The Eagle's Fall (Closed, The Cornellian Empire only)

[New Edom]

RP Anthem
1864, the Imperial Home Provinces
The Cornellian Empire once spanned the region, providing law and order. Following a great war over the succession to the Empire that divided it as different factions fought to control the succession, it collapsed into disunity. In the 1840s rebelliousness had grown, and by the 1850s open revolt in Mount Angel and Cookish States plagued the Empire. In spite of the harshest measures taken by the Empire and its loyal client states by 1864 the Empire was on the retreat almost everywhere.

Now rebel armies, allied though barely unified, converge on the Imperial Capitol of Cornellia. A strong fleet remains on the defensive preventing an easy amphibious landing requiring either naval victory or a land attack...
Imperial Map

Venarium, Imperial Home Provinces

A naked man gave a guttural groan beyond the ability to scream--he was stretched between four horses being whipped in different directions by soldiers in blood and filthy spattered blue uniforms. The sun strained through clouds of smoke and ash as many buildings in the town burned. A general chorus of screaming could be heard--wailing and sobbing. People were being forced onto the road with meager belongings, driven from their homes by the soldiers who were still moving from house to house. A bald officer on a big roan patted his horse's neck, though it was stamping nervously at all the near chaos around it. Sergeants were shouting at soldiers, ordering them to toss their brands into the fires they had started and reform. Along the road were strewn the bodies, neatly arranged in rows by now, of Imperial soldiers, most of them without boots or weapon belts. A few younger soldiers were bringing up mounts; this was a mounted infantry regiment and they fought dismounted, rushing up to the line as their ancestors had done. Not far off mingling with the wails of grief was the sound of hymns being sung in Haranese.

As this was going on soldiers were stacking Imperial arms from the unit that had been holding the town. They were mostly muskets; this had been a militia unit. They were also gathering up all the food, water, liquor, medical supplies, clothing and other gear that the civilians they had driven from town had been forced to leave behind, for their commander had given orders that they should only be given enough to flee to the capitol. The sight of three men, dying of thirst, chained to a supply wagon, reminded all of the fate of those who disobeyed orders about looting, burning, and rape. The men's parched and withered faces and bloody lips made even the hardest hearted hesitate.

A column of riders, their lances tall and red and white pennons fluttering from them approached, among them a group of curious people. One was a woman with decorations of beaten gold and silver coins, on which were holy emblems, her clothing shrouding most of her form, and with her three strange figures indeed. One was a woman with an ageing face and her eyes sewn shut; one was a man wild and hairy, wearing only a loincloth made of terror bird feathers, and a third a man so skeletal as to be a death's symbol, his eyes hollow and sunken with a fierce look like an old carrion bird. The bald man on the horse drew himself up and saluted with his sword.

"What is the meaning of this?" the woman demanded.

"Majesty, we have taken the town, and are well on the road to Cornellia! We have sent on the citizens, as per your orders. God has granted us easy victory, but I fear that--"

The woman held up her hand. "Iron-Fist, I mean that," she said, pointing with her riding crop at the straining figure gurgling between the horses. "stop it at once! I will have any officer degraded at once if this happens again!" she stared around at the other commissioned officers nearby, who slowly dropped their eyes. They were Haranese, and not easily cowed, but the Queen was the apple of their eye, the daughter of the Blessed Martyr-King, their fortune and luck. She said fiercely, "Never let it be said that Queen Adah permitted cruelty to horses during her reign! Have that thing hanged out of its misery, and prepare all this and be ready to move on! And send to our allies and friends that New Edom has ventured forth and is en-route to the nest of the Eagle!"

The Queen and her escort moved on to where the New Edomite Expeditionary Force had prepared a headquarters. This was right near a rail station on the edge of the town, which was decorated with neo-classical Imperial style artwork--beasts and flowers and nude or semi-nude men and women who were doubtless gods of one kind or another. Hermes, for one, obviously, the swift winged foot god shown with his muscular athletic form leading the whole flowing bunch pointing, his caduceus gracefully aligned against his body.

"It should be destroyed," intoned the skeletal prophet Enoch. He was a dreamer--his sleep never restful, his dreams prophetic.

"And I saw a woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus..." said the eyeless woman Hannah in a voice like a crow's.

"No," said the wild bearded prophet, "This is the iron road of which Enoch interpreted the dreams of the Queen. We will take this road to the Eagle's nest."

Queen Adah said nothing, contemplating it. What she was remembering was her father tortured into the Blood Eagle and strapped to the front of a locomotive, borne through every major city in New Edom till he was barely recognized as human. She felt hot tears that would not come out of her eyes, and said in a trembling voice, "I long for nothing but vengeance--I am a sinful woman, no better than a murderer."

"This vengeance is the Lord's, O Queen, and you but His instrument." said Enoch sharply.

She took a deep breath and dismounted, kissing her horse's neck. Sonneteer was a blood bay Vatanni stallion, hot tempered and irritable, and few could tame the beast, but one of her Baran servants approached and dealt with him. The others dismounted as well and she entered what General Prince Joachim Tubal-Cain had selected as headquarters. It was full of officers in infantry, artillery and hussar uniforms and representatives of the mercenary regiments with her as well. "The rail line's capture is important, but it is only a tributary line, my Queen." said Prince Joachim. He was a handsome man with a dark moustache, powerfully built, in a double breasted uniform that he liked to thrust his hand into. "However it will serve us well. We will be able to move supplies more rapidly. I would like to recommend that we make use of one of the captured locomotives and arm it as best we can, then advance on Cos. It is along the coast and will bring us directly towards the city. We will need some fleet support from the Ossurs for this however."

Queen Adah nodded. "Let all preparations be done then. And send to the Archabbot, advise him of this intent. Our cavalry and mounted troops will flank the train's advance."

"That will be slower." pointed out the commander of the 21st Lancers.

"We are in enemy territory, much is unknown. We must know where the Eagle lairs, where he roosts, where he plots, where he schemes. Let them think us weak and wary if they want to. God is with us. We will prevail by His will and by His strength."

[The Cornellian Regency]

The Imperial City of Cornellia

The Imperial City of Cornellia used to embody the definitions of power, wealth, and influence in the region. The city's stone buildings and throngs of residents, now swelled with refugees from the surrounding provinces, had once radiated with the opulence of the foremost power in the region; but now it appeared wilted, the people packed into buildings, public squares, and arenas, trying to maintain morale as the Empire that had taken centuries to build came crashing down around them.

In these times of crisis, the people of the city were usually able to look to their Emperor for assurance, leadership, and wisdom. However, the war, which many were already referring to as the Cataclysm, had recently claimed their Emperor. In his place, his son, Manius Lucretius Priscus, a boy of barely fourteen years, had been crowned Emperor. He was supported and aided by his most senior military leader, Praetor Agrippa Hostilius Sulla. Sulla was a seasoned veteran of the Imperial Civil War and had served in various command positions throughout the current Rebellion. Now, he served his Emperor as the Legate of the Praetorian Guards, and was responsible for organizing the defense of the city.

The empty marble halls of the Imperial Palace echoed as his boots struck the marble floors. He had recently received news from across the decaying North Cornellian Empire; the rebels were approaching from the west, their vassals were nowhere to be found, and even forces loyal to the Regency, the faction that ruled the South Cornellian Empire on behalf of the Emperor, were unaccounted for. Every new report made the picture worse.

Sulla entered the Emperor's private chambers and gave him the news. Unremarkably, the boy didn't seem fazed by the bleak picture his senior commander gave him. The mere months he had spent on the throne had aged him far beyond his years; months filled with reports of Legions destroyed, Eagles captured, cities lost, and an ever-growing list of provinces either in rebellion or seized by the rebels.

With his report concluded, Sulla had one final request to make of his Emperor; that the Emperor grant him full power over the city until the city was taken, or the threat removed. Priscus granted the request without delay, full in the knowledge that the Praetor had a better idea for what needed to be done if they were to have a shadow of a chance of surviving the coming storm.

When Sulla left the Palace, he immediately issued orders to ready the defenses, load cartridges, sharpen blades, and clean firearms. While messengers carried his orders throughout the city to the commanders of the units arrayed in defense of the city, he made his way to the Pantheon, where he gave offerings to Mars and Jupiter, half hoping for the gods to intervene on his behalf. That done, he continued to oversee the preparations for the defense of the city. After all, the gods helped those who helped themselves.

[Cossacks]

Outskirts of Cornellia,
Shortly Before The Fall

The sky was a beautiful mixture of gentle purple and retreating blue as the sun sank below the hills to the west, and bringing slowly with it the peaceful embrace of night- however, the lovely scene visible from the farthest reaches of the Imperial City went completely unnoticed by those in the best position to view it. A visible trail of dirt was kicked into a small cloud which followed an impressive regiment of cavalry, and as the steeds increased their speed due to the insistence of their mounts, the cloud of dirt and soil rose even higher and obscured the heavenly display of sunset.

Leading this, seemingly, unending progression of horsemen was a relatively short man, clothed exclusively in the color white. From his white uniform, which featured on his long coat gold buttons with an Imperial Eagle upon them, to his exotic white bearskin cap- this man would have faded into nothingness on the white tundra of the north- invisible in a snowy realm. However, the man was not in the northern tundra and his white only assisted him in standing out even more so than he would have otherwise, though his position at the head of the many horses destroyed any hope for subtleness.

Petro Kadar was the man’s name; he was the leader of the First Exploratory Force from the Imperial Province of Kazakia. There had been rumors that something had gone amiss in the Empire, though the Cossacks were on the very edge of extensive empire and, it seemed, only gained much attention in times of war. Granted, there was also word or rumor reaching Kazakian taverns that the Empire was reaching some inevitable end, some wanderers even reported open fighting in some of the provinces- Imperial citizen against Imperial soldier, these reports had been dismissed from every level of Cossack society. Rebellion in the Empire, such a notion was laughable… or so it had seemed. However, the Hetman of Kazakia had determined an Exploratory Force had to be sent to Cornellia, the Capitol of the Empire- this decision had been made after Kazakia had lost all communication with the beating heart and capitol of the Empire, they suspected sabotage along the telegraph lines, they suspected an enemy was attempting to cut off communication throughout the Empire, they suspected an invasion. What they did not suspect was a revolution.

Now, the force had been faced with fighting, and slaying, its own people- Imperial citizens, and what was worse, if the Empire had fallen out of communication with Kazakia, one of the farthest provinces, then just how wide spread was this rebellion. Kadar did not know. Kadar did not care. Any rebellion against the Empire, as unthinkable as it was, was an act of high treason and demonstrators and sympathizers would all be purged and in the end the Empire would be stronger for it. After learning that there had indeed been rebellion and revolution rather than the much preferred invasion, Kadar had ordered his troops onward to the Capitol, to reestablish communication the old fashion way, face to face discussions.

The capitol city of Cornellia slowly began to appear on the horizon, Kadar was secretly relieved to see it still appeared to be in imperial hands, as the absence of patrols and sentries had greatly disturbed him that perhaps even the capitol had been taken during these damned revolutions. Kadar, seeing that the heart of civilization was very near him, and thus having arrived at his destination, signaled the line to come to a halt. As the line of men and steeds slowed behind him, he looked back over his soldiers- the Hetman, fearing invasion, had sent a sizeable force to reestablish contact with the Empire, and under Kadar’s watchful eyes, some one thousand Cossack Cavalry and an additional four thousand Cossack mounted infantry had arrived to push back the, apparently nonexistent, hostile invaders. The Force halted, a lieutenant approached Kadar- Kadar believed this man was his second in command, though wasn’t sure as he had lost his First Officer three times over on the long journey to the capitol.

“What are your orders sir?” The man asked as his horse stepped nervously, to Kadar’s surprise the beast was brown and not white which meant the man atop it was not a part of the honorary white legion- something one could only acquire by birth, and therefore his high position guaranteed this man was capable and loyal to Kazakia, but more importantly in these times to the Empire.

“From what I can see,” the short and aged Kadar said, peaking through his spy glass at the capitol, “they appear to be preparing for invasion- fortifications mostly on that side,” he said with a brief indication of his hand, “these are dark times friend, those who serve the empire today- will be sung of for centuries to come.”

“Agreed,” the lieutenant said, shocked that the military forces stationed in the capitol would, for the first time in his memory, be called into action. “Give us our orders, we will obey. What can we do to save our Empire?” He said, his voice trailing off mostly to himself.

“Send out the mounted infantry, dig trenches some thirty miles from the capitol. Take the cavalry with them- let it be known that it was Cossacks who stopped the rebel advance. Tell the men that, like in any other battle, we will not retreat. We ride either to victory, or to death- tell them this time the Empire rides with us.” The lieutenant swallowed, and pondered briefly if it was treason for him to whole heartedly desire an invasion of the Empire over what they were faced with now. “I will ride into the city, find our superiors, our emperors and tell them that the Cossacks have arrived. Sent a letter back to the Hetman and the People of Kazakia- tell them what we have learned. We are the Protectors of Earth.”

As Kadar rode off towards the city, and the lieutenant ordered him men to battlefield preparations, the sun sank wholly behind them, bringing in the black night- the hooves of the horses as they rode off, to the distant Kadar sounded like thunder, a harbinger of ominous, black, and bleak days ahead.

[Nordkrusen]

Königsberg, Nordkreussen, One week earlier

The sound of several hundred boots clicking their heels together with mechanised synchronisation echoed across the cobbled paradeground of the fortress Kolberg with regiments lined up in perfect lines, their colors waving in the mild breeze which swept over the fortress. Riding along the foremost line of blueclad men in black and gold spiked helmets was a man dressed in the plain uniform of a colonel with an impressive brownblonde pair of whiskers and an aura that made the seemingly statuesque soldiers stiffen more if possible. His small beady blue eyes scanning along the lines of men with a thoroughness that was not lost on the most dense of spectator.

His posture was impeccable and he managed to convey superiority and respect with every ich of movement, the breeze itself seemed to wane as he made his way back to the front and centre of the assembled men while he looked out over them one last time before straightening himself and letting his voice eco out over the assembled host.

"Soldiers! Officers and enlisted men! Long have we fought against the enemies of the realm, served our part and upheld imperial law and order against those who seek to break their vows and cast down their betters out of malice and hate!"

None of the soldiers seemed to move an inch or indicate any sort of emotion, yet even so the gruff words of this man rebrevated throughout their very beeing, stirring them to the core.

"Even so, the Empire crumbles around us, beset upon all sides by those it thought faithful comrades and friends! Some say our cause is lost, Yet what they say matter not! the words of an oathbreaker have no value be he imperial or rebel...All that matter is that you, I, Nordkreussen upholds the vows it has made!" The man, a praetor of the empire a king of Nordkreussen by the will and grace of god was Wilhelm. The corporal in goldenbraid that followed his men far and wide across the empire to bring the judgement of the emperor upon his foes. Drawing sabre and holding it at attention he slowly passed back and forth among the regiments, his eyes focused straight ahead at all times.

Solemnly Wilhelm spoke again whilst passing the rows of men yet again, an angered tremor rumbling in his chest as he mustered up the power to speak again. "The Emperor calls for the fatherland to defend him, if not for him then for whom?" With almost religious zeal and tone the hundreds of voices spoke as one while shouldering their rifles and directing their eyes towards their king. "For you Wilhelmus Rex, our hero and king we would storm the gates of hell!" as if expecting nothing else the king turned around sharply his sharp words resounding like the clap of thunder.

"Then i command you to march with me! to the gates of the Imperial city and back!" giving his troops a sharp salute Wilhelm watched as they fell into step with eachother marching in perfect unison in a long blue line out of the fortress gates towards the railstation of Königsberg, He knew thet capitol was beset but he would be damned if he did not keep his word! honour demanded it!

[Nalaya]

Camps of the Mghdzavanjner, Imperial Home Provinces

The smell of myrrh was thick here in the tent of Asanet Kostikyan, mingling with hints of smoke and horse from the long ride to the coast. The dust was thick on the hooves of the horses outside, being cared for diligently by their riders. But beneath the canvas, on carpets spread across the earth, careful words were spoken over maps spread out and diligently marked. They were strange things, but frightening in their accuracy: a gift of Ereshkigal. "New Edom yet advances, Arzhani," the messenger said. "Shall I send them word that we do the same?"

"Yes."

Asanet, fearsome soldier and lady of war, was stretched out as if lazily enjoying the break from her ride. The truth was somewhat different, of course, but her physician knew better than to dare breathe so much of a word of her condition to anyone else. He did persist in his criticism once the boy had scrambled out. "I told you the climate was unfavorable. This endeavor only serves to strip years from your life."

Feral amber eyes focused on him. "Tell me, Zhirayr, do I appear to be enjoying the years I have now?" she said, voice rasping and strained. Her fingers were curled and swollen, the joints deformed from the disease that had struck her in her youth. It was something akin to rheumatic fever, he had concluded, made only worse by the consumption. His lady was in constant agony, though it seemed to have done little to impact her prowess as a commander or soldier. If anything, she looked forward to war. It brought her a purpose that overpowered everything else.

"I did warn you, Arzhani," he said softly. As an Arusai, he was fairer than her by quite some measure. She favored her Vatani mother with dusky hair and nut brown skin kissed by the desert sun.

"You told me I would never see thirty years," she said with a breathless grin, the gleam of life that refused to die still flashing in her fever-glazed eyes. Her athletic frame was weaker now, thinner. "I am twenty-nine, and I intend to live in accordance with my doctor's prediction. The Edomites and their rebellion comes with an offer of peace in exchange for aid. I will do what is best for my people."

Zhirayr ran his fingers through his short hair and nodded, opening up his surgical kit. Those same ferocious eyes followed his every movement attentively as he took out the brown bottle, preparing a tincture of laudanum. "Here, this will ease the pain. You said it had spread into your back and hips," he said, holding it out to her.

"It is better now. I want nothing to do with your damned poison," Asanet said fiercely, forcing herself up. He could hear her body creak in agony and the breath choke in her lungs. But even as crimson soaked through the white cloth she pressed over her lips, she was unyielding. The Nava'ai woman forced her limbs to obey despite her condition, as if out of spite. "I tire of your medicines and your missionaries, crowding around me like collared vultures to 'save my soul'."

"Arzhani, I must insist--"

Her hand snapped out and slapped away the glass. "It clouds my thoughts and makes me weak. Tell Abd al Nasseer I wish to continue forward as soon as the heavy guns are prepared. We will meet Queen Adah at Cos," she said, lips pressing together in a thin line. "Get out. Now."

After he was gone, she coughed until her throat was clear, spitting blood and black bits into a basin. The copper smell was almost lost beneath the myrrh, as she had hoped. The pain brought an odd sort of clarity, reminding her that she was alive. Asanet placed her crooked fingers on the map of the Empire, the capital beneath her finger. They would be best served moving as close to the crow's flight as possible, if the Edomites meant to go by rail. The more attention they could draw away from that force, the better. She had been having men savage the Imperial supply routes at every opportunity. Better to dine on a foe's rations than your own. The Empire would bleed bitterly even before the battle had begun.

[The Cookish States]

Sixty-five Miles Directly North of the Capital

"General. I have our roll call."

The two generals in the room turned to the man with the letter, the higher ranking General Hanson took the note and read it..

Sir, we have taken a rough roll call of our armies. Collectively our force is primarily infantry, with a strong artillery base. Our 72nd is en route as of now to raid Imperial camps and the bourgeois populace there as well. They shall instill fear to prelude the arrival of the Edomite force. Now, the numbers are enclosed in the letter behind this one.

Truly, Colonel Isaiah Media

72nd Volunteer Battalion
-1,200 Rebel Troopers
-750 Volunteer riflemen, guerrilla warfighters on horseback
-6 Cannons (8 pound)

1st Army
-7,300 Cookish Rebel Troopers
-12 Howitzers
-16 Cannons
-450 Cavalry

The "Volunteers" as they have deemed themselves are all veterans of the 1845 uprising, and are riding to the Imperial camps surrounding the capital in ten to twenty man groups and have only stated that they would "Raise Hell and lay brimstone". The rest of the 72nd has been put under the command of General Richmond of the 1st Army and is following the Edomite force to battle.

Hanson worried, these Volunteers could be very helpful in other ways than insurgency. Well over half his cavalry had basically forsaken orders to charge straight into the enemy lines and confuse them. He couldn't fight their will though, they were his best men. He decided to trust them, and control those he could.

The 1st Army would load up on trains after the Edomites, and ride easily into battle. The rest of the 72nd, the 1,200 troopers, would maintain the security of the rail to ease the transport of supplies and men. He hadn't yet collaborated with the Edomite leader but time was too fluid. There would be time after the battle...
________________________________________________________________________________
Venarium

Zane Gril't was standing alone. He hadn't made a single friend since the port in Galveston where is brother died of flu. He was Hienmenian too, so he was collectively outcasted by those around him.

The sun shone through miserable smoke and dreary clouds promising rain. He looked as the Edomites sat in their trains fairly comfortably. The Cookish soldiers clambered atop the vehicles and clung to the sides.

"Not our train. Only fair."

Zane found a spot on the engine of the train just by the exhaust pipe. The Edomite conductor got his attention...

"Your boys are scouting ahead for any problems on the rail, if you see a horseman with a red flag gallop across the way before I do, give me a notice?"

Zane nodded and took out his binoculars, readying them in case a Volunteer scout gave a warning. He looked back at the brown (in face and uniform) masses aboard the trains as the blue Edomite uniforms stuck out occasionally from the interior of the trains. The Cookish soldier wore varying types of brown leather and beige denim, with rifles only. General Hanson said that...

"An inaccurate shot is wasted, every bullet must be placed in a deliberate fashion."

That man was a walking legend to the Cookish, so the muskets were forsook in favor of the hunting rifles and shotguns. Zane looked out to the forest opening into a countryside and stared ahead. He marveled at how simple his life had been up until this point...until this point.

[Ossurwald]

En Route to Cornellia

The limbered guns rolled by, as Brigadier Geoffrey Tomalek rode by. He scanned each one as he and his officers passed by, anxious to make sure that none of them suffered any accidents. He moved on, riding past his 5th Ulsthame Volunteers. Men waved at him as he passed, all of them proud to be commanded by a fellow Ulsthamer. It helped also that he was now locked in a campaign to be their Senator come election day. Plenty of them had heard him speak. They knew what he was fighting for. His opponent from the Democratic Liberal Party was too old to serve, wheelchair-bound from gout.

A Kelruss rider came down the side of the road, moving the opposite direction of the marching soldiers. The Kelruss was tall and gaunt, his high cheekbones rising above a finely-cropped dirty blonde beard. Fur-rimmed boots rose up to his navy blue trousers, which had red stripes running up the outside seams. Fancy pearl-handled revolvers hung at his side, while a longsword was strapped across his back. His fur-rimmed jacket had a bandolier hung jauntily in the opposite direction from the longsword's strap. And on top of his darkening hair sat a peaked cap, a simple black ribbon running around it, with six red-gold hands on it. This Kelruss was a killer.

"Brigadier Tomalek," he said, as his horse approached. Soldiers glanced angrily at him as they passed. The Kelruss had turned their backs on the Empire in the civil war, rallying to Peter Pedronek, but they remained a symbol of Imperial repression. This Kelruss was John Finefoot, an iryn in their strange language. It was roughly synonymous with Tomalek's rank.

"Yes, Iryn Finefoot?" asked Tomalek.

"He wishes to see the commanders," said Finefoot. There was no questioning who "he" was. Everyone knew. Peter Pedronek. The Orator of the West, the Great Rebel, the Hero of the Revolution, the First President of Ossurwald. Tomalek nodded. "Lead on."

They found Pedronek sitting on a hill. He was a smaller man, bald and bearded, wearing a double-breasted coat. Within the Cornellian Peninsula Expedition, Pedronek was the overall commander. Yet he had no rank. He was addressed as either "Mr. Pedronek" or "Peter" when the commands came through. Finefoot and Tomalek joined with all of the other brigadiers and the two marshals who commanded the two divisions of the expedition.

"We are within a few days' march of the imperial city," said Pedronek. "We must not outpace our nation's friends, unfamiliar as they are with the terrain. I have ordered messengers to link up with them. Mr. Finefoot's Kelruss are out scouting before us, looking to locate any enemy units that might impede our way. But I have no great wish to shed a drop more blood than is needed. Therefore, I am asking that one Kelruss go forth and ask for the terms of the city's surrender."

Colonel Marcus Olbring spoke up. Olbring was a former auxiliary to the imperial legions; his defection had been part of the revolution's success. "Mr. Pedronek, I must protest. Such an action would be tomfoolery. You are bound to lose the head of the Kelruss first. Emperor Prick is a boy. Boys make poor leaders, and they make rash decisions. How will you expect him to listen to reason?"

Pedronek gazed passively at Olbring. "Reason or no, no one must be spared the words of peace before they would face the wrath of war. This boy faces the vengeance reaped from near three hundred years of imperial misrule and mismanagement. It is all his fault. A great host is coming to punish him for the sins of his fathers. The words must be spoken, the offer must be made."

"I believe the Kelruss can see the truth of the Great Rebel's words," said Finefoot. Pedronek smiled a bit. "Is anyone unwilling to let them go?" No one spoke out against it.

"Good. Mr. Finefoot, you have your orders. Y'all are to to see to your men." The leaders left.

[Ossurwald]

Closing in on the Imperial City

Owen Redmoor rode down the road, a white flag flowing from the pole he carried. The Kelruss had stuck to the main road, looking for enemy soldiers. He knew well enough it would not take much for the imperials to kill him. But then, he knew they also believed in the rules of war. Hopefully they would spot the white flag before they spotted he was a Kelruss.

---

Railroad tracks to Cos

The messenger spurred his horse down the tracks. The Edomites could not be far, as he had the wherewithal to know that they were moving with many soldiers guarding the tracks. It took many hours, but soon enough he saw the tell-tale smoke of a train on the horizon, speeding away from him. He was closing in on it though. He'd be upon the Edomite expedition soon enough.

[New Edom]

The Road to Cos

The train chuffed its way along the rails, loaded up with soldiers, including the Cookish clinging to the baggage and cattle cars like aphids on a leaf. The fact that this had happened had at first annoyed some staff officers who saw, but Iron-Fist had pointed out that if the Cookish wanted to rush up a reconaissance to the front and be first there, who were the people of Edom to stop them? "Let them go to their glory if they must." However Iron-Fist did point out to the Cookish Commander--"Be thou careful. Do not engage the enemy until we are all forward. Be as hunters--do not flush the game until all of us are present! Share, O brothers of the South, the learnings thou dost gain from the Eagles, that we may share and share alike in the victories to come!"

Moving along the road were elements of the 14th Hussars, wearing crimson and blue and riding fiery swift horses, sabres and pistols at hand, their horses trotting down the road, past an abandoned farming village and estate, with a handsome villa spread out before them, garden and boulevard leading up to its gates. It was very quiet--not so much as the lowing of a cow. Captain "Cat" Sheba ordered a section of four to head up the lane to inspect the village, while he sent one of his platoons to a hilltop where he could see a white domed temple surrounded by small outbuildings. They were the advance guard for the rest of the regiment, which was in turn the advance guard for the advancing army's mounted forces. It was at this point that a Yerg Elwe scout pointed out the messenger approaching. All they saw for the moment was a lone horseman. The Captain sent out two men to intercept, and they trotted forward, jumping a neat stone wall and then moving through the abandoned wheat fields towards the rider.

Approaching Cos

The train had been slowed anyway--Cos was a crossroads town controlling the approach to Cornellia, and so the 14th Hussars were sent out as a reconaissance force for the New Edomite-Cookish forces advancing. General Tubal-Cain sent a polite request to General Hanson requesting that he have his forces disembark and prepare to advance in skirmish order protecting the New Edomite flank. It seemed like a perfect place for an ambush, that town, and so he wanted it scouted out first before anything awful happened. The train slowed to a groaning halt. Prince Joachim Tubal-Cain hoped that this would not be a serious delay--what he wanted to hear was that there were no troops at all in Cos and that they could capture it without a shot and use it as a point to advance on Cornellia from. However hope sprang eternal...he commented upon this idly to one of his staff as they disembarked their horses and with an escort from the 21st Lancers went out to meet their cavalry flankers halfway, find some high point and check things out.

Advancing up the road were the mounted elements--5th Anathaat Band, the 21st Lancers, 30th and 32nd Mounted Infantry, the 40th Field Artillery. They were riding by troops, companies and batteries to avoid getting clumped together too much, and were given a rest halt by Brigadier-General Barrabbas in order to keep them from getting exhausted too much if they did suddenly go into action. Even as some scout pointed out the group of riders approaching them, cries of "halt!" were echoing down the line. Because things were still so uncertain, no bugle calls were to be used without express orders from regimental commanders.

The Encounter at Ifluvium

Lieutenant Pahath-Moab was a young officer with a taste for the romantic and poetic, but at heart he was a true Baran, and so he was impressed by how orderly and neat and good the farm village he was approaching was. How excellent its mills, how pleasant the vine covered farm houses, the smell of the growing crops! The villagers had largely fled though there were a few about--he grinned as two of his troopers startled a fornicating pair from a hayfield, and he held back his laughter as some of the troopers chuckled and smacked their thighs with mirth at the sight of the man, trying to tug his shirt down, his backside moving as he tried to flee, while the girl for some reason ran like a startled rabbit right past them, clutching her shift and dress ineffectively to her front while her breasts tried to escape, and while her legs churned frantically, shrieking in the Imperial Provinces dialect. He snapped, "Sergeant, let's keep moving, this isn't the quarry we're after..." in fact he was thinking though, arses aside, that this might make a nice place to bivouac...he nodded pleasantly to an old timer who stared out of what seemed to be an inn by the sign and smells coming from it, but the old timer bowed and seemed startled as the fornicating couple. As they moved through the village they came round a large house--possibly the mayor's--and were about to knock on the door when to their astonishment a group of strange horsemen began to advance towards them through a field--and by the look on their faces were just as astonished as they were. For a moment it seemed impossible--the enemy was fifty miles away--but in a split second Pahath-Moab realized they were Cossacks. He realized that even as he was drawing his sabre that his opposite number was doing the same! "Forward lads!" he shouted--even as he heard a similar shout. What the hell, he thought madly, Is this man my doppleganger or something? even as he spurred his horse forward, a hiss of sabres all around him..

[Wolfmanne]

Imperial City
Just outside the city

In Parhe, the war was a winning one; first the Navy burned the Parhe fleet, so weak as it burnt to the ashes. Then the coast was bombarded, islands were taken by the Marines and on the mainland the Army landed, ready for a long campaign. Wolfmanne's own Army did much of the work, as Regiments took over from Wolfmanni Legions serving the South Cornellian Empire. However, here they were, the only Wolfmanni and Southern Cornellian presence in the city, since Wolfmanne technically falls under the South Cornellian Empire. It wasn't the Regency that ordered the two Legions to Imperial City but the King himself - something which the Regency didn't like. However, they were fighting a losing battle; even with 10,000 Wolfmanni Legionnaires, the city was ripe for the taking. Most men were veterans, with a few new recruits to replace the ones lost in battle.

Major General Napoleone Greco held command over the two Legions, the 12h Legion Wolfmania and the 17th Legion Wolfmania. More used to fighting the Parhesians, this would be the first time he'd be meeting the New Edomites, the Cookish and the other Rebels. Under him were two officers of the South Cornellian Army, although at least one of them was Wolfmanni; Legate Lucius Valerius Scipio Parhevs, another veteran of the Parhesian War, in command of the 12th, and Legate Casimiro Siciliani, the Wolfmanni Legate who never fought in Parhes at all, in command of the 17th.

The Legions were of the standard makeup; 5,000 infantry, 750 cavalrymen of different types and 8 gatling guns. Well trained, discipline veterans of the Civil War, many were optimistic as they had been reassigned from Parhes to Imperial City. The veterans of the war in the North thought differently; they had been pushed back countless times. The one time Greco was posted up North, he wished that he'd never return; a Legate lost an entire Legion right before his eyes and he was too late to save him. The Legionnaires watched as the Cossacks rose passed, looking in awe as these warrior people galloped by. The Major General felt like giving a salute, but that wouldn't be normal. The Cossacks were something to be admired by their friends. As for their foes, the Cossack horseshoe will be the last thing they see.

[Wielkilas]

The smell of salt flooded into the nostrils of Marshall Kazimierz Znaniecki as the Weilkilasin gazed over the prow of the armoured Rusalka. Their destination was finally in sight after many long weeks of sailing and steaming. The warships had to fend off enemy vessels that had gotten too close for comfort, but had done so while suffering only very minor damage. The marshal stood in his pine needle green field uniform and fiddled with the end of his handlebar moustache. Wielkilas had rebuffed Cornellian military and political maneuvers for centuries only to be laid low by famine sixty years ago. It had been an embarrassing, humbling, and anger inducing defeat when the Cornellian legions had walked through a nation wracked by hunger and unable to defend itself properly. Sixty years had been far too long for the people of Wieldkilas and it had taken little to convince the szlactha and the common folk that the time had finally come to crush the pagan empire beneath heavy boots. Wielkilas would once again be a proud nation rule over by Wielkilasins.

Kazimeirz laughed heartily, his broad muscular chest rising and falling like the piston of a steam engine. He unsheathed his karabela and pointed toward the shore that peeked at him from over the horizon. He had killed so many of those damn Germanic curs and now he would a have chance to see more of them die by his hand and those of the brave Wielkilasin soldiers that were with him. The Cornellians and their Germanic dogs would have no mercy. The marshall put away his blade and strode into the captain’s cabin.

Róża Malinowski put her ear to the door of the room that held the bunks of the soldiers being transported to fight. She then peered through the keyhole. It was rare to find herself alone in the room but the other soldiers had gone down to the mess to drink and gamble and likely would not bother her for many hours. She sighed in relief and removed her uniform, revealing the wrap that had worked to hide the feminine bulge of her chest. She carefully unwound the strips of linen and bundled them upon her bunk and exhaled freely. She then ran her rough hands through the short shock of fiery red hair that had once grown down to her waist. She missed having her hair long, but there would have been no way for her to be here with it. Despite being quite the tomboy, she had always loved to brush through her hair with the comb her mother had given her when she had been a girl of no more then seven years. It was not an expensive comb, but she treasured it none the less. It was the only thing she had left that belonged to her mother. A woman more beautiful than the loveliest rose and tougher than the largest wisent.

Being a tomboy in a humble mercantile family had helped to prepare her for the journey she was now embarked upon. None of the other soldiers had seemed to notice that she was a woman and she took no small amount of pride in that fact. Her thoughts turned to her father who she had left behind in her home village by the sea. He was not a young man, but still possessed the vigor of a man half his age and had the strength of wisent. She had told him that she would be going away to Broków to find work. If she had told him the truth, he would have never let her go. And though the fact that she was a woman certainly was a part of that, she knew her father would not want to risk losing another member of his family. Róża’s brothers and mother had all died. Her brothers in combat and her mother from a fever that had taken her during the winter months three years ago.

She then reached into a small leather bag that held her few meager possessions and pulled out a wooden rosary. She kneeled in front of her bunk with her folded hands clasping each bead in turn. (This next section is a Hail Mary)

“...
Zdrowaś Maryjo, laski pełna
Pan z Tobą,
błogosławionaś Ty miedzy niewiastami
błogosławiony owoc żywota Twojego, Jezus.
Święta Maryjo, Matko Boża,
módl się za nami grzesznymi
teraz i w godzinę śmierci naszej.

Amen.
...”

After speaking the final words of the Hail Holy Queen, Róża made the sign of the cross and put away her rosary. She then wrapped her chest again and laid herself down on her bunk after re-dressing herself. She pulled the rough cotton sheet that belonged to her across her body and lie awake with her thoughts and impure desires bouncing around her head. At last she could not hold herself back and let her hand wander. After the rapture that followed, a wave of guilt washed over her and she folded her hands together and began to pray again. It was a sinful thing that she had done, but she was not sure if she would be able to keep herself from repeating her actions.

As Róża slept, the ship swayed upon the sea as it drew ever closer to the shore where the Wielkilasins would disembark.

[Nalaya]

Cos, the Imperial Home Provinces

Whatever the Edomites might have been expecting in the town, perhaps an ambush, it was not there any longer. Asanet was a woman of war, and sometimes that meant long knives in the dark. A garrison was no real danger to such a large and experienced fighting force. They had camped in the city, making certain their position was as defensible as possible. Civilians could leave if they chose, though the invaders were polite occupiers. However, there wasn't nearly as much in the way of spare food stores, as Asanet preferred her rations be saved as often as possible.

Smoke rose from the town where funeral pyres had been raised, orders to leave the dead undefiled grudgingly followed. There would be a time and place for such things when it was the eagles themselves on the field. Hundreds of horses grazed in the area or ate from feed bags, belonging to the mounted infantry of the Mghdzavanjner.

"Arzhani, there is a large column of troops approaching and an iron serpent winding towards us as a horse might run."

Asanet glanced up at her favorite scout, Vhanai. The Mak'ur was as quiet as a shadow when she walked the paths away from the rest of the group, and a fearsome creature on the field. Even though she had taken to wearing proper clothing, much of it stripped from the dead, she kept the wilderness with her: a tsanr fang around her neck, a band of tanned hide around her upper arm. The tattoos on her face bore the stylized lines of a wolf's profile along with her clan markings.

They called her a skinwalker, a sorceror who could strip off her humanity and walk the earth on four legs. After seeing her in battle frenzy and then on the hunt in the woods, Asanet could almost believe it. Vhanai was the only one permitted to do as she pleased with the bodies of her slain, to keep her contented. Otherwise, after all, she might prey upon those who sought to toss stones in her direction.

"Did you see their colors?" Asanet asked, continuing to slowly stretch out her legs. Every time a joint moved, she was in almost crippling pain. But she continued anyway, never showing weakness. They expected her to be strong, after all.

"Many I did not recognize. That alone speaks that they are no legion. The way they are taking is watched," Vhanai said. She waited like a great wolf would look to its alpha for the approval to chase game, interest alive in her strangely colored eyes. Every muscle in her lithe frame seemed relaxed, but Asanet knew from experience that this could change in a heartbeat.

"I will meet with them, and hope they are our allies. Search the path ahead and keep your eyes open for a threat," she said, standing up and catching her horse by its bridle. Around them, the square was abuzz with activity.

"Eshkhan also wished to know what you would have done with the captured. He has taken their names, as you asked," Vhanai said, accepting her orders without question.

"He is to release them with mercy and a warning that if they ever raise arms against us again, we will not only kill them, but raze their homes and plow salt into their fields," Asanet said before swinging up into the saddle. "I am not unreasonable." She whistled. "Avetisyan, you and yours with me. We have guests."

It was not a large greeting party with about a hundred men, but they would not be going so far that reinforcements were more than a few minutes away if necessary. Asanet guided her horse, one of the prized gray Arusai steeds, with gentle pressure from her knees. They were not large beasts, but they were strong and fast, readily trained for combat. Once they had borne armored knights into battle with fearsome strides. These days, their role had changed only a little.

She tugged the reins once they were in sight of the approaching forces, keeping the advantage of high ground for the moment. Still, her own forces were not hard to identify as not legion away from the battlefield, dressed in gray uniforms that kept off rain, sun, and wind equally well.

Avetisyan, a lean young man, cupped his hands and bellowed down, "Mghzavanjner! Allo the road!"

[Cossacks]

The Encounter at Ifluvium

Lieutenant Pahath-Moab was a young officer with a taste for the romantic and poetic, but at heart he was a true Baran, and so he was impressed by how orderly and neat and good the farm village he was approaching was. How excellent its mills, how pleasant the vine covered farm houses, the smell of the growing crops! The villagers had largely fled though there were a few about--he grinned as two of his troopers startled a fornicating pair from a hayfield, and he held back his laughter as some of the troopers chuckled and smacked their thighs with mirth at the sight of the man, trying to tug his shirt down, his backside moving as he tried to flee, while the girl for some reason ran like a startled rabbit right past them, clutching her shift and dress ineffectively to her front while her breasts tried to escape, and while her legs churned frantically, shrieking in the Imperial Provinces dialect. He snapped, "Sergeant, let's keep moving, this isn't the quarry we're after..." in fact he was thinking though, arses aside, that this might make a nice place to bivouac...he nodded pleasantly to an old timer who stared out of what seemed to be an inn by the sign and smells coming from it, but the old timer bowed and seemed startled as the fornicating couple. As they moved through the village they came round a large house--possibly the mayor's--and were about to knock on the door when to their astonishment a group of strange horsemen began to advance towards them through a field--and by the look on their faces were just as astonished as they were. For a moment it seemed impossible--the enemy was fifty miles away--but in a split second Pahath-Moab realized they were Cossacks. He realized that even as he was drawing his sabre that his opposite number was doing the same! "Forward lads!" he shouted--even as he heard a similar shout. What the hell, he thought madly, Is this man my doppleganger or something? even as he spurred his horse forward, a hiss of sabres all around him..

Tovin Rhysin was a traditional Cossack in every meaning of the word. He too was garbed in the white of the traditional White Legion, however he was not the commander of the task force, a fact reflected in his silver buttons. Still, his small bearskin cap bore the symbol of a Great House, the House of Rhysin, upon it and this earned him the respect he required. It seemed to have been not too long ago at all that he was sitting mounted upon his steed watching his countrymen dig into the earth to prepare defensive trenches. Tovin had sat watching with boredom, scratching his beard which had grown thick and filthy during their long ride from Kazakia, an infantryman handed him a flask of samogon. Samogon was a disgusting, vile, recoiling drink but the alcohol content was high and Cossack warriors on the road could make it easily, and thus it was a popular drink despite its taste.

“Cousin,” came the call of Tovin’s relation from the House of Rhysin. He knew that he was from the same House as this man from the emblem of the House he bore, but he did not know the man’s name or rank, not that it mattered to Tovin, anything was better than watching the commoners dig.
“Yes cousin?” Tovin had called, moving his steed closer to his clansman. He was instructed to gather a task force and to ride out to find some laborers to assist, or rather take over the ditch digging- Cossacks were breed to fight and make havoc, not to dig and prepare defenses. “Happily, I will gather a force and be off to the road.” Tovin had said simply, before silently thanking the gods for a more interesting task than watching the dull digging, if they were lucky the may even encounter an enemy to slay, but this was unlikely- even the scouts should be no closer than some 50km away.

Riding quickly away from the Imperial City, they Cossacks passed a group of Wolfmanians, and Tovin noted that some officer in their military was eyeing their steeds, likely out of respect though possibly out of envy. It did not matter and the Cossacks only gave them a simple glance before breaking into song as they continued to ride on. Singing was not uncommon among the Cossacks, the opposite in fact as the entire Exploratory Force had come dancing and singing into the Imperial City, it was a way to unite the warriors before riding into battle when they would have to truly be united against possible death- not that Cossacks believed death was the end of life, but rather that they would join Mars in an eternal struggle for the heavens. The singing had quieted as a small village came into view, they did not want to scare the inhabitants into thinking them conquerors, however as the steeds came to a slow trot, figures became visible on the horizon already in the village.

“Are they Imperials?” Tovin asked the men behind him, hoping they would have better eyes than he- after all, these men could not be the enemy, the enemy was far off in the distance. However, these thoughts were expelled as the horsemen gave up a cry of battle. It promised to be an interesting fight, as these men outnumbered them by some, the Cossacks only numbering five, but that would be what made the battle worth fighting. “Hold your arms, we slay them with steel!” Tovin called unsheathing both of his curved sabers, Cossacks were famed for their abilities to spin, twirl, and fight with two blades while on horseback- hands were not needed, and this proved a distinct advantage in many battles. “For the Empire!” They cried, and forsaking the guns they had with them, despite the fact that they could have killed many of the horsemen from this distance, they charged their steeds forward, ten twirling blades and five blood thirsty Cossacks came forward.

[New Edom]

Ifluvium--First Blood

"Edom! Edom!" shouted the Hussars as they charged forward. Game lads thought Pahath-Moab. Good--it was no fun killing cowards, and he didn't want them to report back, but most of his thoughts were out of his head as he shouted, "Charge!" and rushed forward, sabres flashing in the sun; the Imperial peasants fled out of sight or slammed their doors. Tache was a trained war-horse, in fact he had completed his officer training with the beast, and so they were like one animal--but his opponent coming up at him had two blades, and so he improvised--use his coat as a shield, he whipped it around his left arm and trusted in Tache's superb training to not be distracted. His blade sang as he slashed at the Cossack he was immediately facing; it was not Pahath-Moab's first combat of the war and he forgot almost everything but the man in front of him, his exotic looking face and clothes a blur compared to the blade and eyes and hands he focused on, his strong wrist catching one blade while the cloak whipped at the other, their horses both stamping and whinnying and grunting, he felt a painful slice along his arm but ignored it, wrapping his coat around the man's arm and as their horses struggled so did the men, straining and growling, the two blades leapt apart even as the man tried to get his blade out of the coat and without even thinking Pahath-Moab slashed up under his arm--that slowed the man down and his next blow hit him in the neck--he saw the man sagging, blood hissing out of the throat, staining his clothes and lightly spattering out; the Cossacks were fighting like demons and had killed two of his men but were overwhelmed, they were being surrounded. "Surrender!" shouted Pahath-Moab.

The Road to Cos

Avetisyan, a lean young man, cupped his hands and bellowed down, "Mghzavanjner! Allo the road!"

A lean faced bony featured officer wearing the red and blue of the 14th Hussars had halted his scouting party along the road when they were greeted thus, and he called out, "14th Hussars--who are you?"

"I think they're Nalayans, Sir." observed a fresh faced cornet. The Major's colour party snickered under their breaths.

"I'm sure they are, Mister Abiathar. Nevertheless we are going to observe military custom," said the Major drily as the Nalayans--if that was what they were--approached.

[Cossacks]

Ifluvium--First Blood
Cossack's Perspective

Tovin was the first among his people to charge in, and his initial intention was to strike and kill the Edomite Officer, however as he galloped, twirling his blades with precision and ferocious skill, he saw the flash of what he thought to be a pistol emerging from its holster, and that was unacceptable. This was to be a fight between men, not cowards firing from range, Cossacks held no respect for such men. And so, Tovin pressured his steed with his knees, turning sharply away from Pahath-Moab, and towards the namely figure.

As metal struck metal, it seemed a symphony of war conducted by the orchestra of Mars began their first notes. These Edomites were good, not that the Cossacks expected any less as Cossack riders had served in Imperial Cavalry Brigades alongside Edomite Hussars before, and Tovin had a general feeling that there was shared respect between the two peoples, even in this time. Tovin allowed a heavy slice to come down at his opponent, however the man’s beast- loyal as any warrior, reared up, taking the slice to the stomach. Typically, Tovin would expect a horse to go down immediately but these were battle hardened horse, though it seemed obvious that it would die shortly after the battle. Much like a Cossack, the man was enraged at his horse’s fatal injury and delivered a crippling blow to the Cossack’s right arm, his dominant arm. Tovin had known it would happen, he knew he couldn’t avoid the blow- but he did take the opportunity to plunge his blade deep into the stomach of his opponent, and then both rider and steed fell to the ground, ending the hurricane of metal as quickly as it had begun.

Tovin took the moment to look around, one of his men was dead- blood spouting from his neck, damage inflicted by the enemy officer who was apparently skilled in steel. It looked another one of his men had also been successful in his combat, as there were two dead Edomites, only one being Tovin’s claim. However, it had indeed taken a heavy toll, and it appeared that he and one other man were all that was left of his unit, but even the fallen three seemed to have done some damage to their opponents and victory was not to be expected in such a one sided battle.
“Surrender,” came the cry from the Edomite officer, a word that legitimately did not immediacy register with Tovin for a moment. Tovin was prepared to order another charge when he heard the groan from his last remaining follower; the man was on the ground, a slash across the chest- not too deep, nothing that couldn’t be fixed in a proper hospital back at a camp, however, the wound certainly prevented him from remounting his horse or carrying on the battle.

With a sigh, Tovin pulled out his pistol in an instant flash of a motion, he knew for a fact that he could kill the Edomite officer from this range, no question. Granted, he would only have time to fire once before the man’s men would kill him and so he took aim clearly at the heart of his injured comrade and pulled the trigger, ending the man’s life, and letting the gun droop down to his mount’s hooves. It had to be done, it was possible that he would have died before receiving treatment at the hands of an enemy and the he knew the man would rather die by his hands than those of a rebels. It was the honorable thing for one Cossack to do to another, now it would only be his honor that would be damaged by capture.

“Tell me,” he called to the Edomite, who seemed shocked that he had just killed his own soldier, “did you really expect me to surrender? I am a Cossack. We are an ancient race of warriors. You insult me by suggesting we would surrender, and I demand satisfaction.” Tovin called, raising his, uninjured, left arm and blade at the officer to formalize his request for an honorable duel.

[New Edom]

Ifluvium

Lieutenant Pahath-Moab quirked his mouth. He had expected to die at the pistol's bullet and had been shocked that it was not aimed at him. Clearly these Cossacks did not intend to be taken alive, and he had been on the verge of ordering carbines drawn when he heard the challenge. Damn it all to Hell. Now what was he supposed to do? He couldn't back down, he'd never live it down. He also couldn't apologize under these circumstances. No way in Hell would he apologize. "I am shocked, that you would accuse me of behaving in a dishonorable way," he said sharply. "I am Lieutenant Gideon Pahath-Moab, of the 14th Hussars and the Army of Queen Adah I of New Edom, and I accept your challenge." he assumed it would be on horseback, and so he ordered his men, "Fall back, and form line!"

His sergeant expressionlessly saluted with his sword and rallied the Hussars, wheeling them back. Pahath-Moab said, "However if you lose, then you and your men will become my prisoners, having been honorably defeated in combat. If I lose, you will leave without any loss of honor and we will quit this field." He felt his horse's stamping and readiness, Tache lifted his dark bay head and gave a whinnying grunt. Pahath-Moab saluted, and then kicked Tache forward, aiming his sabre in the classic Hussar charge at his opponent.

[Nalaya]

The Road to Cos

A lean faced bony featured officer wearing the red and blue of the 14th Hussars had halted his scouting party along the road when they were greeted thus, and he called out, "14th Hussars--who are you?"

"I think they're Nalayans, Sir." observed a fresh faced cornet. The Major's colour party snickered under their breaths.

"I'm sure they are, Mister Abiathar. Nevertheless we are going to observe military custom," said the Major drily as the Nalayans--if that was what they were--approached.

"Definitely E'dhomi," Avetisyan chuckled with a shake of his head. "They probably brought a priest with them instead of any liquor worth drinking."

Asanet's laugh turned into a violent spasm of coughs she smothered with a dark handkerchief. "At least they always think to bring enough religion for everyone, with plenty of second helpings," she rasped once her chest was clear. The Nalayan woman straightened up and adjusted the rifle across her back before nudging her horse forward. She held up a hand in a wave. "Good morning, 14th Hussars. I am your ally, of the Nalayan Mghzavanjner and well pleased to see New Edom as fashionably late as always. The garrison at Cos has, alas, left we Nalayans to avail ourselves of their hospitality. I hope you brought friends."

Her voice was thick and harsh, but she spoke clearly and precisely in their tongue with an accent that did not impede her words. Asanet was not uneducated, though granted she had spent most of her time learning such things on the road between battles. A life in her homelands was never so easy that it made for the luxury of things such as schools or soft beds.

[Cossacks]

“You are a rebel, and serve a only a Queen Pretender.” Tovin twirled the handle of his balanced blade between the fingers on his left hand, he had never fought a duel with only his left hand, but he had issued a challenge and now it had been accepted, in truth he was somewhat surprised that this Edomite had not desired to fight to the death, but he had issued the challenge and by Cossack culture, it was only fair that the opponent determined the stakes.

He watched as the Hussars quickly formed a line, and took the time to analyze the situation. Hussars were born to be light cavalry men, just as the Cossacks were born to be light cavalry men. However, these Hussars were used to fighting in open plans and flat battle space, whereas Cossacks fought in the hills, the forest, and the mountains- and therefore this man had a duel advantage, the first being Tovin’s injury, the second being the terrain. Good, he thought, what fun would the battle be if I was not disadvantaged?

As the Hussar charged the Cossack did likewise, spurring his horse forward, the Edomite may have indeed been skillful, but Tovin found his initial assault to be over ambitious, as though he was not used to dueling or in some way unsure of himself. This allowed Tovin to redirect the force from the initial blow, and as they rode back around to face each other again, it seemed his opponent was less than pleased with the first pass.

[Anathaat]

Following along with New Edom

Priestess-General Astaar Balarka stood naked in the tent that served as her place of lodging and field temple. Her body was lithe and made of steel. Scars from swords, bayonets, and bullets could be found across every part of her body, though her vital areas and face remained unblemished. The Star of Anathit that was branded upon her arm stood out among the rest of the scars as it was a symbol of her completed devotion to Anathit.

Encircling her were senior members of the band and those who could call themselves full priestesses of Anathit. They gave the Priestess-General a wide berth as she stared fiercely at the frightened foreign officer before her with eyes deeper than the sea and greener than the needles of a cedar. Her voice was at the same time alluring and commanding. “Lose your fear and face death as a warrior. If you do this you will fall into the rapturous embrace of Anathit. If you do not then you will die a thousand times through the fury of her blade.” She then waited eleven seconds as she measured the man’s response. “You have determined how you will die and how you will continue in death.”

The Priestess-General than reached down an arm and drew a falcata that had been lodged in the earth beside her. “We have before you Anathit one who has faced us in battle and fallen. Accept this man of warrior blood as our gift to you. Take his soul as the earth will take his flesh. And please grant us the strength of your sword arm, the courage of your heart, and the cunning of your mind.” She then straightened the standing man with one arm and raised her blade. The blade fell with great precision and power onto the neck of the enemy soldier. The crimson life force of the decapitated man covered the olive skin of the naked Priestess-General and saturated her ebon hair.

She reached out her hand and was handed a scarlet cloth with which she cleaned the blade of the falcata. She then handed the weapon to one of the other priestesses and took up a shovel and dug a hole deep enough to cover the headless body of the man and keep out the stench of decay. After this task had been completed, her body was a patchwork of dried blood and glistening sweat. She then took the head of the man and placed into her fire pit along with a quantity of dried cloves before setting everything on fire. As the acrid smell of burning flesh and hair mixed with the spicy aroma of the cloves, Astaar stood like a statue with her eyes closed and her hands cupping her breasts. Once the flesh and hair had burned away, she opened her eyes and signaled the other priestesses to bring her a basin of water and soap.

Her skin and hair now clean of blood, she dried herself with a deep purple cloth which she then folded and placed beside her cot. She then dressed herself in the field khaki of the Sacred Band and affixed the long and forward curving blade that had descended from the falcata of centuries past to her side along with a well maintained revolver. Her black hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail and a simple silver ring was slipped over her left index finger.

It was time to seek out her employer or whoever she could get a hold of and have a discourse with them. She led her blood red stallion and looked about the landscape until she spied who she had been looking for and approached them with a courteous smile.

[The Cookish States]

The Road to the Capital

Three men rode down the road, one pulling a wagon seemingly full of scrap metal for the war effort. The men were not uniformed but wore typical garb of the area. The front horseman had a counterfeit letter from a nonexistant Colonel Gunther of the Wielkilasin Army ordering them to deliver the metal to an arms factory in the city. Everything seemed legitimate...

The men were Cookish Volunteers. The front two had twenty pound black powder bombs strapped to their chests, to be detonated with the lighting of a fuse triggered by a flintlock mechanism scavenged from two old rifles. The wagon behind them held six barrels of black powder bombs covered with scrap metal all triggered to the nervous mans left hand. Their mission was to take the road as far into enemy territory as possible, and sacrifice themselves upon being found out. The three illiterates were promised lavish lives for their families after their success, as well as reassurance that their final mission was a godly one. Some called it cowardice, the Volunteers called it controlled chaos...
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Ifluvium

Lieutenant Ed Harley galloped his horse through the backwoods with his Volunteer platoon behind him. The thirty horsemen stopped their steeds just in sight of a Cossack camp to see a small confrontation going on, with Edomite and Cossack spectators. Knowing they were already spotted the Cookish cavalry used the chance to gallop past the confrontation in an attempt to find a Cossack camp or headquarters. They readied their rifles and took upon a trail leading just past the battle by about twenty feet. But, as Harley passed he noticed the Edomite struggling in the fight and ordered six of his men to join the ranks of the Hussars and "Mind their manners." The head of the detachment was Corporal Kent Greyson, he saluted the Edomite Sergeant and removed his roughly made rabbit skin cap...

"We're at you service friend, my Lieutenant sends his compliments on the skill of what we presume is your commander. Our swords... rather our rifles are yours."

Greyson's rifle was at the ready as he watched his Lieutenant and his cadre gallop toward enemy lines. He knew they would soon dismount and stalk the Cossack ranks until they discovered an officer to slaughter him as one would a rodent, needing not even a trophy to grace the kill. They would leave only one trophy for the target, a precisely placed lead bullet.
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The Road to Cos

The Cookish troops began to dismount the train and group up in masses as officers on wooden pedestals relayed information to them about attack orders. 1,800 men began to march toward Ifluvium intent on claiming it for the rebels. Another 8,500 was to march forward readied for battle toward the capital flanked by artillery. It wouldn't be long before the Cookish showed that they were the numerical brunt of the Rebel Army...

[New Edom]

Ifluvium

"We don't know how many of these folk are here," said the Sergeant. "We promised that we would quit the field if this Cossack fellow wins--" he said matter of factly, "But I don't know that your people made the same promise. So maybe best would be if you sort of snuck off quiet-like and had a look around to see if there are any more Cossacks up ahead, right?"

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Pahath-Moab had only been doing the classic charge attack because it was expected; the Cossack however leaned aside like a born horseman, but Pahath-Moab was long trained as well, as was Tache, and they wheeled around swiftly, turning as though on a small coin, and his sabre sang out as it sought his enemy. His own bleeding arm was starting to feel throbbing and stiff, but he ignored this. Queen Pretender indeed!

The Advance to Cos

"Fashionably late?" said the Major. "The party has barely begun, my Nalayan friend! So Cos is unoccupied--but where's the Eagle's forces? No sign of them?" he frowned and glanced at the Cornet and his colour party. "Our Queen has brought up the entire New Edomite Army as well as Anathaat and Estovakivans, Cookish and others. If Cos is unoccupied we will bring the main body of our infantry right to the rail station and disembark them on the road there. The Cookish and all our mounted forces are moving forward to flank the train's advance." As they were talking, an officer in the uniform of the 21st Lancers rode up, his horse blowing and puffing a little, and said, "I have a message from Prince Joachim for the Nalayan Commander! The Prince's compliments, and you are to advance to the town of--oh." He frowned. "Any developments I should report to the Prince?"

The Major drily reported what the Nalayans had remarked upon, finishing with, "Was there anything else? I believe that until given further notice that the Nalayans should occupy the town and continue what they've been doing."

Council of War

Invited to an impromptu council of war were any officers allied with or fighting under the New Edomite command or alongside it. Prince Joachim Tubal-Cain, the commander of the army along with his staff was there, as well as Queen Adah and her prophets and handmaidens. It was held near another village, under the shade of a spreading chestnut tree near an abandoned village. Queen Adah spoke in her soft but carrying voice. "I believe it is wise for us to proceed quietly. Though it is the general custom of these times to make much noise and much great movement, I believe that we must see this land as that of the hunting grounds of a great beast. We have come to kill this beast--this beast which killed my father and his followers--and we do not know where he drinks, where he sleeps when he is out on the hunt, we only know where his lair is. So no drums, no bugles, no horns, is my urging to all of you. We have all sent scouts out--now that we are gathered, let us move with all swiftness on Cornellia."

[Nalaya]

The Road to Cos

"I have scouts upon the way ahead," Asanet said, pleased to hear that her allies had brought such a force. It meant each army would face less of a bloodbath. "And that is where your eagle roosts. When they return, I will have more words for Prince Joachim. If there is a war xouncil, however, I should like to attend and offer what I may."

From off in the distance there was a long, keening howl that echoed mournfully out from thw hills. The tsanr camped with their Mak'ur masters at Cos howled back in a symphony of powerful and eerie bays. Asanet smiled faintly to herself. It seems we may yet have more news after all.

She saluted the New Edomites with the saber that had been lying against her leg with its bare blade gleaming in the sun. "I look forward to the gathering storm, Paron. It will be an honor."

[Ossurwald]

Heading Towards Cos

The messenger saw the two other riders advancing down upon him as he headed along the railroad tracks. "Whoa!" he hollered, slowing his horse to a trot as they came within hearing distance.

"I bring a message from Peter Pedronek, Ossurwald advances!"

---

Heading South

Not for the first time Geoff Tomalek questioned the wisdom of being out here. The occasional broken axle on the carriages of the cannons had slowed down the expedition, but they were still moving towards the south. Kelruss scouts had yet to report anything in front of them.

Tomalek's adjutant, Lieutenant Makkelby rode up next to him. "We may well advance straight to Emperor Prick's doorstep if this continues," he smiled.

Tomalek smiled back, but he was deeply uncomfortable.

---

En Route to the Imperial Capital

Owen Redmoor had expected to be spotted already. He'd been traveling on main roads, and had expected to see imperial soldiers. Yet none had been forthcoming. If it continued like this, he would simply ride up the imperial gates.

[The Cornellian Regency]

The Imperial City of Cornellia

http://img801.imageshack.us/img801/1571/capitaldispositions.png

Praetor Agrippa Hostilius Sulla was surveying the work that had been done by the troops under his command over the course of barely two days. Originally protected from attack only by a line of five pentagonal star forts, each mounting twenty 16-pounder guns, sited about a quarter-mile away from the city, he had almost his entire army and a large number of civilians dig a long ditch, packing the soil behind the ditch to form a earthen rampart, the whole forming a series of fortified positions that connected the forts and made a solid line of defenses across the whole of the land approach to the city. Once the ditch and rampart were completed, Sulla ordered thousands of short iron spikes to be driven into the ground and thousands of cantrops among the scattered spikes for a hundred yards in front of the ditch, creating a massive killing zone that the rebels would have to cross if they hoped to enter the city by land.

The four under-strength Legions (two Cornellian, two Wolfmanni) at Sulla's disposal were positioned inside the fortified land approaches to the city. The Cornellians were placed along the left wing of the position, with the Ninth Legion placed to the outside of the Thirteenth Legion; the Wolfmanni were placed on the right wing of the position, with the Thirty-Seventh Legion placed outside of the Fifth Legion. Each Legion had a fort manned by two Cohorts totaling a thousand infantry, with the center fort manned with a combination of Cornellian and Wolfmanni troops, the garrison commanded by the more experienced of the two cohort commanders.

Behind them slightly were two divisions of Auxilia Mounted Infantry that were being held in reserve, meant to shore up any weak positions in the line or to contain an enemy penetration of the line. In makeshift blockhouses and artillery positions along the coast were the bulk of the Auxilia Infantry and Artillery units. Their purpose was to defend against an attempted landing by rebel forces until the Imperial Navy was able to sever their offshore lifelines. In the heart of the city was the Praetorian Guard, 9,000 elite troops dedicated to protecting the Emperor and the administrative district, where the Palace, major temples, the Curia, and other significant governmental buildings were located.

Finally, the Cossack Mounted Infantry were intended to be clustered in eight groups of 500 in various forums throughout the city, in order to act as a strategic reserve force and move as required, but they had independently gone farther outside the city. Sulla had sent a runner to summon them back to the city and behind the fortifications. The Cossack White Guards were going to be allowed to continue to operate outside the perimeter and harass the enemy as they approached. Offshore, the Imperial Navy was anchored off Neptune's Beacon, the main lighthouse to the primary harbor for the city, ready to deploy to engage any threat posed to the capital by sea.

Sulla's general plan was to get the majority of his forces south of the defenses and hold that line for as long as they could fight their weapons, down to gladii and bayonets if the enemy surmounted the ramparts before the city. Anyone who did not correctly respond to a shouted challenge would be shot on sight. Should the rebels land an army by sea, he hoped that the Cossacks would return in time to act as a mobile reserve force to halt their advance until the Auxilia could redeploy to contain the threat.

Sulla was as ready as he could be with the troops he had at his disposal, the rest was in the gods' hands.

[The Shrailleeni Empire]

The Imperial City of Cornellia
Star Fort, Defending Left Flank
9th Legion

Tiberius Iulius Lupus was not the sort of man who was prone to worry, even in the worst of situations. And situations did not get much worse than a mass of allied rebels converging on the capital city of the Empire. More and more Imperial subjects, fleeing the oncoming horde, streamed past his station every hour, crossing the earthen defenses that lay between his seaside fort and the Cornellian fort that held the 13th Legion. Soon enough the human tide would cease, and when it did he would know that the heathen enemy was at his very doorstep. Until that time, he saw little use in worrying.

Preparing was a much more practical use of his time. If the 5750 soldiers and cavalry of the 9th Legion fell in this fort, it would not be due to any fault on his part. He was a meticulous and demanding man who came down hard on the men under his command, but his methods earned him a grudging respect and loyalty from his soldiers. He drove them to the edge, but they knew from experience that it could very well gain them victory.

In this case, the subject of his intense scrutiny was the cleanliness of the twenty 16-pound cannons that had been entrusted to him to defend the left flank fort. He inspected each one personally, observing the shine of the barrel, the quality of the wooden joints, and making sure that the symbol of Mars on each piece was brightly displayed. Any smudge or sign of rot was met with a scalding reprimand and extra cleaning duty for the unfortunate artilleryman. By the end of the day the cannons gleamed in the sunlight, and Tiberius retreated to his private quarters after sending out a small unit of cavalry to scout the nearby area and keep in touch with the White Guards. Even if the rebels came in the dead of night like cowards, he would be ready for them.

On this night, as on every other, he also made care to prepare the proper offerings to the Gods. He burnt incense at the altars of Jupiter and the Gods of his household, and made a special offering of burnt beef to Mars. He made it compulsory for his men to do the same, though he did not know if all of them did so. He was a firm believer in the Gods, and did not want Mars to become offended by a poor offering. In battle, the whim of the God of War could very well make the difference between life and death. His own weapons were inscribed with that symbol, as was the hem of his uniform. Some of the rebels, it was said, had forsaken the Gods in favor of a mere man. The fools would surely learn their lesson on the field of battle, as none of the Gods were known to show favor upon those who spurned them.

With his strong faith satisfied, Tiberius prepared for sleep. Before he did so, blowing out the lantern light, he whispered to himself in the darkness. "Let them come."