.
Tyarz the impregnable. Tyarz of the mighty walls. Gold-roofed Tyarz. The richest city in the west, the marvel of Azmir. Tyarz, the pride of the republic and the pride of the Knights of Saint Misrav who so boastfully called it their home and headquarters. Tyarz, whose great circuit had held the heathens at bay for nigh a century with just the knowledge that it could not be taken by any strength of arms.
Tyarz, a city on fire.
In the streets of the city, behind the walls five metres thick, under the catapult-topped turrets which now threatened to crumble as great boulders hurtled into them from the encircling camps, the once-proud warriors of the Misravic Order milled about, uncertain of their impending fate. The stronghold which for so long had guaranteed not just their safety but their strength and their status was crashing down all around them. The citadel, so vast and so potent, had been breached even before the town's wall was scaled. All that now guarded the great port of Tyarz was its garrison. No great wall, no outward-facing trebuchet now staved off the waves of foes that assailed the city. The walls had been abandoned. Not lightly - many a richly-clad Knight had met his death on those high buttresses. Rivers of blood flowed over the rim of the fortress; there was no more room for the invaders to pick their way through the piles of the dead.
If the battle were over the soldiers of both sides would be weeping bitterly for the unnumbered dead, but the hue and slaughter was without end. All about was the ring of steel, the heavy tread of weary armies surging in the streets, the baying of heathen and Crusader alike. No mindless slaughter of innocents here - the townfolk and merchants and monks had fled by ship as the siege wore on and help failed to come, day after day. All that were left were the wearily determined Knights. Misravic Brethren of the Sword fought side by side with the professional soldiers of the Cadenzan Republic, and even the foreign Order of the Dragon valiantly contested the narrow streets with the Azmiri horde that in serried ranks poured through the gaps they had torn in the walls.
Despite the heroic defence the Crusaders mounted here in the streets, Tyarz's doom had already befallen it. No matter how many defenders met their deaths here, the walls were down and the attackers were simply too many to be repulsed. Defeat was a certainty. All that was left to decide was how many of the heathen Azmiri met their deaths today on the ends of Cadenzan swords.
Few were more bitter at this upset than Saleb Resis, Order Master of the Knights of Saint Misrav in Azmir. From his citadel he had drafted plans of conquest and conversion; expeditions to subdue Marzisa or to return Laeryt to the fold would now all have to be shelved. The evangelisation of Azmir could not proceed while his order lacked a proper home in the province. As he forced his way through the melee, Resis plotted his revenge. Tyarz was lost for now, that much was clear. He could stand and do battle, and in the confines of the city the streets would run crimson with the blood of these heathens. Resis was not so short-sighted as to throw away his vengeance here, however. His time would come. If he had to bide his time for a year, so be it. If he had to move all his soldiers to Meqn, so be it. If he had to call on all of Christendom...
So be it. The Azmiri would get their Crusade.
Outside the walls of Tyarz, sat atop his bay horse, Periax II surveyed the ongoing siege with a critical gaze. Perhaps he was being reckless, sending so many fine men to their deaths, but the Crusader presence here had posed a mortal danger to his Azmir for years untold. Sorrow clutched at his heart to see so much blood spilled, but he steeled himself with the knowledge that victory at Tyarz would at last free his country of the poisonous influence of Cadenza and its missionaries.
Pillars of smoke climbed to the heavens as the Azmiri catapults continued to bombard the fortified city. A steady stream of fresh troops moved in through the ruptured circuit to replace those who had fallen in the attack. Arrows still flew from windows high in the citadel, but the ten thousand men all about the city promised Periax his victory today. If he could break Tyarz - and he would certainly break Tyarz - the other fortresses of the Cadenzan-held coast would fall one by one, and then only Meqn would be left, just as it had been over a century before. To think that all this success was owed to the Kur'zheti governor down at Savrit. That territory was another obstacle to be overcome, but for now let Governor Hriek think he had deceived Periax into removing his rival. The Marquises of Azmir were puppets to no man.
Behind the former walls of the great port city, a sail moved on its way out of the harbour. It would be one of the last to flee the burning city. Periax smiled to himself. His victory was at hand. Tyarz would be his.
Tyarz, a city on fire.
In the streets of the city, behind the walls five metres thick, under the catapult-topped turrets which now threatened to crumble as great boulders hurtled into them from the encircling camps, the once-proud warriors of the Misravic Order milled about, uncertain of their impending fate. The stronghold which for so long had guaranteed not just their safety but their strength and their status was crashing down all around them. The citadel, so vast and so potent, had been breached even before the town's wall was scaled. All that now guarded the great port of Tyarz was its garrison. No great wall, no outward-facing trebuchet now staved off the waves of foes that assailed the city. The walls had been abandoned. Not lightly - many a richly-clad Knight had met his death on those high buttresses. Rivers of blood flowed over the rim of the fortress; there was no more room for the invaders to pick their way through the piles of the dead.
If the battle were over the soldiers of both sides would be weeping bitterly for the unnumbered dead, but the hue and slaughter was without end. All about was the ring of steel, the heavy tread of weary armies surging in the streets, the baying of heathen and Crusader alike. No mindless slaughter of innocents here - the townfolk and merchants and monks had fled by ship as the siege wore on and help failed to come, day after day. All that were left were the wearily determined Knights. Misravic Brethren of the Sword fought side by side with the professional soldiers of the Cadenzan Republic, and even the foreign Order of the Dragon valiantly contested the narrow streets with the Azmiri horde that in serried ranks poured through the gaps they had torn in the walls.
Despite the heroic defence the Crusaders mounted here in the streets, Tyarz's doom had already befallen it. No matter how many defenders met their deaths here, the walls were down and the attackers were simply too many to be repulsed. Defeat was a certainty. All that was left to decide was how many of the heathen Azmiri met their deaths today on the ends of Cadenzan swords.
Few were more bitter at this upset than Saleb Resis, Order Master of the Knights of Saint Misrav in Azmir. From his citadel he had drafted plans of conquest and conversion; expeditions to subdue Marzisa or to return Laeryt to the fold would now all have to be shelved. The evangelisation of Azmir could not proceed while his order lacked a proper home in the province. As he forced his way through the melee, Resis plotted his revenge. Tyarz was lost for now, that much was clear. He could stand and do battle, and in the confines of the city the streets would run crimson with the blood of these heathens. Resis was not so short-sighted as to throw away his vengeance here, however. His time would come. If he had to bide his time for a year, so be it. If he had to move all his soldiers to Meqn, so be it. If he had to call on all of Christendom...
So be it. The Azmiri would get their Crusade.
Outside the walls of Tyarz, sat atop his bay horse, Periax II surveyed the ongoing siege with a critical gaze. Perhaps he was being reckless, sending so many fine men to their deaths, but the Crusader presence here had posed a mortal danger to his Azmir for years untold. Sorrow clutched at his heart to see so much blood spilled, but he steeled himself with the knowledge that victory at Tyarz would at last free his country of the poisonous influence of Cadenza and its missionaries.
Pillars of smoke climbed to the heavens as the Azmiri catapults continued to bombard the fortified city. A steady stream of fresh troops moved in through the ruptured circuit to replace those who had fallen in the attack. Arrows still flew from windows high in the citadel, but the ten thousand men all about the city promised Periax his victory today. If he could break Tyarz - and he would certainly break Tyarz - the other fortresses of the Cadenzan-held coast would fall one by one, and then only Meqn would be left, just as it had been over a century before. To think that all this success was owed to the Kur'zheti governor down at Savrit. That territory was another obstacle to be overcome, but for now let Governor Hriek think he had deceived Periax into removing his rival. The Marquises of Azmir were puppets to no man.
Behind the former walls of the great port city, a sail moved on its way out of the harbour. It would be one of the last to flee the burning city. Periax smiled to himself. His victory was at hand. Tyarz would be his.