Year 20 HAIII
Halgomar Docks
Royal Province of Dagomor
Perhaps it was all a bit too white. Colonel Horatio Fellus, clad in the white coat common to those learned in theology, sporting white pants and white buckled shoes, atop a white, almost spotless Altai steed. From a distance he seemed to glow and glint in the late afternoon sun, not unlike the reflection of thousands of muskets being ferried to shore. As he looked over the harbour, Horatio could see a sight that would make any true-born patriot proud. Large, three-masted ships laying for anchor all over the Bay of Halgomar, their highest masts allowing the three-times-threecolour of the Dallic Empire to flutter in the wind. The shallow sun made the bay itself shine like silver, which otherwise would reflect the orange sky above. It had been a warm day, and the colonel sighed as the heat began to make way for a more favourable evening coolness. The crisp smell of embers in the air mixed with the faint singing of so many soldiery songs as the various battalions were ferried to shore. It truly was a sight to behold. Every few moments one of the rowing boats would reach the jetties, disembarking their soldiers and making way for the next load. Lieutenants were busy forming up their companies, some barking orders with military volume, others being a bit more tepid. The men had spent a few days on a ship, and there were quite a few lieutenants who cut their men some slack. The men still had about a mile to march to their barracks, which was on the southern outskirts of the city.
As far as his own men were concerned, there were three types of the 1st battalion that had flooded into the harbour. There were the off-duty men, sitting in front of the many cafes, having a beer while they watched the infrastructural marvel unfold. They would point and gawk when they saw another artillery piece being brought ashore, or when another banner landed, or when a company of ‘exotics’ would march past. These were the men who would try to get a peek under one of the Highlander’s kilts, and who would get a good kicking afterwards. The second type of men were the on-duty guards, marching through the harbour in double-filed columns of ten rankers, usually headed by a corporal. They marched up and down the harbour and would break up any fights that flared up. The disembarking men were understandably cranky, and it was easy to ignite them. When they got the chance they would help load crates of supplies onto carts, or they would help drag horses from the rowing boats. The third type was the busiest type: lieutenants and sergeants from the 1st battalion trying to manage the absolute chaos of a few battalions disembarking at the same time. They spent their time pointing out assembly grounds, pointing their counterparts from the other battalions in the right direction, and generally running to and fro, much to the amusement of the soldiers of leisure enjoying their beers.
A loud crack rocked through that part of the harbour. The colonel looked up, and saw that a particularly overloaded cart had broken its axel. The crates toppled over and fell all over the floor, with fruits and vegetables rolling across the cobblestones. A red-faced lieutenant in black uniform tried to stop some crates from falling over, but to no avail. This all under a cacophony of laughter from one of the cafes, where a few soldiers of the 1st battalion were rolling across the floor laughing. The colonel rode his horse up to the cart, where he took off his black tricorn hat as a greeting.
“Good afternoon, lieutenant!” he said, smiling friendly. The lieutenant turned to him immediately. It took him a moment to recognise Horatio as a colonel, since he wasn’t wearing his uniform. However, the man in almost completely white dress on the white horse was easy to mark out, and the man sprang to attention.
“Good afternoon, sir! I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir”
The colonel smiled, and shook his head.
“The gods have a rather strange kind of humour, lieutenant. Let’s not split hairs over it. What is your name?”
“Lieutenant Ferson, sir. 44th battalion, 2nd company” he said quickly. To the side, the 1st battalion men were still rolling on the floor laughing. The colonel yanked on the reigns of his horse and rode it towards the café, where the soldiers were now desperately trying to get up. One of them, a corporal, got up first, and saluted.
“Sir!” he shouted, with his men quickly falling in line. They were all red-faced, which was only made worse by the disapproving glare from the colonel.
“Corporal...” Horatio said, looking sternly at the man. “Tell me, what did Salderman the Wise learn when he travelled through the kingdom of the Falling Monkeys?”
The red face of the corporal now approached a shade of purple. He recognised the name, as the colonel had given a sermon on the subject but two days ago. The colonel found it important for the moral fibre of the men that they were properly instructed in matters of the faith, so every few days he would give the men a sermon. Not all paid attention, of course, but his pop-quizzes on theology were almost legendary by this point.
“That… that…” he said, trying his damnest to remember what the colonel had said. The colonel shook his head.
“Try not to rupture a vein, corporal” he said. One of the rankers, a young boy, seemed knowledgeable enough, and there was a knowing smile around his face. The colonel pointed at him.
“Ranker, what did Salderman learn?” he said, now more like a school teacher than an officer.
“We should not laugh at the discomfort of others. We should share in them if possible” he said merrily, much to the distaste of his corporal.
“Very good” the colonel said, nodding. He then pointed out the broken cart, where a few rankers of the 44th were busy assembling the foodstuffs that had scattered across the street.
“I suggest you go share in the discomfort of your brothers”
There was only a moment’s hesitation, before the corporal struck his heels together. “Yes, sir! As you command, sir!” With the speed of a cavalry regiment the corporal nodded to his men, and they started helping gather the cabbages and apples that could still be saved. The colonel smiled, pulled on the reigns of his horse and strode off, looking proudly at the business of his new subordinates, his new regiment. He rode off through the streets, along the central city promenade, where companies were marching diligently, some under drumbeat, some more as a tired mob. None of them took particular note of the architecture, which was almost entirely Mannarist. Most of the central city was built 120 years before, when the empire decided to expand its colonial infrastructure. Carts bounced up and down the cobbled roads, creating a supply chain that circulated through the entire mile between the harbour and the barracks.
Just before the colonel reached the actual outskirts of the city he took his horse east, down one of the many winding roads in this hill-built city. Normally it was quite a hike up-hill, but his horse was well-trained and managed the steep inclines beautifully. Before long, the colonel took his horse between two columns, and into the garden of the Governor’s Palace. He nodded at the men of the 1st battalion standing guard, gave his horse to one of the stable boys, and walked up to the front door. Before he could knock a particularly round butler opened the door.
“Baron Hevan, the governor is expecting you” he said. The Horatio nodded in a friendly manner.
“Thank you, August” he said, taking off his hat and walking in. The house was built in the style of Mannarist Architecture, which had been all the rage 120 years ago. Mannarist architecture was obsessed with optical illusions and forced perspective, as well as heavy usage of symbolism and colour. While the colours had worn off, one could not help feel small when entering the columned atrium of the governor’s palace. The colonel had not entirely shaken that feeling when he was approached by a man, his arms spread was wide as his old body could manage, and a voice to match the ageing governor.
“Horatio!” the man exclaimed, entwining him in an embrace. Horatio returned it gladly.
“How are you dealing with the… the… unloading?” he man said, struggling to find the word. The colonel nodded as the two walked past the rows of columns towards the dining room.
“The debarkation has gone according to plan thus far. A few hiccups, but that is common to any military operation. No-one to blame but the gods” he said, smiling. The governor nodded.
“If you say so, Father” he answered as they entered the dining room. A large table had been set there, adorned with all kinds of cutlery, plates and a row of silver girandoles. The room was still empty, apart from the servants standing seemingly in every corner. The governor took up a place at the head of the table, allowing the colonel to sit to his right.
“Now, we just have to wait for the others!” the governor said, with the colonel nodding in agreement.