The world may change, mountains turn to dust, new earthly pillars rising to the heavens, oceans churn and life evolves. But Mankind --- Mankind never changes.
The Battle of Lyden, March 4th-March 8th of the 178th Year of the Third Era.
Lyden, a city of sixty-six thousand people sat on a triad of high hills. Its outer newer districts stretching out from the hills into the flat tulip strewn Lilien Plains. To the West, the wide Nyckar River wound through the hilly forests until it entered the Lilienwald Forest before bending sharply West towards Rendil. The border itself only fifteen kilometers away. The Lilien Plain's themselves were interspered with farmland, vineyards, tulip fields, and wild grasses. Only four cobblestone roads left the city in each cardinal direction. One heading West which soon became a dirt path. One heading north and terminating at the village of Rethelheim. One to the East going deeper into Nocturne, and one south which wound down into the Dark Forest villages. The rest were a mixtue of small dirt paths connecting two belts of clustered villages. Their homes built side by side to provide greater defense from outside threats. While the local Monastery to Jupiter was astride a series of vineyards to the South-East of the city near the villages of Donauwurth and Esselheim.
It was among these lands that the final conflict of the Mad Duke's Rebellion would be fought. One of the greatest battles of the century thus far. Involving more than one hundred thousand men and fought over the course of four days and nights. The culmination of a four year rebellion against the rule of Nocturne by the Mad Duke, Maarius Koeheern. A previously loyal, gifted, military commander in the service of Nocturne.
The Mad Duke's reasoning was one of reclaiming his lands independence that it had enjoyed over one hundred and fifty years prior. Others, claim the more likely cause, as the madness which slowly consumed the Duke's mind since he returned from the strange lands to the East of Nocturne. What he saw in those wilds during his youth, none can say, and he spoke none of it. Only, that he had ranted and raved about the Nightkind and the empire his lands were subject too.
Vlad, recognizing the value of Maarius and seeking to prevent an escalation, had urged the aging Duke to retire in grace. Such an overture was rejected and followed with by a pogrom against the Nightkin in Maarius own lands. Something which even the Council of Elders could assuage the Triarch from taking up his own sword in retaliation. Thus, four years of brutal war followed between the rebellious forces of Maarius and the Nocturnian Army.
0530, March 4th
The night of March 4th had been like any other. The light of Selene high in the sky. Earth's smaller second moon, The Eye of Ra, hung low adjacent the lighter shades of the globes rings. Selene's Tears trailing beyond them. The river beyond the outer belt of villages, the Thyssel, was surrounded in nightly mist. It had demarcated the frontline for nearly a fortnight. The Rebels and Nocturnian Army trading volleys of arrow, bolt, and musket shot sporadically. The Rebels constructing a series of earthen sconces. Expecting a determined Nocturnian offensive to occur any day. If it came at day...
Sentries would be awoken by a spirally trail of eight objects fired out into the sky from the Nocturnian side. Immediately, the alarm went up. The trailing objects reached a high arc over the sconces before they exploded in a brilliant white light. Hanging in the night sky like brilliant spectres. Illuminating the Rebel side in bathing, blinding light.
Not a minute had passed before over three hundred and fifty cannon and mortars on the Nocturnian side opened fire. Their shot striking the sconces in a brilliant timed barrage that only professional gunnery crews could deliver. The Rebels could only offer a meek reply of their own forward guns. Their eyes blinded by the spectral lights and darkness of the land before them. Firing blindly into the dark. That was when the real threat emerged, even more so than the devastating barrage of artillery fire which even as they comprehended what was occuring ripped along their lines once more, boats. Boats emerging from the darkness. The Nocturnian's had bought their time to construct, gather, and transport various boats and ferries to allow an amphibious invasion of the opposite shore.
Hundreds of water craft surged forth. Archers and Crossbowmen in the boats and ferries unleashing arrow and bolt as fast as they could in suppressing fire. Melee infantry equipped with sword and shield and halberd leaping forth to charge the embankment.
Two thousand Nocturnian infantry stormed the beaches amid the thunder of their guns. Coming to crossed blades with the still arousing enemy garrisons of the sconces. Scattering them with great loss in a matter of moments.
Indeed, in one of the boats was the Triarch, Vlad, himself. His boat digging into the mud of the shore, the Triarch stepped out onto the embankment as a Sztrelza officer strode up, his blade bloody, and saluted. "My Lord, the crossing is ours."
"Good. Signal General Tszerclae that he may begin his landings further South."
"Yes, My Lord." The officer strode off and soon a second, singular, trailing missile was launched into the sky. Bursting into a red dazzling light, which like the earlier white counterparts, were now slowly descending.
"Word will reach Maarius soon of this..." mumbled Vlad to himself. But by then, in his own mind, it would be time for the main gambit. The battle for the environs around the city itself.
Esselheim, 0645
"Wake up, wake up!" Rousing from his slumber, a young boy, scarcely eleven, looked up to see his older sister above him. The sound of drums, pipes, and booming crashes in the distance outside.
"Wh—what is it Hilda?"
"There's a battle outside! Come! Come look!"
"A battle?"
"Knights! Soldiers! Banners from places I've only heard about!"
"Knights!"
The young boy shot up and swung himself from his bed. Eagerly following his sister out of the little cottage, but not before grasping a little wooden sword that his late father had once made for him. Dashing outside the duo made their way to a small hill were over two dozen other villagers had gathered. Giving a commanding view of the Lilien plains and the village of Donauwurth to their North-West. The city of Lyden beyond.
The young boy's eyes widened, just like his sister's, at the site before them. A few of the villagers had brought blankets and food. Pointing and gossiping about the banners and soldiers which marched under them.
To the left, the army of Duke Maarius stood in two belts. Strung along the plains and thence up to the rolling vineyards near the Monastery of Jupiter where more formations had garrisoned themselves. To the right, the Army of Nocturne had arrived in force. The villagers could only guess how many thousands were arrayed before them.
The Nocturnian Army was clearly of two origins. Their first formations were Provincial forces gathered from the region. While in the back were the lock step formations of the professional Nocturnian Army. The Sztrelza. Masses of cavalry trailed on the sides and rear of the advancing forces. Every now and then a puff of black-white-brown as rear located cannons lazily traded fire across the fields.
In truth, Maarius had assembled most of what remained of his entire army, sixty-two thousand men, nearly half of whom were Mercenaries or teenage boys. The Nocturnian side marshalled an impressive sixty-six thousand, with another four and a half thousand on the other side of the Thyssel.
As the Nocturnians advanced the first engagement occurred just after daybreak when the Green Dragonnier's Mercenary Band in the service of the Duke, one hundred and ten strong, thundered forth to harrass the leading edge of the Nocturnian left flank. This was met by a surge of Nocturnian Army Pistoliers and the Prusslahnden Horse Archer Regiment which moved to meet them. A fog of pistol smoke erupting as both sides intercepted, harassed, and dared the other to move closer to their respective side.
Then the first row of Nocturnian forces picked up the pace. A volley of artillery opening up behind them as the Provincial troops crossed the grassy threshold. The rebel forces stopping to lower their pikes, halberds, and sword. Their musketeers readying their guns on their stands. The Nocturnian loyalists slowed as they formed up, their officers shouting commands, banners held high, drums taking on a new rhythm, their own pikes and weapons lowering. Musketeers, crossbowmen, and archers readying. Volleys loosed, barrages fired, and a thunderclap of steel followed by the cries of the newly slain.
Both masses jockeying with one another like two opposing tides fighting over a shoal. It was awe inspiring.
A cry to the left. Heads turned, evidently several mortars had been set up around the monastery which opened fire. Casting their arcing shells over onto the Nocturnian left flank. Crashing into their rear pikes. Some of the villagers cheered. A cheer which soon died down when several plumes erupted from the Nocturnian field cannon batteries. Those heavy, sluggish, cannon slow to turn and fire. Of course, it was hard to see where they were firing, until you heard the whistle of the ball.
The villagers could only freeze in shock as not only the monastery, but also Donauwurth and Esselheim were raked by cannon fire. Cries and screams sounded from the villagers. The young siblings clutched their ears as windows and walls burst from the impact of the shots. Crashing timbers and mortar. The clang of round shot ricocheting off stronger stone walls. Bouncing in a chaotic rampage like some black spherical demon. Pulverizing all in its wake.
The sound of hooves in the distance. From two sides. Coming into view horsemen in the livery of the Vyrmen Free Company came into view. Their armor and gear were not uniform or even similar. But their tunics and heraldy showed their green-blue colors along with the acronym of VFC.
The horsemen were followed by several wagons of troops who swiftly dismounted and took up positions in the village.
The other distant hooves moving closer as the young boy, now suddenly gripped by his older sister, was pulled along back towards their home. Glancing back, in the direction of the East. He saw the source of the other set of hooves cresting into view. One thousand horsemen of the Nocturnian Army, in their characteristic Midnight Black colours, winged helmets, and radiant moon livery, charged into the village in a large wave of man and steed.
His sister cried as she was nearly ran over by two horsemen meeting in a thunderclap of steel. Racing around the VFC horseman who now dueled with the Nocturnian. They ran for their home. A crossbow bolt whizzed by. Horses neighed and reared. Both of them practically leapt into their cottage home and slammed the door shut. The cries and ding of metal outside growing wilder. The young boy could not help himself, and he crept to the window while his sister braced the door with a small wooden beam.
Outside was a proverbial blood bath. A Nocturnian impaled a VFC foot soldier in the throat with a lance. Fountaining arterial spray to splatter the dirt. Another Nocturnian clutched the side of his neck, a bolt sticking out. Several bodies littered the earth including, to his horror, the bodies of people he knew. Some were caught in the crossfire, arrows sticking from their backs. Others showed signs of blunt trauma or blades. Likely, in the heat of battle, neither side cared much for who was in their vicinity so long as they were not in their own sides colors.
Thud. The boy stepped back as a VFC soldier was shoved up against the outside of the house. The metal gauntlet of a Nocturnian rider who had either been unhorsed or dismounted, catching him across the face. Blood spattered the window as the Nocturnian soldier hammerfisted the mercenary to the ground before hefting a single handed warhammer. Bringing the pointed rear end down on the man's neck. Bursting through the chain links, the sheer force shattering the man's vertebrae, creating a weak puffing exasperation noise. Followed by a slow bloody gurgle.
This was not chivalry. Not flapping banners of many colors. No honorable duels or glorious bouts of swordsmanship. This was brutal. As another soldier was bludgeoned to death. This was unfair. Another died when he was ganged up on by three of the enemy. This was horror. A man decapitated by a passing black clad rider. His headless body still standing for more than a few seconds in a delayed reaction. Bloody ichor squirting from his neck stump.
The boy began to cry.
Lilien Plains, 0730
The battle in the plains scarcely moved as the Nocturnian loyalists ground against the rebel defending forces. Bodies piling up where the two sides met. Fighting now raged in Esselheim and fearing a flanking maneuver the Mad Duke had ordered his demi-company of Rendili Sharpshooters to move into the low vineyard hills near the Monastery to Jupiter. Backed by the two platoons of his own dismounted men at arms to reinforce that position.
But, the Duke had been either unaware of the size of the Nocturnian cavalry crossing to the South or believed the forces assaulting Esselheim to be it. When men at Donauwurth reported several thousand more horsemen approaching their position from the South.
Maarius, 0735
"Vlad means to roll up my flank with that horse."
"You are certain of this?" remarked one of his commanders. The Baron Vykstride.
"I may be mad, but for military matters I am still sane, my loyal Baron Vykstride," responded Maarius as he pointed at a map in his command tent. Behind his own lines. Behind a low rise in elevation to the rear of his forces near the road to Lyden.
"The Provincials sent against us are exhausting themselves against our remaining standing troops. They'll be forced to commit their reserves soon. But with this horse, we may be unable to force a stalemate, let alone a retreat of the enemy beyond the Thyssel, sire?" said another commander, a learned military officer from Sedna who commanded the Fromaire Gendarme Mercenary Company. Jean-Luc Machelen de la Greroue. Maarius had sold much of his wife's jewels to pay for their speedy arrival from neighboring Sedna three months prior. Before the Nocturnian's had begun closing off the routes around him.
"Vlad is no fool. He knows that if he suffers enough loss in the field that he'd be unable to contain me in Lyden. Reinforcements would be at best a fortnight away and with my army in the Dark Forest to the South he'd be threatened with a counter-envelopment."
There was no army in the Dark Forest. The commanders glanced at each other. Maarius smiled a wicked grin. Seemingly, amused at his own strategem. A stratagem now hinging on units which no longer existed. Yet, neither seemed to really have the courage or desire to say anything to their liege and in De la Greroue's case, his contractor.
Maarius looked at the map and moved two of his reserve regiments to the Monastery. Have the 8th and 12th Regiment's move South and set up facing the oncoming cavalry. They will not break this defensive position of pikes!"
De la Greroue frowned, "And what of the enemy's Winged Hussars? They have yet to be deployed against us."
Now it was Maarius' turn to frown, speaking lowly, "Vlad will not commit them unless he deems his infantry is unable to break my pikes. By then, he would be desparate, and desparate men make mistakes."
"Could you call him a man?"
Maarius was silent to this question.
Lilien Fields, 0800
The rebel forces had held their ground. Stab, jab, slash, whizzing missiles and crackling musket fire, the fighting was fierce. Beyond, the men of the rebel's fighting regiments could see the Midnight Clad Nocturnian Sztrelza had resumed a slow if not ponderous advance. Curiously, the Nocturnian cannon had lessened in their own counter-fire.
Captain Bercholt of the 4th Regiment peered through the helmets of his struggling men, past the dour, snarling faces, of his embattled enemy. At the black clad soldiers slowly advancing. A young drummer boy stood beside him. His face a mixture of fear and plain emotion brought on by training.
Looking back, the Sztrelza were closer now, much closer. Then they stopped. Reaching down onto his side he pulled a small brass spyglass free. Peering through the lens he saw the ranks of black clad soldiery before him. The cries of the battle occurring mere meters before him out of his calm, experienced, mind. His men were holding firm. But what --. The Nocturnian's parted ranks. The Provincial troops he had been fighting suddenly disengaging rapidly at some unseen signal.
His own men made to advance yet he drew his blade and shouted, "Hold position! Hold! Men hold!"
As the enemy began to disappear into the Sztrelza's ranks which had opened up for them he saw why, in horror. For more Nocturnian files parted, to reveal cannon. Pointed squarely at his men.
"Loose forma-"
The bark of the cannon blasts told him he was already too late. A solid round ball rocketed from the Nocturnian cannon straight into his own men. Ten men were bulldozed flat. Several more brushed aside like grain stalk in a thunderstorm. The ball bounced somewhere behind him, more cries, more dead men. The Captain glanced down the row of pulverized, crushed, dismembered bodies that had once been a ten strong file of soldiers. Pausing, at the site of where the drummer boy stood. Where he stood. For only his shoes and lower legs were there. One still standing, the other fallen aside like a twig. The Captain glanced further and could only turn away in trauma at what the rest of the youth had become.
"Orders?"
The Captain blinked. A sergeant was beside him, "Orders, sir!" Another blast of Nocturnian cannon. More screams. More dead men. His regiment was beginning to show signs of fleeing. But they were too close, they'd be shot to pieces or ridden to ruin by enemy cavalry. It would be a rout!
"Charge!" The Captain drew his pistol, and hefted his blade. Moving forward. His Regiment followed immediately. Their courage rekindled at the site of their captain swiftly taking up position in front of them. Their corner garrisons of Musketeers swiftly firing a volley before retreating into their protecting pikemen's formation.
Their rebel yells carried aloft on the wind as they thundered forth. The Nocturnian Sztrelza closed ranks. Protecting their cannon and reforming with professional swiftness to ready themselves. Bracing, the Nocturnian's lowered their pikes with their front rank kneeling in a bracing position. Shouts in Nocturnian could be heard. Between the neat straight ranks of the Nocturnian pikemen crossbowmen took aim and fired. Their bolts flying into the ranks of onrushing rebels. Nocturnian Archers further beyond in the core of the Sztrelza's checkerboard arrangement of companies let loose. Raining steel tipped death from above in addition to the bolts flying straight on.
The Sztrelza did not budge when contact was made. Officers fired pistols. Pikes clattered against steel. Fresh cries. The Sztrelza were curiously much quieter. Captain Bercholt fired his pistol at point blank range. Downing one of the pikemen with a shot to the face. He swung another pike to the side with his sword. Intent on getting in close. A fire burned in his arm. A fire...Bercholt looked down at a pike head which had been skillfully jabbed into his armpit. Under his armor and into the exposed area that his pauldrons did not cover. Severing the artery there. He was dead. He knew he was. He could only let out a scream to the God's as he sank to his knees. A dour drum beat arising to the fore, as the Nocturnian Army advanced.
Sztrelza Enter the Fray, 0830
The Nocturnian Sztrelza moved to the beat of ponderous, deep, drums. Their lockstep march even among separate units were timed in unison. Moving as a solid mass of black clad oblivion. Their pikes like a scythe in a wheatfield as they mowed down charging enemy troops by their dozens. Their swordsmen and missile troops tactically deploying amid the dueling pikemen to open up channels for their musketeers to fill and deliver point blank volleys. And where the enemy countered the Halberdiers went into action as shock troops to throw open an even wider breach.
Maarius could only watch as his first belt of regiments were pushed back by the oncoming blocks of Nocturnian troops. He had moved two Regiments to the South. Fighting was occurring in Esselheim. Donauwurth and the Monastery were being bombarded. His guns had fallen silent there. He needed to check the enemy.
He drew his own blade and strode forth. His bodyguards forming up around him as he gave the command for his reserves to march forth. But not before ordering his mercenary Gendarmes and heavy cavalry to conduct an assault on the extreme right of the enemy line, were he knew only a few thousand cavalry were likely stationed, which his own massed cavalry could overwhelm if needed. While his light cavalry moved on the Nocturne right between Donauwurth and the enemy. A pincer movement. This would be enough pressure to stalemate the Nocturnian's into withdrawing from the field.
0855, Charge of the Light Cavalry
The order had been phrased oddly by the Duke. 'Maneuvre to the enemy's right flank and if capable mount a charge from the direction of Donauwurth.' If capable? Should they muster before the village then charge? Whatever the case orders were orders and the commander of the light cavalry sounded the trot. His horsemen taking off in a wide slow arc as they maneuvered towards Donauwurth. The carnage to their left continuing while Esselheim to their right burned. Enemy cannon fire arced overhead as the Monastery was still brought under fire.
"Wheel about!" shouted the commander as he held his sword aloft. A cannon shot sounded eerily close. He ordered to canter. The horsemen picked up the pace. Readying their sabers and lances as they moved in a wide wheeling movement to preserve their formation. A ripping sound of neighs and screams. His cavalry was being raked by cannon fire from the Nocturnians! They had just to lower their guns. "Blast that damned Duke, you've killed my men!"
The commander ordered his men to charge. His two hundred horsemen, or was two hundred, on account of two squadrons being killed by raking fire. Burst into full speed. The Nocturnian Sztrelza facing them merely turned and lowered their pikes with their Muskeeters forming up. Lowering their muskets they fired by squad. More horsemen hit the ground at high speed. Cannon shot tore horse and rider to ribbons. Scarcely seventy made contact with the pikes. None would survive.
0905, The Sea of Steel
The Sednan Mercenary Gendarmes, two hundred and five strong were supported by the bulk of the Mad Duke's cavalry forces. Numbering nine and a half thousand strong. As they swung in a wide arc they saw dust clouds before them. Emerging into view from around the Sztrelza were the massed ranks of the Winged Hussars and Nocturnian Knights.
The Rebel forces had only one recourse and that was a full on charge. They were committed. The enemy was committed. There was no time for a recall. The Rebel forces did not finish their wheeling maneuver and merely took the fight head on. The Winged Hussars with their famously long lances lowering at the last minute. Over twenty thousand cavalrymen would be involved in this engagement as man and horse clashed at breakneck speeds. Bodies were thrown forth, lances shattering, horses ramming into each other. Man and beast falling to Earth impaled, rent open, stabbed, slashed, or merely bludgeoned and trampled. Pools of blood doused the Earth as one of the largest cavalry melees in recent history unfolded.
0920, Slaughter at the Vineyards
As the Nocturnian's cleared Esselheim they were reinforced by two infantry Sztrelza moving up from the south, some six thousand men, as they advanced to engage at Donauworth and the Monastery. General Tszerclae's crossing further South now bearing fruit as that exact officer watched his forces overrun Donauwurth and carry on into the Monastery and the hills. Where one of the most back and forth struggles would unfold.
First, the Rendili Sharpshooters deployed on the hills were engaged by oncoming Nocturnian infantry and their own musketeers. Their protecting infantry soon caught in melee which given the terrain divulged into separate companies fighting for separate hills and vineyard rows. The Sharpshooters fought with courage and even fought delaying actions as they pulled back to more favorable shootings positions. A prime opportunity for the roaming Nocturnian horsemen which soon set upon them. Within minutes the demi-company ceased to exist as the Army of Nocturne overwhelmed the enemy in detail. The two reinforcing regiments sent by the Duke now in turn having an exposed left flank. Found themselves isolated and unwilling to risk fighting their way back to the Duke's last known position, began to retreat to the South-West into the Lilienwald.
All told some eight hundred men perished between the Monastery and adjacent vineyards.
0930, Nocturne Advances
Maarius fought alongside his men, shouting commands, even getting his blade wet with the enemies blood. When news reached him of the failure of his flanking forces and the loss of the Monastery and vineyards. He began to rant, rave, as madness clouded his eyes. He had to be hauled from the battlefield by his own bodyguards in the direction of Lyden. And upon seeing their commander leaving the field the rebel forces partially broke.
Many of the youth conscripts merely broke and ran. While the Duke's remaining core of crack troops tried a heroic if futile rearguard action across the plains. Only gaining respite once the cavalry engagement ceased and the survivors screened their withdrawal. The Nocturnian horse unwilling to stray too far forward.
The Duke's forces were however soon beset upon again at noon. The Nocturnian's deploying in classic checkerboard fashion against the inner belt of village hamlets. The rebels, garrisoning each as strong points. Soon found themselves shelled and set upon while enemy forces threatened to maneuver through any breaches in the cordon of rebel lines. A flurry of requests for orders to withdraw back into Lyden were sent. But no reply from the Duke came, and feeling abandoned, the rebel army began to disintegrate.
Baron Vykstride managed to corral eighteen thousand in a semi organized fashion, mostly cobbled together youth conscripts and surviving older soldiers of the Duke's army, into going to Lyden. The rest largely disintegrated with various mercenary companies and formations leaving the field or formally surrendering to the advancing Nocturnian vanguards.
By late afternoon the Nocturnian advance was slowed by dealing with surrendering mercenary troops more than enemy actions. Yet, by dusk a calm had set over the Lilien fields. Now drenched in the blood and bodies of over thirty thousand men.
The Battle of Lyden was not over despite this. As the Nocturnian Artillery tirelessly set up positions to begin bombarding the city proper. While infantry forces dug trenches and cavalry reconnoitred the area.
Vlad's Command Tent, 1925
"The Duke is beaten, surely we should spare Lyden?" voiced Kasimir, leader of the Winged Hussars that had answered Vlad's call to arms.
"The Duke is mad, insane, he'll still fight with Lyden burning around him," returned General Tszerclae.
Vlad, who was seated, merely kept quiet as they and others in the tent discussed the current situation. Only when talk of a protracted siege began to crop up did the Triarch give voice. "We will breach their walls in three days time. Lyden is ably defended but not every way can be watched at all times. The Bastion Fort," Vlad pointed to an outline of a castle adjacent the map of Lyden. Indeed, Lyden was joined via a wall to an outlying fortress built in centuries past. "We take the Bastion fort and we critically weaken the ability of the defenders."
"But who will take it?"
"Our Silver Stripes are already infiltrating as we speak."
2000, Bastion Fort
Torchlight eminated from the walls as shadowy figures in long black cloaks and cowls approached. Their movements skillfull and precise. Moving from area to area, rock to rock, tall grass to tall grass. Stealthily moving to the base of the walls were several figures attached strange metallic contraptions to their hands and feet. The hooked claws digging into the thin mortar between the stone bricks of the Bastion's walls. They ascended slowly, trailing rope behind them, as they moved under cover of darkness. Any sentry would be looking outward after all, not straight down, and so when the lead figures crossed over and hooked their rope lines into a secured position. Losing their claws contraptions and drawing crossbow or sword. They went to work. A stab to the neck from the rear, a slashed throat, a bolt to the eye.
The Special Forces of Nocturne moved carefully, quietly, through the walls. Some even dawning the armor of the slain sentries to play the illusion that nothing disquieting was occurring. Least of all when the banner of Nocturne was unfurled on the topmost tower. Signalling the Nocturnian army to affix latters and scail in force. Signalling the alarm bells as the enemy defenders tried to surge across the curtain wall to retake the Bastion. Only to find growing ranks of Nocturnian infantry waiting for them. Only able to barricade the closest curtain wall towers after an hour of fighting which saw bodies strewn across the section of wall adjoining the Bastion to the city's main defenses.
March 5th-7th
March 5th through 7th passed with little action beyond the bombardment of the city. Only a tightening noose as the guns of the bastion fort were turned on the city. The Nocturnians encroaching closer with their trenches. Their sappers coming within meters of the walls. When cannon were able to be rolled up to the gatehouse of the city and in the foggy dawn hours of March 8th the gates were burst asunder.
But not before half of Lyden was burning. For in the pre-dawn hours, Vlad had strode out to see several strange rounds loaded into cannon. The milky-red cannon balls being not rammed home, but delicately lowered into the guns. The cannons elevated ever so slightly to accomodate the balls rolling back against the gunpowder packing. But not so much as to make this motion quick. Moving away quickly Vlad nodded to the officer of each crew who turned away and lowered his firing rod to ignite the fuse.
The cannons fired and the cannon shot leapt into the air. Arcing and upon reaching their downward trajectory bloody red flames erupted from small holes in the shot before the entire round shot exploded. Casting smoky white clouds about several city blocks. White clouds which burned everything they touched in white hot fire.
Bucket brigades formed. Water was fetched. But to no avail. The flames still burned. Dousing buckets only made the heat more intense. Lyden was burning as a firestorm engulfed half the city within an hour. By dawn and the breaking of its gates which signaled the fall of the Lyden. Half of its urban area was a choking haze of smoke and burnt bodies.
Maarius would be found and slain beheaded by Vlad personally at his Ducal palace. Ranting and raving until his skull parted from his shoulders. To adorn a pike over the city gates. The remaining rebel forces trapped in the Lilienwald surrendered that evening.
Of Maarius' sons they were put to death. His grandsons from his two oldest daughters were drowned while their mothers were blinded and sent to a faraway monastery. Their husbands having been hanged as traitors. Of the younger daughters they were spared with Alcara Koeheern given the title of Duchess upon swearing loyalty to Nocturne and the Council of Elders.
Lament before us, we in Midnight Clad- Nocturnian Army Proverb
178th Year of the Third Era, March 5th
The City of Vaeghorod teemed with life, day and night, as the capital of Nocturne. Its clean streets full of pedestrians and carriages. Its hills and elevated districts shining bright in the sunlight. The magnificent domes of its towers and sprawling capitol buildings like dazzling metallic fire in the morning.
The Council of Elders were convening for their usual deliberations and politicking. While in the Palace of the Triarchs, Vlad, the reigning Triarch, gazed out at the mountains which surrounded the city. Every day brought fresh news, gossip, and intrigue. The world was constantly turning, dangerous, and yet beautiful in its own unfathomable way. Least, that is something Markusz Aurelian, his compatriot male Triarch, would have said. Not that he particularly cared for such philosophical undertakings. He was a man of practicality, and practicality demanded he do an overview of the first annual quarters customs revenue accrued from commerce with Nocturne's westerly neighbors. Namely, Rendil and Sedna.
Inhaling slowly, Vlad glanced down at the double columns before him.
