(Elvarya Only) The Seminal Tragedy

[Germeria]

1619, a year of turmoil and misery. The Confederacy between the states of Germeria is threatening to break as religious and ethnic tensions escalate and splinter. In the north, reformists of the Lothrician faith grow worried and agitated as the fragile religious peace established by the Echsburg Treaty a hundred years before and maintained by successive emperors is threatened by a new emperor. And in the west and east, the various subject peoples conquered and ruled since Gwendur threaten to rebel and break away. Franz Albrecht von Winsdottem is elected emperor on the news of the death of the previous emperor, Maximillian von Drussel with only a small majority of electors, much to the anger and dismay of the reformist electors. An orthodox Lothrician, his ambition to create a single Lothrician empire puts many nobles on edge, reformist and orthodox both. Coronated the following week, many of the northern nobles protest and refuse to attend, and in the next month the emperor's steward, Gunther von Zähringen, is defenestrated from the royal palace in Pröge, in the kingdom of Bourhmen, of which Franz Albrecht is king despite the reformist nobility.

Raising the reformist noble Jiri z Vuskariya to kingship, they declare open rebellion against Franz Albrecht and his rule. Surrounding reformist nobles also rise up in support of Bourhmen, starting what would later be called, 'The Seminal Tragedy.'

Imperial Historian Wilhelm Diensdottir, The Seminal Tragedy; A Prelude To A United Nation, Prologue.

It was May 31st, 1619, in the ancient city of Worms and in the grand hall of the Imperial palace that news of every noble's fear reached the reigning emperor, Franz Albrecht von Winsdottem.

"Rebellion? Now, of all times? Well, the Bourhmeni aren't known for their great intellect, I suppose," said Franz, brooding on his throne. Littering the grand hall were the most powerful loyal lords and ladies of the empire, and many others of the nobility were scattered throughout the great palace.

"Jokes aside, your majesty, they can still host a large number of men. 30,000, if our estimates are correct," spoke an older man standing by the emperor. He was Alfred von Heidelberg, the Imperial Chancellor and advisor to Franz Albrecht. Franz grimaced, his face becoming more and more lined as the true scope of the situation became apparent to the court.

"And what of my vassals? The ones that are still loyal? Surely they can put up some amount of resistance."

"We've received word that the duke of Silesien and the counts Ragismunda and Kerling remain loyal, and between themselves can raise 15,000 troops, but all other news has been suppressed or intercepted." The advisor waited a second for the news to set in, not wishing to be in the path of the new emperor's wrath as he would most assuredly lash out.

"It seems that we're without friends in the kingdom."

"That's not all, your majesty," spoke a new voice. A man in battered and bloodied armor strode into the hall, one arm clutching his shoulder as he grimaced into a small, painful bow.

"Duke Alphonse! Tell me, why are you in such a state?" Questioned Franz.

"We received word of treacherous nobility before you did, sire, and after sending my own couriers to you I raised a host to pacify the rebels, but when we met them at the Weiß Mountain Pass they attacked, and we remained in stalemate for several days. My liege, the Dukes of Isenhoff and Drauen have turned traitor, having entered the battle on the side of the Bourhmeni and routed my forces. On the retreat back across the pass we were stalked by men wearing the sigil of the Prince-Elector of Sachsen, as well."

Franz remained stoic as the rest of the court broke out into worried whispers and murmurs at the sight of the duke and his news.

"Your majesty, with these new allies, the effective strength of the rebellion has effectively quadrupled," whispered Alfred to Franz.

"Can you give me a rough estimate?" replied Franz. Alfred mulled it over for a minute before responding.

"Nearly 100,000 would be conservative, your majesty. The emperor remained still, mulling over the information. He remained quiet like this for another minute before he mutely raised a hand to silence the court. Alfred tapped his ceremonial mace on the floor thrice, quickly and effectively quieting the nobles. Franz Albrecht rose from his throne.

"Then it seems we have no choice but to put down this rabble. They have shown no willingness for peace or negotiation and as the Dukes of Isenhoff and Drauen are leading the Evangelist Union, we can only assume that the other reformists back this rebellion. I call my loyal vassals to raise arms against this menace!" He looked around the hall for a moment before he spotted the portly Duke of Baiern, Friederich von Sundgau.

"Duke Sundgau! As the leader of the Orthodox League, I beseech you call in the league in defense of the true faith!" The duke said nothing but inclined his head in acknowledgment, the normal jolliness and merriment present in his face gone, replaced with a stern look of determination. Though portly, the duke was a veteran of many campaigns and border disputes along the Neroian border to the north.

"Your majesty! Let me, the Archduke of Osterrich Ferdinand von Aelstun, raise my blade and my armies in your defense! I can raise a mighty host of 32,000 men, my liege. Lend me leave to lead the offensive into Sachsen and confront my errant cousin, as well as defend my family's honor!" shouted a young mustached man. The current Archduke of Osterrich, Ferdinand was the third in line for the title of archduke, but fortune had apparently favored him when his older brother and sister died in battle against the Duke of Smolenksy of Nerodanus, and he had been christened only three months before hand when his father passed from grief, at the young age of 21. Ferdinand had drawn his blade and bent on his knee, one hand on his heart as he made his request. The emperor gave an approving nod at the display of loyalty.

"Very well, archduke. Should you succeed in this endeavor and pacify your cousin the Duke of Sachsen, then I will grant you the boon of being a Prince of the empire, able to take part in the Imperial Diet," proclaimed Franz. Ferdinand bowed his head in thanks before standing up and raising his blade high to the sky.

"Gott Schütze den Kaiser!" shouted Ferdinand.

"Gott Schütze den Kaiser!" proclaimed the rest of nobility in the hall.

It seemed Germeria would once again be embroiled in war.

(Note: A Helpful Map)

[Plyric]

*1 Hour after Grumhelwale Emergency counsel*

*In the King Study

*King Archfel is writing a letter to his son Canis, who's is supposedly in Germeria training under the Germerian King best soldiers. Archfel most trusted person Jans, the Commander of the High-guard, enters the Kings study.*

Jans: Sire, the counsel had been finished and that this may not please you.

Archfel: Did the doctor come yet to check me again?

Jans: Excuse me sire, a doctor? Didn't you get checked yesterday?

Archfel: My condition is worsening Jans, I sent for another doctor whom may have some answers that can ease my stress.

Jans: Sire, may I continue about what I was going to say?

Archfel: Go ahead, I know that my brother ins't supporting me anymore. But that's how the counsel work most of the time.

Jans: It's a lot more worse than you think, the voting had 8 to 4 in choosing a new heir. Canis isn't supported anymore, but I don't believe that they can't do much about it.

Archfel tries to get up from his desk, but shows signs of struggling. Jans runs over to help Archfel up and walk him over to his bedroom. Jans sits the King down on the bed and walks a few steps away.

Archfel: I'm too sick to rule over a kingdom, and with Germeria undergoing their civil war, I wish i can support them, but my son is all I can do.

Jans: Sire, you need Canis to return so that the succession to the throne is safe, Germeria can handle their war.

Archfel: I had promised Albrecht that I will support him if anything happens *Coughs*, I need some rest now, please leave me Jans.

Jans leaves the room and bumps into the Doctor that the king requested earlier.

Doctor:Sorry Sir, I didn't mean to bump into you, I was just rushing to check the King condition, before he naps.

The Doctor runs into the Kings room. Jans stands there and shakes his head.

Jans: Its a pity that our kingdom had come to this, Disorder when the king needs us the most. I'll have to find someone to bring the prince back safely without the kings order.

Jans walks out and walks towards Grumhelwale, hopefully he finds someone.

[Nerodanus]

Description: A rare image of the Tsarina in royal clothes. When at home the Tsarina preferred to wear outfits based of Neroian Generals, as to give a more legitamit appearance to those she met with as the first female ruler of Nerodanus. Rather many believed her to simply have an inferiority complex due to her short temper.

12 Hours following the Germerian Meeting
Evarstead, Nerodanus. 50 Miles north of the border with Germeria

Vera reached into her quiver and pulled out another arrow. Across the makeshift range set up in her camp a target was full of arrows. Around the target several birds laid dead, arrows sticking from them; the unfortunate animals who annoyed an already unhappy Tsarina. Releasing the arrow and watching it hit the target she continued to complain to her handmaiden Ana Czyken. "I just can't handle it. Why is it that every year I have to go to Germeria and meet with the Emperor? Our nations have been friendly forever and everyone knows it! Personally I think that Emperor is acting all noble when it comes to interacting with others! Nothing like his predecessor who anyone could tell was actually raised to behave in such a manner." Reaching into her quiver she let out a loud grunt as she found herself out of arrows. "Guardsmen bring me a matchlock! I want to try a gunpowder weapon!" She shouted before turning to give her visibly nervous handmaiden her full attention until her orders have been fulfilled.

Ana did not quite know what to think. For her this has been routine since the day she began work for the previous Tsar, Veras father Vlad Kuznetsov. "W-well..." She started off with a stutter. "Your highness the ancient tradition is a way of avoiding international war. Between Nerodanus and Germeria we are a power unlike any other right now. And they are one of the few Nations we speak to, given our ancient policy of... Whats the word? Isolation! Yes! Since we do not often interact with newer people it is best to keep friendly with those of old."

Vera nodded slowly as she was handed a matchlock. "Thank you ana. You are dismissed for the rest of the night." Ana gave the Tsarina a bow before taking her leave, leaving Vera to take a quick course and fire the matchlock rifle a few times before a messenger stopped her. Vera, though upset at the intrusion, listened to the messenger detail the outbreak of war between the Germerian Kingdoms. Pulling the trigger mechanisim of the gun and causing a misfire she shouted to the men of her camp. "Pack it up! We make haste for the City of Worms! Notify the army, have them set up for standby!"

This was going to be an unpleasant visit.

[Mithmyr]

It has been two years since Princess Anri's War over the religious depute between Princess Anri Courland and King Farron splitting the country in two. With neither side winning both leaders came together to resolve a truce. Wanting to keep Mithmyr intact, the Council of the Five Lords was established to keep both Catarinics and Vrucleuists pleased. Only a year after the war, a new form of Vrucleuism has sprung up, Sulyvahnty. The Council of the Five Lords now holds the following lords, Lord Farron Hantarth, a Vrucleuist, Lady Anri Courland, a Catarinic, Lord Andre Ludleth, a Sulyvahnist, Lady Maria Grey, a Vrucleuist, and Lord Vinheim Gerald, a Vrucleuist. Mithmyr appears to be finally stable and with it the Council of Five holds a session on the situation occurring in Germeria. At the break of a civil war, it would be a perfect opportunity to seize some territory or solidify relations with whichever side they aid should they prove to become victorious. The Council of Five now weighs their options.

Mythshade

The throne room, a magnificent room designed to show all five lords in all their glory without making one of them weaker. Five thrones sit around a circle with an engraving of a sun above a tree and a crow perched on a branch on the tree. The symbol represents the unity of the Myran faiths, the sun representing Vrucleuism, the tree representing the Order of Catarina, and the crow representing Sulyvahnty. The thrones of the Lords were all perched five feet from the ground to show their magnificence but also that the Lords were equal to one another.

"A territorial conquest would be beneficial. If there are Myrans that doubt our kingdoms strength a quick annexation of a few provinces in Germeria." said Lady Maria

"Why do speak about war when we have just ended one only two years ago? Mithmyr may be stable now but plunging ourselves into another war that doesn't concern us will bring us back to our knees." said Lord Andre

"I disagree. Your faith may disallow any violence but Mithmyr needs to project it's power. Our people need to be reminded of the capabilities that we have united." responded Lady Anri "However, while Germeria is falling into disarray there will be a winner in their war and I doubt that whoever wins will allow us to conquer a few of their provinces. Instead we should aid one side in their struggle so we will have ourselves a powerful ally in the future. Nerodanus will no doubt aid Emperor Franz but the rebellion appears to have a larger population on their side. Our spy's could be wrong but I would say aiding the rebellion would be our best choice."

"Aiding the rebellion will make Nerodanus an enemy. And if the rebellion fails we will have both Nerodanus and Germeria as enemies. We are taking too big of a chance here that will cost us if it fails which it most likely will. I doubt Razonica will stay out of this either, though we know not which side they will aid if any in that matter." said Lord Andre

"Then we will take a vote on the matter. For those with aiding Germeria's rebellion-" started Lady Anri before being interrupted

"Wait a moment. The war itself has yet to begin and we are prematurely planning which front to take on. The current conflict could diffuse itself and we still do not have enough information to truly weigh our choices. We should take time on the matter and wait for more updates on the current situation. Those in favor of doing so, raise your hand." said Lord Vinheim

Lord Vinheim, Lord Farron, and Lord Andre raises their hand. A long pause came after and the three put their hands down. "Very well it is decided then. Thomas! Come here!" said Vinheim

[Razonica]

People say that sometimes words are all it takes to start revolution. That is not true. Words inflame emotion. Forgotten emotion, pent-up anger. The common person is often held at bayonet-point and told to obey. She is told to accept lies and to be happy for a sub-standard. She is told to accept what is unacceptable. Revolution is started because people remember who they are and remember what they were without their chains...

Passion the Revolutions: Volume 5
Olimo Lumorin

Haemia,
Grand Razonican Empire

Solmar, the sun, began to rise, blocking the bigger moon, Luna. If one looked to the right more, and focused, they would see, smaller one Iallish. It was at this time that the emperor usually woke up. Each morning he rose with the sun. Emperor Paxid Doelin had broken tradition today. He was already up and had donned his silk alabaster white trousers and top. He continued to dress by slipping on his red vest, the one with the jade buttons. Just as his manservant came to get him up, he threw on his golden cape with a flick of the wrist. Indeed, many would consider this strange attire for the emperor. Rain or shine, holiday or ordinary, the Paxid always wore his Royal robes. Today, he had to dress quickly. He was needed to help decide, to choice if Razonica reacted to Germania. And it was solely his choice.

"Morning Kolepi" he said adsentmindedly as he walked right past the servant. The bewildered servant spun on his heels to watch the emperor jogging -at that age no less- towards the war room. To the emperor's credit, while he was sixty-seven, he made sure to never over eat or drink. He also did not lay idle for too long. Paxid was a religious man, or at least believed that keeping the body healthy and immaculate was a holy mission from theTwo. Paxid didn't make it half-way there before he began coughing. No made was perfect, he had suffered a terrible collapse nearly three years ago. Over doing things would be bad for him. The old emperor slowed a bit to ensure he did not topple over and leave the world before he even made this important choice.

Field Colonel Seliur Volandel glanced at the sky. The sun was just about up now. The emperor would be arriving within the hour. To his surprise, the emperor burst through the door. Volandel chuckled, he should have know better. The other military men looked totally taken aback. Paxid collected himself by taking a few deep breaths. No one dared to even comment. They were generals and admirals of this great man. His energy was something they admired, not laughed at or misused. Except a small few. And they were silent.


With a quick snap of the fingers a seat was pulled back from the table for the emperor. Paxid sat and said "Good morning. Please, enlighten me as to why a emergency meeting was called on Solmarday. I already know about Germania's unhappy circumstances." General Demtis answered swiftly "My siege, it not just that. It's civil war."

"War?" The emperor repeated, shock clear on his face. Demtis nodded and added "Their ruler is not liked. Some nobles have risen up and-." A loud voice, Count Falew, interrupted "We must end the rebels. No other way!" Paxid waved at the count dismissively and nodded at Demtis. The emperor seemed to age a bit, drained by the possibility of war. Demtis continued "We just don't know who to aid. If we help the rebels, revolution might rock our empire or at the very least we are called hypocrites. And they seem to be the majority in Germania. If we help the legitimate government, we still might have revolution inspired by them. Also, we isolate ourselves from any of their nobles."

The emperor paused for a time and said "Lets send an emassary to Germania while we decide. Perhaps we can get an idea to how other nations will react to this." General Repula shook his head "Inaction will be bad for us. We must act now." The old ruler shrugged "I want some facts first. Send an emissary."

[Germeria]

To my dearest Mathi,

It is with a heavy heart and great shame that I write this letter to you, though I suspect that by the time this arrives you'll have heard news of the battle. When news arrived at the Imperial court at Worms of a reformist uprising, as well as uplifting a usurper just to spite his imperial majesty, it took all my willpower not to leave the palace and travel to Bourhmen to throttle those rebels with my bare hands.

Fortunately the good Archduke von Aelstun voiced what we all were thinking that day. My father and myself volunteered our personal retinue and our services as commanders to whatever forces His Majesty could muster on such a short notice, as the Archduke would have to wait several weeks for his host to assemble in full. We left the capital with a force 8,000 strong and headed north to Pröge.

Despite being summer, it was cold. By God was it cold, Mathi. We spent two weeks passing through empty towns and deserted villages, through unplowed fields and empty storehouses. The only sign that anyone had lived here were the tracks and refuse left in the wake of their escape. Despite these ominous sights, the men were confident and spirits high. When word reached us from the scouts that Jiri and a few thousand of his paltry rebels, we thought the rebellion was done before it even started.

He's good Mathi, great even. Despite our superiority, he decimated us like we were squires in our first tourney. Our dead piled upon one another as the cold and Bourhmeni guns ate away at our forces. When we finally believed that a hole had formed in their defenses and they started to retreat, White Mountain erupted in an explosion of blackpowder and explosives, sending an enormous avalanche upon our army. I barely managed to escape the field with my life Mathi, and many others were not so fortunate. I believe now that he had intentionally baited us to White Mountain, with the intent to prove the resilience and might of his cause. Unfortunately, I have been captured, and I'm able to write to you only because of Vuskariya's leniency.

If you can, write to your sister in the capital and tell her to get word to the Emperor, however she can, and tell him; Do Not engage Jiri z Vuskariya in open combat, for it will be the death of us.

Your loving husband,
Heinrich.
-Letter from Heinrich von Nassau, Count of Nassau, to his wife Mathilde von Urlach, dated June 18th, three days after the Batle of White Mountain.

Landsknechte troops, popular mercenaries used before, during and after Jiri's Rebellion. Using a combination of pikes, gunpowder weapons and enormous zweihander swords, they were favored for their courage and effectiveness against cavalry and other pike formations.

A Bourhmeni wagon fort, used many times by the Bourhmeni to give them an edge against numerically superior foes. In the Battle of White Mountain, they would be essential to Jiri z Vuskariya's victory against Imperial forces.

June 15th, 1619
Five miles north of White Mountain Pass

The tavern was quiet as the small group of men hurriedly shuffled in, taking a mall breath of relief as the icy cold dawn winds were blocked by thick walls. Discarding their winter cloaks they quickly went about lighting the small fireplace and warming up. The five men gathered around a dining table in the center of the room, quietly taking their seats. Jiri knew these men well, all of them having fought with one another in the multiple border disputes to the north.

The first man to sit was Wilhelm von Ulracht, the duke of Urlacht and perhaps the oldest among them all, being just shy of 49 years. He had supervised the training of all the others here when they were young and was a dependable, and most importantly, loyal, commander. To his right and Jiri's left was Albrecht Dunderlien, who aside from Jiri himself probably had the most to lose. He was the mayor of Verdin, one of the many Free Cities of the empire and under the direct authority and protection of the emperor. Despite that, he was a reformist and was the first one to proclaim Jiri as King of Bourhmen. Next was Kaspar z Chelmno, Baron of Chelmno and Jiri's childhood friend as well as the one supplying the most men at White Mountain. He gave a nod to Jiri when he sat, seemingly unaffected by the cold. And finally, across from Jiri himself was Willem di Savoyardi, Duke of Savoyardi and the only non Reformist among them as well as the only southern noble at White Mountain, if not the entire rebellion. He was also the youngest and only untested commander in the group. When everyone was seated, Jiri gently pounded the table twice to gather the men's attention.

"Gentlemen, friends, it is good to see that all of you have arrived safely and in good time," he began.

"By God this snow is hellishly dangerous. I almost lost fifty men from one storm alone!" complained di Savoyardi, trying to both keep his attention at the table as well as warm his hands at the fire. Kaspar laughed in amusement at the man's complaint, shaking the remaining snow from his outfit.

"You southerners wouldn't know a dangerous winter if it blew your knickers from under you," he taunted, Albrecht chuckling as well. Only Jiri and Wilhelm remained stoic. Jiri raised his hand for silence.

"Now now Kaspar, be easy with our friend from the south. Sir Savoyardi is not used to the cold weather like we are." Jiri paused, taking a second to rub his hands together.

"Though winter is taking it's time to disappear this year, it seems." It was a strange time indeed when just before summer an intense series of storms from the Szechy Mountain range rolled down into Bouhrmen, blanketing the countryside with snow and freezing the air. Jiri had immediately ordered his men to move the peasantry and other subjects of his north of Pröge, as well as taking any food and supplies that they could carry. Anything else would be burned, in an attempt to starve the enemy.

"Winter or no, it matters not. What of our battle plan? It seems our bait has worked a little too well, if the speed at which Nassau's forces are anything to judge," spoke Wilhelm, jolting Jiri out of his thoughts.

"I've planned for just such a situation, Ulracht. As you all know, White Mountain Pass is the only to safely get to Pröge, and is a natural chokepoint." Jiri pulled out a map, detailed with the positions and planned maneuvers of their troops.

"Nassau and his men will come from the south and will likely start their assault at the village of Vduny, here," he pointed to a small square on the map.

"To their left will be the Szechy mountains, and to their right will be the mighty Volskur river."

"I've had 100 of my men working day and night for a week to keep breaking any ice that shows on the river, so their troops won't be able to traverse it." The mayor spoke, deciding to share his piece in the plan personally. Jiri gave him a slight nod in gratitude before continuing.

"Vduny lies on an high hilltop, giving the Imperials an advantage in sight. We'll use this to our advantage and goad them into attacking by hiding our numbers. We will draw them into the depression below, where Kaspar will put in the most resistance. Kaspar, if you will," he said, motioning with one hand to his friend. Kaspar sat up in his chair, now giving his full attention to the discussion.

"I have 1,500 matchlocks and pikemen here at the pass, because of the heavy forestry near the river and the mountainside slopes, my matchlocks will take cover in their wagon forts, which will be spread in a single file line. The pikemen will shore up any gaps in the defenses."

"Kaspar will have his troops put a stiff resistance at first, but will then gradually move them back as if they were given the order to retreat. Once they are in the center of the depression, we-"

"Will order my 500 hussars to leave from their hiding spots and hammer into their rear, correct?" Said Willem. Jiri bit down his irritation at the duke.

"Yes. The duke's hussars will smash them, in a hammer and anvil tactic, before making a hasty retreat to Vduny. Should our plan work, there shouldn't be any many reserves, if at all, to hinder your escape. From there, di Savoyardi's men will head south and meet with local militia's and retinues before making their way through the pass again to Pröge."

"But what of the Imperials? Surely we can't expect them to surrender with no enemy at their backs," spoke the mayor. At this, Jiri grinned. Wilhelm cleared his throat, intending to explain his part.

"That's where my men and I come in, I believe. Because of the recent storms the mountains are packed with an unusually large amount of snow. By placing powder charges at a high enough position on the mountain and at several fissure points, I believe we can create a controlled avalanche and landslide that would fill the depression below Vduny, and hopefully take most of the imperial forces along with it." He paused a moment to let his statement sink in.

"I've already selected a company of experienced mountaineers and engineers, as well as artillerymen. When given the signal by King Vuskariya, they will light the fuse trail as well as launch several rockets to light the kegs. From there, they will attempt an escape down the mountain towards our side of the pass. They already know the risks." Throughout his speaking the faces of the other men aside from Jiri grew progressively more and more shocked, and finally morphed into disbelief.

"That's absurd! It'll never work!"

"We should focus on actual strategy, not fantasy!" Jiri raised his hand again to silence them, and they begrudgingly complied.

"Gentlemen, please. I've planned this out multiple times with Sir Ulracht and we've come to the conclusion that this plan will not only crush the majority of Imperial forces in Bourhmen, it will also block access through the Pass long enough for the other league members to arrive. I don't have to remind you all that the closest member, the Elector Sachsen is still two weeks away from Pröge." He stopped and looked each man in the eyes, his face remaining deathly calm.

"Now then, can I trust all of you to side with me in the battle? Once we commit, there's no going back; It is either victory or death for us." Wilhelm was the first to respond, nodding his head once, and then Kaspar and Albrecht as well.

"I don't trust this plan of yours, Vuskariya," said Willem.

"But, I'll do anything to bring that brat von Aelstun to heel," he finished.

"Family dispute?" said Albrecht with a hint of curiosity.

"Something of the sort," hissed Willem. Deciding not to anger his fellow noble, Jiri raised his mug high and stood from his seat.

"For Bourhmen and the Reformer League!"

"For Bouhrmen and the Reformer League!" cried the others. As they toasted, a knock was heard at the door. Jiri opened the door, revealing a scout, face red from the cold and panting.

"Your Majesty! The enemy's been spotted sir, wearing Nassau's colors. They're just south of Vduny!"

"Good job son, now go to camp and get some rest. King's orders," replied Jiri, clapping the young soldier on the shoulder. The soldier gave a half-hearted bow, before sitting down and resting a short while away from the tavern. Jiri returned to the table and grabbed his cloak, putting it on. Stopping before the exit, he turned towards the men.

"Well then, it seems we have a battle to win."
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Imperial camp, village of Vduny

The morning sun glinted off the various pieces of Heinrich's armor, with his family's black and gold lion proudly on display on his uniform. He sat at the head of their reserve force, four hundred caracole cavalry and one hundred lancer cavalry, waiting at the top of the hill where Vduny stood, ready to ride down from their position to come to the aid of the rest of the army when the battle started. He fidgeted with his snaphaunce pistol as he waited for his father to announce the attack, checking to make sure the mechanism functioned properly. The caracole cavalry that his family was famous for wouldn't help them on the field today he wagered; and it seemed his father Reinhardt agreed, keeping them, and Heinrich, in the reserve force, instead focusing on the infantry and mercenary troops.

Not that Heinrich minded being in the reserve. It was not that he was want of courage, he had fought and trained himself on the border, but instead was that although he and his father were incensed at the uprising they weren't foolhardy. The strength behind caracole cavalry was the rotating gallop- A maneuver where cavalry armed with pistols would get close to the enemy line and fire their shot before galloping off to reload. This would be repeated several times in a short time by splitting up the cavalry into smaller units, but with the wagonforts spread across the depression he doubted they would do much aside from waste valuable manpower. Confident with his inspection he pocketed his pistol and checked his armor straps.

It was a quick check-up, the only armor that he and most of his fellow caracoles wore being the pauldrons and thigh plates to protect their limbs during their gallop, as well as the burgonet helm currently on his lap. Aside from those he was completely unarmored, only wearing a buff coat and thick breeches. He was distracted from his observations when he heard Reinhardt call for him.

"Are you ready to end this so-called rebellion?" asked Reinhardt. In contrast to Heinrich, Reinhardt had considerably more armor, fitting for the heavy cavalry he was leading. His entire body was covered head-to-toe in modest plate armor, only his face showing through his open face plate.

"Of course father," he replied crisply. He tried not to fidget as he sneaked a glance away from the village, back towards his family's domain. His father smiled at him, clapping him hard on his back.

"Worried about something?" he said, pausing slightly.

"Or should I say, someone?" Heinrich turned back to his father, his face pensive.

"It's just that Mathi is with child. I can't help but worry about them if we lose here. Does Vuskariya go for the capital or does he wait here? Do the other nations come to our aid or our detriment?" Dark thoughts continued to enter Heinrich's mind, his mouth firing off fears faster than he could think them.

"What if I die? What if she dies? Wha-" Heinrich's rant was cut off as his father let out a rambunctious laugh, once again clapping Heinrich, this time nearly throwing him from his horse at the unexpected force.

"Heinrich my boy, you don't know how much it gladdens me that you and Mathilde have grown to care for one another. I can still remember when you two first met, with all the arguing you two had I thought it was a miracle that your house was still standing."

Heinrich blushed slightly in embarrassment as his father brought up the couple's old issues. True, it had taken a while for the tow of them to come to terms with their arranged marriage, but in the end Heinrich couldn't say he was unhappy with how it turned out. He stopped his musings when he saw a trio by themselves, obviously foreign and mulling over maps or otherwise idling the time away.

"I see the Razonican delegation is still skulking about," he said distastefully. Reinhardt only sighed as he glanced over at the envoy, his previous joy fading quickly.

"Well, someone has to deal with them, and we'd be in two wars if I left you alone with them for more than a day," his father replied wearily.

"They involve themselves in affairs that do not concern them and intwine themselves in matters they don't understand. Aside from that, they're only getting in the way and distracting us by being here," Heinrich replied curtly.

"And what of Nerodanus? If the rumors are true the Tsaritsa herself has pledged troops to support His Majesty in this struggle. Would we be better of with them as well?" Reinhardt questioned.

"Of course!" replied Heinrich without hesitation.

"We've both fought at the border father. You even fought at Torino! You know the threat they pose!" he said, barely restraining himself from yelling. At his tent, the envoy turned his head towards the commotion. Reinhardt waved him off and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You weren't at Torino, Heinrich! You didn't see the field after the battle, with fifty thousand men dead or dying in the grass. And you weren't at Sorobina either, where the Razonican army smashed the steppe hordes of Aldes in one battle. This battle is the decisive factor for whether or not the Razonicans enter on the side of his majesty or on the side of the traitor," Reinhardt snapped, a ferocious and unsettling look on his face. Heinrich couldn't speak, too shocked at the combination of the rare sign of his father losing his temper and the new information rendering him mute. Reinhardt seemed to comprehend his lapse in self-control and let in a deep breath, settling himself.

"You don't know how one battle can lead to a series of unstoppable tragedy, Heinrich. And for yours and Mathilde's sake, I hope you never do." Reinhardt's voice was low, filled with a tiredness and fatigue that seemed to infect the rest of Reinhardt, and even a quick glance would show the slumped shoulders of the Imperial commander. Reinhardt turned his horse around and rode for the front of the army.

"Stay here and secure our rear Heinrich. And for God's sake, try not to murder the envoy!" he called back, quickly becoming lost in the sea of men. Heinrich could only give a quick huff, mulling over the information his father had inadvertently revealed. Shortly afterwards, the drummers and bugles began to play out commands, and the great swarm that made up the Imperial Army began to move, each unit slowly shuffling down the hill.

He could hear movement from behind him and bit down his irritation at seeing the envoy and his two guards appear beside him. The envoy himself was plain in appearance, but extravagant in dress, though it was hidden slightly by the borrowed cloak. His clothes were of the finest make and had gold embroideries running along the length of it. His cuffs were encrusted with various gemstones and he wore a gold necklace fitted with an amethyst stone in the center. Both of his guards held banners in their hands, split in half with two separate coat of arms, one being the personal coat of arms of the Razonican emperor and the other being what was presumedly the envoy's personal coat of arms, though Heinrich couldn't place where in Razonica it came from.

"It seems your emperor is very generous in his patronage," Heinrich said. To his credit, he didn't sound too irritated. If the envoy noticed though he didn't show it, instead merely dipping his head in acknowledgement.

"His Imperial Highness prefers his envoys show the best of what our nation has to offer." He paused to wipe a stray amount of snow off his cloak, staring at the flake with mild disinterest.

"Though it seems your...Kaiser, was it? It seems he doesn't share the same sense of grandeur. Or the same sense of duty it seems, seeing as he isn't here to lead his own host. I was quite disappointed to have rode so far and fast only to find that he was hiding in his palace." Heinrich tightened his grip on his reins, the leather groaning loudly in the cold air.

"Hopefully my colleague at Worms will have a more...fruitful endeavor."

"His Majesty is more concerned about the welfare of his subjects and the prosperity of his realm than on what others think of our diplomats," Heinrich started. He took a breath to calm himself, loosening his grip slightly.

"And he trusts his vassals to carry out his commands swiftly and efficiently while he organizes his host at the capital. He knows we'll defeat the upstart," he finished, hoping slightly that his voice was polite as he imagined in his head.

"We shall see, won't we?"

With that, the envoy trotted off to another vantage point, his guards faithfully following behind him. Heinrich huffed and muttered curses under his breath.

The sooner they won the battle and that man was gone, the better.
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White Mountain Depression, Kingdom of Bouhrmen

Reinhardt von Nassau sighed as he surveyed the Reformist defensive line ahead of him. They had easily spotted the large makeshift wall at Vduny, and had also easily spotted the much smaller enemy camp from their vantage point. The wagon forts on their own were difficult enough, easily able to double the effective strength of any defensive force, and with the added complication of the white mountains, their only chance to break through to Pröge lie through the line.

He had briefly thought over the merits of flanking through the Schwerwald Forest on the riverfront, but had dismissed the idea. The forest was notorious for its difficult and uneven terrain, and any unit sent in would be slaughtered by any hidden archery or skirmishing force sent by the Reformists. And the river had seemed to defy the cold weather and remained filled with broken ice, unable to be traversed. Though, it would be just as difficult for the enemy to attack as well, especially since his scouts had informed him that they had caught Vuskariya's army relatively unaware.

He turned his attention back to the wagon forts, watching passively as lines of Landsknechten tried to assail the line. Their huge zweihänder swords, easily 5 feet long and some even longer, were excellent choices for the assault, able to swat away the pikemen behind the wagons who tried to stab at the units as well as being able to have multiple ranks attack simultaneously.

Though try as they might, they weren't able to handle the matchlock infantry in the wagons themselves, who took precise and careful shots at the Landsknechten, their brightly colored uniforms marking where their bodies fell. Grenadiers were ordered to the front, lobbing their black balls of smoke and destruction at the wagons to no avail.

It seemed that no matter what they tried, the wagons stayed. One group of mercenaries managed to get within pushing distance of a wagon, but despite the strength of five men it barely budged. Reinhardt would stake his saber that they had weighed down the wagons with as much material that could be spared. Two hours passed, and as morning began to transition to midday the line hadn't budged, and men continued to pile upon one another in the depression.

He prided himself on his prowess as a rider and cavalry commander, and was able to say without a hint of hubris that he was widely acknowledged as one of the premier cavalry tacticians in the empire, The White Knight of Torino, but even he knew when an era had passed. He could feel it in the wind, as chilling as the cold wind of the Bouhrmeni winters. The age of cavalry and of equestrian domination of the battlefield had ended. It was merely a whisper in the air at Sorobina when the Razonican infantry dealt a crushing blow on the steppe horders in eastern Aldes, and became a nagging thought, tugging at the back of his mind at Torino, where the day was won not by cavalry dominating the fields, but by infantry squares, repelling cavalry, Neroian and Germerian alike.

This battle would merely cement what had already been happening. But Reinhardt wasn't The White Knight for nothing. He had a role to play, that of an unstoppable hammer to crush the enemy and break their spirit, and he would play it to perfection, even if the cost was his life. He waited for a chance to break though, and was rewarded not long afterwards, as a grenadier managed to lob a grenade into a wagon, splintering it apart and killing the pikemen behind it.

He motioned to his retinue behind him, grabbing his lance from his squire. The buglers blew out a command, and the mercenary blob which had formed on the field parted for the cavalry.

"For the Kaiser!" He shouted raising his lance into the air as he galloped towards the breach. The Reformists heard the battle cry and quickly tried to plug the hole in the defenses, but it was too late as Reinhardt and his fellow cavalry plunged into them, lances piercing gambesons and cuirasses alike.

Despite their fierce resistance earlier in the day, the remaining troops fled, leaping out of their wagons and dropping their guns, fleeing from the rush of enemy soldiers. He left his lance in the body of the solider he impaled and instead drew his saber, slowing to a trot and took stabs at the few remaining soldiers who had yet to retreat.

Just as he finished another soldier, he heard a horn sound across the battlefield. Not unusual, but he felt dread pool at his feet when he failed to recognize to whom the bugler belonged to. His feeling of dread turned into shock as what seemed to be hundreds of hussars appeared out of the forest, charging into his rear flank.

Even from his position halfway across the depression he could see his reserve forces begin their relief charge from the hilltop, smashing into the hussars. This didn't seem to deter them though, and he could see his rear be continuously be pushed forward towards the empty wagons. He turned around to face the front once more, anticipating a charge to smash them in between the two forces, but none came. Instead on the road leading to the opposite pass were what seemed to be dozens of obstacles and barricades. He galloped forward, only for his to rear itself and nearly send him flying.

He calmed his horse and righted himself, and inspected the ground at his horses hoof.

"Caltrops," he muttered. Before he could warn his men and begin to plan retaliation, a boom was heard in the depression. Looking up, he saw the remnants of a firework quickly dissipate, followed closely by two more fireworks. He looked back and saw the enemy hussars retreat, breaking through his reserve forces. The realization dawned on him that this battle was a trap, bait to lure in his forces. But why force them in if they weren't going to take advantage of their envelopment?

His musings were cut short as a series of explosions on the mountain drew his attention, seemingly stopping the rest of his forces as well. He, and the rest of his men, could only stare in horror as an avalanche that seemingly spanned the length of the depression rolled down the mountain. Reinhardt stopped his horse and patted it softly as the white cloud swallowed him whole.
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White Mountain Pass, just outside of Vduny

Heinrich was blade to blade with an hussar when the first explosion was heard. The both of them were startled, nearly falling from their rearing horses. The hussar recovered quickly, bringing his sword to bear for a finishing stab. But Heinrich was faster, slashing the hussars arm and watching in satisfaction as the sword dropped from his hands. He slashed once more with his saber, cutting deep into the man's chest and he fell from his horse.

Heinrich looked around the depression for the source of the explosion when two more were heard. He quickly spotted them across the field, near the opposite pass where the remainder of the Reformist army was fleeing to you. Around him, the other hussars broke off from their skirmishes, dashing away in between startled lancers and caracoles, making a mad break for Vduny. Before Heinrich had a chance to order his men to follow, multiple explosions ringed his ears.

He grasped at his helmet and threw it at the ground, clutching at his left ear, which faced the mountain side. Looking up, he watched in dim realization and dawning horror as an avalanche and landslide slid down the mountain, ready to bury them all. He quickly regained his wits and started galloping back towards Vduny.

"Retreat! Retreat! Back to Vduny!" he yelled, raising his sword in the air. A few of the men came to the same conclusion as he did and made for the same direction he did, but many stood still in shock. He paid them no heed as he eventually stopped his yells and instead rode harder for the safety of Vduny.

"Damn you, faster! Come on, faster you damn animal!" he cried, pushing his steed harder and harder. Behind him he could hear the avalanche crash into the depression and he risked a glance back. The entire depression was filling with snow, covering the deepest part and the Schwerwald Forest and heading towards the river. Unfortunately for him and the rest of the reserve force, it was also heading towards him and the hill side, becoming ever larger and closer.

He continued pushing his horse, snapping his reins as he tried to outrun the white wall. He could see the crest of the hill and pushed his horse to the absolute limit, ignoring the horse's whinnied protests. Just as he was about to go over the crest he heard screams from behind and turned in time for his vision to be filled with white.
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It was cold.

It was cold, and dark.

That was all that registered in the mind of Heinrich von Nassau, as he slowly came to consciousness. He woke up slowly, and with great effort, but wake up he did, surrounded by snow and buried in it from chest down. He tried to look around, only to strain his neck.

Oh. He was lying down. Now his mind was finally throwing off the vestiges off unconsciousness, and he tried to move his arm. Once, twice, three times and his arm broke free, the snow being less tough than he feared. At least something was going his way.

He went to work getting his other free, and then his legs. Before long he had managed to drag himself out of the snow mound and into the open air. Slowly, he propped himself on his arms and then onto his feet. He shivered in the cold air and wrapped his arms around him to get at least a semblance of warmth.

He looked around where he was trying to get his bearings. Behind him was the snow mound where he was buried, and on either side were tall peaks. In front of him were semi-buried houses. Ah, he was at Vduny. Though, he didn't remember reaching Vduny before the avalanche got him.

So it must have carried him over the crest then. Which meant that mound packed in the southern pass, effectively blocking the only direct route from Imperial territory into Pröge.

"Smart man, that rebel," he whispered. He checked himself over before he left. His coat was mostly intact, and had kept most of the snow from covering his body. His sword was nowhere to be found, but his snaphaunce pistol was still tucked in his belt, miraculously intact. He checked the pan and cursed. No powder. He threw the pistol and started making his way through the village.

Every movement made him want to collapse and lay there, but Heinrich fought through the pain and made his way through, passing empty huts and shacks. Eventually, he found his way to the village center, and sat down at the well in the center, closing his eyes.

He stayed like this for a few minutes before he heard the thunder of hooves enter the town. His eyes snapped open and he quickly got to his feet, only to curse as pain shot through his side. He looked around for someplace to hide but found none, and instead stood at the well as several hussars entered the town center. They seemed surprised at first but quickly overcame it, drawing their sabers and circling him. Before long, a dozen militia came into the town center as well, holding weapons ranging from pikes to farming equipment.

His attention was grabbed by another horseman entering the square. He was different from the other hussars, wearing a full suit of mail armor, covered by an old-fashioned surcoat. On the surcoat was heraldry, a white cross on a red background, with each corner having a white fleur-de-lis. The horseman opened his visor, showing a young bearded man with dark hair.

"Well, what do we have here men? A straggler making his way from the battle?" His voice held a hint of merriment, but the air remained tense. The hussars remained stoic-bordering-on-pensive, and the militia were nervous, eager to leave. The horseman circled around Heinrich, eyeing him with interest.

"And not only a straggler, a noble as well! Well, far be it for me to not greet a fellow noble, especially one as important as Heinrich von Nassau," he mocked.

"I am Willem di Savoyardi, Duke of Savoyardi," he said, giving a flourished bow from his horse.

"Savoyardi?" rasped Heinrich, gaping at the man slightly.

"You turned traitor?" The duke merely shrugged.

"It was nothing personal against His Majesty, but I saw an opportunity to deal to old rival, and I couldn't pass it up," he said.

"I can't believe it. You'd risk triggering a civil war and the destruction of the empire for your petty feud with the von Aelstuns?" Heinrich said in disbelief.

"You already killed the archduke's sister and brother, no matter what you say otherwise. You left them on the field, checked their ambitions in court-"

"It's not enough!" he roared. The duke stopped, breathing hard as he clenched his fist.

"It won't be enough until they're dead. All of them. Honor demands it." Willem stared off, seemingly in his own world. Then he snapped out of it, returning his attention back to Heinrich.

"And what will we do with you? It's a long journey back to Pröge, and with the defeat here I doubt any of your relatives would pay ransom, if they even can."

"I say we kill him here and leave him for wolves," said one of the hussars. Another shook his head.

"No, if we're going to kill him we should strangle him and hide his body in the snow, make it seem like he suffocated."

"Aye, if anyone knew we killed a noble after battle we'd lose support, be seen as being scum and bandits," spoke another. Before they could continue talking another voice spoke up, cutting through the wintry air.

"I believe I can solve your dilemma, if you'd let me." The Razonican envoy, said walking his down into the square. His two bodyguards were by him, hands on their hilts, but with no weapons drawn.

"Who're you?" he demanded.

"I'm an envoy of His Imperial Highness, the Emperor of Razonica. I came here to survey the situation with the Kaiser, but now it seems I should consider talking to your leader." Replied the envoy. Savoyardi seemed perplexed, but held a hand up. His men lowered their weapons.

"If you've a solution, I'm open to hearing it." The envoy nodded in thanks before he spoke.

"If I may be so bold, Sir Duke you are wrong about Herr Nassau's ransom." Willem raised an eyebrow, but bid the envoy to continue.

"I believe it is most probable that Duke Nassau, Reinhardt von Nassau, is dead. From my vantage on the hilltop, the duke was at the far end of the pass, and would be among one of the first in the path."

"Yes, yes, very astute. Get on with your point," interrupted Willem with a wave of his hand. The envoy looked to have bit back a retort, but smiled slightly.

"My point is, this means that the Count is now the Duke of Nassau, and by Germerian ducal laws the spouse of the noble in question has authority over all assets in the case of a ransom or regency." At that, Willem's eyes gleaned, and he stroked his beard, deep in thought. After a minute of silence, he nodded.

"Very well, he'll come with us. Come on let's move!" Willem leaned in from his horse and stared at Heinrich.

"Well, well, it seems you've made a new friend, duke." At that he rode off, heading to the front of the group. One of the hussars tied Heinrich's hands together with rope and was about to tie it to his saddle when the envoy appeared beside him, holding up a hand.

"I'll take that, if you don't mind. It's not like you'll have to worry about me running off, after all." The hussar looked to the Duke who nodded. Shrugging, he gave rope to the envoy, who fastened it to his saddle. Heinrich walked behind the horse, the rope dragging him whenever he was a moment out of sync with the horse's gait.

"Why'd you help me?" He said finally, rasping out the question. The envoy, gave him an amused glance from behind, never turning his head.

"Because, my good Duke, I like to take an interest in things that don't concern me and which I don't understand. Consider this a favor, one that I'll be sure to call in."

With that he remained silent, and the group started the long trek to Pröge.

[Mithmyr]

Mythshade

"Our spies report the Germerian rebels won a decisive victory against Gemerian forces. The rebels used explosives to cause an avalanche effectively wiping the Germerian forces. Nerodanus has not come to aid Germeria yet and our spies spotted Razonican envoys observing the battle." said Thomas the steward of Lord Farron

"Well I think it's time we take our vote all in favor of aiding Germeria against the rebels raise their hand." said Lord Farron

Not one hand was raised.

"All in favor of aiding the Germerian rebels raise your hand." said Lord Farron

All Lords rose their hand except Lord Andre.

"very well it is settled. Send word to the leader of these rebels we will send troops to aid them." said Lord Farron to Thomas

[Vacroaye]

Port of Halmar

"I am telling you brother the civil war in Germeria is a perfect opportunity to find some work. Both sides need a reliable source of manpower and I'm sure either side would agree to have extra soldiers with them." said Alhash the owner of the largest Vacroayean mercenary company

"Fine fine, I'm just worried we'll lose too many men in this war." said Hymid, Alhash's brother the the co-owner of the company

"The more men we lose, the less wages we pay." said Alhash a bit too cheerfully "Tell Einsair to make way to Germeria, have him aid the side that first employs him." said Alhash to a servant

Ustoic Sea

Four ships hodling around 867 Vacroayean mercenaries headed towards Germeria led by General Einsair. Einsair, a veteran of the Vacroayean military found himself as a mercenary due to the lack of wars in Vacroaye. Einsair sent two letters, one to Germerian rebels and the other to Germerian loyalists.

[Nerodanus]

Empress's Convoy enroute to Germerian Capital

A copy of the letter sent from the Tsarina to General Anatoly, who was in charge of the troops that prevented a Germerian Spillover along the Neroian-Rebel border.


General,

Take 75,000 soldiers, their make up can be of your choosing and invade the Rebel Held territory to our south. Advance forward and dig in, wait for the rebels to attack you. I will be making my way to the Captial to speak with the Emperor on what to do next. Send word to the other generals to have soldiers all over the empire be ready, and send word to the dry docks to get the Navy ready within a week.

Tsarina Vera

Vera watched as the Courier rode off with her letter, leaning back into the cart that carried her along she closed the curtains it had and slowly undid the top portion of her dress and began to slide out of it. Reaching into the container opposite of her she pulled out her own General Uniform. Fully removing her dress she got into her Uniform and began to adjust it appropriately, strapped a knife to her side. and looked out as the city Aelstun began to appear in the distance.

[Razonica]

It was an interesting choice. Sending that woman to represent Razonica was probably seen as a slap to the face. Some argue that Emperor Paxid had no desire to help the monarch and sent "The Lady of Soronia" as an insult. Others argue Emperor Paxid was the only one trying to help the monarch and hoped a woman would be cool-headed and now how to react to constant changes without taking violent or rash actions. It is impossible to tell what our ancestors were thinking.

Worms,
Germenia

If it were up to her, she would have chosen Field Colonel Seliur Volandel. Hersea Halbeck walked with four armed guards. The two at the front were armed with matchlock firearms. In Hersea's opinion, the damned things were not worth the trouble. They were big and loud and often she told her guards to abandon them for lighter crossbows. Her guards, Sordarm and Rone, would pay no attention to her complains. Sordarm was as handsome as he was headstrong. A curved mustache sat on his lip like a crown and his golden locks fell to his shoulders. Rone was less handsome but he wasn't ugly. It was the gash that did it. Rone took a blade in a battle Hersea never heard of. The blade cut Rone's forehead, cheek, and even part of his ear. Her guards would argue that nothing punched through armor like a firearm and treasured their guns like young wives would their babes. Hersea thought that if a knight of Germenia really were to charge them now, the two young guards would not even have enough time to aim their bloody firearms before a lance was through her throat. Still, having the men with their green and gold colored steel breastplates made her feel a bit better.

Behind her were two men armed with pikes. Baragen and Alagren were just as young as Sordarm and Rone. They wore no breastplates, instead they had some mail and leather. They were wore bright green and gold shirts and leggings under the mail and leather. The most astounding thing about them were their striped green and gold cloaks. They were pure silk and made it easy for their arms to fly up in defense of the Lady Halbeck at a moments notice. She wanted them in front, but the emperor wanted the matchlocks in front to convey the power and scientific genius of the empire. Or perhaps Emperor Paxid just hated her.

While the men were impress to behold, Hersea was the real eye-grabbed. A ginger beauty of the northern tips of the empire (but below the savage Razma women) with hypnotizing sea green eyes. Her frame was petite and would be breathtaking if it could be see. It couldn't. Hersea Halbeck wasn't a court lady, she wore the armor of an imperial knight. Like Rone and Sordarm's breastplates, her plate-and-chain was also green and golden. A bright plume of blue and red feathers from a topic bird from the far south of the empire adorned her helm. The helm resembled a unicorn, the sigil of the Halbecks. The white helm even had a two inch tall "horn" of twisted silver. Hersea had been at Sorobina and had seen the pikes and halberds of Razonica unhorse the finest of Nerodanus and Germenia. It had been Hersea who had impalded first horse that tried to get pass the shield wall. She was a lass then, fourteen years old, but a grown woman now. At Sorobina, her horse had been lain and she had been knocked off by the pikemen. Rather than flee back to the other knights and nobles, Hersea joined the peasantry and helped crush the enemy. Her helm could be in the front lines of that formation. In fact, she was nicknamed "Lady of Sorobina" or "She-Knight of Sorobina" Simply said, she probably shouldn't be walking into the Germenian capital right now.

Hersea beamed at the palace guards and spoke in their tongue. "I'm here to attend my audience with the emperor. I shall leave my sword and guards outside the throne room if his Majesty wishes but only if he too is unarmed and guard-less. Otherwise, I shall ask permission to have my pikemen with me."

"Take the pikes." one replied gruffly.

Hersea lead Baragen and Alagren into the tall, sparkling, and foreign palace. In the main hall, columns were engraved with victories and noble soldiers and rulers. There were also heavy tapestries of mountains and rivers. There was a plain with dense green grass, perfect to hide sharpened staves to keep out mounted swords and lances. Upon closer inspection, Hersea realized that it was one scene made of many tapestries. It depicted the very place she had earned her nickname from, long before she fought at it however. It was no wonder it looked so familiar to her.

When she reached the throne room, Hersea removed her helmet, allowing her fiery hair to be more visible. Her hair was long enough that it could touch the lower tips of her shoulder blades, but she had it in a close braid that stuck a few inches out the back of her helm. Without the helmet, the sheer amount of skill to tame that much hair could be truly respected. That is, if one wasn't so hung up over the warrior it belonged to. Rumors said that Hersea's fire hair was the only thing about her that could be tamed. After all, she was nearly thirty-four and no husband could be found for her. The closest match-in-the-making was sixteen year old Tarni Davenpelu. People said that Hersea preferred the quiet and shy boy over the other men who tried to win her because he didn't try to calm dominance, but none could really say. Some ruder voices claimed that she would only mount a real unicorn.

The Lady of Soronia bowed her head to the Germenian emperor, noticing that there were not as many nobles as she expected to see. Perhaps the rebels really had the majority of the nobility. In that case, Hersea wondered, was it wise to support an unpopular ruler? Lady Halbeck did not bow her head long, only enough to be respectful, and then looked the emperor in the eyes. In Razonica, no one bowed to anyone but their superior. Another thing Hersea felt she shouldn't have been chosen for, she was prideful. The Two help her, but she really was a bitch when it came to her pride. Another reason why the nobility tried to pair her with a boy. A grown man would insult her pride before the chap could even pull out her chair. Hersea found Tarni's flaws forgivable because he was young. But she could not forgive older men when they tried to be "chivalrous". She wanted the head of the table at all events where she was the higher ranking knight. Hersea wondered if she would be stuck with Tarni if she couldn't just calm down sometimes. This was also one of the times she wished she could kick herself. Yet she wouldn't. She couldn't bow the the man who's army she crushed as a child. "Kaiser Franz, Emperor Paxid sends his regards. I am Lady Hersea Halbeck. I wish to know how your war goes and to hear for side of the grievances. This is not a promise of support, nor a declaration of war. For now, Razonica only wants to hear the facts."

Vduny

Vordis was absolutely over his head. Perfectly the way he liked it. One minute he'd been in a nice camp, the next, a frickening mountain was falling around him. It was truly a day for heroism, which is why Vordis was enormously happy he wasn't in the fighting. After all, Lord Vordis wasn't a warrior. In fact, the closet thing you could compare him to was that he sometimes when spear-fishing. His men, Kolbur and Aresin were the real fighters. And both looked like it. Both had been at Soronia and had cut down knights with their polearms. Kolbur was left with two missing fingers when a knight sliced through his left hand, cutting his pike in twain. Aresin just had a really scary beard that came to his sternum. Both men wore green and yellow breastplates and mail. Yet, on that day, they had on white and black armor, the war colors of the empire. At their hips were shortswords and over their backs were matchlocks. Vordis knew these men were much better at warfare then he could ever claim. The sword he wore at his hip was decoration, like his gem-crusted clothing. His polar bear skin cape was over doing it a bit, but Vordis liked that too. The Razonicans were all equally accustomed to the cold though.

Lord Vordis dropped the rope to Kolbur and said in their native tongue "Watch our guess here, he really is worth something. And killing strangers is just plain rude." With that, he turned to smile at Herr Heinrich. He spoke the language of the land well. "Dearest duke, I shall be leaving you in the hands of the emperor's finest. I go now to talk to the o' damned rebels! Do not weep for me, for I shall return." He spurred his horse after Willem and came to a slower pace once abreast from the man. "So" he began "What's all this explosion throwing and hacking about? Why are you lot ripping down your kaiser when you could all just be home with wine and women?"

[Plyric]

*Canis is walking down the streets of Ulm with a Germerian Commander named Wolfram*

Canis: "Well, that was a really interesting sparring practice"
*Wolfram nods as he continues along with Canis*

Canis: "You're being quieter than normal, is there something wrong?"
Wolfram: "I feel really exhausted at the moment"
Canis: "All you did was watch me from a distance, sparring a veteran is pretty difficult"
Wolfram: "Well, fighting the old Commander Urs Niehaus tend to be difficult, but that was your choice"
Canis: "Hey, I was here for nine months now, I think I have some ample training, and I thought I won fair and square"
Wolfram: "Winning isn't what you get from sparring, It's what you learn from facing your enemy"
Canis: "I learned that from day five, after Wanja took my ass to the Pillory"
Wolfram: Listen, I have go to my tent outside of town, await for me in the tavern, I'll be back"
*Wolfram starts towards the main gate, as a man passes him and approaches Canis*

Lars: "Are you Canis?"
Canis: "Yes? Why are you asking?"
Lars: "I have a message from Jans"
Canis: Jans? You mean the Captain of the High-guard?"
Lars: "Yes sire, read it when you are available to read it, just not now"
Canis: "Okay? I'll read it when I get to my room in the Tavern"
Lars: "I'll be back in Aelstun if you need me, that is if you need me"
*Lars leaves without another word. Canis is looking at the letter, with the official stamp of Plyric, while he is walking towards the Tavern*

Canis: This has to be really important to come from Jans, that guy never fucks around"

[Vacroaye]

Worms, Gemeria

Hymid was quite surprised to have entered the Emperor's palace without question with Hymid being a Vacroayean. Hymid thought the Emperor was quite desperate to win this war, and it didn't matter who was on his side so long as they could fight well. Leaving his guards behind Hymid strolled into the palace noticing the lack of nobles inside. He had been to the Vacroayean palace in Ahmerrad once, and the thing he always remembers were the nobles bustling in and about the grand palace. However here the were few people around except for the occasional servant. This put doubt into his mind, while he did not care about which side he was fighting for he certainly cared that side had a winning chance. Perhaps he would lie to his brother on what the emperor would pay him so that they would fight for the rebels instead. He disliked being thrown around like some courier by his brother. Alhash rarely listened to what he had to say and barely took part in battles. Alhash always put this off saying he was the "only one with brains in the company" which was partly true as Alhash was much better at math that Hymid was and was a much better accountant for the company, however Hymid didn't think this was enough to excuse him from battle.

Walking to the throne room to where he would met the Emperor. Hymid wore a light mail chest piece with plates underneath the mail, mail gloves with scale braces, a mail skirt, iron greaves, and a circular helmet with a pointed hat on his head and a yellow scarf tied around the back of his head. His armor was light, as is most armor in Vacroaye for the heat would cook anyone with too much armor. As he walked to the Emperor's throne, he noticed a lovely red-headed woman speaking to the Emperor. It didn't take even a second for Hymid to know this was a Razonican emissary. Seeing the woman busy talking with the Emperor Hymid decided to wait for her to finish before speaking.

[Mithmyr]

On the Orvosic Sea

Adam despised being on a ship. He had only been on a ship three times this one being one of them but every time the waters he rode would always have a storm above him. He sat in his cabin sulking and trying not to throw up as he wondered if his navigators even knew where they were going. He could barely see the ship that was to the right of his cabin and was unsure what ship it was. Carrying 1,200 Myrans, five ships sailed to Germeria under the command of General Adam Vyincourd to aid the Germerian rebels.

[Peoples Republic of New Scotland]

On the Vestilia Ocean

*James is writing a letter to his brother back in Glasgow*

My dearest brother,

By the time you receive this letter my voyage will be underway, but nonetheless I write to you to explain my reason for my sudden departure, for I know that you will hate me for my decision if I do not properly explain. I am currently on a great ship thousands of leagues from our home. It is a repurposed merchant ship measuring in a length of 40 knots by 15 knots. Our cargo, however, is not linen, silk, meat, or whisky, but it is myself and the other crew. Of course brother we are not slaves on this ship but we are soldiers for a price, mercenaries, but instead of engaging in battles on the land we will harass enemy ships and merchants on the seas. According to the ship's captain he have been given a charter by Germarian Imperial general Karl VonMaximburg to attack what little ships the Germarian rebels have. We have been promised 50 coin per person on the ship after each raid as well as being allowed to keep whatever cargo and weapons we capture. Now brother this brings me to the logics of my decision. For I know that back home father catches less and less fish each day and with this diminishing catch we risk being thrown out on the street like common beggars. So to preserve the honor, life, and stability of our family I have enlisted as the navigator on this ship. for after all the promise of coin and plunder is high and the risk from the rebels being too low as their fleet is few and far spread. So brother I am truly sorry that I have left but remember that whatever I may do I do it for family. Not for money, glory, or a dying empire's honor. So please, forgive me.

Great Respects,

James MacBarton

[Germeria]

The early phases of the war after the Battle of White Mountain weren't nearly as spectacular as Vuskariya's trap, but were arguably more important in the grand strategy of the war. The counts of Ragismunda and Kerling were still deep in Reformist territory, and the Duke of Silesien had free reign over his lands, if only for the moment. Having raised fifteen thousand men they could cause serious disruption to Vuskariya's forces, who now found himself fighting a two-way war between the emperor and the Imperial-aligned Neroian forces who had entered the nation not long after White Mountain. Similarly, the Duchy of Savoyardi was encircled by hostile nobles, chief among them the Archduchy of Österrich. Archduke Ferdinand, however, was a shrewder man than most and had an excellent understanding of strategy, and instead of dealing with Savoyardi personally, left it to his fellow noblemen. He knew if Vuskariya could make a spearhead towards Worms and capture the capital he could end the war in only a few months, or at the least gather more allies to fight the Neroians to the north. And to bolster his forces he hired many foreign mercenaries, and, according to the accounts of Heinrich von Nassau, a personal meeting with a Razonican delegate.
-Ulrich Dürsten, Marshals Of The Empire, An In-Depth Guide To Germeria's Finest Commanders.

Outskirts of Vduny, Kingdom of Bourhmen, June 15th

Willem looked over at the delegate, studying the man riding next to him. The Razonican didn't look like much of a fighter, with a plain face clean of scars of any kind, and clothing fit more for a ball than a battlefield. The sword at his hip was encrusted with many jewels, and must have costed a small fortune, though Willem doubted it could take more than a half-hearted blow at best. But the difference between the man and his entourage was like night and day, with the hulking, scarred warriors in maile and plate. They looked pensive around his hussars, but were seemingly attempting communication, giving half-hearted smiles and noncommittal grunts and nods when asked a question. Willem doubted either of them knew enough Germer to say more than a sentence, and the chance of them knowing his own native Lateine was next to none.

"Women are distractions at the best of times, Ser, and wine dulls the mind. There isn't much time to spare in life, doubly so during war, and infinitely more things to better oneself than whoring and drinking. Though, you Razonicans wouldn't know much beyond that, would you?"

Willem studied the man's face in search of a reaction, but the delegate retained his jovial smile, unperturbed from his comment.

He's good, this one, he thought.

"But to answer your question, I have an oath, and as a just man I am compelled to uphold it."

This got a reaction from the other man, who started to laugh, the sound cutting through the otherwise silent wintery air. Willem said nothing, only giving a polite smile as he waited for the man to stop, who did after a few more moments.

"Forgive me ser, but I find it amusing that you call yourself a just man who honors his oaths when you ride here with me in support of rebels. Rebels fighting against your legal liege," he said after composing himself. Willem's response was a small huff and a tug of his reins, moving his horse slightly ahead of the other man.

"Oaths. When they knight you in the south, they make you swear so many oaths, protect your liege, obey your father, obey your liege, protect the innocent, defend your family, uphold the truth. What happens when your liege abandons you? When your father commands you to go against your liege? When your liege decries the truth and forces you against the innocent? I made an oath to bring the ones responsible for my family's misfortune's to justice, and as the kaiser is preventing me from doing so, that oath is null and void."

The delegate quieted at that, either deep in thought or just accepting his answer. They rode in silence for much of the journey, until the King's camp was visible over the horizon, when the delegate spoke once more.

"Earlier, the duke Heinrich mentioned something of the von Aelstuns. And siblings as well, I believe? Are they connected to this mysterious oath of yours?" He questioned. Willem debated not answering the man, having enjoyed the silence thus far, but decided to appease him.

"The von Aelstuns," he spat, both figuratively and literally.

"A family in the south, whose lands border my family's. They were minor nobles until a few decades ago, when they betrayed my family and our trust. As for the siblings, they were the current Archduke's elder siblings, and they were with me when one of the border skirmishes with the Neroians occurred."

"Border troubles seems to be a common reoccurrence in this land," interrupted one the delegate's guards. The delegate gave the man an annoyed look and moved to apologize, but Willem acted first, nonchalantly waving his hand.

"Tis' true, aye. They like their bloodshed, and many a marcher lord is tempted with riches and plunder away from the obstructive eyes of the kaiser. I was traveling the border when it happened and came to the aid of the lord, same as the siblings. We routed the force, but as we chased them down the bulk of their group came down upon us." He continued his tale as the group entered the perimeter of the camp, moving unopposed by the guards.

"For the good of my men and knowing we had lost, I retreated from the field. If that so happened to have left the two encircled by the enemy, then it's only their fault they brashly chased after the enemy when the day was ours," he shrugged, stopping in front of his designated tent.

"A tragic price of war, to be sure," said the diplomat, a small obsequious smile crossing his face. Willem gave a small chuckle at the man's reaction before taking Heinrich's rope from the man's guard. He handed it to one of his men.

"Put him in the cage at the edge of camp. I want him guarded day and night by at least three men, I don't care how you divvy up the watch duty so long as at least one pair of eyes is on him." The man nodded, tugging at the rope harshly as he moved away from the two.

"Goodbye, Herr Heinrich. I'll make sure to put in a good word for you with the king. And remember, a debt is a debt," called the Razonican. As he was taken out of sight, the Razonican turned back to Willem and raised one hand in farewell.

"Farewell, Ser Willem, may good fortune find your way."

"And may Lothric guide your hand," replied Willem, watching the trio move off into the camp, before entering his own tent and prepared to rest.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Imperial Palace, Worms, June 17th

Kaiser Franz watched the woman in his throne room, lazily looking her over as he leaned in his throne. If he was being honest he didn't know what to expect from his imperial counterpart in the west; doubtless he had no good feelings toward him after Sorobina but even still, Franz had expected...well, more. The 'She-Knight' was undoubtedly a slight fitting of Paxid's character if what he heard was true about the man, but the rest of the entourage was...lacking, to put it lightly.

Of his own safety Franz had no fear, the many guards stationed around the room was more than enough to deal with the pikes, and in the corner of the great hall his faithful Imperial Guard Ser Ugo of Trenti watched from the shadows, eagle-eyed and fast witted despite his age.

"Your helm, I recognize the sigil," Franz commented.

"The Lady of Sorobina, or so you're called.If the stories are true then you're wasted being sent as a diplomat. Warriors such as ourselves shouldn't be caught in the games and insults between royalty." He remained slouched in his throne while he spoke, making sure to keep his tone even so as to not betray his interest in the woman. Or more precisely, her role in a battle that would not escape him. For her part she smiled politely, but her voice seemed much more clipped than in her first statement.

"Thank you, your majesty, but if you could describe the state of the war-"

"We can get to that later," he interrupted. He sat up in his throne, leaning forward as he matched her stare.

"I wish to know the woman who's acclaimed to have routed my army, for I wasn't at the battle, you see. I was wounded earlier in another battle, at the Stony Steps, where we drowned 9,000 of your soldiery and knights in the mighty river. Though no one seems to remember that part of the war, it always come down to Sorobina." He paused to scratch his beard.

"Sorobina, Sorobina, Sorobina. My predecessor commands us to send our armies to Aldes, in defense of our 'good kinsmen' the Westphalians, and that daft oaf von Herzloch charges in with my men while I lay bleeding in a tent miles away, and yet I'm to blame? Tis a cruel irony indeed."

"Herr Herzloch, though not the best commander, did act with courage and bravery in the field. I remember seeing him lead the vanguard when the battle started," said Hersea. Her body still seemed tense, but the topic of past battles and martial prowess provided her a comfortable topic to rethink her approach. At least, that's what Franz would've done in her situation, politic's not being his forte. God, what he would give to be on the field or at camp, preparing himself for battle and to feel the electric thrill of combat flood his veins and reinvigorate his spirit.

"Please, you don't need to defend his stupidity. He was a fumbling tactician at best, and a worse fighter still. Men who don't know how to fight have no business at the front, and his blunder nearly cost the Empire 16,000 men." He then turned his head to his side, and leaned on the armrest.

"Ugo! Come 'ere! You fight at Sorobina, right?" The guard stepped out of his hiding spot in the shadows after a moment's hesitation, his graying head glowing in the sunlight. Wearing a plate cuirass, pauldrons and metal vambraces, all of which was tinted in a small covering of gold-colored paint, though it wasn't enough to hide the nicks and scratches from various weapons and blows over the years. At his hip was a Dresden Steel Sword, forged from techniques brought to the empire from the west, and Franz knew from experience that it's steel was tough enough to pierce metal and still remain sharp.

"I was, your Grace," said Ugo, deferring to the the honorific used only by the Imperial Guard. Hersea's full attention was on Ugo, and for a second Franz believed he saw something akin to admiration flash in her eyes. It wouldn't surprise Franz in the least; Ser Ugo's skill was legendary throughout the empire and in the aftermath of Kaiser Maximilian's military venture in Aldes, many a Razonican knight told tales of Ugo the Bold and his masterful techniques.

"I saw you kill Henri the Bear at Sorobina with a counter riposte, after you were dehorsed. Best move I ever saw," said Hersea. Ugo gave a small smile at the mention of the warrior.

"Good fighter, Henri. But he lacked stamina."

"One of the few good things to come out of the battle, along with Duke Reinhardt von Nassau's rear-guard maneuver. I believe I sent him and his son to deal with the traitor." Hersea's attention turned back to the Kaiser.

"So you have done something after all."

"Of course we have, woman. 8,000 soldiers under the command of the duke of Nassau will strike at Progue, the capital of the rebels, and 35,000 soldiers from the Arch-duchy of Österrich, alongside 25,000 soldiers of my own will come to assist him in capturing and holding it. Add to that more than 60,000 soldiers along the front we have the numbers to fight them. And if the Tsarina to the north is anything like her father, she'll be more willing to aid us than hinder. The devil you know, right?"

The tension lifted from her shoulders and she began to make her way out of the throne room, much to his disappointment. However as she was leaving, a guard slipped in and made his way to Franz.

"You majesty, the Archduke and his host have arrived. They're camped three leagues west of the city," he whispered into the Kaiser's ears. He nodded slightly and the soldier took his leave, while Hersea was still in the room, saying something he didn't care to hear. Rising from his throne he coughed loudly, stopping Hersea mid-speech.

"Frau She-Knight, while that is all well and good, I believe that I have new information that would be quite important to your duty. Follow me." They moved out onto the balcony, where they saw the combined armies of the Archduke and Kaiser. Moving swiftly, Franz turned on his heel and back into the hall, motioning for them to follow him. At the entrance stood a man in armor, Vacroayan by the look of it. Before the man had a chance to speak, Franz held up a hand.

"Stop, I have a feeling I know what you want already. You're a foreigner armed to the teeth, but if you're an assassin you're either incredibly confident or stupid by coming here. Which means you're more likely to be a mercenary. How many?" The man looked a little fumbled from the Kaiser's analysis but recovered quickly.

"Around a thousand men, give or take."

"They any good?"

"They are, but it seems like you need as many men that can be spared. Am I wrong?" Franz smiled queerly at the man, shaking his head.

"No, you're right. And to avoid any arguments, I'll pay you triple what anyone else offers. Deal?"

"Accepted. I will tell my associates and we shall await your commands."

---

June 17th, Outskirts of Worms, Impperial Camp.

Archduke Ferdinand von Aelstun of Osterrich waited patiently at the table as his liege Kaiser Franz Albrecht took in the news just announced. At his side was Ser Ugo the Bold, showing no more concern than one might the rising of the sun. Across from Ferdinand himself was the Razonican delegate Hersea Halbeck. He held no particular ill will to her but nor did he respect her any great deal. Across from her was Johannes von Moeltke of the Imperial Guard, the Kaiser-Killer. Golden hair and blue eyes laid upon his smug face, one hand resting on his famous sword Proudroar.

Were it up to him, Ferdinand would've had him executed the moment his treason was discovered, but Franz had spared the man, and Ferdinand had no choice but to acquiesce to his liege. Franz remained deathly silent, not moving an inch. Finally, after minutes of silence, he spoke.

"You're sure?"

His voice was barely over a whisper when he spoke, and Ferdinand could see the beginnings of grief start to take hold. The young soldier who was brought into the tent nodded hesitantly, sill out breath and shivering slightly.

"A-aye, your majesty. I saw it with me own eyes, an avalanche, big as the castle on that hill there. Lord Nassau was at the other end of the valley I think, but I was busy running away to know for sure."

"And what of his son, Heinrich?" question Ugo.

"He's alive, I swear it. I saw him taken by some fop on a horse and dragged from the village," said the man, rubbing his hands for warmth from an invisible cold. Ferdinand studied the man with cold eyes, one hand curled at his mouth.

"And how did you come to see this transpire? You were a foot soldier, not a cavalryman, and Count Heinrich would've had ample advantage to outrace you," he said with a softness to rival Franz's earlier query. His words, while soft, cut cleanly through the air. The soldier looked around nervously at the others at the table but all gave him the same withering look of suspicion, aside from Franz. Eventually the man broke his silence and stopped rubbing his hands.

"Well, you s-see your lordship, I was in the rearguard, and at the time of his Lordship Nassau's charge, I thought to me self, It'd be a shame for the food we'd found in Vduny to go to waste. We'd been going hungry for nigh on a week, and no one would have missed one tiny foot soldier."

Ferdinand looked over to Franz to see his reaction, but he still kept on the same quiet and solemn look. Taking charge, he nodded over to one of his guards.

"Take this man to the yard and flog him for cowardice. Fifteen lashes and a day in the pillory." The soldier didn't say anything, head bowed as he was dragged off. Before they left, Ferdinand stopped them.

"Afterwards give him a month's pay and a week's rations." The guard nodded and dragged off the man, with the rest of the tent remaining silent.

"Interesting decision, my lord archduke," said Hersea.

"Not many would reward a coward for their deed and also punish them."

"I only did what was required of me. One good deed does not wash out the bad, nor the bad the good. His cowardice will be punished, but he followed his duty and reported what he knew anyway. At any rate, we have more pressing matters."

"Indeed. This Jiri fellow seems more competent than first expected. Duke Reinhardt set out with 8,000 men," said Johann.

"It seems the rebels strike first blood," mused Hersea, her bodyguard rustling uncomfortably within the tent. Ferdinand narrowed his eyes at the implication. And are more effective than your Kaiser.

"First blood yes, but he's also blundered," said Ferdinand. He pointed at White Mountain on the map with one hand while also tracing a path with another.

"By filling White Mountain Pass he's isolated himself from any supplies from the south, as well as cutting off easy access to the south of the Kingdom. And even then, he must still rally his forces if what the young lad said about his numbers was true. That will take time, time which we can use to our advantage."

"Like siege and take the castle Savoyardi." That was Ser Ugo, deciding it was his turn to offer advice. Ferdinand shook his head.

"No, Ser Ugo. We'll let the other locals hand that traitor. Instead we should focus our attention on the river lords to the north and west; our ally the Prince Elector Palatine is under siege and bulging our front line, while the traitor Duke of Hessen is now vulnerable with his forces sieging Heidelberg." Ser Johann nodded in agreement, pointing at Heidelberg on the map.

"Yes, if we split our forces the Kaiser can break the siege at Heidelberg and rescue our unfortunate Prince Elector of the Palatine while also smashing Hessen's troops. If the archduke takes his host to Hesse proper, he can storm the walls easily enough and capture the hold, splitting the rebels and securing the allegiance of the unaligned river lords."

They all looked to Franz for his approval. Without it, no plans could be made with his host and it would severely weaken their position. He nodded once, staring far off to somewhere only he could see.

"For Reinhardt," he said. As the party left the tent, Ferdinand waited until Hersea was out of earshot before stopping Franz.

"My Kaiser, there is one more matter for you to deal with. It involves the Tsarina, and why she is in my camp."

[Peoples Republic of New Scotland]

On the Ustoic Sea

*James is writing a letter to his brother back in Glasgow*

My dearest brother,

We have recently docked in the nation known as Jord. My compatriots and I have sailed at least 200 leagues from home uneventfully. The voyage here has been uneventful save for the occasional swell. Despite this endless unoccupied time the crew is growing restless. They fear our eventual encounter with the enemy. Captian Withinspot has said we still have a fortnight until we reach Germeria. Once we make landfall there we will take on a Germarian Imperial overseer who will relay orders from the Germerian admiralty. Dear brother I ask that you keep this from our mother. I also ask that you Pray for me during my combat. I will write you again after our first skirmish.

Great Respects,

James MacBarton

[Peoples Republic of New Scotland]

On the Ustoic Sea

*James is writing a letter to his brother back in Glasgow*

My dearest brother,

This great ship has been successful in it's mission so far. We have raided several merchant ships just off the coast of rebel territory in the west. We have taken at least 1000 coin. Split between a 30 man crew we have been given a generous 33 coin. Additionally our Germarian handlers are paying us 50 coin when we dock next. I plan to send my share back to you brother. Hopefully soon we reach port. however it seems that I am the only one with such wishes. The rest of the crew is itching for combat. I hope to god that we never see combat. Our Germarian friend does not share my hopes. I believe he intends to send us into combat.

Great Respects,

James MacBarton

[Nerodanus]

3 miles from Germeria from the eastern section of the Nero-Germerian border

Historians largely argue to this day where the famed relationship between Germeria and Nerodanus came from. Ancient evidence suggests that in the early years of Humanity, long before historical documentation began there was intense tribal fighting between the two, after the at first isolated peoples made first contact. However there is also evidence of peace and interbreeding between the two peoples. It wasn't until the ancient kingdoms that we truly see where the relationship began, but the cause for the change to friendship is still largely unknown.

-A history of a historic friendship: Volume 2

An army numbering nearly two thousand camped out at the ready. The force was a small detachment from the Neroian army, made up largely of specialized troops armed to the teeth and a couple battalions of gunmen. The force was under orders to scout out the rebels that bordered Nerodanus, and ensure that it doesn't spill over. Atleast not until the main army was ready (who was still en route from the North after handling a moment of anarchy following the death of a Count). In the distance, just before the dusk sun to figures on horses road back to the camp. It took a short while longer before the troops arrived at the camp, dismounted, and went to the command tent. Entering the tent they were greeted with the smell of fresh bread, something only the higher ups got often. The tent itself was mostly plain, a map of Gemeria and Nerodanus laid on a table with various markings for troops locations, a bed, and the plate of food. Various chests lines the floor. Saluting the two soldiers waited as General Ivanop finished reading a report from the North. Shaking his head he looked up at the two soldiers and spoke in a deep tone "Report!"

Stepping forward the taller of the two scouts began the report. "Rebel forces are currently buckling down in the locations they have control over. They appear to be readying themselves for the coming winter. Despite that they have guards on patrol at all hours. Every three they rotate the guards out. The crop fields are being harvested by the peasants and troops alike, to most likely increase their stockpile."

Hearing this made the general grunt. "Figures. What of their supplies? Is there anything we can do to slow them down or make it easier to assault them?" This time the shorter scout spoke. "This detachment appears to be low on firepower. Their weaponry is mostly close quarters and any firearms they have are private rifles sir. They have control over two cannons but do not appear to know how to use them. They do not seem to have too many horses at the moment, most likely using them to convey messages with their other forces. Given the strategic use of the town between the the two nations I believe it would be best to burn the food supplies at night along with some of their barracks and barn. To handle the loss of food we would bring out some of our winter stockpile for them. The town itself has a small population so nobody will starve. Naturally we will return the town to the Kaiser."

Standing up the General pointed to the scribe sitting next to him. "Start a letter to the Tsarina!"

Outskirts of Worms, Imperial Camp

The Tsarnia sat within her Carriage, waiting to be let out by her guards once Ana had made the arrangements to meet with the Kaiser. Adjusting her outfit slightly she let out a sigh. For her it was a tight, form fitting outfit that simply itched her to no end, where as a comfy outfit sat folded away in a chest tucked directly under her seat. Slouching a little she pulled out her recent letters from the North Anarchy and began to read them over. "Small peasantry uprisings, put down easily..." Placing the letters back down she rubbed her eyes. "Maybe one of my descendants will make the world a more interesting place. Atleast within the next several hundered years." Looking out the carriage window she saw Ana in the distance. Maybe her meeting with the Kaiser will happen soon and her boredom can end.

[Peoples Republic of New Scotland]

On the Ustoic Sea

*James is writing a letter to his brother back in Glasgow*

My dearest brother,

We have finally encountered combat. 'Twas the most horrifying experience I know. We encountered a rebel ship just off imperial territory in the west. We began by firing a barrage of cannons at them. The first shots fell short. Our second barrage hit them dead on. I heard the screams and saw the blood on the water. Then our ship pulled close to board them. We were ordered to leap across the water onto the deck of our opponent. I hesitated but was pushed forward by another crewman. Once we crossed we unsheathed our swords and slashed at them. The deck ran with blood. I hate to say that I have taken the life of a man. A rebel ran at me and I could only watched as my sword slashed the man across the chest. The "battle" was over quickly. We had caught the ship unawares. We had killed 20 and captured 10. What pursued was the most horrifying I saw. Our Germerian handler ordered us to loot the ship. He then beheaded all but one prisoner. Once we not we finished our looting he burned the ship with the last prisoner lashed to the mast. I hope you never have to see this brother. I hope to never see it again. Our captain says I will get used to it, I hope that day never comes.

Great Respects,

James MacBarton

[Jord]

Chief Ralof stood in his room by the open window, gazing out at the beach below him. He watched as men and women clad in chain and gambeson loaded stocks of food and supplies onto a multitude of ships. Ever since the people of New Scotland came down with word of rebellion in the northern country of Germeria, Ralof knew that he had help his friend and fellow leader Franz. sure they had had their differences, and also disputed one another for how they ran their countries, Franz was still his friend, and he would be dammed by the Gods before he left him to die along with his country. So Starting today, him as well as over 5,000 of his warriors will be crossing the sea to help partake in stopping the rebellion.

May the gods watch over their battles.

As he went back to watching the morning sun rise, he failed to notice the loving arms of his wife, Muiri, wrap around his waist. He turned his head to the side to see her beautiful blonde hair and piercing jade eyes stare into his icy blue. She was the most lovely women he had ever seen, and was also 4 months the bearer of his firstborn child.

"Are you doing okay my love?" She asked softly.

Ralof let a sigh escape his lips, tuning back to face the sun rise over the icy blue seas.

"Aye, i'm fine," He replied.

Muiri frowned at his statement, and buried her head into his shoulder as she began to caress her husbands chest.

"Do you really have to go?" She asked.

"Yes, Franz is a good friend, and he needs all the help he can get."

"But would our small numbers make a difference?"

"We may be small in number, but every sword and shield counts."

The conversation ended there, and Ralof looked into his wife's' eyes one final time before leaning in and giving his wife one last passionate kiss, and embracing her in a tight hug.

"I will return," He said with confidence.

"Of course you will. You always do."

With that said, Ralof walked over to the other side of the room, equipping his chain mail and helm, and grasping his steel axe and round shield from the wall. He gave his wife one final look, and walked out the door. As Muriri watched the door shut, she silently began saying every single prayer she knew to the gods, begging them to watch over her husband and make sure he and many of his men return home safe. For both her sake, and their child.

After exiting his house, Ralof made his way to the docks were he saw his men finishing the preperations.

"How go the preparations?" Ralof asked a sailor dressed in brown gambeson.

"Everything goes well Chief, we shall soon set sail within the hour. We have enough food to last us a good few months should we ration well, and all the men are armored and ready for battle. All that is left is to pray the Gods grant us a safe voyage."

"Good," He said.

Ralof then walked over to the edge of the docks, were he watched the sun rise over the horizon in full view.

'Gods watch over all of us, and worry not my friend, we will come out victorious.'

[Germeria]

1619, The Siege of Windheim

Jiri Vuskariya, though cursed with many faults and his treasonous actions aside, was not a buffoon when it came to matters of war. The Duke Silesien and the two counts Ragismund and Kerling were of technical free reign within his territory, and the Elector-Palatine was surrounded by reformist lands. To most leaders this would be seen as a serious weakness in their lines, but for Vuskariya he saw it as an opportunity. For Kaiser Franz, Lothric guide him, was an easily predictable man. His devoutness was both his virtue and his downfall, for he would hold tradition high, while lacking the guile to bend it to his advantage. An attack on an Elector of the empire was considered to be a direct attack on the authority of the Kaiser, and the Kaiser was duty-bound by tradition to go to their aid. Vuskariya knew both of the traditiona dn the temperament of the man, and laid his trap there.

If nothing else, remember this, little lord. An opportunity lies within every situation, and it waits only for one to grasp it.

-Imperial Steward Diethard Reinschwarz, in a lesson on warfare to the adolescent Kronprinz Markus von Aelstun, 1745.

The Cardinal's guard.

June 19th, 1619, Prögue

Jiri watched Heinrich struggle with eating his food. One hand was tied to the post with the rest of his body, and the other was locked with a chain attached to another part of the pole, giving him a limited range of movement. He sat down on a barrel outside of the cage, reading the letter in his hand one more time as Heinrich ignored him. He was dirty and mangy, the effects of traveling nonstop through wintry conditions covering his clothing in a thin veneer of dirt and dried mud. He made some progress with his meal, managing to stab at the cold meat with his fork but when he went to take a bite the meat fell, even further away on the plate than before. Defeated, he turned over to Jiri.

"What do you want? Have you come to gloat, or did you decide to try and sway me to your side? Or am I going to die? The look on Savoyardi's face when he doesn't get his ransom might be worth the price," he mused forlornly.

"He's good Mathi, great even. Despite our superiority, he decimated us like we were squires in our first tourney. Do not engage Jiri z Vuskariya in open combat, for it will be the death of us," He read, wiping a stray snowflake from the letter.

"I like the embellishment, Herr Heinrich. Adds some mystique to a mere general," he joked. Heinrich dimly stared over at him.

"Figures that you'd read the letter. Lenient enough to let me write, but not enough for it go unmolested, no?"

"I let you write the letter, but it would be folly to not check it for secrets. For what it's worth, the others didn't even want me to tell you we read it," he said.

"They think me fool enough to believe even my correspondences are safe? I fear your council have let the wintry air affect their mind," Heinrich retorted. Jiri chuckled despite himself, and looked over the letter again.

"I felt the need to tell you. It didn't feel...right or befitting of a king to stoop to such a duplicity," Jiri said honestly. He wagered it was both his military skill and his honorable conduct that made him the prime candidate for the kingship of Bourhmen. There was even a saying in his duchy about his honor, 'The word of Duke Vuskariya is stronger than the urge of a banker to commit usury'. But what good is the honor of a rebel and a traitor? What is my word worth now?

"You speak fondly of your wife, my lord. I trust-"

"Why are you really here, traitor? It's not about my wife, or the antics of your council, or the letter. Either tell me why you've decided to bother me or leave me to my peace and quiet, because if you don't, I'll seriously consider bashing my skull against this post until you do," Heinrich interrupted, giving him a dead stare. Jiri sighed and tucked the letter into his coat. Standing up, he moved to the cage until he was at the bars in front of the chained man.

"How would like to see your wife again, without paying the ransom and with no strings attached?" Heinrich gave him a confused look.

"What are you talking about? You'd let me go, your enemy, and risk Savoyardi-"

"I don't care what the duke thinks to be honest, and your extent as an enemy died with the army at White Mountain." Jiri's face was angry and the jovial tone from before had gone.

"That army must have been the extent of your levies, as well as a significant portion of your funds, no? And I don't offer this for free, but as a reward. The Elector Palatine still holds true to his vows of fealty, but he has been pushed to his capital. Now, I can solve this problem without you, for despite Windheim's defenses we hold the capability to easily penetrate them and slaughter those within the city, but instead I offer you a choice; Assist me in acquiring the surrender of the city and live to see your wife and family, or refuse and continue to suffer out here for as long as I still fight. If you accept, I'll reward you with food, clothing, even the freedom to move amongst us, should you prove loyal enough."

Heinrich didn't answer him, looking down at his meager dinner, and eventually Jiri moved away from the cage.

"Think hard on my offer my lord. It's a three week trek to Windheim under the best of circumstances, and I'd hate for anything to happen to you in the meanwhile." Before he could leave however, the quiet voice of Heinrich stopped him.

"My father, is he...? Savoyardi mentioned him when I was captured, but I had hoped..." he trailed off, still not looking at the king. Jiri felt a small amount of sympathy for the boy, for that was what he truly was no matter what he protested otherwise, and decided to tell him.

"We have not come across any survivors of the battle, save yourself. Tomorrow you can pray for him, with supervision," he said with a gentle tone. Heinrich nodded once, and at that Jiri left him alone in the cold night, only the howling wind giving him company.

---

19th June, 1619
Ulmer Marketplace

Wolfram watched as the Plyrican prince talked with the newcomer from his position at the gate, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword. Ostensibly, Wolfram was only an adviser and commander of the city militia, and who's connection to the prince was due only to the princes decision to say in Ulm. Under the surface however, Wolfram was the loyal servant to Cardinal Richter von Lieun, court chaplain to the Kaiser, and his orders were simple; Convince the prince to ally the empire, or failing that, kill him and pin the death on reformist elements in the empire.

It was simple enough, though Wolfram hadn't expected the reformists to actually rise up. It makes the second option easier though, he mused.

It was no secret in the Imperial court that the Cardinal was a zealous opponent of the reformist movement in general, and an ardent supporter of the Imperial Monarchy and what it represented. For the past twenty years Wolfram had been his man, and much of the expanded powers and authority of the Kaiser could be attributed to the efforts of von Lieun, and if Wolfram's suspicions were right, the man didn't have plans on stopping any time soon.

It'd be a shame to kill the kid though, he thought. The past nine months had been productive and the prince seemed an alright sort, martial skills not withstanding, and he seemed open to an alliance between Plyric and the Empire. He watched Canis enter the tavern and waited a few buildings down from it. The tent was just an excuse to get away from the prince and have a chance to observe his surroundings in seclusion, as Wolfram suspected the pair was being watched by unwanted eyes. Leaning on an empty space of wall, he scanned the crowd from the bottom of his wide-brimmed hat for any trace of intrigue.

Minutes passed when he spotted his prey. Two figures, a man and a woman posing as a couple of low-class nobility walked around the marketplace near the gate, and as they passed Wolfram he could see the glint of uncovered steel and hear the slight swish of maile from beneath their clothing. He waited until they split from another, the woman going to a stall opposite the tavern entrance and striking up conversation and the man making his way to the tavern door. He kicked himself off the wall and made his move to intercept, meeting the man a few feet away from the door and next to the entrance of a secluded alley.

He bumped into the man, and before he could regain his composure, pushed him into the ally wall and grabbed his dagger, stabbing it into the man's throat. The man beat at his arm at Wolfram, but he kept the dagger firmly in place. Up close he could tell that the man was indeed a foreigner, with tucked red hair beneath his hat and strong Scottish features. The hits lost their punch until a few seconds after the encounter they stopped entirely, and Wolfram let the man slide down the wall. Fortunately the ally had little sunlight and the buildings were exceptionally grimy, hiding the bloodstain from the man as Wolfram dragged the corpse behind a nearby wagon parked in the alley.

The woman must have noticed some kind of commotion as when Wolfram looked back into the marketplace she was gone. He didn't have time to think about it before he heard the swish of maile moving behind him. Turning swiftly, he saw the woman had her sword drawn and pointed at him, her dressed ripped for mobility. He drew his rapier in one hand and held his dagger in the other and took a fighting stance. The woman said something in the language of the Scots before she lunged at Wolfram, who sidestepped and deflected it with his rapier.

He took a swipe with his dagger, which the assassin dodged. The two parted and took a step away from the other. Wolfram stared her down as he moved from side to side in the confined alley, plotting his move. The woman had the advantage in protection with her maile armor, and Wolfram had nothing but his shirt to stand in the way with her blade. But Wolfram had more reach with the longer blade, and the parrying dagger gave him much more control and defense than her. If he made her strike first he could potentially parry her counter and make a riposte, but if he failed in his parry or if he missed his riposte she would be able to recover faster than him. He mused it over quickly in his mind and made his decision.

He shifted a step backward in a taunt, and she lunged forward her blade cutting towards his chest. He reacted fast, his dagger moving to intercept, and time seemed to slow. He focused all his concentration on the sword and angled his dagger so that the sword would get stuck in between the blade and the dagger's hilt. When it did, he almost let out a breath but instead focused his strike, raising her sword high above his head and lunging low with his blade, and watched with satisfaction as it pierced her through the heart.

He lowered her onto the ground and held the rapier firmly as he had with the man. When she stopped breathing, he took the blade out and cleaned the blood on her dress, sheathing it and the dagger. Rifling through her pockets, he found an emblem with a foreign crest and a small bag of gold. Doing the same to the man, he found the same emblem as well as a letter. Opening it gave no answers to Wolfram, for it was written in a language he couldn't read, and only an initial where the signature would be. Below it was the same symbol that was on the emblems.

"Bloody amateurs. Figures," he huffed, pocketing the letter and objects. He tested the weight of the pouch and found it to be quiet heavy. He'd send the letters and emblems to the Cardinal when he got back to the camp, but in the meantime...

"Might as well go to the tavern and check on the kid. Wouldn't want him to enjoy the goods of this city alone, yeah?" He nodded at the two corpses.

"Right. Don't get into trouble you two, you hear me?"

Wolfram walked into to the tavern and easily found Canis. Patting him on the should, he sat down and ordered a stein, dropping the pouch in front of Canis. He looked at the pouch and back up to Wolfram, confusion on his face.

"I thought you said you were going outside the city. How can you be back so fast?"

"Oh, I ran into a few friends, you wouldn't know them. Anyway, I thought to myself, poor Canis is nursing his wounded pride from the spar by himself in some local, grubby tavern with cheap ale. As a proper friend, it's only my duty that I go and try to relieve him of his sorrows with some good Germerian beer, and not this cheap Schweder ale instead of going to my tent." As he finished, the steins were delivered to them and he raised his cup for a toast.

"To good friends and great drinks!"

[Novo Razcon]

(OOC: Is this still a thing?)