To Fell an Empire 3.0 [IC]

by **Der Kaiser Mikey III** » Fri Apr 10, 2015 7:10 pm

Fort Voldek

Udo was a man who led from the front, and as he hacked his way through the undead rabble he seemed to almost find tranquility. His blade moved swiftly, and before the man knew it he was driving deeper into the throng of enemies, he himself the tip of the assaulting spearhead atop the fort's ancient walls. Dodging a blow from a man he'd deemed to be dead, he found himself literally tossing the battered, shredded corpse headfirst into the frothing legionnaires' pila below. Roaring, he began slamming his fist into the next corpse' face, repeatedly until he destroyed the brain due to the constricted movement on the crowded walls. Pushing, the men in the rear literally forced the men in front into the fray, driving their onslaught.

"Crossbows, I need crossbows to the front!" Udo commanded, before parrying an axe and kicking the fragile knee of the corpse that stood at the weapon's command.

"Crossbows ready, milord!" The shout came from somewhere behind the line of shields that trapped the front line from retreat. It was a technique developed by men long dead in ancient times, revived from the tomes at Udo's command, raided from libraries of dwarves.

"Today's a good day to die! Aim for their skulls, aim true!" With a wicked, insane grin, Udo lopped the head from his recovering victim, then hit the deck. Some men were not so fortunate as to read their master's command. Unleashed was the fury of the crossbowmen, and droves of corpses were either dropped or so severely impaled to the point they were mobile. Scrambling to their feet, the remaining men pushed on, dispatching the wounded of both sides in fear of more corpses being risen. There would be no quarter given-Udo had been explicit about that. And as he himself aided in the securing of the gatehouse, the impending victory was enough to give him satisfaction. Voldek would suffice as a base of operation to secure the mountain pass and villages below. From there, the legions would force their way into the enemy territory, hopefully before the other generals had opportunity to seize the victory that belonged to House Coeptus.

by **The Starlight** » Fri Apr 17, 2015 12:17 pm

Mesrane wrote:-snip-

Saerondr Tarembor
Northwest Vallorion

Saerondr received the letter with gloved hands, retiring to his command tent and desk to read it. Taking his time, after reaching the end, he sat in thought, before penning a careful reply.

To Owain I Eriadunn, King of Eriadha,

I am sorry to hear of Erlend's death, for he was a fine man, filled with hopes and visions for the future. Indeed, I remember that meeting with your late grandfather, I remember more than you may think. Indeed, it fills me with anger, at the lack of reform.

You speak truly. House Tarembor is the last defender of elvenkind. We are the last guard, the historians, the legends, keeping the flame of the Edalie alive. That is why the banner of the Elven Empire was that of a flaming firebrand. And now, House Tarembor is the sole torchbearer. Elves are made to be slaves, prostitiutes, servants in the human houses. They dare to do that to our children, they dare to come into my realm to kidnap elves, they dare to meet at the bloodly ground of Gregantum as their base. They have dared too much, and have dared to rely on my patience for too long.

But make no mistake, Owain, I fight for the Edalie, always. The only reason I am in the field now is because Ninurtusur has pressed across the border and is advancing towards my cities. I fight not for Belrond, or for the empire, I fight to preserve the lands of the Elven Empire. I would ask that you join me in defending my lands, help me to fight against Ninurtusur. In return, no force of Belrond or any other of the Empire shall be allowed to go through Vallorion to attack Eriadha. As for Augrilac, my troops are at the border of my lands, merely in defence.

But after Ninurtusur is pushed back behind its borders, I tell you this, Owain, the Elven Empire shall rise once again. Elven riders will be sent out, and every elf, male, female and child will heed the call, to House Tarembor. The torch will be set ablaze, and the glorious Elven Empire will return. That time is nearly there, Owain, when I unfurl my banners, blow the horns, and send those riders. I shall free every Edalie in Pandyssium and so the Elven Empire will be restored, in my lifetime. It will not happen just yet, for I cannot reform an empire with Ninurtusur encroaching on its lands.

But already, the whispers of the Elven Empire have began to spread. Long I have thought on reforming the Empire, and it is not something that has just come to me. As your messenger has seen, my banner is of a firebrand, as in the days of the Elven Empire. It is close now, so very close. But with your help, it will happen sooner, and together we can bring justice, reform and peace to these lands. The injustices of House Rahtis have gone unanswered for too long. Help me defeat Ninurtusur, so that the Elven Empire can be restored.

Sincerely, and in hope,

Saerondr Tarembor, Lord of Vallorion.

Stamping his reply closed, he delievered it to the messenger, and had 2 elven guards accompany him back to Eriadha.
Sitting in thought for awhile, he began another letter, to his old friend.

To Ard Rí na Éireann Taioseach Nessa mac Nuada Alasdair Fearfiach,

As you can see above, old friend, my knowledge of the Fianna tongue has not dulled over the years. Long has it been since we fought side by side, back to back, blade to blade. That opportunity should arise against Ninurstusur, I believe. But now to the real matter at hands. Around this time, you should be recieving a letter from the new proclaimed King of Eriadha, Owain. A separate letter was sent to me, urging me to reform the lost Elven Empire of old. I am tempted sorely, but Ninurstusur must be defeated first. As you know, long have I and my house held aspirations of reforming the Elven Empire. You have heard me rage against the injustices done to elves in our glorious youth. But after Ninurstusur is defeated, I need your help to do so. Will you stand with me, old friend, in reforming the Elven Empire? Shall elf and Fianna stand side by side, back to back and blade to blade, united against all aggressors? I need you, old friend, to help make this dream of a Elven and Faerie Empire, with justice, honor and loyalty as its main tenets. There is are two elven poems, written after the fall of the Empire, that I spoke to you in our youth, which I shall do again.

Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the harp on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the deadwood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
How did it come to this?

All that is true is not heard,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be the empire that was broken,
The Edalie again shall come forth.

Your old friend,

Saerondr.

He had played his hand, now. The setting of the board was almost done, and now the pieces would begin to move.

Sil Arion wrote:-snip-

Ellyn Tarembor, Lady Mistress of Shadows
Training Chamber, Tarembor Estate, Caer Aard, the Heartlands.

Evening, A Week After the Caer Aard Gathering

The fight was fierce and neither of them held back. It was glorious, for Ellyn, never had she faced someone who was her equal. It was a dance, a symphony, and a work of art, a masterpiece in every sense of the word. Long indeed did the fight, the advantage switching between them like a bouncing ball. Whatever Ellyn did, Diarmuire was able to counter, and vice versa. And so, when the conclusion came, Ellyn feeling victory until discovering that it was indeed a draw, there was no sadness, only joy. Finally she had found the person.

For that was why she had become what she was, and why she did what she did. She had sought someone who could match her, and counter her every move. Diarmuire was that man, and so her heart and mind cried out in joy as he kissed her. And so she responded, placing her hands on his face and kissing him back . When they finally, reluctantly broke apart for air, she gazed at him in love, taking in his shape and features, and then spoke, her voice a low purr, her tongue rolling with his name. "Taniste Nessa mac Alasdair Diarmuire Leananréalta, you are mine. And I am yours." And so, she placed her hands on him and kissed him once more, knowing that this was whom she was meant to be with.

by **Annihilators of Chan Island** » Fri Apr 17, 2015 2:18 pm

Kevin Tellegara smiled as Udo Coeptus's troops executed a fantastic assault on Fort Voldek. Truly awe-inspiring, he almost applauded the crossbows at close range order. The best part was that this fort was being brutally taken just by the vanguard of the Imperial Army to Ninurtusur. If merely the vanguard... without the Eriadunni for some mysterious reason, could tackle the place, then what chance did the Silver Cities stand against the tens of thousands of men who were simply waiting in reserve, watching the Mereldar troopers?

To make things better, he could not help but think about the genius of the south side boat idea. By putting the two most dangerous men in the campaign, his nephew Garcias and Alasdair Fearfiach, the leader of the fiercely individualist and proud Lia Fail, deep in enemy territory, he hoped he had bought himself their deaths. If they didn't die, then it would be fair enough to assume that that would be because they had just committed an insanely successful harassment campaign against the enemy, likely even having captured a Silver City or two.

With them gone, Kevin comfortably reckoned he had done his brother the regent a nice little favor. With Garcias gone, the heir to Castle Deon, the regency and likely even the stewardship would be Fremolia Tellegara, a proper good female Tellegara to run the family affairs. No more knifing or backstabbing stories to poison the ears of small folk all across the Empire. With Alasdair gone, the cause of the rising House Tarembor and their incessant clambering for reform would be severely weakened. The reforming houses would probably even lie low for a few decades to await for their nefarious opportunity with such a key person knocked out of the process.

In fact, as Kevin sipped on a vintage red wine and watched a man being literally thrown off the tallest tower in Fort Voldek, he could not help but wonder how they were doing right that moment....

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Garcias Tellegara was standing next to Alasdair on a frost covered stony beach on the southern coast of Ninurtusur. He held in his hand a checklist, where he was making sure all the parts of the siege engines were being stored properly. Carelessly, he recited little bits, checking them as they are unloaded from the boats'' OK, so four beach wood wheels for Trebuchet 17 right there... check... Um, right where is the oak wood front axel for ballista 8 now? Come on, it's not like we can go cut down some more trees to replace bit like this right here!''

Suddenly he noticed as Alasdair's face wrinkled as a reaction to it. Shoving the lists onto an underling, he then turns and pre-empts it'' Don't give me your ''the trees are sacred'' talk again.''

As the comment was answered with a silence Garcias could not figure out, he then continued'' Well, it's time to face it. We're stuck together now. You're the cavalry and I'm both the infantry and the siege expert. It must look really good in some planner's mind. And the nearest planner would could have come up with that is on the wrong side of some mountains sitting miles and miles to the South-West.''

Garcias pulls out a map and studies it'' The nearest town is this little farming village to the North-East, just over there, inland. I suppose we should test our combined battle mettle against some skeletons making growing ghost veg there. Such a raiding action would probably alert the nearest minor lord, as you can see sitting in this pathetically small castle way over there. Maybe if your sense of honor is more for the harder fight, we could use this place as a drilling ground for a real siege. Then with this barony under our control we could plunder the lands unopposed for about 5 days.... not that we'll get much. Probably will pick this place clean by day 3. Poor, empty country here... which is probably why it looked so good in the mind of the planner sitting on the wrong side of the mountains.''

Rolling away the map, he then smiled'' Hey, come on, cheer up! I for one have an escape plan should things really go belly-up, so I'm sure you can come up with one too. If we play our hand right here, we'll both make it out alive, with a nice petty state right inside the heart of our common enemy, diverting insane amounts of resources from them even as my uncle's army crashes through the mountains like a toothpick through an apple peel, and we'll also make it out as rich guerrillas if we plunder all the gold we can spot.''

Grinning, he contemplates that'' Yes, that could be lots of gold indeed.....''

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Aelorn Tellegara sent a Heartlander elven messenger to Lord Saerondr, unaware of the events that had been played out. With him was this letter.

Dear Lord Saerondr Tarembor

I, Aelorn Tellegara, have been assigned the task of leader the Imperial Contingent specifically responsible for defending Vallorian from any enemy attacks around the Doloras and Blacktear Forest areas. As my army is Heartlander and Republican, unfortunately I do not have a good knowledge of where the enemy is, and what the best positions are to set up the army's siege weapons and trolls. Local people here seem to be becoming more and more unwilling to cooperate with us.

If it is possible for you to send in guides or something of the sort to us, to bring us to the various locations the army will inevitably have to go to? We would be very much indebted to you.

Faith grant you speed in a sincere and much needed reply.

Respectfully,
Aelorn Tellegara

by **The Soviet Union of Mother Russia** » Fri Apr 17, 2015 3:30 pm

-snip-

by **Mesrane** » Sat Apr 18, 2015 6:18 pm

Logan's Ford, Southern March

Rickard Malcolm smiled as his mount splashed across the narrow ford in the Trebecan River, several thousand eadrom riding behind him. Home at last. To hearth and home-at last! To Meghan as well, and the girls. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He still had these mysterious raiders to mop up, as per Lord Owain's orders. He wasn't entirely sure why he was really needed, on that note. He'd only left the realm with four thousand men, leaving Owain with still over 30,000, which was a considerable host. Malcolm had a difficult time believing that Owain had been unable to catch what sounded like a couple thousand disorganized pirates simply because most of the light cavalry had departed the realm.

As his horse found solid ground and climbed to the northern bank, the marshal was presented with a very strange sight indeed.

The northern bank at all the various crossing points were fortified with newly-constructed forts with turf ramparts, placed across the road, meaning no army could possibly continue north from the fords unless they went through narrow gateways cut into the turf walls. The black stag-on-gold banners of House Eriadunn fluttered from each fort. As soon as the men manning the ramparts sighted Malcolm and his army, they let loose with a resounding cheer. "Hurray! Malcolm returns! Malcolm returns! Hail the king! The King in the Mountain!"

Rickard gaped. He retained the presence of mind to kick his horse into a canter and direct it towards the gate of the fort most immediately in his path. The normally stoic general was at a loss for words. "W-ha-who . .."

One of the archers laughed. "Surprised, Marshal?"

"H-how-."

"Welcome back!" Another cried. "King Owain right fooled you, he did. You're returning a kingdom! While you were away, old Erlend was murdered, by his son Duncan no less. Owain offed his head and his lords proclaimed him king, the first in four hundred years! Shall I fetch mead, Marshal? Ya look right green!"

Rickard indeed looked quite green. "You lads look as if you're fighting a war."

"We are!" The archers chorused. "We're here to give a spanking to any hostile army that wants to cross. Realm's at war with the whole damn Empire, just about. Rumor is Augrilac will soon land a force on the coast, and Duke Beitean has moved to meet them." A guard pulled open the gate as Malcolm's army pulled to a halt behind him, trying to make sense of all this.

Not quite yet, Meghan. A cruel twist of fate has got me 'round the neck.

Hafancaer, Eriadha-Four days later

"We simply must start drawing men from the fords of the Trebecan, Your Majesty. Duke Beitean's army will not be strong enough to take on the Augrilac invasion force by itself." Count Duncan Kerr stroked his beard as he looked at a map of southern Eriadha.

"I've always thought 6,000 men on the fords was a little much," intoned Duke Willem Dunaid. "Two thousand could hold the river against five times as many."

Owain shook his head. "The gateway to the realm is something I will not trivialize. If I could afford to place ten thousand men on it, I would. But your point is taken, sers. Malcolm has just returned, as we were all informed this morning. Therefore bring his entire army up, along with five hundred pikemen and five hundred longbowmen from the fords. That brings five thousand to assist Beitean and keeps five thousand at the fords, which puts my mind at ease a great deal."

Dunaid seemed moderately satisfied with the answer, but the count beside him was already jumping to a new topic. "Your Majesty, have you considered attempting to negotiate with the Augrilac fleet?"

"Negotiate with the fleet bearing the army trying to conquer my realm? They will land, if our navy fails to stop them. And we will sweep them aside."

"It might be prudent to at least make an attempt, Your Majesty. This fleet is fifty ships strong, by our last report. The key here is that while we've seceded, the admiral in charge of that fleet doesn't know it. If we inform him, and if he's an enterprising man, he'll realize that seceding realms weaken the Empire as a whole and therefore weaken the overall target that he's after. He might be of the opinion that Ragnar will come back and conquer us later, but we can let him believe that. We can put some coins in his hands, appeal to his likely arrogance, grant him an empty lordship on the Mereldar Marches, and send him on his way to raid loyalist coasts, since he likely won't be able to link up with the main fleet in Titus Bay before the incoming battle there. Mayhaps even take Roken's northern fleet in the rear."

"The fleet is only fifty ships, Count Duncan." Owain still didn't look convinced, but his eyes told the count he was very seriously considering the proposal.

"That might be best. A bloated invasion force might never get where we want to send it. Vallorion is the quickest way from Horker Bay to the Heartlands, but the last thing we want to do is anger Saerondr. A lighter, faster, raiding force enables them to strike towns quickly and pull back, causing misery untold for the Empire. If nothing else, we lose little if this does not succeed."

A moment of intense silence, while thoughts whirled through Owain's brain. "Do it. Bring the entire fleet out of Alt Dheas, but keep them near the city. Send out an expendable ship, with expendable people on board. Lots of coin, too. If he isn't won over, we destroy him."

The count nodded his assent. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Eriadha's young king pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly tired of the council meetings that had taken up nearly his entire day. "It's nearly supper, my lords. Let us remove ourselves to the great hall and continue after dinner."

A chorus of ayes greeted that proposal. Food was always a guarantor of cooperation, Erlend had said.

Owain filed out of Castle Murray's council chambers, followed by nearly two score lords and advisers. Over a week ago, he had decided to uproot himself from Aileach and travel to Hafancaer, which would be closer to both potential fronts-The fords of the Trebecan and the western coast-and thus serve as a more effective headquarters, though his court remained at the former, traditional capital of Aileach. A lesser motive for the move had been that the young king simply felt that his people needed to see him moving and active while he ruled. If he remained cooped up in Aileach for the whole of the war, his subjects might grow doubtful.

Though the Murrays had been willing to accommodate their king, Owain held an extreme private dislike of the castle. Though huge, it was an ugly, squatting affair, such that the garrison often referred to it as the 'Squat Wench.' The castle seemed to hug the rock it stood on rather than challenge the clouds for height like Aileach did. It was said the Murrays had spent the revenue of three generations and plunged their county into poverty for nearly sixty years in order to build the castle in less than twenty. To their credit, they'd gotten the job done on schedule, and the Squat Wench's impressive record of having endured five sieges over the centuries without having fallen certainly spoke for its capabilities if not it's looks. After all, it did sit atop the heights that commanded the port of Hafancaer.

Despite all those virtues, the Murrays had made no attempt to make the interior any better than the outside. Cold, bleak, and grey was how Owain privately described the place. Not that Aileach wasn't, only that castle managed beauty on the outside, not to mention an equally impressive siege record.

As usual, Owain was placed at the head of the long "Lord's Table" that stood in the middle of a succession of tables of either side of it. As per old Eriadunnii custom, dias tables standing above the rest did not exist. When at court, a king would dine among his subjects or be seen as lacking humility, and possessing an over-abundance of arrogance.

As much of the day had been spent reviewing the affairs of the realm, the dinner talk was boisterous and merry. Whether genuine or a desperate attempt to distract from the looming war, Owain could not tell. Probably a mix of both.

He engaged in small talk with various nobles, but soon grew rather bored. He was not a man for feasts or parties. To make matters worse, Bronn the story teller had not accompanied him to Hafancaer, a reality that Owain deeply regretted. If had meant dragging the old man by his mailed fist, he would have done so. Both he and Fergus and Iona had grown up with the Bronn's stories, and the old man was without a doubt the most entertaining individual Owain had ever met.

Glancing around in boredom, he chanced upon Count Angor Murray and a younger woman entering the dining hall. The middle-aged Count looked no different from when Owain had arrived two days ago, but the woman . . .

By Rhys, she's beautiful.

He yanked the sleeve of a passing knight. "Ser, who is that woman?"

The white-haired knight grinned, clearly aware why his king was curious. "Why Your Majesty, that'd be young Anwyn Murray, middle daughter o' the Count." He winked and strode off, as if to encourage his young monarch.

Owain took another look at this woman, Anwyn. Dark blonde, flowing hair that reached down to the small of her back. Full breasts. A narrow waist preceded the rest of a rather tight-fitting dress that hinted at curves in the legs, especially the thighs.

Across the hall, she turned from conversation with her father to gaze across the scene of feasting merriment. Within a few seconds she noticed him, but he was to enraptured to look away, or even to feel embarrassment at all.

She flashed a suggestively long smile before turning back to her father. Shortly she had redirected him from the empty table they were about to claim to another located much closer to Owain.

Astounding beauty. Like a falling leaf setting on the ground, she slid gracefully into her seat, throwing Owain another smile that was far too long to be simply friendly, like one last autumn breeze before she turned away to winter.

Well, that's it. Owain stood, a little shaky from the wine. Bad idea. He strode over to the Count, barely maintaining his composure. He caught sight of her breasts again. No no, a simply excellent notion. Probably the best you've had in awhile.

The internal conflict within him nearly compelled him to return to his seat, but before he could turn around words were spewing from his mouth, and he was patting Count Angor on the back. "I cannot express my thanks for your hospitality, Count Angor."

The count turned, somehow unaware that his king's eyes were roving hungrily between the breasts and eyes of his daughter. "No thanks are required, my king. Tis only my duty."

Courtly etiquette enabled Owain to smile against his will. He gestured to Anwyn. "Forgive me, but I don't believe I've met-."

"Ah yes!" Angor shot to his feet, taking his daughter's hand. "King Owain, my middle daughter Anwyn. Anwyn, your king, Owain Eriadunn."

"My lady," Owain bowed to her, much lower than his position as king indicated was appropriate.

Anwyn stood, curtsying much less than was appropriate and flashing him another one of those immaculate smiles. "Your Majesty."

Yep. Right damned decision. "I trust my arrival has not upset the quiet at Hafancaer too much?"

Anwyn shook her head, hair splaying out like some kind of divine fountain. "It certainly did, but I enjoy the noise."

Angor interjected. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. My Master at Arms has new information on a dangerous murderer and I must meet with him, if only briefly. Owain nodded unconsciously, and the Count scurried off.

Oh, so he's that kind of father. Thank the gods.

His gaze returned to Anwyn who was also acutely aware of the absence of her father's burly Master at Arms.

"So, the bedchamber?"

Owain almost gaped. "I-i'm sorry?"

"The bedchamber. How do you like it?"

Oh, not that other way. The king was relieved this new woman wasn't as scandalous as she was beautiful. Rather empty, since I met you. Owain barely managed to avoid voicing that particular thought and simply stuck with; "Quite nice, if a tad empty."

Only too late did he realize the door he'd left open.

"Oh? No fair lady to fill it?"

Oh shit.

"Uh, well no. Actually . . no. Not . .no."

"Mhmm, right. And the oil?"

"What?!"

"The oil? On the walls? To repel attackers? Surely you've seen fit to stock it?"

Owain blinked.

"Y-yes, t-that too."

"Ah." Anwyn paused, glanced around, and seized hold of his manhood, giving it a brief tug.

Shocked, Owain suppressed both a sigh of pleasure and a bellow of distress, stepping out of her reach. "That was not proper, my lady."

"Was it not pleasurable, Your Majesty? If not, I will cease." Anwyn winked and stood, striding after her father.

Dazed, Owain returned to his seat, relieved no one had noticed. For several minutes he sat silently, consumed with thoughts of Anwyn Murray. No tale nor drunken fight from the boisterous feast shook his trance, only a voice in his ear.

"Your Majesty."

"Aye?"

"Forgive me sire, but I return with a letter from Saerondr."

Owain looked up, at once remembering the same messenger he'd sent out to Saerondr two weeks ago and rather important affairs known as matters of state.

He took the offered letter, glancing at the seal of House Tarembor on the envelope and on the two elves who stood behind the messenger. His stomach roiled with dread.

Finding a quiet place to process the ill news was no longer an option, as over half the feast had taken note of the messenger and yet more were turning their gazes on the king.

Sighing, Owain pried open the envelope, unfolded the letter and began reading.

The sounds of the feast had died, leaving a deathly silence. By the sigils on their surcoats, all could planely see that the letter came from Saerondr.

The reading done, Owain folded the letter and stood before his subjects. "Relief is coming, soon. In the meantime, affairs in Vallorion dictate that we must assist House Tarembor." He sat and said no more, leaving the hall confused.

Inside, he wanted to leap with joy. But news like this had to be closely guarded, at least until Saerondr made his move. Ah, but the kingdom! What joyous news, if only all of them could know.

Some hours later

Owain called a closed war council that night, which meant the only ones in attendance were his three dukes, Count Roideach his spymaster, and of course himself.

"This is excellent news!" Exclaimed Callaghan.

"Aye, but war in Vallorion leaves us temporarily overextended. Not really at all if we move men off the fords, but I'm averse to doing so. We'll bring the entire army encamped at Aileach south into Vallorion, nine thousand men. Though it pains me, we'll remove four thousand men from the fords and have them watch the center of the realm."

"And who will command this southern army, sire?" The dukes looked apprehensively at their king, each silently jostling for command.

"Marshal Rickard Malcolm. Pull him off the static west coast and put him on a mobile front where he'll come into his own. I need to oversee the potential fighting here in the realm, and the men need to see that I won't vest more in a foreign front than here at home. But make no mistake, we must aide the Eldalie. If we do not, Saerondr might not trust another word of mine again, which could jeopardize an independent Vallorion."

Roideach looked skeptical, as always. "Sire, should we not attempt to make the necro-priests see sense before we remove nearly a quarter of our strength to deal with them?"

"Tell them to butt out, you mean? They sent troops into Vallorion to reclaim Blacktear Forest, which is supposedly sacred to them. Why would they see sense now, if it's evaded them since the Caer Aard?"

"It might be prudent to simply guarantee that we can kill one another at a later date. Strategically invading Vallorion was exceedingly stupid of them. It cuts off a fair bit of their strength from their homeland, which leaves them less able to resist the imperial army barreling up their passes. The army in Vallorion is fairly small and isn't in a position to do much. Convince them to withdraw their forces from Vallorion and the strategic importance of unifying their strength. Show them our common foe, and how fighting one another will doom all three independent realms."

Owain harumphed. "Why are we fighting so much of the war with messengers?"

At that, all five men shared a chuckle.

Horker Bay, Two days' sail from Alt Dheas

The trading cog Rhosyn approached the Augrilacan fleet, a white banner of truce fluttering from it's mast. Ballistas were placed on either side of the ship. A dozen men-at-arms and twice as many archers were placed on the deck, nervous but ready and willing to defend the vessel should the hostile fleet neglect diplomacy.

Koghbronn, Eriadha

Rickard Malcolm sighed as he finished reading his new orders. Not home for much longer.

Around him, the late-summer birches and oaks were whistling in the wind, as if a little despondent they would only enjoy their green color for a few more weeks. He stood on a time-worn dirt path that snaked through his wheat fields back to the farmhouse constructed of cedar logs, the home his father had largely built with his own hands and the abode where his wife and three daughters lived. The general had spent a blessed two days in their company, after first being ordered to Alt Dheas and then given leave to see his family, in this tranquil village just a few leagues north of Dunharrow.

However, the arrival of this accursed letter meant that he wouldn't have more than three or four days more with Meghan after having been away for over two months. This time he was riding to a real war, not a phony venture designed to hoodwink the Magistratum. The army encamped at Aileach was already moving south, and Dunharrow would be the obvious staging point for this force of 9,000 men that he was to command.

Sighing, Rickard glanced up at the gathering clouds that rumbled like a wroth dragon above his head. Oh. How bloody apt.

by **Kaledoria** » Sun Apr 19, 2015 7:52 am

Northern Sea

"There is only one true creation but this is none of it. Creatrix, I'm your focus, your gate, your enforcer. When heathen magic tries to defy you, I will break it. This is your sea, your wind, your clear sky and they have no power over it, while I am here!" The wonder workers chanted. Assigned onto ten ships evenly distributed among the fleet, their magic attacked the Ninurtusuran spell. Even though most of their necromancers were probably assigned to the front at Vallorion, the wonder workers of the faith did not manage to dispel the fog entirely, however they at least managed to keep it at bay, protecting the entire fleet and about 300 ft of water beyond it.

"Where are they coming from?" Someone shouted.
"Can only be the Southern bay or Hangman Island. Just sail steady northeast, that's a good course no matter what." General Gunther ordered and after just a short while, the first ships appeared at their port side.
"Steer slightly more starboard. Four fists left of the wind!" The General adjusted his direction to get the fastest speed out of his ships and stay at a distance as long as possible. Shooting on the withdraw like that, the Röken ships managed to rib, cut down or burn up many sails. About ten ships where severely slowed or disabled. But the dreaded Phantom ships were not so easily disabled.

"Hard-rig the yards on those ships" the general shouted, gesturing over the leftmost line of ships and the massage was passed on. Two ships behind, Götz understood the plan. "Sail the next column of ships starboard to them and ready bridges. Get the wonder worker in the ship in the back there into one of the more central ones, I do not want him exposed to the enemies. And prepare for ramming maneuvers."

Thirteen Ninurtusuran ships made it past the volleys of Röken rope-cutter bolts, broad-heads and flaming bolts and connected with the hulls of the Merchant ships. Most ships however did not have the sufficient speed difference to do any kind of ramming damage, so the crew has to jump onto the Röken vessels with their blades drawn. They were greeted with a last volley of the crossbows but instead of reloading or picking up melee weapons, the Röken defenders ran off their ships, swinging on ropes or using the prepared makeshift bridges.

With the Undead in pursuit, a few men fell down and were immediately swallowed by the sea. Götz von Bernstein looked down to them concerned about his own safety, considering, that the metal armor he was now wearing was not the armor he had practiced with ... Most men soon resurfaced, as they had managed to strip off their armors while sinking and now swam for their lives.

Up on the decks of the ships, the Undead now found themselves trapped on a column of ships rigged to be able to sail only in a straight line ahead, while the ships at starbord, that the Rökenmen had escaped to, just sailed a bit further to the right, just out of jumping distance. It would have been a thing of only a few minuted to undo these fixes but the Ninurtusurans did not have minutes, as the Röken marksmen appeared again at their reeling and shot new volleys of bolts into the heads of the boarding troops.

Two of the Phantom ships were more lucky, crashing through the first line of ships right into the second and unloading their boarding troops into the Republic's second and third line of ships. The defenders picked up their melee weapons now: The pole-arm companies had been positions here and the Undead jumped into a spear-wall of glaives, spetums and partisans. But ultimately the Undead had the local superiority so reinforcements were direly needed.

Then Götz von Bernstein realized, which ship was boarded by one of the Phantoms two ships ahead. "General Gunther!" he shouted and picked the five best men of his personal guard: "Forecastle, prepare ropes!" he shouted and the soldiers at the bow dropped their crossbows and threw grappling hooks into the reeling of the ship in front of them, so when Götz had crossed the deck, he and his guard could swing right over.

The close formation of the Röken ships worked as an escape route for some and now as a reinforcement route for other ships, and as Götz arrived he saw that troops from more then three ships had already came to the defense of the Belle. The deck was crowded with the dead and wounded but slowly the living pushed back the Undead. "Some of them have made it to the lower deck!" a soldier screamed and Götz with his men ran down the stairs. Below they saw three Undead, who had pushed their opponents into the far corner. As Götz rushed closer the fighting stopped. The Undead in the middle turned his head. It was a wraith, it's head was pierced by three crossbow bolts, that he wore like a crown, demonstrating, that he was no lesser Zombie, slain this easily. As he turned around his body, too, the Adjutant saw the body spiked upon the Undead's cutlass: It was the General and the blade ran right through his torso.

Behind the wraiths, Götz saw, that a lieutenant and the wonder worker assigned to this ship still lived, the later one was deep in a prayer. Knowing about his magic, Götz realized, that he just had to buy some more time and attacked. As the corpse of General Gunther dropped to the ground, Götz cut the Wraith's throat wide open and with a punch of his sword's cross guard, the head dropped back like a hood taken off. He stumbled back and needed a while to reaffix the head fully to his neck.
A second Undead attacked Götz and with a flowing swing of his blade, Götz cut his sword-hand right off. This did not stop the Undead however, who threw himself over the Swordsman and as they fell to the ground, started to choke him with the left while punching the bloody stump of his right into the man's face. One of Götz men saved the merchant-warrior by cleaving his warknife deep into the skull of the Undead, staggering but still not killing him.
They almost seamed unstoppable as the other two were attacking again. But then the spell of the wonder worker came to an end and suddenly the living dead dropped down, deprived of their unholy animation. "Are they..." Götz asked, breathing heavily, "disenchanted ... slain?" - "Yes, they are," the wonder worker confirmed.

Götz stood up and turned away from the corpses: "So, they will not get up again..." he said and suddenly spun around his sword out and pinned to the throat of the boarding Undeads' leader again: "...OR WILL THEY?" Nothing happened. One of the men started grinning and answered: "Nope, definitely dead." - "It would have been cool though, if he suddenly attacked in one very last outburst." - "Yeah, but the prayer works as designed, as it seams." - "We should take their heads off and fill them with holy water nevertheless, can't be to sure."

As they got back to the top deck again, the fight there was won, too, even though under some casualties. To the port-side, they could see General Holwart with another 60 ships, who had stayed back, cutting off the retreat route of the Ninurtusuran ships. In the last moment, one of the phantom ships managed to slip by north of them. To the northwest, the ships who had been previously disabled were either evacuated or, with makeshift repairs, turned around and tried to escape. "Incendiary bolds only, fire them up!" Götz shouted and half of the Republican fleet turned around, too to now pursue their attackers. Besides the ships who had tried to ram of board them, they managed to burn up another 6 ships before the remainder got lost in the thick fog more then 300 feet away.

Two hours later, the spook was gone and the sky was clear again. Götz met with General Holwart. The adjutant reported: "We had to sink most of their ships, as the lower decks were still full of Undead and it would have cost to many lives to clean them out. But we managed to conquer three, who had send their men all over onto our ships. However, we lost nineteen ships, ourselfes since some of the boarders decided to rather sink the ships they were on when they realized, that they could not get off our ships again. Another ten are in need of repair - in addition to the captured three. Cassulties were mostly due to the assaults of their main ships; about 200 men, including General Gunther, are dead or dying. A hundred are wounded but should make it."
"Shit, how did they know, which ship Gunther was on?" General Holwart wondered.
"I don't think they knew. Maybe they guessed the ship of his assigned wonder worker by watching the pattern of the fog-border, or maybe it was pure luck." Götz answered.
"Sad. Well, have a captain bring the wounded to the damaged ships and sail them to Eriadha. I think the Völva," he looked around and then gestured towards a nearby ship," belongs to a merchant with a Kontor in eastern Eriadha and the Kontor Guards along the ship know the coast, so they will have the connections for finding care for the wounded and repairs for the ships."

Central Bay / Frequontor Fort

The Röken fleet at the Titus bay was quickly mobilized, when news of the approaching Aurilac fleet arrived. The 250 ships along with some Grecian ships seeking safety in the masses kept patrolling as long as possible to scare away the Vanguards of Aurilac from raiding the coasts, while the Grecian ports were barricaded. But as the main bulk of the ships got closer the fleet under the command of General Johan of the Küstenlands Regiment hat to flee eastwards into the bay, staying about half a day away from the enemy. A messenger was sent to Frequontor Fort as this would ultimately be the last place of retreat.

The soldier with the message arrived at the Fort about a day after the news of the attack and was quickly let through to Legate Commodus and repeated his message: "My General wishes to inform you, that he has 250 ships and about 5000 men, mostly Kontor guards who may be very skilled in dealing with pirates, raiders and violent riots but not necessarily with a full-blown war. We thus humbly ask for experienced officers to be assigned to our ships once they arrive. Additional soldiers would be welcome, too, but we reckon that they could be more valuable in the Fortress, as long as spots at the siege weapons are open.
Considering arms, we have sufficient melee weapons and crossbows with bodkins but the regiments that left for the north a good week ago took most broader bolts with them."

by **Annihilators of Chan Island** » Sun Apr 19, 2015 11:53 pm

Belrond called in his war council and put on a map of the bay. He scanned it, then began'' Gentlemen, I want no response, just to tell you what's happening, what we will do about it and how.''

''As you can see here, the Grecian ports have been sealed off, and the fleets of Röken and Grecia have retreated over here. To the Frequontor Fort. Mirroring this, the ports along the northern shore in the Heartlands have mirrored this, and also retreated to the Frequontor. Legate Commodus is currently in command there, and he will have to be our man in this incoming battle.''

''The fort gives us several advantages over the Augrillacs. As a fort in the middle of the water, it cannot be sunk, and it is made of stone instead of wood, so cannot easily catch fire. The fort is armed to the gills with ballistas, loaded with flammable arrows, and with Trebuchets that each stone alone is easily capable of sinking a ship. So, to utterly destroy it, as you'd do a ship, is not an option. The ballistas can hit the shores on both the South and North, so just going around for the Augrillacs isn't an option either. Their only chances therefore are to starve the men into submission or to storm it. Storming isn't an easy feat, as the high stone walls would mean having to grapple a wood ship side by side and then having the troops scale the walls... not all that viable. To starve it is fairly easy though. All they have to do is surround it with ships and not let any boat in.''

''Luckily, we in the Empire can do something about this. For a start, the Augrillacs will not want to besiege the fort as it would take months, and would be a waste of the majority of their men. Now, as things stand, most of the Central Bay's shores are sand, and I hardly think Ragnar would want to beach or run aground his transports to unload the men... although he has so many coming at us that we should not bank on it. The city of Deon is the best place to unload the ground troops here in the Central Bay, but luckily that place sits on the right side of the Frequontor.''

''This is why, at all costs, we cannot lose that fort. For Augrillac to capture it would mean a critical foothold in the Imperial Heartlands. With the fort, he would be able to strike at Deon and at the Imperial City. Not to say these would be easy targets... if anything they'd be far harder battles even than this one, but I think we'd all be better off winning the first battle here. Here in the Imperial City we have 55 ships docked and ready. In Deon we have 20. Not all of these are warships, but that's OK. Every little helps. The Republic and Grecia combined are 250 ships, which is good. Now, allow me to pull out this purpose made map of the fort....''

The regent of the Empire grabbed the map from the ready servant. As he did so, his eye caught onto the eyes of Teren Rahtis, the Emperor. The emperor was playing with some of the model ships, pretending they were a little battle of their own. It seemed somehow poetically appropriate that he was pitching blue and red coloured Tellegara and Imperial ships versus the purple Augrillac ones.

As the Emperor was clearly not paying attention to the battle, Belrond politely confiscated the ''sunken'' ships of the Emperor's mini-battle and put them in a not so playful battle simulation on the table with the map on it'' Alright, now for once in our lives we can thank the reason why we can't compete with the Republic on trade. Those yellowish-blue bits on the map here are too shallow for any ship to be able to navigate, these darker ones are not advised for navigation. So, all we have to do is put the ships here, and here, with this many abreast. While this tactic will leave the Western Side of the Frequontor Fort a bit vulnerable, it will also do 2 things. One is lure the Augrillacs into a false sense of security and space... possible causing him to run aground some of his ships when coming at us. But far more importantly they cannot use their numbers as effectively on us. Wear them down, and put their blood warriors into the sea!''

''Now, this might sound risky, but as your regent you must hear me out. I have had the Imperial Legion move out of the cites and have them set up along the coasts here and here. There, I have had them follow standard army procedure and have them assemble our famous siege engines. With the trebuchets and ballistas along the coast, we should be able to inflict massive damage on their fleets in supporting fire. That said, make it clear that trebuchets and catapults can only shoots West of the Frequontor. Under no circumstances, unless maybe if the Augrillacs have captured it, on my express command, should any hurling boulders be crashing into our most solid line of defense in this battle. The rest of the men are armed and ready for any ships stuck in the sand, with fire bolts on their crossbows, and they are of course ready to engage any enemies in melee. They are pressing even as I speak the local fishermen into service, arming them with spears and pitchforks ready for battle!''

''Institute rationing in the Imperial City and in Deon already. Import every ounce of food into their walls as possible right now. I will now be going, you know your orders. May the Faith be with you.''

Kaledoria wrote:Central Bay / Frequontor Fort

The Röken fleet at the Titus bay was quickly mobilized, when news of the approaching Aurilac fleet arrived. The 250 ships along with some Grecian ships seeking safety in the masses kept patrolling as long as possible to scare away the Vanguards of Aurilac from raiding the coasts, while the Grecian ports were barricaded. But as the main bulk of the ships got closer the fleet under the command of General Johan of the Küstenlands Regiment hat to flee eastwards into the bay, staying about half a day away from the enemy. A messenger was sent to Frequontor Fort as this would ultimately be the last place of retreat.

The soldier with the message arrived at the Fort about a day after the news of the attack and was quickly let through to Legate Commodus and repeated his message: "My General wishes to inform you, that he has 250 ships and about 5000 men, mostly Kontor guards who may be very skilled in dealing with pirates, raiders and violent riots but not necessarily with a full-blown war. We thus humbly ask for experienced officers to be assigned to our ships once they arrive. Additional soldiers would be welcome, too, but we reckon that they could be more valuable in the Fortress, as long as spots at the siege weapons are open.
Considering arms, we have sufficient melee weapons and crossbows with bodkins but the regiments that left for the north a good week ago took most broader bolts with them."

The Legate looked at the messenger and then shouted'' Is your general bloody mad?! If anything you should have the Kontor guard fill up the Fort! We need every, single, individual man we can in this miserable war island, all the better to hold off the Augrillacs at a critical place such as this! I've got a better idea of what to do though. From the sounds of their skills, they would do very nicely deployed inside the Imperial City. Violent riots aplenty in the biggest city in the Empire.... and I imagine a whole lot of experienced officers on hand for the ships too. Go ask there, or come in and join us with 200 soldiers and all the tons of food they can carry!''

by **Mesrane** » Tue Apr 21, 2015 4:51 pm

South of Dunharrow

Rickard pulled his horse back into a canter as he entered the war camp. Pikemen, longbowmen and eadrom inclined their heads in respect as he rode by, acknowledging the commander who would lead them south to war, whether to victory or ruin was yet to be seen.

Within a few minutes, he had reached his army's command tent, which he noted with approval was already set up with his subordinate officers already convening within. Without further delay, he dismounted and strode into the tent.

The four men grouped around a small table bearing a map of Vallorion. They represented Rickard's primary officers, the men who would answer to him alone in the army. He gauged each man in turn as they saluted and introduced themselves. Ser Keith Lennox, who would command the main body of eadrom. Ser Lowry Mag Raith, a hardened former mercenary who would command the pikemen, Beathen Ramsey, who would command the archers, and Irving Taggart, a youngster raised among the woodsmen who lived in Eriadha's deep pine forests on the lower slopes of the Rhunachs, who would command the screening cavalry, scouts and outriders due to his considerable woodcraft. As Mag Raith was the oldest and most experienced among them, he would also serve as Rickard's overall second in command.

Once the introductions were complete, Rickard set the group to planning out the army's course of action.

"We haven't as much intelligence as we would like in Vallorion. What we do know is that forces of Ninurtusur have crept through some of the northern passes and laid siege to the Elven city of Dolaras. There hasn't been that much wide-scale pillaging, but at least a village or two has met it's end. Considering the size of Kevin's army that's currently trying to push down more southerly passes, I don't imagine the size of Ninurtusurian host around Dolaras could be more than ten thousand. If they wanted to take Kevin in the rear as I suspect they might, then they should've moved to the south by now and their army could feasibly be twenty thousand strong. Perhaps it's simply an enormous blunder on their part. No matter that the thought of fighting the dead fills any sane man with at least a little dread, House Sar-Shazzar is equally capable of miscues as we are or Kevin Tellegara. This could simply be a terrible mistake on their part, but you'll understand if I'm hesitant to approach it as such."

Rickard nodded. "A good assessment, if not one I entirely agree with." He cleared his throat before continuing. "The Blacktear Forest was a point of contention between the Eldalie and the necro-priests of Ninurtusur centuries ago. Even through the Empire's most prosperous centuries, it remained a sore point in the two realms' relations. This Sandro fellow still claims the region as Ninurtusur's, and now that things have exploded into war . . I don't think it's that great of a stretch to imagine that this is a campaign of reclamation."

Lennox growled. "That means we can't just chase them off, unfortunately. We crush them or they stay to harry and raid until they conquer something substantial."

Winking, Rickard tapped out a childhood tune on the wood of the table. "Not exactly. I have two important pieces of intelligence, the first of which the king has permitted me to share in part, the second of which I have known for several weeks and that he should be learning now. Firstly, His Grace has penned a letter to black Sandro Sar-Shazzar. Basically, it offers a year-long ceasefire between Ninurtusur and Vallorion. Fortunately, the king isn't so idealistic as to believe Eriadha could mediate a lasting peace between the two realms. He simply proposes that it is folly for secessionist realms to fight one another at the present. We all have a common enemy in Augrilac and the empire, and when both are no longer threats to our collective independence we can happily resume killing one another. That's the gist of it, anyway. Neither I nor, I imagine, His Grace hold out much hope of Sandro accepting. Should he in fact accept, our first duty in Vallorion will be to shadow his forces on their return to their homeland and keep the peace on the border for a few days. I hold not the slightest bit of pity, or friendship for any of one of those fiends in that deathly realm, but I must be honest when I say it's annoying to have to march against someone who could easily be coordinating their forces with ours instead.

"My second piece of intelligence concerns the empire. As you all know, I rode south to join with Kevin's army at Gregantum, before and during the events of Erlend's murder and Eriadha's secession. Before all hell broke loose, I was present in Kevin's very own command tent when he dished out various initial commands. One of the more intriguing ones was to send Belrond's youngest son Aelorn north with some 5,000 men. Essentially, his task was and presumably still is to look out for the sort of thing that has already happened: A Ninurtursurian invasion of Vallorion. I don't know if Aelorn is aware of Eriadha's secession, but even if he is he'll be mighty preoccupied with Ninurtusur and any trouble the elves might give him. The worst case scenario, should Sandro disregard our offer, is likely a three way battle between Aelorn's army, Ninurtusur's, and our own. Ideally in that event a battle will have already occurred and we can fall upon the weakened victor. Still, we need to reach Dolaras as quickly as possible to prevent one or both armies from slipping away. Hence, I propose we speed along the main highway south starting at first light tomorrow. In this case, the need for speed outweighs the need for concealment. With a bit of luck, that will put us in Dolaras in eight or nine days." His say finished, he glanced about the tent, grey eyes asking silently for additional input and suggestions.

Beathen Ramsey spoke up. "I don't think it's that impossible that Ninurtusur could have 15,000 troops at Dolaras, mayhaps more. We would do well to tack on a few thousands more to our force before proceeding south."

Rickard shook his head. "Too much time, too many men. Don't forget Augrilac has a fleet of 50 ships hanging off our coasts. While not large enough to bear an invasion force that could conquer substantial territory in the kingdom, the eight or even nine thousand men who could be aboard that fleet could still do significant damage. We need to be ready to meet them, and that's why Beitean's army is as large as it is. Not to mention, our army will be supplemented with at least a few thousand Eldalie, probably more. It's not as if they'll be averse to providing troops for their own realm's defense, and that is why manpower is not likely to be an issue. Anyone else?"

There was none. The Marshal's plan might've seemed foolhardy and overly risky at first, but the intelligence he'd just shared formed two major points in favor of his rapid thrust approach. One by one, each officer gave a nod of approval.

Smiling, Rickard concluded the meeting. "Good, that is settled then. I will send a bird to the king detailing our strategy. Feed your troops well today, fill them up nicely. Sleep them well. We'll decamp before dawn and start off towards Dolaras as soon as the sun breaks the sky." And while we're at it, even if it's a small act of blasphemy, pray that this up-jumped fool of a wizard Sandro checks his bloody mail more often than is apparent.

Hafancaer

Owain finished the latest report on the Augrilacan fleet's movement in Horker Bay and placed it aside on his desk. It was virtually identical to the last one, with no developments whatsoever. He had also not heard any news of the ship he had sent out to negotiate with the hostile fleet. That was either an immensely good or immensely bad sign. Following the report, he addressed Rickard Malcolm's apparent knowledge of a small Imperial army in the north of Vallorion. That was intriguing, but Owain would let the Marshal draw his own conclusions and set his own strategy, so long as he was kept abreast of it. As he read further, Malcolm's plan was soon described briefly but fully. That was good, an aggressive, quick strike was something Owain could get behind, especially with the knowledge that Aelorn Tellegara was nearby. His defeat would be useful propaganda, and considering that the boy was hardly a general and the vicinity of a Ninurtursurian army, such an outcome seemed quite likely. Setting that letter aside, Owain attempted to momentarily escape from the daily grind of ruling a kingdom at war.

Glancing about the small library which had become his temporary study at Count Angor's suggestion, Owain could not help but notice the astounding neatness with which the books and their bookcases were arranged. Even the Vault, the Eriadunns' vast private library that was easily one of the largest in Pandyssium, had shelves that were organized haphazardly. The room had always possessed a certain amount of clutter regardless of the efforts Erlend had made to clean it up. Largely that was because the sheer number of tomes outmatched the storage capacity of the shelves. This library was less than a tenth of the size, but every book seemed to slide perfectly in with its counterparts, without so much as a loose page to take away from the neatness. In a rather unusual layout, the guest bedchamber where he slept was connected to the library, making study and bed one and the same.

Fondly, as he had done many times before, Owain shot from his desk and began perusing the titles with a boyish eagerness that did not befit a king at all. There was Ruaridh and the Bear, an old saga that had been a childhood favorite of his. Not far from it lay Of the Kings under the Mountain, a hilariously biased account of the Eriadunns during the Interregnum, a tome that was penned by a Grecian scholar who clearly had suffered from a severe personal hatred of his house, for whatever reason. The book deserved to be read like a comedy, probably why Count Angor had it.

Next to that was Seanfhocail, a little booklet of Eriadunnii proverbs that was written in the old tongue. Only a few down from that was On the Art of Copulation, which was a ridiculously scandalous tome for married Count Angor to have in his possession. Owain had to stifle a gaffaw at the mere sight of it, resolving never to bring up the matter.

A knock sounded at the door, and a guard poked his head in. "Your Grace, Lady Anwyn Murray to see you. Shall I let her in?"

Owain straightened at once, all thoughts of books instantly dispelled. The surreal experience of the previous day's dinner came rushing back to him. "Yes, let her in at once."

Anwyn glided through the door, in a blue dress that was simpler than the one she'd donned at the feast but no less tight, and no less arousing to the young king. "Ah, Your Majesty, looking over books?" She smiled, pulling him in even as she made her way across the room. Running her fingers across the spines of each book, she winked at Owain. "I'm sure you've been careful with them . . in fact yes, you have. Forgive me if I sound rude, but most of the volumes here have been mine for years. I'm quite fond of them."

Including the bloody book on how to do it?! "Please Anwyn, call me Owain." All hells, those breasts!

She stepped forward, placing a hand on his cheek. "That is no way for a king to bear himself, Owain Eriadunn. Nor should a king be without a woman at a time like this. The war must weigh heavily on you." Her green eyes sparkled at him, somber but geniune, curious but open.

"It . . . it does." The words were barely audible, half a whisper before they cracked into a sob.

Anwyn pulled him close and planted a soft kiss on her king's lips. At first Owain did not respond, but soon he was kissing back, slowly, fiercely. "Being a king," he whispered into her ear, "Is to be alone. So, so utterly alone. So much is expected of me, and-"

"And you have exceeded expectations, so says everyone from the kitchens of this castle to your dukes and their counts. To break now is to break the kingdom, and you must be strong for all of us." Gently, she placed another kiss, reveling in his warm breath as he responded this time, eagerly. For a time they found comfort in each other's arms, until after what seemed like a blissful eternity, Anwyn broke apart. Her eyes bored into Owain's as his bored into her. Both were consumed. "Can you be strong, Owain?"

"If not before, then I can now. But I think I will need you, Anwyn rúile lagas Murray. I will need you."

She laughed, the sound of her joy falling like a gentle stream upon his ears. "Anwyn Star-eyes? What a silly name!" Her smile faded a bit. "And I you, Owain. And I you." Soon their lips were together again.

by **The Soviet Union of Mother Russia** » Thu Apr 23, 2015 2:56 pm

Mesrane wrote:Logan's Ford, Southern March

Hafancaer, Eriadha-Four days later

Lord Sandro Sar-Shazzar,

It has come to my attention that a force of the Silver Cities is laying siege to Dolaras, in Vallorion. I am aware of Ninurtusur's claim on the Blacktear Forest and the animosity between your house and the Tarembors.

I do not pretend to like your house, your people or the practices that take place within your realm, nor do I pretend that you could ever possibly reconcile with the Eldalie. One side will win or the other, nothing more and nothing less.

However, I will appeal to you through a military standpoint. Your army in Vallorion faces extinction, especially if I am forced to send troops south. It is cut off from the rest of your realm and is extremely vulnerable, in truth. With imperial forces pushing down your passes, you have blundered and cast a large part of your strength away from your realm, leaving you less able to repel the Empire in the passes.

I would not write to you, however, if I did not possess very important intelligence. It has come to my attention that Vallorion itself teeters on the brink of secession from the empire. This would make Eriadha, Ninurtusur, and Vallorion three independent realms in the north that border one another. It would be idiocy if we failed to work together and coordinate our forces. At the very least, Ninurtusur and Vallorion could work out some kind of temporary deal whereby the two realms cease to kill each other for a year. You have accomplished nothing in Vallorion, therefore an orderly withdrawal with all your forces intact will return to you the most manpower to be used in the struggle against the imperial army and cost you nothing. My troops will guarantee their safety until they leave Vallorion.

Surely you must recognize that the three realms involved here share a common enemy, and that all our falls will be likely if this infighting drags on.

I remain,

Owain I Eriadunn, First of his Name, King of Eriadha

Dolaras, Vallorion - Siege camp.

Every second felt like a minute, and every minute, like a hour. The warmth that used to be carried in the brisk wind, was reduced to a icy whisper, only adding to the tension of standing at the ready for what lays beyond yonder. It was seemingly more clear that the Vallorionas had been rallying up a considerable resistance, ranging from House Eriadunn, to The Imperials. Not that it mattered much to the forces standing at the ready on the opposite side, being fuelled by zealous priests, and the chance to restore what they view as " theirs ". At this point what once was a simple matter of " Casus belli " was starting to turn into a ethnical fervour, degrading, and discriminating those who were deemed being " Vermin to the superior people of The Spider goddess Asha " Whatever that used to be, was dismissed in the fire that was the war.

Even without the weakness of those mortals they were sent to fight, it was only a matter of time before this large army had to act, lest they gave the enemy a chance to scout for a weakness in their position. With the siege engines constructed, and the army being ready to sent forth, it was only a matter of giving the order at this point. Keeping that thought in mind, Dzárak was awoken from his silent scheming, looking over as a stern looking soldier walked into his tent.

" Sire, there is a messenger passing by, he carries the words from King Owain of Eriadha, seemingly for Lord Sandro "

Dzárak nods to him, gesturing for the messenger to being sent forth.

A man was pushed into the tent, wearing some dirty serf garbs. He looked as if his boots was on the border of falling apart, seeing the leather tear, and crack around the laces.
As the messenger managed to pull himself together, he walked over to the large table that Dzárak surrounded himself by. He kneeled down, offering a scroll over as he looked down.

" Lord Dzárak, I bring word from King Owain, he wishes to negotiate a potential truce with Lord Sandro. "

Dzárak took a moment to unwrap the large sheet of paper, seeing the ink still fresh judging by the trails around the words. He sat down in this little throne, reading every line as he scanned through.
His expression clearly could tell it all, showing off a confident grin as he shook his head. He was quick about handing it over, seemingly not even done reading at that point.

" Well Lord Sandro is a busy man, so your kind King have to settle with me. Yet I'm sorry for your long journey, but it was without purpose. Your king clearly is a fool if he considers us to be so naïve we will agree to such, demands. He must clearly been smoking too much Welshers mush if he can imagine us standing with these, pointy-ear backstabbing vermin. A human should not mingle with such a filthy race, bah. In any case, I suppose since you are here, I might as well make use of you. Tell you what, I'll write a letter back, and you won't have to worry about remembering this. "

The messenger clearly felt at unease after this small rant, yet seeming to calm down as he looked over in the opening of the tent, seeing a pair of hands push in a new pair of boots.

As he looked back at Dzárak, he was writing up the letter to be sent back, taking his time to write down what looked to be a pair of lines, as he then turned in the new scroll.

" Do send my regards to the King, and mind him to know his place in feuds older then whatever bastard dynasty he descended from "

The messenger hastily nodded, fetching the new pair of boots, jogging back to his steed. He seemingly was not too keen on outdoing his stay, speeding off in the same direction he came from.
In his brown satchel he did however carry the scroll Warlock Dzárak wrote, all under the insignia of the Silver Cities.

Dear King Owain I Eriadunn

Sorry to burst your bubble, but Lord Sandro, The Eternal Liege of The Immortals, is unavailable during these uneasy times. Yet seeing that you are keen to refer his army sitting outside Doloras, as " facing extinction ", I just could not help but reply.

I'm indeed Warlock Dzárak, the same man who at this point carry the fate of this puny elfish city, Doloras, in my hand. In any case, I least appreciate your honesty, human, that is a admirable feat that you have, unlike the Eldalie vermin.

However unlike traditional warfare, that I'm sure you must be feeling confident in besting, we do not rely on water, food, nor rest in our struggle. We, that been blessed with the afterlife, are without such weakness that you cherish. You may harass, or cut off as many logistical routes you like, it will not hinder our progress. But be my guest if you wish, your troops would make a good addition along our army, as we bless them with the gift of Asha.

Yet you do carry honest sentiments, that I may also agree in. I have no quarrel with the lands of Eriadha, nor do I with other regions that wish to seek their rightful sovereignty. Yet the actions the elves of Vallorion, their Imperials lackeys, that have lured with their manipulative nature, will be dealt with. We won't stand idle by as they turn on their anti-Ninirtusurian schemes in our time, no more. Last time we did decide to talk to them, was under the reign of Emperor Titus, who had almost our entire people massacred, if not for our holy Bélméth, and his divine intervention. If not for our immortals, the very land would stand as a wasteland, and ridden of life after the countless rapes, and pillage they done. No, an eye, for an eye. We shall cease to fight when the last man has fallen, and we will not accept interference from outsiders in this feud.

If you ever desire to see what the kind nature of the Imperials, and elves are towards the people of the Northern continent is, you are only to mention the word of Blacktear Forest to the elves. What happened there is something they cannot hide behind their allure, nor their charm. They know very well what their actions are, no matter how much they try to forget. It once was the marble of the Pandyssium before they razed it, and soaked the soil in blood of innocents.

If you still dare to stand by the Vallorions in their futile attempt to withstand the rightful verdict of justice, then so shall it be. Yet threats, and big words shall not move me, nor my Lord Sandro.

- In the Makers will, Warlock Dzárak

by **Mesrane** » Fri Apr 24, 2015 6:13 pm

Imperial Highway, Northern Vallorion
Six days out

Rickard snarled as the messenger recounted his experience in the Ninurtusurian siege camp. "What bollocks! Well, They let you ride out of there alive, probably anticipating that we would heed the . . . missive. A mistake. How many troops would you peg them at?"

"Some fifteen thousand, probably a bit more."

A man behind Rickard let out a low whistle. "More than expected."

The Marshal had to agree. "Quite a bit more. We'll have scouts verify this of course, as we draw closer to the city." He glanced back at the messenger. He was exactly that, a good rider paid and trained to deliver messages. The man did not have the look of a soldier and did not possess the eye of an experienced scout like the men Irving Taggert commanded. The figure put out was probably only mildly incorrect, but Rickard wasn't about to plan out the coming days on this man's word.

He gave a respectful nod to the messenger. "Very well, continue northwards and inform the king at once. He'll want to hear this, or rather, he needs very much to hear this."

The messenger gave an apprehensive nod and kicked his horse into a gallop, speeding to the north.

"Madness!" Exclaimed Rickard, more loudly than he'd meant. "Madness and stupidity!"

Quietly, under his breath; "At this rate, maybe we should just present our own heads to little Teren."

Stop that. Have faith, have some confidence, or your men will have none at all. Win a couple battles, win the war. Simple really.

He smirked to himself. Fortunately, few of his officers were pampered nobles with that kind of attitude towards war. Not that a great deal of them weren't nobility, but Prince Fergus, who was considered a terrific organizer and logistical expert, had taken care to spare him that kind of nonsense when the army was first raised. The men under Rickard did not represent the best Eriadha had to offer, but they were all loyal, reasonably competent, and where some were lacking in significant talent or imagination, Rickard's officers made up for it in quiet diligence and good disciplinary habits with their troops. Any general would've preferred the best of the best, but Rickard understood the rather grim reasoning that it wouldn't do for every talented commander in the realm to be slaughtered if his army met a fate that disastrous.

Which, Rickard was now increasingly confident it would not. You give your men too little credit. He glanced up and down the column of riders and marching troops. Not all of these are hardened soldiers. Which was true enough, a good number of the levy pikemen were fairly green. Fortunately, they won't be so green for long . . if we win.

Regardless of experience however, Rickard noted a certain rough determination which permeated his army. They were men marching south into an unfamiliar land to help a house of uncertain tendencies fight an enemy of uncertain strength, in order to better protect their own homeland. All were resolved to fight.

The army continued down the worn imperial road, originally built by the elves but repaired consistently by the empire over recent centuries. The farmlands and wooded hills around them seemed to be holding their breath for something, as if a great damn was about to break. Few people, whether elf or human or dwarf, were to be found along the roads. Those that were present were questioned by Taggart's outriders, but that proved little help. Desperate families gave only vague accounts of the size of Ninurtursur's army and asked repeatedly to be simply sent of their way. After concluding that the fleeing farmers would be of little intelligence value, Rickard had been compelled to oblige.

Lone travelers muttered dark whispers under their breath or shouted curses of the death-priests at the sky. Soon prosperous-looking farms gave way to those that had been abandoned at least for half a month, if not more. Several were torched to the ground, and charred courses often lay strewn around the wreckage. The trickle of smallfolk turned into a small but steady stream, heading north to the fringe of Vallorion. By all accounts, most of the local populace had made it through the city gates of Dolaras in time. The rest had been chased north or south down the highway for a time until the undead soldiers of the death-priests had turned about and returned to their siege.

Here too, the reports became more detailed, less cluttered and less vague. The count grew steadily higher and higher until one evening a dwarven sellsword trying to separate himself from the conflict gave Rickard the most substantial intelligence he'd heard yet. The dwarf was apprehended by scouts and brought to Rickard's full command tent, with his various officers in attendance.

Two days out

"I was fleein' when them ghoulish things came sneaking an' snarling up the eastern highway. Burned out two villages, probably more along the border'n. Everyone caught between them and the city had to flee north or south. I was up on a knoll, see, when these things start to surround the city. I watched for awhile as the host just grew'n grew. Some twenty thousand strong I'd call it. Mostly foot, though I was too far away to make out anything besides who was mounted er not." The dwarf looked spooked at recalling his memories, but there was a certain smug smirk of satisfaction gracing his face that told Rickard he was immensely pleased with himself for being the first and only half-way useful individual. Which was true enough, so Rickard counted a few silvers out for him and sent him on his way.

Upon hearing of the report, the officers gathered in the tent variously whistled, snarled or grimaced.

"Too late now," Rickard intoned. "If staying hidden had been our priority to begin with, we would not have taken the highway. Our objective remains to reach the city as fast as possible, detected or no, and link up with Saerondr. Sacrificing speed for stealth allows the situation in Dolaras to change. We don't want that. We drive down the highway and we're likely to fall upon one of their flanks, at least briefly before we break off again. Of course, Taggert's scouts will confirm this tomorrow, but if the city is surrounded it's likely to be true. We'll have three hundred eadrom scouting the farmland around the city, so some are bound to find Saerondr." The discussion ranged long into the night, after which it was decided to hold course and see the battle through. The men of Eriadha would fight, to the bitter end if need be.

by **Kisinger** » Sat Apr 25, 2015 2:29 pm

Craentich Castle, Sraederham, Rivemia

Duke Harold Stagwood sat in his throne of Stone overlooking the great hall, with two tables too the left and right at the entrance was a great oak door, a fire-pit in the center of it, leading up to the throne is a set of stone stairs with a railing on either side, on the walls hung various animals, from a deer to a great boar. On either side of the throne, were two door, the one on the right leading too the Nobles Quarters and Servants Quarters, while on the left, lead to the Kitchen and store rooms.

At the tables sat the various Councillors, and the sons and daughter of the Duke, as he kept looking around he began pondering the though of the Augralics, he had served House Venor for some time but he knew their time was near if the Augralics were to succeed, and if he were to install himself a Lord of Rivemia. He smiled and looked around for a servant and upon seeing one he called out, "Servant." and upon hearing the call he ran over.

"Yes my lord?" he asked.

"Bring me the Maestar, a quill, and some parchment." Harold commanded.

The servant ran off and returned several minutes later he returned with the quill and parchment handing it to the Duke before walking over and whispering in the Maester's ear. The Maestar stood and shuffled over to the Duke and asked, "Yes my lord?"

Harold looked to him, "I need you to draft a letter to my vassals, the Lords surrounding our hold. Tell them to come and meet us here in our, the Great Hall. We will tell them of a proposal which will benefit our Realm." he said smiling looking at the Maester.

The Maester looked at him dubiously, "At once..." as he walked away slowly pondering is lord's request. Regardless he set about doing it as was requested of him.

To the Lords of Rivemia; The Vassals of House Stagwood
From: Duke Harold of House Stagwood

To the nearby Lords of Rivemia and my vassals, I have come to call you together to come to my hall of Craentich Castle for a grand feast and to bring you a proposal that I hope you all will agree with and just to have a good time in the hall, you are all welcome to bring a complement of men to help guard the castle and or if you feel yourself threatened.

by **Annihilators of Chan Island** » Sun Apr 26, 2015 3:14 pm

An Imperial Army does not stay lost in Pandyssium for very long. A harder man than Aelorn Tellegara would have gotten to the dirty business much faster, but never the less, even the pious and aloof Aelorn had to admit it was time to find Doloras.
The method was simple. Refugees, locals and pretty much everyone they could get their hands on, were grabbed and put through a simple questioning process. First they were asked very nicely, then they were asked very nicely while waving a bag of gold coins in front of them. Then they were asked very firmly with a sword in hand, then again with the sword pressed against the neck. Lucky for everyone involved, nobody got past that stage, which was nice.

Soon the army managed to correlate a patch where the city was, and this was confirmed by more interrogations. Aelorn then ordered to the army to their, and found more and more evidence pointing towards the presence of a city of Doloras... and that the area was conspicuously close to the war zone. Soon it became clear that once farms that would have housed 9 member families of elves were instead were housed by nobody at all, and a conspicuous lack of things like clothes and food, which just hinted at people leaving in a hurry.

Good. Aelorn had received news that Doloras was being besieged. An added bonus to the enhanced questioning sessions, was that it was a good way of getting at gestimates about the size of the Ninurtusurian army, which ranged wildly but gave one firm conclusion: this army is bigger than the Imperial one. No matter. Aelorn's army was never meant to actually operate by itself. It was a mobileish defense force to be used in concert with Tarembor forces. And the nearest great concentration was the city of Doloras, which the army was now firmly on track to head towards.

More disturbing news had reached Aelorn in the journey. Eriadha had declared independence, and Owain Eriadunn was now calling himself the ''King on the Mountain''. Aelorn scoffed at this title, like any good Tellegara '' It's the wrong title'', he said as the title was told to him ''they should call him the 'King on the Pike', although the confusion's easy to see. Both Mountains and City Walls both have spectacular views!''. And he vowed to make sure a campaign of retribution would be carried out as soon as possible, maybe even once the Ninurtusur campaign as usual delivered another victory for the Imperial Shields from Deon to recount.

Never mind though. 2 days out by all accounts. In 2 days, the Imperial army would arrive and bring relief to Doloras... or, they'll try to.

by **Mesrane** » Sun Apr 26, 2015 9:38 pm

A day's ride north of Dolaras

A trio of young eadrom scouts picked their way across the abandoned fields of wheat as the sky darkened overhead. Irving Taggert had dispatched a hundred scouts in every direction but straight north, in an attempt to find and link up with Saerondr before the undead of Ninurtusur stumbled upon them independently, in which case Rickard might well be doomed.

As they progressed through the fields, the mounted scouts noticed a lone figure sitting his mount atop a small knoll, watching them intensely. After quiet observation, it was clear the rider was not one of Ninurtusur's. The scouts therefore decided to approach him. They split off, each about twenty yards from the other, hands on their sword hilts as they cantered up the hill. Still the rider did not move.

As they drew up to him, it became obvious through the ears and the style of armor that the rider was an elf. He regarded them curiously, eyes narrowed as he tried to discern from their mottled green and brown cloaks who exactly they belonged too. He too, had his spindly fingers wrapped around the hilt of his blade.

The leader of the trio inclined his head and smiled, showing a set of rotting teeth that served to eliminate most of the charm the smile would've otherwise brought. "'Ello. Name's Cadell. These two be Jaymes on me left and Pod on me right. We be riding for Irving Taggert, who rides for Rickard Malcolm, who rides for King Owain. Now you look to be serving Laird Saerondr, an' Marshal Rickard be on the wee highway trying to find him. We come to relieve Dolaras or some'n like that. Anyways, we need ta be a' finding yer laird. Be a good wee lad and show us to him, now."

The elf started in surprise, apparently not expecting the promised aid from Eriadha quite so soon. The elven scout grinned as if glad, but he sniffed at his course counterpart with a hint of derision. "I am called Salvalas. Indeed, I serve Lord Saerondr. It is most fortuitous that we come upon one another at this hour. Come, follow me. We are not much more than four hour's ride from his camp." Without another word he turned and sped down the hill, leaving the Eriadunnii to follow. Cadell sniffed in turn at the elf's near-impeccable grammar, though more in jealousy than otherwise.

The four rode through through increasingly destitute scenes of abandoned or torched villages. For the first time, rotting bodies began to make an appearance. Despite the ruin around them, the late summer woods looked untouched and the grass was a shining green. If not for the bodies and the malevolent quiet that infects all lands touched by war, it would've been beautiful.

Several hours after dark fell, they splashed across a stream and beheld the torchlight and campfires of Saerondr's camp. Tens of thousands strong, Cadell thought. excellent. He turned in the saddle to Pod. "Pod, run and go tell the marshal of the camp's location, now that you've seen it. Over thirty thousand strong, his best scout Cadell Collins says!"

Nodding, the scout reversed course and kicked his horse into a gallop, speeding back across the stream and back to the imperial highway. Soon be was swallowed up by the night, the sound of his steed's hammering hooves fading into an eerie nothing.

Soon they passed through a fortified gap in the ditch encircling the camp and entered the space where over thirty thousand of House Tarembor's levies resided. Salvalas swiftly led them to Saerondr's command tent at the center. "Look lively lad," Cadell whispered to Jaymes as they dismounted. "Bow and speak nice 'an all that. We in a presence of a right laird now."

Salvalas rushed inside to speak briefly with Saerondr before a mailed hand extended from the tent flap, beckoning them inside.

Once inside, Cadell and Jaymes bowed low while Saerondr looked on expectantly.

"Laird Saerondr," Cadell began. "We be most honored in yer presence. We serve the marshal Rickard Malcolm, who serve King Owain. The marshal be headin' the relief force sent by His Grace the king. He commands nine thousand men, and is seeking to link his army to yers so as to not to be divided during the battle. He also inquires after the dispositions and exact size of the enemy force, as he has only a rough idea of their strength." He looked up, face splitting into another ugly grin. "An' he asks if yer lairdship know of any imperial forces in the area."

by **Der Kaiser Mikey III** » Mon Apr 27, 2015 8:41 am

Ninurtusur

Marching had not ceased from the moment Voldek was seized. There were no survivors, no quarter was to be given to the traitors. And now, as Udo Coeptus rode with his two Heralds on either flank, he observed the Imperial herald refuse the concoction that made such an insane march possible.

"You'd do well to accept the brew..." Udo informed, motioning for the two Heralds and his retinue of mounted guards to pull off to the side of the road while the infantry continued to march by. Each man received a cup as he passed by the checkpoint, which consisted of numerous, massive cauldrons of the sickly sweet smelling mixture.

"Uh, what is it?" the Heartland asked, cautiously sniffing the air. "Obviously nothing I have seen before, and nothing a civilized heartland would dare indulge in-"

"Can it you fucking twat!" Udo barked, fiercely silencing the man more with his glare than his words. "Opium mainly for the pain, a man cannot feel the blisters on his feet and the ache in his knees, or the possible minor yet otherwise debilitating wounds one receives in battle or on the road...coca leaves, for energy and to counteract the drowsiness, and finally a strong Northern apple cider, to embolden the men to glory. I invented it myself during the dwarves campaign...Mereldar has fine narcotics, and an ample supply...food however, especially when you are rebel..." He chuckled. "I survived for weeks off this stuff and rat meat in the Deep Roads! Now shut up and drink, before I slit your throat and dump it in!"

"Heil Coeptus!" The man hastily choked down the mixture, and they continued on. There would be no stopping, not until every casualty on Udo's list had been avenged by thirteen bodies in each of their places. At the rate of this campaign, and such a lofty goal, he surely had planned on ensuring Ninurtusur never forgot the price of their betrayal.

by **Kaledoria** » Mon Apr 27, 2015 12:56 pm

Northern Sea

"We have two options," General Holwart explained to his Adjutant Götz von Bernstein, "Well, actually we have three but I have waived the idea of landing on Hangman island's south and taking their port by foot. I have spoken to the Kontor Guards who have worked in this area and even though they had regularly sailed past the island, nobody ever was on there. From the vague intelligence we assume we should be able to manage the hostile population and withdrawn Ninurtusuran sailors, but there is just way to much uncertainty. We could loose half our army.

Thus the first reasonable option would be to attack their harbor by sea. their fortress is oriented seaside of course but it's not so big to sink our ships with a single hit of its siege weapons. Still it has the range and even if we attack by night, there will be enough undead and light-averse workers present. Burning their ships could take somewhat longer under those circumstances, time they can use to shoot at us. In this scenario we will loose less men but we can loose some ships and more importantly, a large number of ships will likely be damaged.

Thus the second option: We ignore the fact, that their ships are vulnerable at the moment and go right on to attack their mainland. This has the serious disadvantage, that we could not split up as freely and have to move in bigger groups. But after all we have given them a heavy hit in the first engagement, we can do so again should they leave their save harbor."

Götz thought about it: "The ships of the Republic are not like the ships of the other realms. Sure we have magnitudes more but they are also our lifeblood. They are given to us by our respected merchant families in the trust, that we will not needlessly throw them away and we will need them after the war to ensure that business continues. We can not just sacrifice them in a seaside attack on their port. So I say, let's do the economically reasonable thing and start looking what those coasts have to offer!" He underlined the last sentence by drawing his sword halfway out of the scrapyard, scratching the blunt backside along the ivory opening and then pushing it back in with a *klang*. Holward did not share his enthusiasm but nodded nevertheless: "I was leaning the same direction - even though for different reasons."

Bibracte, a small coastal town in eastern Eriadha

The ships retreating from the main battle force had anchored at or near the small fishing port. A group of Rökenmen walked into the town to scout the situation.

"My master has a Kontor here, the only one. We shut it down when the note to prepare for war came." Yustaf, one of the Kontor Guards explained the lieutenant in charge. "His son who was in managing the local affairs, sailed off to Röken, too, so there is just two servants inside now, making sure that no rats or thieves get at the stuff we could not take with us - which is not very much but whatever."

They walked from the harbor towards the town center and Yustaf continued: "Some smiths and lots of woodworkers here. Decent medics, too. In the inns the men with lighter wounds should get the rest to recover and the medics will stabilize the more seriously injured for the trip to Coemgen, about a day to the west, maybe one and a half with the current wind. There you can find the best physicians around here. Likewise for the repairs: We can get the spare parts here - much cheaper then in Coemgen, if I may say so - but you have seen the harbor, for the more serious damage we will need a real dockyard."

There was a number of small inns but Yustaf advised them to go to the big drinking hall, a huge central building with multiple attached smaller ones - including a tavern and something that went for a municipal building around here. It was around midday and the hall was half full with people eating or otherwise spending their midday break.

While they tried to keep an ear open for the latest gossip, Yustaf introduced the lieutenant to the right people for their concerns. When they mentioned, that they belonged to the imperial offense against Ninurtusur, trying to protect the people of the realms from being turned into ghouls, the reception was not all that welcoming: "Listen, we have a very fair baron who treats us well and above him a noble count who knows, how to keep our borders save. That is all I need to know about politics, and the affairs of those Dukes and Kings and Emperors don't concern me and I like it that way," a shipbuilder said. When the lieutenant added, that they of course had had a reasonable part of their warchest to pay for any medical aid and repairs right away, the reception got much more welcoming suddenly.

While they gathered people for the smaller repairs, they learned, that Lord Erlend was killed by Duncan, who in turn was killed by Owain after that. So much seamed sure at this moment but there were an awful lot of partially extreme rumors: Some said, Owain was ill, in another one he was dead already and in a last he was well and had crowned himself king. Some said, there was a civil war brewing in the central south others spoke of an invasion by Aurilac, a week ago - or maybe next week. One peon even claimed, that Orwain had died but the Dukes had send a messenger to Ninurtusur, offering that if they resurrected him as a lich, Eriadha would withdraw it's forces from the Ninurtusur-campaign. Yustaf had slapped the drunkard's face for that and the other other men around had thanked him for that.

Later that day, the intact ship with the severely wounded started for Coemgen. Shortly behind followed four badly damaged ships, who had just been fixed with some makeshift repairs to last the day. The wounded were to be transported as fast as possible and would not wait for them however.
Then, the local woodworker and some of the remaining soldiers started repairs at the other ships. Optimistically, they estimated the works to take a week.

At Udo Coeptus army

The commander of the Son's of Saint Sigmar closed in with Udo: "Koka leaves you said? I have heard of this, the Orcs south of our borders have that, too. And I believe the Fir tribes, too. They chew the leaves, however, not make a tea of it." When offered a cup he took a sip of it. He did not want to admit it yet but the march was demanding.

"I did not have the time yet, but I wanted to congratulate you to the battle at Fort Voldek. My man definitely did not mind, that you took the lead at the walls, although it limited us to crossbow-support and later the mobbing up of the enemies that had retreated after the initial impact. I was surprised to see, that your tactics have much similarities to ours." He did not add 'even though our use of Goblin marksmen means, that we have to break open our shieldwall only for a much shorter time'.
From the start, he had realized Udo's attitude towards non-humans and thus played the human commander, who regarded his Orc and Goblin troops and second class people, even though in fact, he was very liberal towards race questions, even for a Marcher. "In fact, it's closer than any other realm south or east of the Heartlands. I think that shows, that even though there have been four centuries, that your people had to live close to those elves and dwarves and our city had to civilize the Orc and Goblin tribes, in battle, there is a certain essence of our common heritage, that has endured."

Aelorn Tellegara's Army

Aelorn was handed the daily status report from Champion Othar. The crude handwriting showed, that the barely literate Champion had written it himself.

The Orks in the army get nervos, the Elves give them strange looks.
I caught 3 people who had stolen from the locals and had them flogged.
Moral overall stable.
Warriors are eager to kill some Necromancers.

by **Annihilators of Chan Island** » Tue Apr 28, 2015 1:30 pm

Ninurtusur Border

Kevin Tellegara's army did not waste a second or person at Fort Voldek. Too small to really bother about, so Kevin simply ordered the thing to be abandoned and told everyone to steel themselves to the mountains ahead.

Udo Coeptus, proudly marching in the front with the retribution force's vanguard, dove into the mountains with just a bit too much enthusiasm for Kevin's tastes, but then again it made sense. Mereldar is not exactly the flattest of realms, so Udo's men just surged though, knowing every trick in the book, and a whole lot not in the book, on how to quickly march through narrow, twisting roads between a rock and a hard fall.
Unfortunately, Heartlanders do live in one of the flattest of realms, and so soon the main army began to fall behind. Soldiers from non-mountainous realms like the Heartlands, Grecia, Esterlands and Rivemia slowed down the main army, which was fair enough for their commander as Kevin Tellegara himself fits in that description. Still, the army marched through the Great Mountain Road at a determined, steady pace. Like a WW I Tank, the retribution army was slow but felt utterly invincible. Tens of thousands of men poured though the Great Mountain Road. The numbers were such that at some places where the vanguard crossed in the early morning, the rearguard only arrived a full 10 hours later, with an uninterrupted stream of humans, orcs, goblins, dwarves, more humans, the occasional troll and even a few elves coming from almost every single realm in the Empire (and even a tiny percentage that did not!) in-between for this dedicated onlooker.

However, worrying trends began to emerge. Udo Coeptus's army, on the third of marching, began to march up ahead far too quickly. Kevin at first put them down to being a force of exclusively mountain warriors doing their ''tip of the spear'' duty and though nothing of it, but it soon became clear that it was more than that. A rider sent forward didn't even need to reach Udo to find the answer: the troops were drinking concoctions of coca, making them march far longer than was normal.

No matter. They were the vanguard for a reason. Kevin for now decided to monitor their progress relative tot he main army, and remained vigilant for any enemy sightings.

Vallorian

The Orks in the army get nervos, the Elves give them strange looks.
I caught 3 people who had stolen from the locals and had them flogged.
Moral overall stable.
Warriors are eager to kill some Necromancers.

Aelorn nodded and put the paper in his satchel bag. It was good to see this Champion carry out his policy of equal justice. However, his mind was ticking away at the incoming battle, about what was going to come, what was the enemy going to look like and even about how much use the elves were going to be.
.
.
.
'' Well, that's certainly it.''
'' No doubt about that.''
''So, I'd say 5 hours by horse away, right?''
''Yeah, some of us better get going. I volunteer to tell Commander Aelorn we have a visual on Doloras.''

The other three scouts turned to their fellow in judging contempt. Behind their heads now is visible the vast camps and the battered walls that were surrounding thousands of elves. In other words they were looking at Doloras. The second scout, their squad leader, quietly disagreed'' Look scout, we should just get this done nice and simple. You count the tents, you count the fires, you count the siege weapons while I stand watch. Do you hear me?''

Did I mention they were all whispering? No good getting caught because of being a loud mouth. The men quickly murmured their own commentary and then went to the business of counting their allocated item. The squad leader looked about carefully, scanning every direction for patrols, crossbow at the ready.

After what felt like an eternity, the squad leader spotted one such patrol ''Damn, they're coming!''

One of the scouts jumped up and headed for horse immediately'' Good, I just finished counting the siege weapons! And I know he's done with the camp fires!''

The pointed at scout was quick to agree'' I'm outta here!''

Both men rushed up to their horses and began to mount them. The squad leader turned to the last scout, still busily counting tents''Oi, man, get up, we're going!''

''OK, hang on, just a few more...''

Suddenly a shout was heard. A distinct, deadish kind of shout. The patrol had spotted them. The squad leader yanked up the scout and shouted at his face'' We are leaving!''

The man sprinted to his horse and mounted it. The first two had already bolted away for Aelorn's army. With a ''he-ya!'' the third man spurned his horse and he too bolted for the Imperial Army.

The squad leader ran up to his horse, but soon found the undead patrol mobbing at him. Quickly he fired his crossbow, implanting a bolt into a skeleton warrior's head, then he threw the crossbow onto the nearest trooper, an actual alive soldier who immediately fell onto his butt, screamed and nursed his wound in what was going to develop into a nickname and an embarrassing end to his dignity.

Lucky for the scout, he was a legionnaire, and had had years of training poured into this moment. Quick as a flash he mounted his horse, spurned it and drew a sword. In the drawing motion, he managed to get it to go and chop the end of a pike (the ghoul in question had to make do with a bastard sword for the rest of the campaign). With that, confusing burst of glory, the squad leader broke free of the patrol and headed over to the Imperial Army.

However, the patrol immediately went to their commander to report the terrible news: the Imperials were close, and were coming to relieve Vallorian.

by **The Starlight** » Sat May 02, 2015 7:08 am

Mesrane wrote:-snip-

Outside of the city Dolaras
Vallorion
Lord Saerondr Tarembor

Reading the letter, he went back to his desk and penned a quick reply to Owain. The board was set, and now he was gathering his pieces and allies, to prepare his defense of Eldalie lands.

Annihilators of Chan Island wrote:-snip-

Hearing news of the Imperial Army, Saerondr commanded 5 Elven Scouts to guide them. The quick elven steeds went off, and 2 days later, they found the Imperial Army. The leader of them spoke, "Hail, Lord Aelorn Tellegara. Lord Tarembor greets thee and House Tellegara. The siege of Dolaras is underway, and my lord's army numbering tens of thousands guards our fair northern city. Lord Tarembor asks that you and your men follow us, and we shall lead you to Dolaras. We have no knowledge of when Ninurtusur shall attack, but Lord Tarembor wishes that we be united and together on the field of battle." With that, the elven scout Taeros trotted forwards his horse and handed to the Tellegaran lord a rolled letter with the seal of House Tarembor, verifying that all he said was true.

Mesrane wrote:-snip-

Salvalas had served him well once again, and he nodded to the loyal elf in thanks has he beckoned the Eriadunnis in. "Greetings, soldiers of Eriadha," Saerondr spoke. "Indeed, our armies should be united as quickly as possible, as the battle should start in a few days, perhaps less. As for the enemy, the keen-eyed elves have counted around 20,000 of them. We outnumber them by about 17 thousand, but they do have necromancers. They have at least 20 Ballistas, and a few thousand cavalry. However, our primary advantage is in our archers, for in that department we outclass and outnumber them, as I am sure you have heard the tales of elven marksmanship. I have brought over ten thousand longswords, and and many spears and dwarves as well. Go and tell this to your marshal Malcolm. Also tell him that 5 thousand Imperials, led by Aelorn Tellegara are in Vallorion and are marching here to support Dolaras. So tell him also to bid haste, and join with my army before those of Tellegara do.

The Banks of Western Rivemia

Augrilac had come. Boots finally hit the sand, and flasks of mead shattered as they were thrown to the side. A great roar spread among the Bloodwarriors, their eyes possessing a red glint, as they shook their long beards and raised their weapons. 7,000 Bloodwarriors, and 1,000 Horselords had come to conquer, to loot, to destroy. And this would only be a taste of what was to come for Pandyssium, for more still were coming. 5,000 more Bloodwarriors would arrive in two days, but they were to impatient for blood and gore to wait for these reinforcements. And right now, there was only a fortress in their way. Raising their voices in a great shout, 7,000 Bloodwarriors charged the fort, paying no mind to arrows hissing by. One warrior, being hit in the arm, yanked it out without ceremony and licked the blood off it, chucking the arrow at the fortress, before continuing his charge. Though a few fell, looking like porcupines for all the arrows in them, the majority of them were still there. And ladders were being rushed forward, carried as men charged. The first of them was propped up, and Bloodwarriors pushed and shoved to receive the glory of having the first kill. And more and more of the ladders were set up and Bloodwarriors eagerly charged up the walls.

Meanwhile, the Horselords had gathered their horses, and together they rode in a great line, and all together, fired a volley, 1,000 arrows arching into thte air. Then, the edge of the line turning, they formed a pinwheel formation, riding in a large circle around and around, firing arrows at the defenders of the castle. And so, the conquest of Rivemia began, for the horde had come.

Eastern Rivemia, near the border of it and Vallorion
Lord Aeros

Aeros sat in his command tent in the hills of Rivemia. Saerondr had told of what he needed to do to obtain more land for the Elven Empire that was to come. 2,000 Elven Longswords, 2,000 Elven Spears, 500 Elvish Heavy Archers, 4,000 Human Infantry, 500 Dwarven Crossbows, 500 Dwarven Infantry and 500 Human Archers, 10,000 in total, were under his command. Hearing news of this meeting of the lords of Rivemia at the Hall of the House Stagwood, Aeros ordered his troops to march. They would meet this lord of Stagwood, and give him Saerondr's offer, both in word and in letter. It was this: Vallorion would help and fight alongside Rivemia in their defense against Augrilac if Vallorion received some of the inhabitated regions Eastern and Southeastern Rivemia in return.

by **Mesrane** » Sat May 09, 2015 1:45 pm

The two scouts exchanged glances. "Of course, your lairdship. The Marshal will march with great haste once he hears this news. Now, pray excuse me. I must inform him." Cadell bowed again and departed, flinging himself back onto his horse once outside the tent. His exit could've been a little more graceful, but if the imperials were close, that meant every second counted and that Saerondr's reaction to his curt exit was the least of his worries.

The two eadrom kicked their horses into gallops, flying through the Eldalie camp, across the stream, and back through the farmlands through whence they had come. It was some three hours before they reached Rickard's camp. Jaymes's horse was foaming at the mouth and collapsed in agony almost as soon as they slowed to a canter. Cadell's horse was not far behind, so he lept off it and sprinted through the decamping Eriadunnii host to Rickard's command pavilion.

The Marshal and his various officers were consulting again, and looked up in surprise when Cadell practically flung himself through the entrance.

"Cadell!" Rickard exclaimed. "Your friend Pod reached us safely, we are informed of the route. As you can see we have already started decamping and will be ready to march within the hour. Now, you must've met Saerondr. What did he say?"

Cadell cleared his throat and glanced around at each of the officers, still catching his breath. "Laird Saerondr has over thirty thousand eldalie in his host. I was told by him the enemy numbers aroond 20,000, with some necromancers. Ballistas and several thousand heavy horse as well. However, I am told that 5,000 Imperials under Aelorn Tellegara are also in the vicinity, and will soon join Saerondr. He implored us to get there first."

Rickard stood for a moment, absorbing all that was said. "We'll have a near twenty-thousand man edge on them then. And it would be important for us to beat Tellegara there before he learns that we're also coming. Problem is, we have no idea where Aelorn is. He could be a day or more away, in which case we'll beat him there handily. But he could be much closer, even equidistant to Saerondr compared with us."

He turned to Lowry Mag Raith, his second in command. "How much of the army is decamped?"

The pike captain grumbled. "Just the eadrom. The foot will require another half hour before they're ready to march."

Rickard frowned. "Ser Kieth Lennox, take a thousand of the eadrom and ride for Saerondr's camp with all haste. Cadell here will be given a new horse and lead you."

Lennox saluted and made for the entrance. "Aye sir, it shall be done."

Barely ten minutes later, a thousand eadrom were barreling down the narrow dirt track that would take them to Saerondr. The sun was rising, and what was likely to be a bloody, red day was just beginning. The eadrom rode at a steady canter, past the farms that seemed even more silent than the first two times Cadell had ridden past them. War was truly at hand here.

It was two hours from midday when they streamed into Saerondr's camp, heads held high but banners retired. Let hostile watchers wonder who they belonged too.

Lennox approached a startled elven archer. "Please inform Saerondr that I, Ser Kieth Lennox, bring a thousand eadrom. Marshal Rickard is two or three hours behind me with the main host."

by **Kisinger** » Sun May 10, 2015 11:22 am

Craentich Castle, Sraederham, Rivemia

The Main Hall of Craentich Castle sat dimly as various candles lit up the room. Wine and bread lined the tables as various Vassals of the Lord of Rivemia and Vassals of House Stagwood sat overlooking Duke Harold Stagwood who was seated at the top of the seats of a seat of stone. The total tally of nobles was, three dukes, nine counts and thirteen barons. A Large count by far but barely enough to challenge the Lord of Rivemia but, with the Augralics coming numbers won't prevail any longer only skill.

Finally standing Harold looked across the room, "Nobles of Rivemia,and of House Stagwood. Since the beginning of recorded history, House Stagwood, has watched over Sraederham and nearby lands of Rivemia. For far too long has not only House Venor and previous houses, not only have they corrupted our land, and tainted our women with their bastard's seed! No longer I say! No longer do we stand idly by and let them do this! I call upon all of you to take up arms and fight for Rivemia! So call up your levies, sharpen your swords and fight! So whose with me!?!"

by **Chan Island** » Tue Oct 16, 2018 6:17 am

Ever since this RP petered out, I felt like this one needed an ending. With recent events forcing me to look back on my time in NS, perhaps now it time to wrap this one up with a neat little bow.

Now, assuming things continue completely the way they were going...

Historians would talk about the fall of the Empire of Pandyssium in later years. There certainly was much to discuss. Ultimately though, one thing was clear: this empire died with a bang, not a whimper. The Empire of Augrilac's forces overwhelmed the Heartlands, Deon, Grecia, Gunrado and Rivemia over the course of the next 5 years. Their berserkers finally crashed into the Imperial city only after besieging the city for 3 year. Castle Deon took 4 before the castle was cracked open by years of bombardment by siege engines.

In earlier times, the Empire of Pandyssium would have been able to resist this invasion. Possibly even easily. But the truth was that the Empire of Pandyssium wasn't really a cohesive whole anymore. While the rebellion of the Silver Cities was, in theory, crushed under the mighty combined army of the provinces and the Legion, those same forces had to withdraw before the campaign was truly completed. The hammer of retribution removed, the necromancers were easily able to replenish their losses and declare independence.
And that was only the Silver Cities. The blatant treason of Eriadha and the Esterlands simply couldn't be answered. With the army engaged in fierce battles for the very existence of the empire, the secession of a few provinces was so much white noise as to render the entire charade irrelevant. With time, treason begat treason, and Mereldar, the orcs or Szalen'dar and the elves of Vallerion ultimately sided with the Augrilacs.

Yet the empire lived... in the minds of the members of house Tellegara. Belrond died, sword in hand, in a mighty duel on the same day the Imperial City's walls fell against one of the Augrilac's finest generals, though not before cutting down dozens of his soldiers. The others died in various other sieges. Surprisingly, even Garcias was killed in the fighting, his malevolent schemes put an end too by a raging mountain of a man. Cassyndra was captured alive by the Augrilacs, who used her as a puppet ruler for their new domains, though her title was set aside as a special 'Administrator of the Dominions'. That title died with her, 33 years after its creation. But Cassyndra was always born to be a pawn in the great game of powers, and she didn't notice any difference.

The provinces to the south, the Kopper Marshes, Lia Fail and Wolfsland briefly reorganising themselves into a Kingdom of Pandyssia, which collapsed only 10 years later due to cultural differences and Kevin Tellegara, the man who had tried to implement this, was slain. Ironically, the Augrilac empire intervened on behalf of the unionists, but this time their armies, still drained heavily from the war to conquer the Heartlands, was not enough.

The Augrilacs were not the worst overlords. While oppressive at first, with time the conquered domains assimilated with the new culture and ways of doing things. They couldn't afford to be too harsh. Over 400 thousand Augrilac troops had been slain in the war to conquer their chunk of the continent. Trade opened and life kept going on. Things were different.

Meanwhile, the separatists continued on their merry way. Vallerion and Ninurtusur clashed occasionally. Eriadha eventually gobbled up Mereldar. The Esterlands struck east, the horse lords eventually creating a mighty empire of their own in the plains beyond. No matter how much they rejected and disavowed themselves of the "Days of Subjugation", the simple practicalities were that the empire gave them some very helpful tips and tricks on how to run things.

So ends our tale. The once-proclaimed eternal legacy of Titus Rahtis ended up lasting only a few hundred years.

To Fell an Empire 3.0 [IC]

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