. Magics, old and new, mingled in the Wild World there.
Her vision cleared, and the Wisp was gone, but a feeling of direction was left in her mind.
The Invasion Begins - Expansion Post Part 1
The army of King Waltherus had been marching through the countryside of the Duchy of Melisburg for 10 days. In that time they had encountered no resistance as they drove deeper into the western county of the duchy. This strange peace was about to end however as scouts had reported sightings of Mellisian troop movements a few miles ahead of the Dietmaran encampement and Waltherus had ordered his soldiers move towards to make an assault. Though Waltherus had lost the Imperial Throne to his elder brother Matthias, he was made Imperial Marshal and given control of the Imperial Army. His first act was to institute his strict training regiment on the imperial soldiers, who had grown quite accustomed to inactivity. Once the army was of a sufficient standard, with the right equipment, Emperor gave his orders to the army to march north and subdue the Duchy of Melisburg. The Melisburghers had been a thorn in the side of the Empire for the last half century and it was time to destroy them. Waltherus’ army consisted of ten thousand men, two and half thousand knights and other cavalry, three and a half thousand archers and four thousand infantry. They were moving through a forest which led onto a field when a mounted scout charged through the bushes toward Waltherus.
“Sire! The enemy are up ahead! To my eyes it looked like seven thousand of them.” The scout hadn’t ridden far but the pace he rode at meant he was near exhausted by the time he reached them.
“Are they battle ready? Do they know of our presence?” Waltherus replied.
“It seems so sire, they march toward this forest at speed.”
Waltherus broke from his knights and cantered past the troop column, booming out and pointing to the end of the forest “Men! The enemy lays past those trees! They know of our presence! But we shall take them by storm! We have the high ground and the cover of trees and we shall use it to our advantage! Infantry and archers break march and go toward the treeline! Calvary follow my lead!”
The footsoldiers ran to the tree line as the calvary went to the left of them. They could see the enemy below. The archers were in position and Waltherus and the other horsemen drew their swords.
“Archers draw!” The archers set arrows in their bows and drew them, at that moment the Melisburghers could hear the Dietmarans and and began to mount their horses. Waltherus then raised his sword and bellowed out, “LOOSE ARROWS! CALVARY! WITH ME!”
The archers let loose a hail of arrows that arced high in the air as the horsemen charged from the tree line, the footsoldiers tailing behind. The Melisburgher force was ill prepared for a calvary charge of this size, as the Dietmaran horses outnumbered theirs two to one. However they tried valiantly, charging up the slope to meet their invaders. The two forces crashed into each other in a mad confusion of steel, blood and death. Waltherus revelled in battle and always longed for another opportunity to show his skill. The Melisburghers fought hard, but their line soon broke and the Dietmaran cavalry charged toward the infantry of the enemy. Foot soldiers and archers followed suit and soon the basic fortifications of the Melisburghers had been completely overrun by the Dietmarans. The battle had been won and the invasion was off to a flying start.
The Siege - Expansion Post Part 2
The once lush and fertile fields outside the capital of Melisburg had since been trampled and churned into mud by the boots of twelve thousand men and the hooves of hundreds of horses. Melitgrad had been under siege for three months and the Imperial army was showing no sign of stopping. This contingent of the army was led by Imperial Vice-Marshal Ivanho Bijebredo, the Count of Skormensk, a capable man, whose old age was compensated for by a wealth of experience. However the walls of Melitgrad were high and old, far older than Dietmaria itself, and the army had found it difficult to break the siege. Reinforcements were expected within the first month but had been held up by a Melisburgher fort that had held onto to its position like a barnacle hangs to a ship. Adding to this, Melitgrad was a city of extreme religious importance to the empire, whose Artyanist creed believe that the legendary first prophet of Artyanism, Eshmael, was born and buried. The troops would have to tread lightly once they broke through the walls of Melitgrad. The opposing side was led by the Duke of Melisburg himself, Yawet Haldassa, who had been commanding the garrison of two thousand men. Despite the Dietmarans having a force six times the size of the besieged party, the Duke had managed to focus his men on critical points in the city’s walls, and fend off any offensive for the past three months. However, one could see in the Duke’s appearance that this siege was taking its toll. His cheekbones poked through the skin of his face, his robes were tattered and mudstained under his armour and he no longer enjoyed the same smug smile he wore at the beginning of this campaign. This was a man who knew that this fight was his final stand.
A squadron of men were chipping at the soft earth underneath the foundations of the walls. They were the sixth group of soldiers sent to dig tunnels, and every man in the squad was praying to Artyan they would be the last group. Hot oil, cave ins and accidental explosions had sent the other men to an early grave, hopefully they would not suffer such a fate. One of the men's shovel hit hard against something. They gathered round him as he brushed away the dirt to reveal the polished dark stone of the wall’s foundation. All let out a sigh of relief as they had reached their destination. They rolled down barrels of black powder into this small part of the tunnel, and the captain began making a fuse of black powder. He grabbed one of his men who was next to him.
“Go back and inform the general that the mine is set!. Run boy!” The soldier stumbled and scampered up the tunnel to the exit in a patch of trees near the camps. One of the commanders, Marshal Erharts, was waiting for him at the top.
“The mine is set sir!” Just as the young corporal said this the other members of his team came climbing out of the tunnel. The captain ran out bellowing “THE FUSE IS LIT! THE FUSE IS LIT!”
Erharts mounted his horse and shouted to his men “Light the signals! The fuse is lit!” The men behind him began to mount and draw swords as foot soldiers lit two beacons at either side of the calvary. Men spotted the beacons and lit more as more men mounted their horses. Archers drew their weapons and the siege engines went into overdrive, ballistas were loaded more frantically than ever before. Ivanho observed from his tent, this would be the final push.
Erharts steadied his horse and counted down for his men.
“On my charge! Ten! Nine!”
Duke Yawet rushed to the walls edge to see the Dietmaran troops preparing an attack, he looked over at his own troops, hungry, exhausted and angry. This would be a tough fight.
“Eight! Seven! Six! Five”.
The Duke turned to face his men in the courtyard, so many emaciated faces greeted him, with tired eyes and dirty, matted hair. “Men! We will not give up in the face of these Dietmar hordes! We will persevere!”
“Four! Three! Two!”
The Duke drew his sword and let out the cry “For Melisburg!” before he was rocked off his feet by a massive explosion. He saw a rain of smoke, stone and dirt cover the battlements and the heavy walls of Melitgrad buckled and shook. He could hear his soldiers rushing and shouting in confusion, cries of “A breach! There’s a breach!” and “Its over, its f*cking over!”
“CHAAAAAAAAARGE!” Erharts raced ahead with his men toward the smoking hole in the city’s walls, men rallied out to meet them but were cut down by a flurry of steel and hooves. The Dietmaran calvary poured through the breach and into the streets of Melitgrad. Erharts decapitated a guard and ran his sword through a pikeman before charging toward the keep of the city. The Duke was nowhere to be seen on the streets of the capital as Dietmaran soldiers made their way through the city, burning down houses and looting shops and food stores. Erharts and his knights made their way toward the keep
The doors of the keep were barred shut but men had already begun using logs and benches as battering rams to bring them down, the doors cracked, splintered and finally buckled. Erharts trotted into the keep’s hall, and there stood the Duke, his guard rallied around him. He dismounted and told his men to stand down before speaking to the duke.
“Please, your grace, I mean you no harm yet.” The Duke let out an exhausted laugh.
“No harm, you have destroyed my lands, pillaged my people and desecrated my temples ayndishe*, and now you expect me to believe you are a peaceful man?”
“Sire, I do beg that you think of others in this situation, specifically your wife and son, you wouldn’t want to be unable to help them because you foolishly decided to act in a moment of irrationality would you?” The Duke’s grip on his sword loosened after hearing this, he hesitated for a moment before dropping it. His guard lowered their weapons. He was defeated.
“I am no god, but man. You are cowards for threatening that which is most dear to me, but it will submit. I will do as you wish, sign your fool’s peace, go to your capital and prostrate myself before your emperor, but do not hurt my family, I beg of you.” Erharts nodded at this request.
“I am a man of honour sire, they will see no harm.”
The Duke, who had now lost so much, surrendered at this statement.
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* Ayndishe is a Melitist term for one who does not believe in their religion and does is not one of the Melitist race. It is also doubles as a derogatory term for Artyanists
The Peace - Expansion Post Part 3
Waltherus walked around the old halls of the Ducal palace of Melitgrad. Despite being a relatively small duchy, small enough to be devoured by the Empire, it had a culture rich in history and religion and the palace was half the size of the Imperial Palace in the capital, an impressive sized building for such a realm. Melitgrad had been the center of religion in the region for nearly one thousand five hundred years, until Artyanism sprouted and overtook it. Melisburg’s entire population were Melitites, a religious group similar to Artyanists, but rejected the view that Artyan had sent his final prophet in the form of Isaak. Waltherus advocated a hardline against the Melitites, they were unbelieving heretics who had to change their beliefs for the Empire. He however that his brother would take a different route. Sparing the Melitites and allowing them to practise openly would allow the Emperor to gain access to their many banks and moneylenders. Though the Empire wasn’t strapped for cash, Matthias enjoyed having lots of money on hand to spend on projects. Workers were busy stripping off paint and chiseling away at sculptures that showed the Melisburg heraldic symbols. The internal borders of the Empire would have to be redrawn to address the annexation of the duchy. No doubt Kravanic, the kingdom ruled by Waltherus, would gain some major exclaves in the east. This would an apt reward for his services toward the empire. An attendant came toward Waltherus, and handed him a message.
“From the Vice-Marshal, sire.” The letter was stamped with Ivanho’s seal, Waltherus held a great respect for the man. He was a trusted lord under him and, despite his age, he was extremely versed in treaty making and warfare. He and his sons were going to be a great asset in the coming years for the empire.
The letter read, “Your grace is required in the Ducal Throne Room for the singing of the Melisburgher Treatise of Surrender.” Waltherus smiled at this, his favourite part of any campaign, to see your enemies finally bend the knee to you and acknowledge your right as ruler of them. He walked down the corridor to the grand throne room which was full of courtiers and dignitaries from Melisburg. Many looked emaciated and grim faced as they had been in the capital during the siege. The ladies curtsied and the men of the court removed their hats in the presence of a king but did not bow, that honour was reserved for the emperor. A table was prepared in the middle of the hall, with diplomats sat at each side. At one the end of the table sat the surrendered Duke Yawet, who seemed in much better spirit and health for a man about to surrender his realm. Waltherus walked slowly to the top of the table, his armour clinking and clanking as he went, and picked up the heavy scroll that was the treaty. He read out in his booming voice:
“On this day I, Waltherus Manderburg-Stravanovic, Prince Imperial, King of Kravanic and Imperial-Marshal of his Imperial Grace’s Army, do accept the terms of surrender of His Grace, Yawet Haldassa, Duke of Melisburg, on behalf of his Imperial Majesty Matthias-Augustus, Emperor of Dietmaria, King of Ludenbauer, Grand Duke of Peragrad and Supreme Stadtholder of the Niedlands. I also accept these terms of behalf of the Imperial Council of Dietmaria, whose privilege to deny or accept foreign treaties on behalf of the Empire is hereby affirmed. His Grace the Duke of Melisburg will be allowed to live in exile in another realm of his choosing along with his family. He will be provided with a stipend of 5’000 Sigunds per year. Should the Duke violate these terms he will be imprisoned and have his title stripped from him. The Duchy of Melisburg is hereby annexed by the Empire of Dietmaria, and will be divided amongst the internal realms of Dietmaria at a later date. The Emperor recognises those of the Melitist faith, but reminds them that they now live in a realm strictly Artyanist in religion. Therefore those who are Melitite living in the Duchy of Melisburg shall remain within the original borders of Melisburg, they are forbidden from living anywhere else in the Empire. Those outside the Duchy’s borders who hold the Melitist faith will be moved within the Duchies borders, either voluntarily or by the use of force. These are the terms of the Peace of Melitgrad. Long live the Emperor!”
The Dietmarans in the room repeated the cry, the Melisburghers did not join. They faced the downfall of their land, their religion and their way of life.
Kostua sol, Sralia, Maharania, Distika, and 1 otherSilantir
Dunamass
On a bright and cold morning, Rory sat on a block of timber in his courtyard, scratching his beard as he watched a two dozen young soldiers drilling, sparing and wrestling. An aged man paced up and down, yelling at every fault he saw in the men’s actions. As he stared blankly at them, Rory’s mind was engrossed in thought. He was to be expecting arrivals at his castle later that day, a few days previous he had sent messengers out to gather his chieftains Hugh MacNeill, Florence MacCarthaig, Graina MacAey and Fiacra MacSuibhna to meet him at Dunamass, each with a body of soldiers. The MacRorke chieftains were purposely left out, as Rory had allowed them to look after their own lands.
When Graina received word she was very reluctant to come. It would be her first time attending a council meeting, she could no longer remain in her corner as she was directly summoned. She, however, would use this opportunity to show the other chiefs that she was no push over. It would be Fiacra’s first council too, the son of the late chief was eager to show himself off to be an able leader.
They arrived at Dunamass that afternoon, each with their own token forces, less than half or even a quarter of the total amount of troops each chief could field, all ready to show themselves off to the others. Graina brought 2’000 of her strongest galloglasses, which normally would have been led by Captain Ferdia, but instead she rode at their head clad in galloglass attire. Fiacra brought 1’000 kern, Florence brought 400 marcach horsemen, their shining morions and steel chest plates serving as a reminder of the Maharanian influence from their recent trade deal. Hugh brought a mixture of galloglass, kern and bodoir longbowmen, numbering 2’000 in total. It was indeed a fine force, the one which Rory was looking for. With each of their armies camped outside the castle, the chiefs and their retinues met with Rory in his hall, all curious as to why they had been called up.
After exchanging greetings the meeting got underway. “Now, to the matter at hand.” Rory looked at each of the chiefs after clearing his throat. “As Chiefs Dónal MacCallagh, Cathal MacCarval and Murrough MacCulla are campaigning eastwards, I believe that it is time that our second campaign may begin.” Rory exclaimed, the others were instantly intrigued.
“Second campaign?” Graina asked. “Why a second when our first is still being fought?”
“Aye, why not send men to MacCallagh’s warband in the east?” Florence asked, his arms crossed.
“It would be well to send men eastward to force the eastern clan to submit, but there are clans directly north, in Corcaigh which still have yet to lift a finger.” Rory explained, Hugh nodded as he stroked his greying beard.
“With a force as large as our warband they will surely submit, they just need a bit of… encouraging.” Hugh said, the others then seeing sense in the campaign.
“My plan is to march our warband north, the MacElloch, MacLaorah, MacGowran and MacMorrice clans have already agreed to speak. Although they have together raised an army to parley with us. They mean business.” Rory said before continuing, “They wait for us at Cragdownach at full strength, though I doubt they intend to fight.”
Graina avoided speaking with the other chiefs as best she could, he resumed her position at the head of her galloglass and joined Rory’s warband, now numbering 6’200 men. Florence and his horsemen led at the front, with Rory’s men behind, Graina, Fiacra and Hugh’s men following behind him. Northwards they march, higher up into the Corcaigh mountains towards the plain of Cragdownach. Sure enough, a large army was encamped there, numbering more than Rory’s army. Rory and the confederate army halted a few miles away, and sent his messengers over to the camp of allied clans, summoning the chiefs to parley with Rory and his own chiefs. Sure enough, they spotted a dozen or more riders galloping across the plain towards them, Rory and the others rode out to meet them.
“Hail, Ardal of the clan MacElloch.” Rory exclaimed honourably, bowing his head to Ardal and the host of chieftains behind him. Ardal had been present at Rory’s wedding.
“Hail, Rory son of Ragnall.” Ardal replied, returning the bow. The chieftains on both sides remained silently watching as Rory and Ardal faced one another respectfully. “Quite a host you’ve gathered.”
“Likewise, the northern Goidel’s must be eager to rally.” Rory said.
“Aye. We have heard of your victory at Magnacown, a battle hard fought.” Ardal said, he was a tall man even on horseback, with dark hair tied up at the back and a short ginger beard.
“Indeed, soon the warband will be reaching Gaillimh.” Rory said, Ardal gave a smirk, the city of Gaillimh was like the crown of the Goidelic world, its wealth and power was mighty. Ardal and his chiefs were eager, almost desperate to get in on the action.
“Not for hundreds of years has a warband from Corcaigh marched against its walls.” Ardal said.
“The times are changing, my friend. High-Breton Sencas speaks with true wisdom, our unification has brought us power we could never have reached alone. The Goidels are awakening, brothers, and there is a seat for any Goidelic chief on our council.” Rory said as he leaning slightly back in his saddle. Ardal looked back at the three other chieftains, none looked displeased, but looked keen. The prospect of joining the great warband towards Gaillimh was very favourable to them. Ardal turned back towards Rory.
“We would to join the warband eastwards, if you would permit us.” Ardal said. Rory couldn’t help but crack a content smile.
“There is plenty of action for every man, and every clansman shall have his share of the glory.” Rory said, Ardal leaned forward in his saddle and extended his arm, Rory gave a firm handshake, and the deal was done. The MacElloch, MacGowran, MacLaorah and MacMorrice clans joined the confederacy. The two warbands, northern and southern Corcaigh, converged on the plain of Cragdownach like a meeting of two old friends. Chiefs and warriors mingled, drank, and competed against one another in various games of strength and skill. While the other chiefs discussed various things, Graina remained reserved, and instead conversed with her own captains.
The following day the great warband marched eastward, a few days later arriving after marching over steep mountain passes and snowy glens, they arrived in the country of MacEoin, and the lesser MacDonal clan.
Post self-deleted by Distika.
Why We Fight
The Forest, North of Savia, Distika[
Jadia slashed down and left with the flat of his sword, bringing the woman crashing to the earth, the woman rolled left and moved out of the way of the next attack, jumping back to a crouch, like a panther looking for her next attack, she thrust forward only to be parried by Jadia sword, their shields clashed and both fought for dominance with strength with the woman managing to swipe at Jadia feet, now bringing him to the ground, but the woman was quick, ready for Jadia to do the same move she had done just moments before and quickly brought her sword to the neck close enough to make him think twice before he made another move. He dropped his sword in surrender and quickly showed signs of a smile, clearly impressed by his opponent.
The woman smiled back and sheathed her sword, before giving a hand and brought Jadia back onto his feet. "I think it's time to end unless you feel like getting beat again Jadia"
Jadia out of breath doubled over and waved his hand, clearly showing that the training was done "You have done well, I think your training is coming to an end, you have learnt a lot in the few months." The woman gleamed at the words of praise from Jadia, however, disappointed that the training would be ending soon. She had enjoyed learning to fight, her father had hardly ever let her leave the castle let alone Savia, she was keen to learn of new things and explore new regions, she could not imagine being confined to the castle for the rest of her life
After both had shed their training gear the pair then proceeded to sit on a slope overlooking Savia. Both Jadia and the woman were young in life, however, the wisdom in Jadia's eyes could be seen. The woman still had a look of innocence that came from a sheltered life, the look of that nothing could possibly be wrong in the world and that all will be good in time. The woman looked inquisitively towards Jadia after a few moments of silence between the pair. "Why do you fight Jadia," she asked, "Is it just because you are good at it?" He turned towards her before turning back to the landscape as if remembering a memory before finally saying "Men fight for many reasons some noble and some not, the lizards and the elves fight for survival and their own existence" he replied with a tone of respect in his voice "That is a noble cause, to fight because you must, there is no cowardice, they do not flee they fight because they must." "Do you respect the elves and the lizards even if they kill dozens of us" the woman interjected. Jadia did not reply to the second question "Queen Marie and the Rolesians fight for power, to subject us because they wish to extend their influence, many others fight for all kinds of reasons, the poor man fights to put food on the table and the shelter above his family. All men must find the reasoning why they fight otherwise they cannot" Jadia went silent after this and looked upon the setting sun and the city, now was slowly going silent as the night crept in.
The woman persisted "You haven't answered my question" Jadia sighed "I fight for peace, I fight that one day I might wake up and be at peace, with no fear, I fight that all of Sokos might know rest. The world right now seems to be set upon tearing its self apart, the Rolesians as we speak, gather in Lydes ready to march. Sometimes I wish I could change the world" Jadia's eyes seemed to glaze over remembering a world that did not exist before he snapped out of his reverie and turn back towards the woman. "You too must choose what you fight for, My lady as you will be a force for good or evil" Jadia advised "Now head back towards Savia, the king will be looking for you"
The pair shared a kiss before the woman saddled her horse " I will be right behind you Aria" Jadia said, Aria nodded and then put her horse into a gallop heading back towards the castle and her father, her mind pondering the words of Jadia, did she too believe and fight for peace, or be like her father and fight for her people. Both were noble causes she surmised and the put the thought towards the back of her mind never thinking that she would have to fight, however the look of innoence on her face seemed to be cracking as she too learnt that life would never be brutal.
Jadia looked towards the direction she left for a few moments, before taking the dull swords that they used for training and wrapped them up and put them into a saddle bag. He unsheathed his other sword, the engravings again could be seen, the gold in the middle of the sword was dull in the fading light, no longer what it used to be. Jadia looked nervous looking at the sword, almost scared as if the sword foretold the end of the world, before taking a resigning breath sheathing his sword again and also heading back to Savia.
The next day, Savia
As Safar was given the last of the reports from the scouts littered around Lydes reporting on the movements of the Rolesian troops, Deeris marched through the doors into the room, with Jadia just a few paces behind him. "Deeris, my friend, how was your mission, were you successful?" Safar quickly questioned, his tone rushed and nervous. Deeris looked tired, clearly having little sleep but spoke clearly "To a degree my lord, we had constant waves of attack from lizards, and we also severely underestimated the strength of the brickwork and the magic that was put into building the highway, we were only able to destroy a small section, the Rolesians will be delayed but not for long."
Safar smiled at the news, he knew in his heart that the mission could have gone better but he had achieved in giving himself more time. "You have done well my friend, here stay and have a flagon of beer and some wine and then I will let you retire home to your family" Deeris quickly smiled at the thought of refreshment as he had been parched from the long march home.
Jadia was also invited to join with the Safar and Deeris, but he declined, thinking that the two friends were better off without him on this occasion, and instead took a walk through the streets of Savia. When Jadia finally exited the castle, he could feel the tension in the air it seemed thick as if the entire city was waiting for something to happen. The news of the Rolesians marching north, seemed to be carried to the four corners of Distika on the wind and many people were talking about, with grim faces but steely hearts. Jadia took in the scene and faintly smiled, hoping to bring some encouragement to hearts within Savia. The people still worked and tried to go about the routine that was life, ships still left and return to the harbour carrying fish that would supply Distika. The blacksmiths and the carpenters were hard at work fortifying the walls as if they were just building a house neither wishing to ask why they were doing such work as all did not wish to know the answer. The farms around Savia grew crops and caravans of iron came from the mines in the south. All seemed well in Savia and yet nothing seemed right.
The city almost breathed a sigh of relief as they came to the setting of the sun again, as if they knew they would survive till daylight. The army was encamped just south of Distika, the training was brutal and hard, but would save lives. The scouts were constantly bringing news to the King, who paced around the throne room, worried stricken on his face. Aria was asleep in her chambers, she had lived a carefree life for many years, however, life would soon show her how brutal it can be. However, for Jadia, he returned to the same slope, watching Savia and the ships return to her harbour. He again pulled out the sword from its sheath, the gold seeming even duller than yesterday, Jadia glancing down, whispered his promise and the engravings seemed to brighten if for just a moment before returning to its dull state. Jadia looked upon the setting of the sun and wondered if peace would ever return to Sokos.
The Arrival
The full crusade force had arrived. Lydes was swelling with troops, which had taken up massive amounts of space in and outside the city. The Rolesian occupation force had captured several former Imperial Towers and had set up basic fortifications. With the Highway now in Rolesian Hands, the way forward was now open. However only one issue remained. The Sralians had long been an unknown to the Empire. Its loyalties continuously in flux between the Kostuan Empire, and the Rolesian Empire. With the destruction of the colleges of Illanta, there was little point in the Rolesian Guarantee of Independence, and thus it had been revoked.
Lord Crusader Lysander looked to Knight-Commander Trinne as they sat horseback with the army at their heels. 90,000 soldiers had been massed from across the Empire. A truly terrifying force. "Sralia poses a massive threat." Lysander remarked to Trinne. "If they flank us, the crusade will fall apart. What we need is to either pacify them with force, or threat of force."
"Agreed." Trinne replied, as the horses made their way up a hill. "However if we leave Distika alone for too long, they will have more time to prepare, we must begin our march on them now, or else we may never take their city."
"Which brings me to my idea." Lysander replied. "I am putting you in command of half the army. We'll be splitting the crusade in two. You will deploy to the border, and send in a guarded escort to the Sralian Court. Deliver this." Lysander handed Trinne a document which read:
By order of her Imperial Majesty, this treaty is to be presented to the Sralian King in Kravalkin.
The Rolesian Crusade has taken notice of your kingdom, and with your deceleration of neutrality, we see ingratitude. We see complacency. We see an enemy.
You're eyes should have noticed the Rolesian Troops on your border. If you would not like to see them march on your capital, we have the following demands.
1. The Sralian Kingdom must sign a non aggression pact for the duration of the Crusade. The Rolesian Crusaders must be allowed free and unhindered access to Northern Sokos with no interference from agents with links to, or on the orders of, the Kingdom of Sralia.
2. The Sralians must guarantee the safety and rights of Artyanists within their borders. No penal laws may be enacted by the Sralian Court at any time.
3. The Sralians must not offer any aid to any enemies of the Rolesian Crusade.
We implore you to consider your options. The future of your Kingdom, is now in your hands.
"Yes, Lord Crusader, once we receive word back from the Sralians, we shall either march in, or march North." As Trinne rode towards the east, thousands of the Rolesian Crusaders began to tail him. The Crusade was now in full swing.
(Hey guys, sorry for inactivity :P)
The Long Night, No Dawn Perceived
The Castrum, Centallus
Renegar Morkel, Prime Archon of War - supreme leader of the Kostuan Military and Lord Marshal of the Army of Light sat comfortable in his chair with a frown on his face. In his hands he rolled a fine pointing stick made out of black walnut and with a precious handle of polished amber. Before him stood a thick oak table covered by a large map of the known world with Kostua in its center.
Three other men were gathered around the table. Lord Kasaus Mollari and Lord Abecht Torr, both venerated and trusted men with a lifelong service to the War Collegium, as well as Tobias di Tigné - an equally age old work horse of the War Collegium although he was of a Lesser House and lacked the familial prestige of the other men. Tobias was, although no less skilled than any of the other men gathered in the room, a result of the military’s quotation policy. By the word of law and tradition the Kostuan military was far removed from the machinations of the Kostuan nobility as the military strictly adhered to the concept of meritocracy. But the military wasn’t blind to the dangers to an institution if it became to solely consist of men of the nobility. It had therefore been decided that no less than one third of every officer should be of lesser birth and their rank should be attained according to merit.
Tobias di Tigné was such a man. Born to a poor Lesser House and at an early age sent to the Tavaux Military Academy Tobias had early on proved to be a diligent student of war and from then on his ascension had been all but guaranteed.
Tobias was the first to break the silence, using his own pointing stick to mark a spot on the map. “The Rolesian pretenders have landed a hostile force numbering approximately 90,000 strong in Lydes. This is presumably part of the pretenders’ crusade against the Distikans.”
“They are making a claim at pushing policy and setting an agenda as they seek influence far outside of their borders.” hissed Kasaus. “This entire farce threatens to destabilize our northern border, greatly disrupt the flow of trade - not to speak of the possible political ramifications of a Rolesian success.”
“Distika is far off in the north, even with the Imperial Highway the Rolesian forces are playing a dangerous game venturing so far outside of their own borders.” commented Abecht.
“We can ill afford to let the Rolesians start getting delusions of grandeur.” mumbled Morkel as he thoughtfully rubbed the amber handle with his right hand thumb. “This crusade threatens to destabilize the status quo in the north to the detriment of the Empire. It can’t be allowed to pass.”
“Although we can hardly conduct an outright war against the Rolesians. Sure, we could probably win it within a year or two but out wouldn’t be possible with the current domestic situation.” Kasaus added.
“We don’t need to wage war against Rolais.” Morkel explained. “We simply need to make it so that Rolais can’t claim the crusade to be an all out victory. It needs to be pyrrhic at most, denying the the political clout to capitalize on the result.”
“Then what do you propose, Archon?” Tobias asked.
Morkel stretched forth his pointing stick and let it land on the port of Lydes. “While the Rolesian crusaders ravages Distika we shall send a force to lay siege to Lydes. The Rolesians will find themselves trapped in the north with no way home as their supplies run empty.”
Thee three officers look at one another and then back at their Archon. “Indeed, such a plan can be executed with far less manpower than a proper war.” Tobias noted.
“Sixty to Sixtyfive thousand at most should suffice, I think.” Kasaus theorized.
“Who do you propose to command the expedition?” Abecht asked.
Morkel seemed to contemplate the question for a few moments before gently stating a name. “Marshal Rowan Montholoni”
“Veechio Petra.” the three gathered officers uttered in unison.
Morkel nodded confidently. “The Old Rock.”
“Is that wise for such a far off campaign?” Abecht asked. “He’s old and corpulent, his health is questionable at best.”
“Do not mistake his appearance for weakness.” Morkel replied. “Rowan was my mentor when I started out as a young officer still wet behind my ears and with my nursemaid's milk still on my lips. All knowledge that I possess and claim to call my own I learned from Veechio Petra.”
“It is settled then?” Tobias asked to confirm.
“I shall call for the Imperial Seal to be brought in.” Kasaus stated as he rose from his seat. “Thus the Army of Light marches.”
Post self-deleted by Maharania.
Sow the seeds of war: part 9 of the northern conquest
In the Minds of Evil
Alina stiffened when she heard, through the heavy oak doors of the palace library, voices in the corridor outside.
“What are you doing skulking out here?”cried the familiar voice of a palace guardsmen.
“I am not skulking. I am. . .on my way to get a book on. . .Dwarven Alchemy.”
“Uh huh. You. Read. A book on Dwarven Alchemy two moons past.”
Alina could imagine the soldiers raised eyebrow at the poor excuse.
In the absence of her father and most of his court, Ibex had been quiet for the most part. Two long months came and dragged by, with her father up north the palace had grown much quieter. Alina became the target for the members of the trades guild and various petitioners, who harassed her in the absence of her father at Ibex. As such the palace library became a hideaway of sorts to her, a refuge from the guildsmen pecking at her for issues she could not sort.
"It's of great importance, i must go inform the marquise immediately." responded the other voice frantically.
"State your intentions sir, no word play this time." responded the soldier, who was not gonna budge from the door.
"The body of General Santino has arrived at the palace, slain in a most cowardly act, by the hands of Nassian guerillas." revealed the voice, his tone panicky.
"I see." The guard stood aside to give the man entry.
The heavy double doors swung open, and the man entered the confines of the library which was empty save for the local palace librarian who was humming as he shelved books in the astronomy section and Alina. Alina unhurriedly picked out a thesis on the flora and fauna of Distika, and calmly walked to a window seat.
The lord and the librarian greeted each other, then the lord turned to look at her.
"Lord Moya."She set her book down and made to rise from her seat.
"Marquise well met pray do not rise." Lord Moya bowed before the Marquise.
"What's the meaning behind your visit?" asked Alina inquisitively.
"Hector Santinos body has arrived from the war, slain by Nassian guerillas. You must come see."
"I-see.." She demurred, with an incoherent murmur and a graceful bow, Alina turned to depart for the main palace room.
Palace throne room
Hector Santino was a big figure in Maharanian society, he had the graces of being at the upper etchelons of society with riches that rivalled even that of the most ancient noble houses. Yet in death he was but a pale pathetic husk, sprawled out on bloodied linen sheets in the throne room. His white night kaftan stained dark red and torn from the number of stab wounds, the perpetrators butchered him like he was nothing but a lamb to the slaughterhouse. He was almost unrecognisable in this semi decomposed state.
A small crowd of nobility gathered around the corpse, many crying outrage and horror at the foulness of the act. Santinos wife frantically pushed past the nobles ringing the corpse, With a loud cry she hurried and fell on her knees besides the carrier. She took her husband’s face between her hands and looked at it while tears poured down her cheeks. He was cold and his eyes were closed. His face was pale and judging from his torn clothes and the blood she could see where he had been hit and how severe it had been.She caressed Santinos hair and held him tightly, as if she didn’t want to let him go. Her crying cut through everyone like a knife and it could be heard throughout the walls of the palace.
The men that belonged to Santinos personal guard lowered their heads and took off their morions, Words would bring her no comfort now. Words would not bring her husband back. And so they all stood there in silence.
Alina gazed upon the sorrowful sight of Santinos corpse and his wife which made her go deathly white in complexion, she tried to utter words of condolence but found neither the strength or the courage to do so. A loud childs voice emerged from outside the throne room and the doors to the room opened. The warriors looked up and saw how the young child of Santino came rushing towards them.
” Father!”
The child had a joyful expression on her face when she came into the throne room and looked around among the soldiers and nobles to find her father. But she stopped when she saw the looks on their faces and saw her mother kneeling near a large carrier.
”Mama?”
She walked down the steps and tried to get to her mother. But one of the warriors walked towards her and blocked her view. The child tried to look at who lay at the carrier, but she couldn’t quite see it. She blinked a few times and looked at the warrior in front of her.
“Why is mama crying?”
The little girl received no answer
The little girl stepped forward before any of the warriors and nobles could act. She froze on the spot. A glimpse was all she could get. That glimpse was more than enough.Seeing the look on the face of Santinos child one of the soldiers snapped back to reality. He placed his body between the child and the corpse of his lord. The child had already seen enough he deemed. With a stern voice he started to give orders
"Take her away, this is no place for a child."
It was obvious the lady was not capable of taking control of the situation at this moment and something needed to be done, The children needed to be taken away from the sight.
The wife was not aware of the events happening around her. All she was aware of was that her husband was dead. Her tears poured endlessly out of her eyes like the Rain River flowing. She didn’t hear the words spoken to her as the soldier who took over command placed his arm around her shoulder to take her away.
Hector Santino was dead.
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