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Beyond The Veil (Medieval/Renaissance/Fantasy War fic)

Chapter 1 - Sarnach (Western New World)
  • xalvissx

    Active member
    Author
    First time posting on Frozen in Carbonite. Welcome to my fiction !

    Alright, so after a whole bunches of research I've decided to write a story of my own that I have long wanted to make. I'll try to make it as realistic as possible, though inaccuracies are still likely to remain. Also, beware of grammar errors, as I am not a native English speaker.

    Any suggestions, feedback, corrections, opinions and advice that anyone would like to give would be welcomed.
    XxXxXxXxX​

    Gyen Togun was nervous as he trod across the grassland with the rest of his platoon toward the natives' line. One of the few cavalry units the commander had at his disposal was moving just up ahead, covering the vulnerable infantry against the far more numerous, but from what Togun had heard, technologically inferior enemy horse. Behind them and the handgonners were ranks of billmen, ready to fill in any gap that would open up. That said, it was still unnerving seeing how much they were outnumbered, but he had been told to move forward and skirmish, so he did. Togun counted himself fortunate that he was not assigned to the crossbow platoon of his company, whose members were now running for their lives back from their sniping positions, chased by obscene native insults and all kinds of missiles.

    To his left, the sharpshooters were already firing with their enormous matchlocks, peppering the enemy centre with heavy shots that felled several men with each hit. At this distance, they were going to miss a lot, but the effect of sustained firing was never to be underestimated. Too bad they would not been able to deliver a lot of shock, but every killed soldier eased his job a little bit. He really needed it, as according to the briefing there were over five thousand angry Ardenians gathering on the open field up ahead, against just over one thousand Vitenese and twice as much that number in native Rymeran allies. Sure, some of the enemy had been left behind to man the siege lines at Sarnach, but the numerical advantage the natives enjoyed was still significant. As they got closer, he could now make out the details on the opposing side's clothing. Many of the opposing horsemen wore plumed helmets that looks like a bucket made out of a block of solid metal, with tiny slits that he guessed provided ventilation and visibility. Encased from head to thigh in shimmering, tubular-looking suit of bronze armour, they made for a daunting sight, even though the footmen were a lot less well equipped.

    ''They are going to boil under all that armour'' mumbled Manam, one of his squadmates.

    The day was an unusually hot one for this land. To be fair, this was nothing compared to his tropical homeland, but the blazing sun coupled with the sight of plumes and banners the Ardenians carried were beginning to take its toll. Togun felt beads of sweat running down his face.

    The lancers ahead just stopped. Togun's platoon slid themselves smoothly into the gap between the two blocks of horsemen, and the men of the first rank had already brought their handgonnes up. Togun took a deep breath and began checking his weapon: all three barrels had been loaded and primed, the slow match was in the holder, the piece of wood separating the match from the priming pan was still in place, but could be removed easily if he needed to fire, and the spearhead was in place between the barrels, fitted snugly in the grooves drill into the head of the handle. Luckily the distance between men in the formation was wide enough that there was almost no risk of somebody accidentally stabbing their comrades in the next rank when they fumbled trying to reload.

    ''Fire!'' cried the captain. A blast rang out, alongside a not at all insignificant cloud of smoke, and the men of the first rank ran back through the gap between files. Two pairs of rockets launched by the support teams in the back shrieked towards the native vanguard, cutting bloody paths through the Ardenian ranks by the sheer power of the projectiles, one of them managed to pierce several men before finally exhausting its momentum. By the time his rank had move to the front of the platoon he could clearly see the devastation wrought by his companions. Dozens of corpses strew across the ground as enemy skirmishers and infantry moving forward to engage the handgonners. Arrows and crossbow bolts flew by, missing most of the men, but the few that met its mark did cause some issues, though at the Vitenese's volley fire range their lethality were heavily reduced. Togun jerked as a bolt whipped by, missing him by only a few centimetres.

    ''Concentrate!'' The captain shouted, trying to keep the men from wavering. Togun didn't think he had sweated this heavily before. The anxiety was getting to him; he needed to act, and fast.

    ''Make ready!''

    ''Present!''

    Togun braced his weapon against the right shoulder, left thumb on the match holder, while his right hand held the grip firmly to keep the handgonne steady and on target, and also to prevent himself from shaking too much from fear. He grasped it so tightly in his clutch that the skin on his hands had already begun to turn white, but in the heat of the moment he paid them no heed.

    ''Fire!''

    The handgonner pressed down his thumbs, pushing the match into the flash pan and the weapon lurched backward with an ear-shattering blast. He stepped sideway into the gap, allowing the next man to take his position. Within seconds, the cries of the enemy grew louder as Togun caught a glimpse of something big moving through the thick smoke.


    XxXxXxXxX​

    Even the reserve at the rear could see that something was wrong. The men were agitated, and from her position at the front Lijta of Trettow could hear the terrible dins of battle and see the smoke coming out from whatever infernal weapons the Outsiders were employing against their allies. She should not have doubted the eventual victory of the followers of Solhunn, however if the rumours were true then facing them were no ordinary man but the demons of legends themselves, the Great Enemy who more than a millenia ago had brought untold destruction to the land of Ardenia, leaving only fire and death left in their wake. The thought of facing the spawn of Nija turned her legs into jelly, yet it wasn't fear she felt, but an unrecognizable feeling of oppression that weighed heavily on her chest. Had they truly returned after all these years to exact vengeance on those who had driven their ancestors back behind the Veil?

    ''Your Reverence!'' a dispatch rider ran up forward and kneeled so fast that he almost tumbled. ''The Lord Baron requests immediate support on the right wing, by the headstones and the copse of trees.'' He stopped for a second to catch his breath then continued ''I'll lead the way.''

    ''Closed column by company!'' the abbess issued her orders without missing a beat ''Full pace!''

    Her feet moved immediately upon hearing the commands, as even the lowliest of novices knew that abbess Rosynde did not take kindly to hesitation or weaknesses. The Luminous Sisterhood detachment of six hundreds quickly formed into formation and marched out toward the beleaguered right wing. Try as she might, the sister still could not shake off the faint trace of doubt lingering at the back of her mind, and the pressure in her chest only grew larger with every step closer to their foes, making it hard to even breath, let alone concentrate. She was not in any way green, having seen heavy action during the Hadrian Wars, yet what was unfolding before their eyes was not an ordinary battle, if there indeed existed such a thing. The accompanying cavalry and footmen apparently shared her uneasiness, but in the harsh gaze of the abbess they wisely kept their voice down.

    The noise grew louder, and a scene of terrible carnage welcomed the sisters. Ardenians, both nobles and commoner, lay dead in droves upon the battlefield. Her column quickly formed up into line, but came under attack before they could finish deploying. Groups of enemy infantry threw smoke and fire from their hiding place in the trees just to the right, then just as suddenly a man or woman fell to the ground clutching their bloody wounds. Casualties were especially heavy on the novices; those poor girls had been sent ahead to act as skirmishers and had paid dearly for their bravery as they closed within javelin range, cut down by the dozens as if they had been struck by lightning before being driven back towards the fast-approaching main force. The sisters marched forward toward the enemy in a rock-solid wall of bronze plates, great axes and swords, ignoring their companions falling all around them. The choir began to sing, causing the invisible burden weighing her mind and body down to suddenly vanish. The abbess' banner grew brighter with every verse, filling their surrounding with divine light and the heart of men with great fervour. Even those who had run just a moment before had returned, the reinforcement and the tattered remnants of the right formed up into a huge wedge, ready to plow through all who stood in their way.

    Lijta could see the opposing side clearly, being in one of the first few ranks of the wedge. Behind the familiar hillmen of Rymer stood lines upon lines of Outsiders, their long spears hold high to form a menacing hedge of metal points that would make lesser men flinch. Most of them wore a sleeveless coat over their shirt as the only form of body armour, which reached down to their thighs, as well as an open faced helmet, some conical, but most with a domed skull piece and narrow sloping brim; all were black, though she could just make out some strange red symbols painted over them. As exotic as their clothes were, their weapons were much more curious. The thin line of infantry ahead of her carried extremely long spear that must have reached up to twenty feet in length, and the skirmishers, who had caused them so much grief, had a strange contraption that looked like a short spear, but with three tubes attached to the shaft whose every discharge was accompanied by unnatural roars that sounded like thunderclaps.

    Was it magic? The men of Nija, for all their mastery over iron, or maybe because of it, had never shown any sign of arcane aptitude, the soul spark that was necessary for such thing simply did not exist within them. Yet many things must have changed in the thousand of years since they had last retreated behind the Veil as, try as she might, Lijta could not recognize a single similar facet between the current Outsiders and the fiends described so thoroughly in the Scriptures of Dawn. If it had not been for their iron armaments she could have sworn they were another race altogether.

    But her duty was to fight and obey commands, not questioning the validity of the Scriptures, which would undoubtedly be true in any case, If a thousand years before the ragtag host of the faithful, driven forwards only by their belief, had managed to defeated the Outsiders on the apogee of their power and casted them back to their thrice-cursed homeland in humiliation then a victory in His name today was all but assured. Praying that her novice, Ermelinde of Corver, would survive their ordeal, she lifted up the axe and let out a war cry, feeling a renewed surge of strength and determination coarsing through her body. The skirmishing bands of enemies ahead quickly fell back behind their spearlines in the face of the charge, while to the right and left the opposing horsemen had begun to clash. The entire host of the Luminous Sisterhood glowed with the light of Solhunn's blessing as they rushed forward, eager to avenge their fallen.
     
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    Chapter 2 - Sarnach (Western New World)
  • ''Fire!'' The order echoed in Togun's ears as he sent another bullet downrange into the mass of bodies piling up in front of the pikemen to his right. From their hiding place in the trees he could appreciate the true number of their opponents. The left wing of the Vitenese's had been stretched to the limit trying to contain the numerically superior cavalry of the natives as their enemies tried to outflank their extreme left. What followed had been a long and bloody cavalry battle, but by careful use of reserves and support from mounted pistoleers and handgonners the lancers had managed to barely beaten back the initial attack. The Ardenians, however, had pulled in their reserves from the rear and caught the left wing off guard, and with many units disorganized and out of position the huge wedge simply swept them aside as it continued its rampage, plowing through several isolated groups into the gap which had opened up between the left and the center.

    Togun tried to shake off the images of their pitiful remains. Those poor fellows hadn't even had enough time to form a half decent square before they were trampled by tons of metal and horseflesh, and all that had been left behind were a few piles of meat that were barely recognizable as formerly walking, breathing human beings. It was a painful fate that none here wanted to suffer. At least being hit by a cannon ball would be quick, he thought as a group of Ardenians were blown to pieces by an artillery piece, one of the few they had managed to scrounge up before being called to this terrible place.

    Fortunately for the whole army, despite the rout of the native allies, most of the pikemen closer to the centre and the cavalry had been able to pull back in time and reorganized into a passable defensive line, covered by the household guards of general Ledao. The unfortunate thing, and this was far more personal, was that Togun and his unit were one of the few groups scattered and left behind as the left wing retreated, too slow and too far to follow the main force. He and his comrades had taken refuge in the trees to avoid the initial cavalry attack and to get to a more favourable shooting position, pouring fire into their flank. That had been a sound idea at first, but it now worked against them as there was no way they could get back to the friendly troops, and ammunition was running out.

    ''How much do you have left?'' he asked Manam as the man tore open a cartridge with his teeth.

    ''Six in the bag and two already loaded.'' He replied with a shake of his head. ''We are burning through ammo too fast for our own good. Took a lot of those buggers down, though.''

    Their rate of fire had slowed down considerably to conserve ammunition, but soon they would have to cease firing all together. Without ammo they were just inferior spearmen, and that would not do. One of those glowing axemen ahead or a cavalrymen would just chopped through them and move on to the next target. The billmen could deal with those, but taking away ranged support from the handgonners and they would lose a lot of their versatility.

    ''Incoming enemy infantry! Face the enemy to our left!'' the sudden shout of the captain pulled the two men out of their conversation. The entire units sprung up in a second and quickly moved up to their position. The billmen deployed forwards in an arc, five men deep, with each of their flanks protected by a platoon of twenty handgonners slightly back, the five-man platoon support teams followed closely behind, while the crossbowmen were kept at the rear as reserve in contrast to their usual position far ahead in the skirmish line. Opposing them was a surprisingly large force of native infantry with some cavalrymen advancing towards the treelines in close formation, probably ordered by the one in charge on the other side to uproot the Vitenese from their hiding place. The two flanking units of skirmishers had already sent men forward to engage their foes, kicking up cloud of gun smoke for every shot fired.

    Must have reformed a little while ago, Togun mused to himself. The opposition had obviously seen much combat due to their ragged and bloody appearance, yet they did not look like the conscripts and levies send forwards at the beginning of the battle. Marching behind their heavy shields, they maintained disciplined pace even as their comrades dropping right next to them, which spoke highly of their training. These men were not amateurs, but probably the cream and crop of the Ardenian army, if they had one. Togun did not like going up against those fellows, but at least he didn't have to worry about the rear of his formation, with the trees blocking the way to the back, and there weren't enough enemy infantry around to perform a flanking manoeuver. The front was all that mattered now.

    The handgonners were firing into the mass of footmen moving up to their formation, dropping men with each volley. With three barrels apiece a formation of handgonners could send a huge number of lead downrange before needing to reload, although it was not as accurate or long ranged as the brand new matchlocks issued to the regulars. And with the issue of ammunition still remained, any skirmishing done would be limited and each squad were only allowed to fire thrice before stopping altogether. At least all the shots that connected resulted in a dead or soon-to-be-dead enemy, which was good enough. But those buggers did have serious gut, and they earned his respect for that; being able to wade into a storm of lead like that was not something you could just get from training.

    The shield bearers gradually tighten their formation as they came, causing beads of cold sweat to trickle down his back like an icy river. Togun suddenly found himself unable to breath, his whole body trembling as he worked his way forwards into the firing position.

    ''Prepare for salvo!''

    The three rear ranks of handgonners advanced up to the first, with the first rank kneeling, the second and third rank stooping while echeloning to the left and right, and the fourth standing upright, ready to blow their enemies to kingdom come.

    Any moment now…

    ''Make ready!''

    ''Present!''

    ''Fire!''

    All four ranks of handgonners discharged their weapons in a devastating salvo of death and destruction, accompanied by the infernal hissing of rockets to furthermore demoralise their foes. Despite the inaccuracy of both weapons, at this close range it was almost impossible to miss. The sudden shock from the volley had noticeable effects on the shield bearers, their formation disrupted, their implacable advance brought to a sudden halt just thirty meters from the tree line.

    ''Advance! Echelon formation!''

    A unit of billmen quickly moved forward to engage the reeling enemies, who quickly broke off even before the two side met. The enemy cavalry split into two and moved to encircle the advancing Vitenese before they could catch up with the retreating infantry, forcing the attackers to stop in turn and form a defence lest they be run over by the marauding horsemen. It was too little too late, however, the billmen had nary a few moments to gather themselves into a rough circle before the riders went over them from all sides, throwing the and trampling those unfortunate fellows under their hooves. The handgonners and the rest of the company, however, were right behind them and quickly rushed into the melee. The few horsemen, numbering just around fifty, were quickly overwhelmed and cut down by spearheads and hooks. Togun saw a man dragged down from his horse by a bill and immediately poke full of holes by a multitude of stabbing implements.

    Some of the footmen, however, managed to remain cohesive enough to attempt a charge. Screaming on top of their lung, the natives jumped right into the swirling close combat, bashing and hacking their way through the spearheads towards their surrounded comrades. Togun saw a native warriors lunging towards him through a gap in combat, his unnatural pale face twisted into a snarling visage as he swung his sword. Togun ducked instinctively, narrowly avoided the blow aimed at his neck. He quickly thrust the spearhead on top of his handgonne upward into the shield bearer's face, forcing his opponents to step back and take cover behind shield. Drawing his weapon with his forward hand back a short distance, and with all of his strength Togun brought the heavy triple barrels hard on the Ardenian's shield, causing the native to lose his footing and topple backward. Seeing this, one of his fellow soldiers who had just moments before dispatched his own opponent quickly drove the butt spike of his weapon onto the face of the fallen man before he could do anything to parry the blow, ending his life with a sickening crunch.

    Taking a moment to observe the carnage around him, the handgonner saw that the fight was over. The enemy had been broken, and all those who had decided to stay behind and stand their ground had been killed to a man. Shaking uncontrollably, Togun found that the thrill of the fight had already been wearing off of him and simply standing was now becoming too hard, forcing him to use his weapon as a crutch. As he continued examining the carpet of dead bodies now lying on the ground where he stood, the handgonner caught sight of something shiny coming from one of the corpses by his feet. Staring in disbelief at his good fortune as he tore the golden rings from the dead man's fingers and quickly pocketed the ornaments before anyone could see, he turned toward the captain as the man was shouting for the survivors to regroup and marched back to support the beleaguered comrades. Now at least something good had come out of this war for him personally, he just hoped that he could survive long enough to make use of his newly acquired wealth.
     
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    Map of the South-Western New World
  • Red dashed line: Border.

    White line: Road.

    MhmQj3t.jpg



    V: Vitenese colony's capital: Haitran.

    S1 &2: Scourge (Mahuizalcah) invasion routes.


    A: Ardenian capital: Solhenburg


    A1: Grishaufen

    A2: Forterois

    A3: Treuwar

    A4: Valensthal

    A5: Altmarche

    A6: Marzawia

    A7: Wrota

    A8: Tamierz

    A9: Halsberg

    A10: Krappagardo


    R: Rymeran capital: Trejai


    R1: Sarnach

    R2: Spigelisa

    R3: Karkas

    R4: Marriaustjam

    R5: Witwarris

    R6: Prasarg


    K: Kalmeri capital: Vartai


    K1: Traken

    K2: Kailisios

    K3: Svyklas

    W: Wendgarder capital: Suedros

    W1: Dygai

    W2: Kalnage

    W3: Vandenskolona
     
    Chapter 3 - Sarnach (Western New World)
  • How many of the bastards are actually out there?

    Ulma Thang had tried his best in this battle, but it clearly wasn't enough. They had said that the war would bring glory and riches, but he had only found several near death situations fighting against the natives. He could have easily gotten an administrative position in a comfortable, and more importantly safe place, being of noble blood, but instead he had chosen this accursed land beyond the sea. Trying ineffectually to wipe away the dirt and blood on his breastplate, he could only curse his naivety as he again saw the remaining Ardenian cavalry lining up for another charge. Those buggers had an unbelievable tolerance for punishment, but again, he supposed, so were he and his comrades. The opposing ranks of horsemen had been thinned out considerably, but the pistoleers had been fighting for their lives since the very opening moves, and he himself had been unhorsed twice already. They were at their breaking point.

    As soon as they heard a trumpet call, Thang and his comrades rapidly formed into a block ten men wide and five deep, a testament to their training. A normal formation of mounted pistoleers would have twice the number of ranks, but between the casualties and the wide flank that needed protecting, they used what they could. A small detachment of accompanying lancers deployed behind in a more traditional manner, wide and shallow, ready to cut down anyone who might got through the pistoleers. There weren't as many enemy horses as there had used to be, and the animals were unfamiliar with gunfire; with luck the Vitenese could weather the oncoming storm and rout them.

    Just one more time…

    ''Forward! March!''

    The Vitenese responded to the sighting of their enemies by advancing slowly forward. Despite being dead tired and just wanted to stand in place and shoot down the attackers with his pistols, he knew that was simply out of the question. It was common knowledge that the best defense cavalry had against mounted enemies charging at them was to charge themselves. You should never let yourself be caught stationary, as then you would almost certainly lose the contest of will and defeat was inevitable. Besides, the gallop was a move which relieved anxiety, which he sorely needed right now. The Ardenian lancers were already cantering along with shouts, hurrahs and probably insults in a language he could not understand, and soon broke into a breakneck gallop. The pistoleers, however, were still advancing in a slow and steady pace, and had just begun to speed up. The enemy would be exhausted by the time they made contact, if they made it at all.

    The movement of something ahead caught his attention. A group of men had just suddenly emerged from the trees to his left, at the rear of the enemy cavalry, which was the best place they could be at this very moment. He knew he should concentrate more on riding and staying in the saddle, but the sudden sight of a friendly Vitenese banner filled his heart with joy. Maybe there was hope in this hell, after all.

    Sure enough, the too-early gallop had begun to take its toll upon the opposing line. The ordered ranks at the beginning had turned into a noisy horde; gaps were created, horses in the center were squeezed out, slower horses and the cowards were far behind while the few brave ones ahead. Their mounts were foaming at the mouth, visibly exhausted.

    They are quite spirited, alright. But that means nothing against a disciplined opponent.

    ''Cut them down!''

    With a mighty cry, the block of horsemen launched themselves into a frenzied charge. The disordered Ardenian lancers stood no chance. There were a several trying to countercharge, but the front ranks of the Vitenese horse quickly raised their weapons and sent a hail of lead downrange then charged home with swords, ending the counterattack before it even began to take form. The mass of lancers fled in a jumbled mess, but their tired horses could only take them so far. Those few who escaped the wrath of the victorious pistoleers were overtaken by the fast-approaching Vitenese infantry, being dragged off their horses and skewered or blasted to bits point-blank. With their cavalry gone, the right flank of the natives was wide open. The battle had reached its turning point.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    Lijta yelled the Sisterhood's battle cry when she again threw herself into the struggle. The long spears and the tube weapons had taken a terrible toll on the sisters. Their bodies piled up across the field, alongside perhaps a fifth of the Ardenian army, but they were beginning to make gain, ploughing through the screening ranks of Rymeran barbarians. Even in the struggle against the Outsider infantry opening had been created, and whenever a sister managed to forced her way into the spears she would usually triumph.

    As she had just managed to get through the spearhead, a man quickly dropped his long weapon and charge at her with a curved blade. In the tight confine of the enemy formation there was no space to swing her weapon, but there were more than one way to use an axe. Lijta whirled the axe in a curved motion, parrying the blow with the handle and momentarily unbalanced her attackers. Seeing an opening, she quickly drove the horn of the great axe into his unarmoured throat, ending her opponent's life in a shower of alien red blood.

    Another attacker came at her, this one noticeably better equipped than the spearman. Because of her companions to the left and right and the enclosed space they could only attack one at a time, but even alone he seemed pretty formidable. Seeking to end the duel immediately, Lijta raised the axe above her head then delivered a massive downward blow at his face but the man simply hit the axe head on its side with his shield and pushed his sword toward the joint of her armour. The warrior nun had prepared for this, however. Lowering her posture and thrust at his now unprotected stomach with the butt spike of the axe, she easily sent him reeling backward before striking a downward blow with her axe head, crushing his helmet.

    Trumpets and drums blaring from the back signalled the attacking sisters to pull back. Whacking the few spearheads pointing at her as she and her companions retreated back into the safety of friendly formations to rest and regroup while the novices, crossbowmen and archers pushed forward to soften up the foes with missiles for the final glorious attack. A feeling of elation washed over Lijta when she saw the Outsider's tattered line, their troops struggled in vain to fill the now too many gaps in their formations. The anticipation of an imminent glorious victory spearheaded by the Sisterhood at the helm was so great that she couldn't help but grinning under the cover of her helmet. They would become the second vanquishers of the spawn of Nija, standing forever next to the First Faithful who themselves had crushed this terrible enemy in their lair more than a thousand years ago. She wondered, what had those heroes felt at that moment, knowing that they had been the saviours of Ardenians from these most monstrous of adversaries?

    Yet her thought was abruptly cut short by the sounds of gruesome screams coming from all around. Men from the outer fringes of the force were clambering over each other and the dead, desperately to get into the relative safety of the centre, throwing the entire formation into chaos. Panic surged through Lijta as realization suddenly dawned on her that they were being surrounded. Somehow the Outsiders had managed to defeat their flanking cavalry and were now pushing in from all sides. She saw enemy horsemen running roughshod over the crumbling Ardenian left, killing with impunity, either through lances, swords, the strange tubes they carried that spew fire and smoke, or simply by using their horse as a battering ram, knocking men over and trampling them to paste. Trying desperately not to be swept away by the confusion, the sisters gathered whoever they could and formed a square around the abbess' banner, determined to fight to the bitter end.

    As she was running, the novice next to her stumbled over a corpse and tripped. Shouting frantically for the girl to get on her feet, she in turn bumped into a running soldier and almost fell. A sudden, thunderous sound deafened her. The Outsiders had just turned their deadly weapons on the fleeing men, cutting down dozen of them in one fell swoop. Dusty air flooded her lungs and hot blood from the slain splattered onto her armour as she felt something hot whizzing through the air, hitting a retreating infantryman in the back.

    ''Sister, are you hurt?'' the girl, Avinin of Krêne, if her memory served her right, had managed to catch up with her, panting and sweating uncontrollably. Outside of a small wound on her leg that didn't seem to affect her movement much, the girl appeared unhurt.

    ''I am fine!'' she shouted back, her voice barely audible over the scream of men and roar of weapons. ''Keep running! Don't look back, I am right beside you!''

    They started moving again, with the sister using her body and armour as shield to protect the more vulnerable novice. Ermelinde had disappeared without a trace midway through battle, but Lijta could hardly blame the girl for that; she would have better chances at survival than most of her comrades by doing so. It was however not so simple for the rest of the order, the oath they took after becoming a fully-fledged robe-bearer prevented them from turning their back on the enemy, regardless of the circumstance. Years after years of fighting desperate rear-guard actions and last stands had cultivated a sense of pride and a casual disregard for death in the ranks of the Sisterhood. They had born every trial proudly and bravely on their back without a single step back, and she would not be the one breaking that tradition. Not today.

    Ranks of horsemen emerged from the unnatural fog that had descended upon parts of the battlefield, cutting down stragglers too slow to get to the square of the sisters. The cavalry circled around, and with fire and smoke they gradually thinned out the outer ranks before breaking off and repeating the manoeuver over and over. The remaining novices tried their best to respond to the onslaught, but they were sorely outmatched. At least they did not die too quickly; at this rate they could hold out until reinforcement could arri-

    A deafening sound was all she could hear as her neighbours were flung around like leaves in the wind. Something terrible had torn large holes in their formation, felling dozen where they hit. Weapons were shattered and soldiers dropped dead like they had been speared. Within seconds enemy horsemen were upon them, charging through the breaches wielding swords and lances under the cover of the brutal attack. The sisters tried to put up some resistance, but it was clear now that with their formation broken, they were a little more than preys to be run down by the rampaging riders.

    No! She screamed helplessly as her comrades were struck down en masse before her very eyes. As she dragged the poor novice away from the path of a cavalryman, saving her by a hair's breadth, Lijta realized that all was lost. There would be no second repeat of the subjugation of Nija in this place, no great celebration, no deeds worthy of immortalization in songs and scriptures, for they were the vanquished today. The combined attack from the thunderous weapons and cavalry was too much to handle: the once proud square was now broken with its guts spilled out, the occupants who just a moment before had been so ready to sell their lives dearly now easily run down to the ground like helpless children. Yet all of them, whether wounded or disarmed, fought on to the death. But valour could only do so much against the momentum and mass of a horse.

    ''Flee now while you still can!'' Lijta half screamed at the novice, trying to shake her out of her fear. ''The oath prevents me from running away, but you haven't taken it! Live to fight another day, avenge the fallen! Go!''

    Avinin nodded briskly and quickly disappearing into the influx of routers streaming back toward the centre. Again, she supposed, the girl's chance of surviving was small, but still better than staying back and face the victorious army. The more time she could delay the enemy, the more chances the shattered men had to escape the following massacre, even if it was just a few seconds.

    ''My lord…'' Lijta whispered, and brought up her axe. The faint sight of men advancing through the thick smoke was the last thing she saw before a murderously powerful punch hammered her in the stomach and everything turned black.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    The gathering dusk had finally brought the slaughter to a halt. The battle of Sarnach was over, the siege had been lifted, and the Vitenese and Rymerans held the field – there were no more Ardenian left to oppose them; they were either dead, wounded, captured or in rout. Even the small force manning the siege line had packed up and left upon hearing the news of the defeat, harassed all the way by the native garrison. Hundreds of bodies from both sides sprawled and piled together in heaps on the battlefield, shadowed by flocks of hungry carrions ready for a feast.

    ''The sight of a defeated army is always a sorrowful one, don't you agree? ''

    Togun looked up and saw a bloody pistoleer on a tired horse. Outside of his ragged appearance he seems unharmed.

    ''Yes, young master,'' Togun bowed his head towards the horseman. Although the rider hadn't shown or told his own status, being a pistoleer usually meant you were a noble, and Togun wouldn't want to be disciplined for not properly honouring a person of higher standing. ''But with all due respect, sir, why are you here ? Don't you think this place is a bit too…vulgar?'' He asked, all the while glancing at his comrades stripping a dead body of its belongings just dozen meters to the right.

    ''There is no need to. We are all soldiers, and a battlefield is a proper enough place,'' the noble laughed. Togun could see no mockery in his voice, only amusement ''I just want to personally thank you for your actions in the battle. You did us, and this whole army, a great service when you attacked the native right wing from behind. '' He paused for an instant, then continued. ''I will make sure you and the rest of your unit get your proper reward.''

    ''We are very grateful for this favour, young master.'' He replied, and the horseman nodded, then rode back into the camp. When he lost sight of the rider, Togun quickly returned to his work of stripping the dead of their valuables, like what the rest of the regiment were doing. He had gained a fair bit of wealth already, but more gold and gems didn't hurt anybody. He kneeled next to a corpse, one of those axemen that had caused them so much grief, turning it over and removing the helmet. What was under it wasn't something disgusting, but it nevertheless caught him totally by surprise.

    It was a woman, a young and fairly attractive one at that, if one ignored the cold pallor characteristic of the people from the Farther East. The armour had concealed her features, making her almost indistinguishable from the men surrounding her. And she was still alive. There were two splashes of lead on her bronze cuirass, which he guessed came from some stray bullets. She probably had several broken ribs right now, but surviving two shots to the torso was more than most people could ask for. After returning her helmet to its position and making sure she was truly unconscious, he bent down, wrapped his arms around the wounded woman, and helped her to her feet. The general would no doubt appreciate a living prisoner who could reveal to him the secret of their otherworldly power.
     
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    Addendum 1 - Army of Vitenan (part 1)
  • William Dacton

    Exotic Journey to the East

    Chapter 19 – Provincial army of Vitenan (excerpt)

    What makes the Grand Preceptor so fearsome to Vitenan's neighbours is his enormous army. Vitenan makes much effort to maintain a military recruitment system capable of fending of the invasions from her neighbours. The men of every region, with some exceptions for families with multiple members eligible for service, are selected and required to enlist into their respective local armies and follow a special program, which exchanges military service for land or monetary rewards (in rural areas) or some forms of material and social bonus (in urban areas). They are required to devote a certain amount of time per year, usually two to three months for military duties (patrolling, training, etc) over a period of several years, but many people volunteer for a longer enlistment period. They are divided into five shifts, and take turns between their civilian jobs and soldiering. Using this particular form of conscription, the Grand Preceptor is able to develop his nation's economies while simultaneously maintaining a large bulk of semi-professional reserves with decent skills at a much lower maintenance cost. The state only has to pay, in addition to equipment and weaponry, a salary and food ration for all soldiers whilst they are on duty. This allows Vitenan to allocate more resources to military equipment, weapons and other affairs. Once a soldier dies or is discharged from service, their allotted land is returned to the state's possession rather than being inherited by the soldier's descendants.

    The best in the recruitment pool are inducted in the regular army under the command of Five Chief Military Commissions, while the rest served in their home province under the local military command, which themselves subjected to one of the Commissions (the recruitment process for the Palace Guards has been covered in Chapter 5). Like the regulars, provincial troops are organized according to their ''five-five formular'' into companies of one hundred and twenty five men each; five companies form a battalion, and five battalions alongside a small cavalry and light artillery contingent in turn form a regiment, which is the main combat formation for Vitenese army and is fully capable of long-term independent operation. While normally the provincial troops are only called up if there is combat happening in or near their responsible area, some units, for example the independent companies and battalions of the Interior Guards stationed in the capital region, which consist mainly of conscripts under the above-mentioned programs, are eligible for long campaigns far away from home.

    As a rule, provincial troops are a lot less well equipped than regular forces, and urban conscripts are usually better equipped than their rural counterparts, although the basic equipment mostly stays the same. Each new recruit is given a weapon, an open faced helmet, either conical or with a domed skull piece and narrow sloping brim; a thick sleeveless tunic reinforced with a small rectangular metal plate on the chest, which is their equivalent of our gambeson, though its construction and material still stay a mystery to me. Despite being cheap and light , they are surprisingly resistant and resilient, both against weather and enemy weapons.

    While the regulars have weapons that would be familiar to you readers in the home country (though that does not mean they do not utilize strange armaments), the provincial troops are equipped with several distinctive, and some might say old-fashioned arms that are peculiar to our eyes, though evidently they are no less effective for their purposes:

    - A multiple-barrel handgonne mounted on a long wooden handle with a spearhead fixed between its three barrels, which presumably serves the same purpose as a bayonet. It also has a simple serpentine to facilitate firing and a wooden bedding separating the barrels, so that shooting from one will not heat up the other two. This weapon does not utilize true matchlock mechanism as it does not have a lever or trigger, therefore the gunner has to manually press down the serpentine with his thumb in order to fire the gun. However, it still allows the gunner to discharge three shots in quick succession by hand-rotating the barrels. It is not as long ranged or accurate as a proper matchlock arquebus, but makes up for it with versatility, as it can both be used as a spear with its spearhead and as an improvised club with its heavy triple barrels. Probably modified and/or inspired by a similar weapon from the great empire of Sinithae to the north.

    - A weapon similar to a bill, with opposing hooks and a spearhead. It usually measures eight feet in length. The entire head of the weapon is sharpened to facilitate cutting and slashing, and can also be used to drag enemies or their weapons away. A favourite weapon of marines as it allows them to hook enemy warship or cut off enemy cordage, but it is also popular with land troops. The ''flame bill'' as the Vitenese call them is used as support weapon in pike formation or as escorting troops for skirmishers.

    - ''Pomegranate arrow'': The mightily fashioned Vitenese bows which the inhabitants of this country have shown admirable skills and dexterity at handling are used to launch this type of ammunition at enemy in battle. The gunpowder and flammable material are wrapped in a layer of ramie cloth, which in turn is coated in resin, and the fuse covered with oil-infused paper. The archer lights the fuse before he looses the arrow from his bow. This type of arrow has a barbed head that makes extraction difficult, and the fire generated by this weapon cannot be put out by water.

    - ''Western-style crossbow'': As the above-mentioned multiple-barrel handgonne is only available to urban conscripts, and again mostly in the hand of the Interior Guards, provincial forces in the rural areas make use of this as their main ranged weapon. Reloaded by the goat's foot lever, similar to what mounted crossbowmen use, this weapon is nevertheless longer, stronger and heavier to be more suitable for infantry. The Vitenese utilized this type of crossbow to loose poisoned bolt at enemies. There are also some evidences of bolts infused with gunpowder, though I myself have never seen one. Probably introduce through trade with the accursed Kingdom of Friels.

    - ''Fire rod'': A short, wooden stick with multiple barbed and curved spikes attached to a longer wooden shaft. The joint between these two parts is thickly coated in oil and resin and covered with dry, flammable rope. In battle the user lights the joint on fire, turning the weapon into a special torch that will spread burning oil and resin whenever swung or thrust, which is capable of causing serious burn. The barbed spikes also make sticking into shield or body of the target much easier.

    - ''Fire tube'': Also called ''Flaming Tiger'' due to the ferocity of its payload, this weapon is made up of a one-foot long bronze tube mounted on top a wooden stave of similar length and filled with a mixture of black powder, incendiary ingredients and metal blades. When the charge is ignited it will shoot off a jet of flame as well as burning fragments to clear enemies and set combustible materials alight. The metal blades and pellets can also be replaced with an iron arrow to further increase range and lethality...


    XxXxXxXxX​

    Wan Xia - Sinithan Emissary.

    Cavalry of the Southern Vassals - Vitenan (excerpt from one of the letters to the Grand Privy Council)

    While cavalry have never been a strong combat arm in warfare of the Southern States, they still fulfill an important and essential role. [...] For Vitenan, it is estimated that the Grand Preceptor can mobilize up to five thousand armoured cavalrymen from his Palace Guard regiments for a single campaign; the true number can be higher than that.

    Vitenese horses are of stocky build, and while a bit smaller and slower than their western and northern counterparts, are frugal, very hardy and have high endurance. They rarely suffer diseases, can carry a man in full armour, as well as barding while traversing difficult terrain without noticeable drop in performance.

    The three main types of regular cavalry for the Vitenan are lancers, mounted pistoleers and mounted archers. They have clear cut roles, unlike ours, which are expected to perform multiple tasks [...]. As pointed out by previous wars, both between our country against them and they against their other neighbours, their cavalry haven't changed much over the last century, and in many way mirror ours. Their most significant evolution came from the Molghur invasions, in which the Vitenese incorporated many aspects of this nomadic type of warfare for their mounted force, although the much smaller number of horsemen limit this somewhat. But as most of their main cavalry are nobles or their retinues, especially the heavy horse archers, they are well armed, trained and dangerous.

    In battle, a small vanguard of light cavalry ride forward, trying to pin down enemy force or at least slow them down long enough for the rest of their army to deploy. The main cavalry force consists of four or five lines, with the rear ranks closely packed: the first of light cavalry, then the lancers, and the rest heavy horse archers. The light cavalry ride across the front, loosing arrows in unison with the heavy horse archers at the rear, who shoot them in volleys over the head of their comrades as they advance. If the timing is right, just as the arrow rain reaches its height the lancers make contact with the foe's line, routing them. If enemy stand firm and do not show any sight of wavering, the cavalry withdraw and regroup without coming in contact, then attempt another charge. This process can be repeated until the enemy either flee or provoked into breaking ranks and pursue the cavalry.

    The mounted pistoleers are a peculiarity. There has never been anything even remotely resemble them in historical texts, but from what I have managed to gather they are slowly displacing the horse archers as the most privileged division of the cavalry. Only the most wealthy could afford the new type of western-style pistol that is crucial to the deployment of pistoleers, and often only in pair. Their accuracy is very good for such a short ranged and heavy weapon, though how they will be deployed and how well they will perform in combat is impossible to judge at the moment. My humble theory is that they would utilize similar tactic to the light cavalry in their traditional formation, but with multiple ranks to prevent them from being overwhelmed by hostile horsemen, seeing how the inaccuracy of their weapon will almost certainly require them to be in close proximity to their target.

    There is also a small cavalry contingent of one to two hundred light horses attached to infantry regiment for skirmishing, reconnaissance, and general non-combat roles such as messengers and escorts for officers. They form a category of their own, but being lightly armed and armoured their combat potential in large-scale battle is limited. The light cavalry each carried bow and arrows for ranged engagements, as well as sword and shield to charge in when opportunity presents itself.

    I hope my assessment will provide some insight on how the mounted forces of our potential foes work, to facilitate the counter to their strength and exploitation of their weakness.

    Long live the Emperor, Son of Heaven and Ruler of the Middle Kingdom.

    Your humble servant,

    Wan Xia.

     
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    Chapter 4 - Batresh (Eastern New World)
  • Estienne d'Aleman squinted as he exited the ship. He could have closed his visor, but the aroma of fresh air was intoxicating after four torturous weeks of confinement below deck, where the overpowering stench of vomit, spoiled food, manure and unwashed bodies had been constantly assaulting his nostrils. The local ruler had made sure that the Frien fleet would be the only vessels to dock in the port today, so most of the usual odours accompanying a harbour weren't presented, but he doubted it would be worse than what he had endured the past month. Even the fish would smell better than his previously unwashed companions, who were disembarking right behind him. But the natives, despite all their primitiveness, apparently understood basic hospitality, and the shipment of freshwater to the ships for washing and bathing was greatly appreciated. Why the local king wanted them to clean themselves on the ship instead of comfortably on land was a mystery to him, but at least now he no longer felt the filth of the journey on his skin for the first time in weeks.

    A trumpet call blared across the port, signalling the troops to assemble. With so many people cramping in one place it took a significant amount of time, alongside a liberal use of flags, shouts and threats to get the men to their place, but in the end the general and his subordinates had manage to form a more or less functioning marching formation. As they finally move out of the port the Friens were greeted by the exotic sight of a native army, they themselves in marching formation, or what Estienne assumed it to be. Half-naked spearmen with broad, tapered shield covered in hide formed the front ranks, then came those he suspected to be the shock troops, who were larger and relatively better equipped than the men at the front. Each of them wore a white head cloth, which contrasted greatly with the dark ashen colour of their skin, as well as a plain short kilt wrapped around their bodies and held in place by a belt. In the centre of the marching column were the famed chariots of Akhtamen, moving in parallel with Estienne's gendarme company and setting the pace of the parade. In contrast to the simple look of the rank and file the highborn charioteers wore gold-coloured scale armour and tall helmet lavishly adorned with jewelry and ornaments, displaying their wealth and status publicly for all to see. It was probably improper to think so, but the Akhtamenite aristocrats were even more suited to nobility compared to their own Frien lords. Their every needs and desires were catered to by servants running alongside the chariots, while discipline was brutally enforced on the commoners by men moving alongside the column, who were quick with the whip to correct a misstep or a tilted head. Deep blue lacerations on the back of several men near him were the testament to the ruthless punishments dealt out on transgressors, yet Estienne still noticed many of the native warriors could not resist throwing curious glances at the strange army next to them.

    Now we are on full display for these primitives to gawk at. Just like animals in a menagerie.

    The great column rode up the great central road that led to the palace quarter. Only the largest of cities back in the Old World could afford ones like this, and even with the thousands of people lining the sides there was more than enough space to spare. The greatest of temples and estates of the natives were all located here, their massive, sloping walls covered in elaborated frescoes and carvings befitting the status of their owners. There was no sign of the squat, blocky mud brick houses and ramshackle hovels of the commoners so prevalent near the port. But despite that, most people Estienne saw there were of lower classes, spilling out from god-know-where into the main street to catch a glimpse of the procession. And what a sight it was: Everywhere one looked there was colour as the column arrived, and everywhere the splendour and grandeur of the parade were made known. The king's soldiers marched in their glimmering armour under the blessed flag of Frields, proudly displaying the royal golden spurs on a blue field for all to see, while the fan-shaped, animal head banners dedicated to the pagan gods of the Akhtamenites loomed over the head of their nobles, watching both soldiers and civilians alike with their cold, cruel eyes.

    The most surprising thing for the Friens, however, was not the architectures or the strange outfits or even the appearances of the natives, although those were by themselves fascinating enough; it was how they were welcomed. The local people greeted them with open arms, waving and cheering at the men with so much enthusiasm some looked like they were on the verge of fainting. Food and presents were given to the foreigners as welcome gifts while flower petals were scattered in the air to celebrate their arrival. The Old Worlders had expected to be met with distrust and fear, but they now arrived to a hero's welcome. Either those of the previous expedition had done something so incredible as to earn the eternal gratitude of the Akhtamenites, or they're just doing it because their lords told them to Estienne thought, but decided to keep his speculation to himself. It was nice to be appreciated once in a while; being the younger son of a minor noble house he usually did not have the opportunity to experience that luxury.

    After several more minutes of walking the Friens could see they were almost at the gate of the foreign quarter. It used to host all kinds of people and nationalities in the past but now the quarter was reserved only for Friens after they had managed to acquire trade monopoly in Akhtamen over all Old World commodities. Built in the most utilitarian style of Frien architecture the quarter stuck out like a sore thumb next to the beautifully decorated temples and palaces of the natives. The closer they got to it, the more Frien faces Estienne saw in the crowd, and most of them were women. They had taken to wear the tubular, tight-fitting dress of the locals, but with a low cut in the front exposing their breasts. The effect they had on men was instant, especially the newcomers, who had been without women for quite a long time. The fact that many of them were actively advertising their ''goods'' didn't help, and only with threats of public flogging and wage cut for anyone who broke formation that discipline was restored. One of the girl, who was more brazen than the rest, ran right up to Estienne and managed to give him a piece of paper before being pulled away by the attendants, who were now employing clubs and cudgels to keep the unruly crowd back from the column. Ignoring the commotion all around him, Estienne opened up the crinkled piece of paper and grinned. At least he would have someone to spend the first night with in this god-forsaken place.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    Khumose and his noble colleagues rose from the table to greet the Friens as they arrived to his manor. He had planned for a great banquet to welcome them, but the foreigners insisted that they should get down to business as fast as possible. The spacious dining hall, which normally could house dozens of long tables and hundreds of guests, had thus been converted into a pseudo planning room overflowing with maps and documents of all kinds. The only trace remaining of its previous function was the solitary table heaped with bread, ox flesh, roast fowl, fish, vegetables, fresh fruits and wine in preparation for a long working night. While quite disappointed with the decision of the Friens he would not deny them basic hospitality. Besides, they were the king's guests, and while he found them culturally not quite to his taste he'd better not offend them in any discernable way if he still wanted to keep his life and his position as nomarch of Qoshere, both of which were in a precarious enough position after those foreign raiders had burned half the city down to the ground.

    The Frien general stepped forward and bowed slightly to Khumose. He quickly returned the favour, and offered his hand to the guest. He was a mustached man in his early fifties, with spots of grey dotting his brown hair, but despite the age the foreigner's sharp eyes still betrayed a brilliant intellect. Unlike in their previous meeting at the port the man had gotten out of his armour, wearing only a doublet, a hose and a dark, floral-patterned overgown, with a short sword on his hip. The majority of his staff dressed similarly, although some of them, whom he guessed were bodyguards, still wore their imposing plate armour, their faces hidden behind the inhuman visage of the helmet.

    ''Welcome, Lord d'Lagarde, to my humble abode,'' he said, not quite sure if he pronounced his guest's name correctly. ''I trust you've had a good night's rest?''

    ''Yes, Lord Khumose, you honour me with your magnificent hospitality,'' the Frien general replied in perfect Akhtameni, although his accent still remained noticeable. ''It was more than any of us could ask for. Now, should we begin our meeting, then?''

    ''We might as well. I do not wish to waste any more of your precious time in trivial chat' he said with a smile, extending his hand toward the table. ''A great feast to celebrate your arrival, in my opinion, would be more appropriate for one of higher standing like yourself. Furthermore, I believe there would be many a lady who'd jump at the chance to meet up with a high-born Frien lord.''

    ''I've never been fond of dancing and singing, or any woman beside my wife, for that matter,'' de Lagarde said, still keeping his grim demeanour. ''But we sure can hold a banquet to commemorate our upcoming victory, after we have won it for the kings, of course.'' He finished his sentence, and took a seat at the table. The rest of his staff followed suit.

    ''We have read the dispatches. They are all very detailed, although we still want to ask Your Grace to provide us with additional information,'' a man spoke up, whom Khumose recognized as one of de Lagarde's aides. ''Up until this point we have had almost no contact with the Southerners, these…Nubarians, so information about terrain, population, troop strength, tactics and likewise will be greatly appreciated. And about their ally, we just might have the answer to who they really are.''

    ''Go on.'' Khumose replied. The man pushed a piece of paper toward him, which showed a black, double-headed eagle with a castle on its chest, its dexter talon holding a key and sinister one an anchor. Immediately, images of his burning city flared up in his mind. He clenched his fist in anger.

    ''Is that true that the banner of the attackers looked like this?'' the Frienman asked, and the nomarch nodded in confirmation.

    ''Yes, I saw it with my own eyes,'' he replied with an icy tone. ''The black eagle on the red field.''

    The Frien delegation looked at each other with worried eyes and exchanged some words in their native language which Khumose could not understand. The wrinkles on general de Lagarde's forehead were getting deeper and deeper as he read over one of the documents.

    ''Your testament is in line with those of our colonists,'' he paused for an instant, and frowned. ''It seems as the attackers were no ordinary pirates. Their raid was too efficient, and most importantly, was not aimed at pillaging. They appeared to be part of the Hälsa League, a confederation of merchant guilds and cities in northern Gelmaria.''

    ''While this could be an action by others to make Friels and the League to go up against each other, our investigation shows that there were significant naval activities by the League around the time of the attack,'' The general continued. ''And the reports from your spy of Hälsan ships docking in Nubarian ports, can we trust them?''

    ''Yes, I can guarantee that. The man has served Akhtamen faithfully for decades,'' Khumose replied ''And this…Hälsa League, how much resource could they bring to bear? How strong are they?''

    ''They are not as powerful as they used to be, but still remain a force to be reckoned with, especially their navy,'' De Lagarde said, shaking his head grimly. ''While officially they are a trading organization they have long taken over the northern part of the Empire, either through conquest, peaceful annexation, bribery or coercion. The de facto rulership of those regions belongs to the League, and they have allies and protectorates all over the Old World. Even the Gelmarian Emperor himself has to placate them lest he lose the few remaining northern ports still under his control.''

    Then he seemed to lighten up a bit. ''Our fleets can deal with theirs on equal footing, and the Hälsan militia and mercenaries cannot hold worth a damn in the face of a charge, though.''

    While that sounded quite assuring, Khumose still had his doubt about the true capability of the Frien force. He had never seen them fight before, and the bizarre weapons and equipment did not do anything to dispense that skepticism. They ride their horses into battle, he thought in disgust. The very notion of touching the horses would make many high-born Akhtamenites recoil in horror, as it was considered undignified for those of noble blood to touch such lowly brutes, let alone ride them. Fighting from up high on the chariot was the epitome of civilized warfare, a beautiful combination of versatility, lethality and grace that a man riding on a horse, even if he and his mount were armoured from head to toe, could never achieve. The Friens might be advanced technologically, but culturally and tactically they were surprisingly ignorant. He made a mental note to ask one of the Frien nobles to try and fight on a chariot. While that would be amusing and potentially dangerous, it would introduce the Friens to the far superior way of war of the Kingdom of Akhtamen, and hopefully some would realize the error of their way. But now he would just keep his thought to himself and return to the discussion at hand about the Hälsa League and their barbaric Nubarian ally, which was now beginning to heat up. This would be a long and busy night.
     
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    Addendum 2: The New World and its Indigenous Population (excerpt)
  • Dominique Girault – Frien explorer and navigator
    The New World and its Indigenous Population (excerpt)

    1. Travel to the New World:

    First discovered in 1411 by Captain Facundo Carballo, the New World was a mystery then as it is still now fifty years later. Surrounded by calm, crystal clear coastal water, it is hard to imagine that before the trip of Captain Carballo on the Piña the continent was hidden beyond the terrible storms of the Meeradik. Ships that made it pass the winds and the waves were entrapped by an unnatural fog. Scarcely one in thirty ships that had begun the trip manage to get back to the mainland, the rest were lost to the unforgiving sea, never to return.

    This changed in 1408 with the Breaching. An enormous, thunderous sound could be heard across the globe, and the few brave ships that went out to investigate reported that the sea had suddenly became calm, and there was no sight of the fog that had claimed the lives of so many sailors. All the nations scrambled to send ships across the Meeradik to uncover what it had hidden from them for so long. The winner of this race was the United Crown of Castell and Artigon, which still holds the most lands in the New World and the closest ties to the natives there. However, our beloved Kingdom of Friels has come a long way since our first contacts with the natives, and the grip of the United Crown is slowly being loosened. Of course, our other neighbours do not sit still, especially the hated Albishmen; they have managed to gain footholds there and are now actively hindering our trade and colonization attempts.

    The journey to the New World across the Meeradik is fairly unremarkable as far as ocean travel goes, and although before the advent of steam ships such trips took around six weeks they have been shortened considerably to just over four weeks. But despite the end to the unnatural, constant storms after the Breaching there still exist the risk of extreme weather events such as hurricanes and the occasional giant waves that can easily crush an unwary ship. The coastline is also dotted with numerous hazards like shallow reefs, whirlpools, and bars. Due largely to the these dangers and the unpredictable winds and tides of the sea there has yet to be an expedition to map the entire coast, but there are reports from our traders shortly after the Breaching that the people of the Far East also discovered a land mass at roughly the same time after all previous attempts ended in failures because of storms, and there is a very strong possibility that the land they found is the other end of the New World. Efforts to cross the continent by land or go around it by sea are not supported by the royal court right now due to lack of interest and the high risk involved for relatively little gain, although with our new steam-powered fleets the latter idea can be accomplished if the High Lords can be persuaded to fund the project.

    2. Trade:

    Trade between the Old and New World has proven to be quite profitable for both sides. Within weeks of the Piña's return merchant guilds and nations were already engaged in intense discussion as to how to take advantage of this new, unprecedented opportunity. Since then exotic items from the new continent have made their way into markets almost all over the world, albeit slowly, while our own commodities such as tools, refined ore, horses and luxury goods are themselves very popular on the other side of the Great Ocean and command good prices. New World's items are quite diverse, ranging anywhere from common ones like textiles, pottery, non-perishable food and draught animal to high-end, more expensive products such as spice, incense, ivory, gemstones and locally crafted ornaments. Traders from both sides do not usually accept foreign currencies unless the coinage themselves are stamped of precious metal, preferring to barter or use bullions as mediums - both gold and silver maintaining the same value they have back in the Old World.

    There are some regulations in place which prohibit certain items from trade: Old Worlders cannot sell steam engines and gunpowder weapons to the natives and are not allowed to purchase enchanted items, while the reverse is true for the locals. These are not eligible for sale under any circumstances, regardless of the offer a trader might make. With more and more people making their way to the New World, it is only a matter of time before some locals manage to get their hands on the first two, although it is very unlikely they can gather anything valuable from them for reasons discussed below. Magical items, however, can be quite simple to find, provided that one knows where to look. Most trade agreements occur in designated areas under the scrutiny of the a combined guard force made up by men from both nations currently engaging in business, preventing any law-breaking acts from happening. But in the bazaars and open markets it is much harder to enforce the rules, and there is no shortage of people willing to sell the foreigners some fancy trinkets. One can find rare and unusual items even by New World's standards here, with some of the smaller shops offering antiques, bones of unidentifiable animals, maps and potions. The business is cutthroat and the authenticity of many items is questionable, but a buyer with some business tacts may find something of worth. There are obvious dangers associated with this kind of covert dealings, especially coming from the trade watch. Any that are discovered by the authorities suffer serious repercussions. Old Worlders who have been caught brokering agreements on forbidden items have been exiled from the New World as a consequence, barred from ever set foot on the continent again, while the fate of their native partners remains unknown, but none are ever seen again.

    3. The native population:

    The people of the New World are diverse, displaying stark racial and cultural differences between regions. They formed themselves into states, ruled by a king, a council of upper class men or by religious leaders, with very complex governmental and social systems. While culturally the New Worlders are in no way primitive compared to us, at least the ones we have managed to establish relation with, their level of technology is remarkably inferior. They have no equivalent to our steam engine, clockwork mechanism, or printing press. Other areas like industrial, agricultural and construction techniques are also lacking although they have made considerable advances in the aforementioned fields through contacts and trade with our people; their farming especially benefits from these arrangements, with tools such as the plough and wheelbarrow have now become commonplace. One area where they have achieved relative parity with the Old World is metalworking. The natives do not utilize iron or steel, the reasons for which will be discussed below, rather they use bronze and copper as the main material for tools and weapons. They understand how to run such metals, and are very expert at their craft; their bronze- and copperwares can rival the products of the best foundries of the Old World in quality, and at times even surpass those, if magic is employed in the forging process.

    Despite their outwardly similar appearance to the people of the Old World, the natives are anything but human. Their blood is blue in colour which results in the abonormal hues of their skin, ranging from a ghostly pallor in the cold regions of the north to the dark ashen tones of the southern desert dwellers. Their bodies also possess an incredible healing rate, with wounds that take us months to recover need only weeks to be totally mended, and without any of the advanced medicine that we have available back in the home country.
    Some of them can work powerful, visible miracles and magic, of which the so-called ''witches'' and ''warlocks'' of our Old World cannot even begin to dream, let alone replicate, although I am sure that almost all of those people, even the ones burnt at the stake for witchcraft are shams anyway. The natives also can influence gunpowder in a curious way; with so much as a single touch they can cause it to become inert for a time, unable to be ignited, even if the powder is protected by a cartridge or even a layer of metal other than iron or steel. The amount of powder they can render inert and the duration of the influence vary between persons; we have found that the best defense against this is to put the powder in an iron or steel container, but simply keeping the natives at least five to ten centimeters away from the powder caches also works.

    All those strengths, however, also come with weaknesses, particularly concerning iron and steel. The New Worlders have strong aversion to steel and iron, whose close and prolonged contacts cause serious disruptions on the working of their bodies, although they are rarely fatal. Symptoms include nausea, migraine, muscle weakness, as well as seeing and hearing troubles. How long contact takes for the symptoms to manifest and the time needed for them to abate varies from person to person, some are more resistant to other and recover more quickly. Wounds caused by iron or steel weapons interfere with their regenerative ability, slow it down considerably although the effect again varies between different people. Our experiments show that within fifteen minutes of direct, continual skin contact the metal will begin to affect them, but if the native is protected by, say, a two finger thick padded coat then the piece of iron/steel needs to be constantly within arm's length for several hours for the symptoms to manifest, and even then they are not truly debilitating unlike with direct contact; with a shorter time span and/or longer distance it seems to have no effect at all on the natives' bodily functions. This means that in battle against the natives the melee weapons of our soldiers will not perform any better than normal on them unless they manage to cause a wound as most close combat situations only last minutes at most, but it also implies that the natives could not wield iron/steel weapons and armours. And while we haven't succeeded in capturing any of their witches and warlocks, there is a very good chance that our metals can also impede the functioning of their sorcery, seeing that both their healing and magic power seem to originate from the same peculiar source...
     
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    Chapter 5 - Akhtamenite/Nubarian border (Eastern New World)
  • Security was lax, as to be expected. After all, we were supposed to be the guards, Estienne thought as he hid behind some barrels with a small group of ''friends'' from the company. As the sentries went past their hiding spot, the men made a mad dash toward the camp follower section and quickly dispersed between the tents, giving the watchmen no time to respond even if they had somehow managed to notice the fugitives. Checking his money pouch one last time to make sure he hadn't dropped it while running, Estienne slowed down his pace as he reached his destination: A small bar set up haphazardly in a dome tent, the only traits distinguished it from the others were the noise and a small sign placed next to the entry. Giving his surrounding a quick look to make sure there was nobody who would interrupt his night, he quickly slipped between the tent's flaps, his entrance unnoticed by the occupants. Estienne took an unoccupied seat at the corner and scanned the bar one more time before signalling the waitress over. He was alone; his companions had all gone to other places in the dark of night to do who-know-what, and that was a good thing, too, as the other patrons of the bar were just plain commoners, gambling and drinking their pitiful wages away. Those plebs were simply incapable of contending with him for the attention of the girls who were swarming the place at the moment looking for a customer; he could choose and pick at his leisure.

    The waitress coming to his table immediately caught his attention. She was not exceptionally beautiful, with flat chest, short, unkempt brown hair, thin curling lips and a snub nose giving her a stubborn, boyish appearance, which kind of reminded Estienne of his squire, a fact that he was almost scared to admit. But there was something in those large, restive eyes and the confident strides of hers that made the girl different from those flirting with men at the other tables. The girl would make a fine noblewoman; dressing her up in an expensive gown with some make up and no one could be able to tell based on look alone. The current low-cut blouse and skirt she was wearing didn't fit one bit. That, however, coupled with her quirky appearance seemed to protect her from the harassment of the patrons, who seemed to ignore the girl almost entirely in favour of her other colleagues.

    ''What would you like to order, sir?'' she asked, putting up a bored smile and gave him the menu.

    ''Oh yes, let me check my budget first.'' he smiled back, reaching for his pouch and faked a fumble, which hopefully would make him look a bit sheepish. In the process, however, he opened the pouch just enough for her to see the inside. Her eyes immediately lit up.

    ''A tankard of beer and a croque monsieur, please.'' He said, and gave her back the menu before continued ''And while this may seems a little too brusk, but may I ask for your name?''

    The girl smiled again. And while Estienne was never a person who could read the expression of others, that particular smile actually seemed genuine, with a spark of interest even ''It is Astrid, sir.'' the girl replied with a wink, before turning back to the counter to get his ordered meal. He thanked her and quickly paid the bill, but also slipped some extra coins and a hastily scrawled note discreetly under the table. Moments later the girl again returned, throwing a piece of paper on the ground as she pretended to clean the spot next to him. Grabbing the note without anyone noticing, he gave a curtly nod as confirmation and the waitress quickly returned to the other tasks at hand.

    The beer was terrible. While all beers had a smoky flavour, the only thing he could smell and taste was smoke. Dumping the rest of the mug to the ground, he returned to his half-eaten sandwich, which was strangely quite appetizing. Not as good as the food he had back home, but it sure beat crappy military ration. However, the meal was only of secondary importance; he had finally succeeded in securing a ''private meeting'' with Astrid through the help of a generous amount of gratuity, so he knew he would not spent his night alone. She was probably a relative of one of the soldiers, as unattached woman in a camp follower contingent were usually very rare in fear that their possible turn to prostitution would cause unrest. Screwing her was probably not the brightest idea, but as long as she kept her mouth shut he had nothing to fear.

    A particularly vicious fight had broken out on the other side of the tents between some Swyzer and Scours over a card game. Frien grip on some of her mercenaries was always spotty at best, especially the Swyzer. While they were fine men of war, steady in defence and relentless on the attack, they were also difficult over payment and restive. Why would he, a flower of Frien nobility, had to sit tight in the barrack armed and armoured all night, ready for an attack that would never came, while the sellswords were out causing troubles all over the camp ? It simply made no sense. But now, with that being said, Estienne could put the anger behind him and enjoyed the night. Finishing his sandwich, he signalled Astrid and quickly bailed out of the bar as the brawl was beginning to get out of control.

    XxXxXxXxX
    When the first rumble came Estienne ignored it, simply groaning and shifting his position to hug Astrid more closely. When second and third explosions came, however, his eyes scraped reluctantly open. Quickly disentangling himself from the mass of blankets and bedclothes on the floor he leaned his head forward through the tent's flaps, a little bit of him inside want to impress her with the bold act, but the rest just wanted to make sure that he didn't have to return to his post.

    He wasn't prepared for what he saw. Parts of the camp were aflame, and down on the street he could hear the crack of gunfire, intermittent with sound of explosion and screaming, both large and small. The air was thick with smell of gunpowder.

    ''Estienne, what is going on?'' Astrid muffled scream came from under the fortress of blanket that she had built. He quickly reached for his clothing and the short sword he had brought. He would be in so much trouble if his superiors noticed he was not present at the barrack. While slacking and absences of men in a gendarme company were normally common, even in wartime, and considered just a fact of life, being in someone's bed at the time of the attack while you were supposed to be keeping watch was a serious offence. Although his father was a friend to the captain and he had the rest of his lance cover for him in case of a sudden check, God helped him if he was caught here red-handed. He had to get back.

    Another explosion, this one was too close for comfort. The fear of being caught in combat unprepared filled his mind, making his stomach churn.

    ''Where are you going? '' Astrid asked, poking her head out of the blanket. Her face was as white as a ghost.

    ''Back to the barrack. I am supposed to be in the corps de gard tonight.'' He replied, a pang of panic gripping his throat.

    ''I thought you said you had others cover for you?"

    ''That was in case of a night check, not a full scale attack!'' Estienne said, his face paled as he looked outside ''If I don't get back soon, the captain will have my head.''

    ''But what about me?" Astrid said, her voice came out at a much higher pitch.

    ''Move away from the sound of the explosion.'' He said, giving her a quick kiss ''I can escort you to the edge of the barrack, there you can find shelter. Hurry up.''

    XxXxXxXxX
    After nearly ten minutes of dodging traffic jams and navigating streams of panicked civilians Estienne managed to get back to his station. The situation at the alarm point was even more chaotic than he had imagined. Apparently his small band of escapees weren't the only ones who abandoned their post. As they had been camping in the area for weeks without any raid or even sighting of any Hälsan or Nubarian forces, their readiness and discipline was at a very low point from boredom and the lack of action, and this raid came as a deadly wake-up call. Men were scrambling to get into armour as fast as possible, all the while the higher ups were screaming for them to get into some kind of formation, to little effect.

    ''Sir!'' René d'Albret, his squire, was running toward him, followed closely by the valets carrying his armour and weapons. As they were still trying to get him into the suit, the trumpet call came for them to sally forth. Despite wearing only partial armour, Estienne quickly jumped on his horse and spurred it into action. The mixed formation of light and heavy cavalry – there was no time to distinguish between the two – quickly spread out into smaller groups and charged down the streets, clearing the way for following up by the infantry.

    As they turned around a corner his group came face to face with some enemy cavalry bearing the coat of arms of the Hälsa League, who were in the midst of redressing their formation. The split second of surprise was all that was required for the group leader, a middle aged man by the name of Geoffroy, to signal the charge. As the Frien cavalry surged forward, the Hälsan riders tried to turn their mounts around to flee, only to tangled themselves up into a mass of men and horses and were quickly shredded like cabbage by the attacking lancers. The lance was not a hugely lethal weapon against fellow cavalrymen, but they were huge and intimidating. Many of the enemies, in their panic, abandoned their immobile mounts and ran to the side of the road, where they hoped the Frien cavalry would get their legs tangled in the ropes of the tents. Few ever made it before the rapidly approaching lancers trampled them to paste.

    As they ran through the routing enemies however the gendarmes and coutiliers were rapidly losing cohesion, but the momentum kept pushing them forward as anyone who so much as hesitated in the middle of the onrush would be crushed by the remainder of the troop. Estienne himself was rapidly gaining to the left of one fleeing rider, and with a simple thrust ran him through the back with his lance. The man toppled to the ground with the weapon still buried in his back. Drawing his mace now that he had lost his lance, Estienne approached another prey, still from the left, but this time his opponent was determined to fight. Turning half his body backward as the horseman sought to parry the blow, the move unfortunately unbalanced him greatly, and a quick smash on the shield was enough to put the man sprawling on the ground.

    Just as Estienne had finished off his second kill the trumpet blared up, recalling the cavalry from their pursuit. It was still dark, and a reckless counter-attack could easily stumble upon an ambush in the confusion and cost the colonel a lot of precious men he couldn't replace. Up ahead in the distance Estienne could see the infantry and artillery were still firing at the retreating enemy, but at that range and with the visibility being this bad it would be a miracle if they managed to graze something of value. Patting on his mount's neck to congratulate it on a job well done, the gendarme looked on as a small number of prisoners, mostly Nubarians by the look of it, were beaten senselessly by vengeful Frien soldiers before being rescued by direct order from the commander. Swallowing the feeling of guilt as he saw them moving through the still smouldering remnants of people, animals and all other kinds of objects, he could only hope that the possible intelligence gained from them could atone for all the deaths and destructions that he and his comrades were partly responsible for.
     
    Addendum 3: Report on Ta-Kapet and the Incense Wars
  • Henri de Lagarde, Vicomte de Roassons and Maréchal de Friels – Commander of the Frien Expeditionary Force

    Report on Ta-Kapet and the Incense Wars

    Ta-Kapet (lit. Land of Incense) is the name given by the Akhtamenites to the territory southwest of their country, stretching west to the mountains of Sap-ment, east to the barren, unnamed desert that separates it from the Great Ocean and south to the deep heartland of Nubaria. There are only occasional hills and ridgelines breaking the endless skyline of the plain, with the exception of the south western side bordering Nubaria proper, which is heavily mountainous. The mountain roads through this area used to give direct and quick access to the cities and towns of the southern nation, although with completion of the highway connecting Ta-Kapet and central Nubaria they have fallen into disuse and long been clogged up. Numerous towns and villages constituting the regional population centre lie along this highway, as well as the Iteru and its distributaries, but despite the steadily growth and attempts to improve the infrastructure by both Akhtamen and Nubaria many areas remain sparsely populated and covered by forests.
    Ta-Kapet is a fertile region noted for its productive farmlands, numerous grazing pastures, and useful woods owning to the maze of rivers criss-crossing the plain, its rich moist soil renewed and enriched every rainy season by the Iteru and its many distributaries. In addition, wild animals and their products such as fur, hide and ivory are available in ample quantities, though due to the instability of the region they have not been utilized to the fullest extent.
    The bulk of Ta-Kapet's wealth, however, comes from incense and mining. The western extreme of the region extends into the mountains and includes numerous profitable mines, extracting seemingly endless supplies of metals ores. Surveys have also suggested many rich, as-yet untouched veins of gold, silver, copper and tin in the Sap-ment. Plans have been made by the surrounding countries to claim the wealth, although incessant battles between Akhtamen and Nubaria for control of the mines and ore deposits have prevented both sides from carrying out their projects. Adding to the difficulty is the fact that the forests and mountains of the region are home to numerous primitive tribes, savage Maghayir spires (1), isolated communities of Meset cultists (2), rampaging Wyrmspawn (3), and other perils. The tales of horrors and hardship do little to temper the ambition of the conquerors, however, as hundreds of men are sent every year to brave the wilderness in the name of their kings.
    As lucrative as the mines are, the trade and production of incense have proved to be even more profitable. The trees that produce the famous khyphir, or Nubarian frankincense as it is known back in the Old World, can only be grown in Ta-Kapet region. Attempts by Akhtamenites under Menutef III to produce khyphir locally by importing incense trees ultimately proved to be disappointing failures. Due to its medicinal properties and refreshing aroma of lotus scent, mint and honey, khyphir has always been in high demand, and with the opening of trade between the New and Old World it has become even more valuable, surpassing the finest myrrh and frankincense of the Near East in price: Half a kilo of khyphir is valued in Florentine market at five hundred silver soldi, while a similar weight of stacte could only sell for four hundred and twenty. Incense trade with the Old World has brought vast wealth to Nubaria, heightening the already fierce competition between them and the Akhtamenites for access to the rich land of Ta-Kapet and leading up to the bloody series of conflicts known as the Incense Wars, which will be discussed in the next sections.
    While Ta-Kapet has never been fully incorporated into Nubaria proper, the southerners have administered parts of the territory for years, especially the resource-rich western and southern areas where groves of incense trees and mines are concentrated. Resistance by indigenous groups made it very difficult to maintain order, so in the beginning the colonists were gathered together in a few large, heavily fortified settlements, some of which were destroyed by a temporary alliance between native tribes and Meset enclaves, using Wyrmspawn to break through the defence and slaughtering the inhabitants. Others managed to endure however and provided the launching points for raiding parties to pillage and burn the tribes' homes, pushing them deeper into the wilderness and securing footholds for further expansions.
    The Akhtamenites watched the development with alarm, for they coveted the wealth of the south, and even now they still do. Akhtamen is not exceedingly rich in metal, and although it has quite a few gold deposits, there is only a little silver, lead and some copper, not enough to satisfy the country's needs. In addition, khyphir plays an essential role in religious and magical rituals, which heavily influence politics and governance of the state, especially as offering in occasions when the authorities seek to invoke divine approval. It is also a main ingredient in many types of luxury medicines, oils, perfumes and cleaning substances which are popular with the upper classes. Securing the source of tin, copper and incense therefore will lessen the burden of import on the treasury and allow the country to be less dependent on their neighbours for crucial resources. While the Akhtamenites could have easily taken the territory by force if they had truly wanted to, they lack the means to hold it, for unlike Nubaria they are adjacent to other powerful states such as the Hiksites to the west and the Mykaian city-states across the Crescent Sea to the north, so for the time being the southerners were free to do as they pleased. However by the onset of the first Incense War the Akhtamenites could not ignore it anymore as they were suffering from huge trade deficit, not only with their traditional partners but also with the Old World nations whose goods they had come to heavily rely on. By taking control of the established incense monopoly through conquest they hoped to reverse the balance of trade, gaining a continuous and dependable source of revenue for themselves. In 1423 the northerners launched a sudden attack that is now coined the First Incense War, which was over in weeks: The surprised, foot-bound Nubarian armies could not stand a chance against the massed chariotry employed by Akhtamen and were soundly defeated, losing thousands of men, including their king, while inflicting only light loses on their opponents.
    As king Sekhersa of Nubaria, his brother and successor, realized that without a standing army and chariots of their own they could never dislodge the Akhtamenites from Ta-Kapet he undertook a massive project to reform the army, creating new economic, civil and military administration staffed by an unlanded class of bureaucrats of his own choosing. By the time his grandson took the throne not only the army, but the whole country was transformed and ready to go to war. The Second Incense War began in 1456, but this time it was the Nubarians who were on the offensive, supported by Meset and Maghayir mercenaries. The outnumbered Akhtamenite garrisons, which included chariots, priests and magicians suffered multiple defeats and only managed to hold onto Djanor and Khenubt, the northernmost and largest settlement of the region, respectively. The Kingdom of Akhtamen at that time was embroiled in border dispute with the powerful Hiksite Empire, but upon hearing the news the ruling pharaoh quickly made peace with the Hiksites and ceded the disputed territory to them, deeming his southern holding more important. The arrival of reinforcements only partially turned the tide before the frontline stabilised again in 1460, with the Akhtamenites controlling the north and the Nubarians the south, which includes Khenubt, taken after a gruelling siege that lasted over six months.
    Shortly before our arrival in the New World there has been an attack on the harbour of Batresh, capital of the Qoshere nome and the largest port city in southern Akhtamen, apparently by Hälsan privateers based from Nubaria. While war is not yet certain, tensions are running high after the Batresh incident and numerous provocations in the border area by Nubarian soldiers, embolden by the coming of Hälsan reinforcement. With both sides supported by of modern weapons and tactics, this could be the beginning of an unprecedentedly devastating conflict, the like of which has never been seen before in the New World. If that happens, I can only pray to the Lord for our victory and salvation in the tumultuous days to come
    (1). The Maghayiru (lit. Grotesques), singular Maghayir, are a race of scale covered humanoids inhabiting the mountains and hills of Ta-Kapet, and possibly beyond the region as well. An ugly, though fierce-looking people, their faces resemble that of a deformed scarecrow with exposed nose cavity and protruding fangs, their legs resemble deer's, but instead of hoofs they have thick, stout sets of claws. The Maghayiru are a hardy and robust race, capable of enduring unimaginable hardship and injuries; they need to be, for everyday is a struggle for survival against the elements, wild beasts and especially foreign intruders, who have begun to encroach on even the most remote havens, displacing the Maghayiru from their ancestral lands. This has led to most Maghayiru being xenophobic and secretive, preferring to live in close-knitted groups of blood kin called tenekhu, or spires, after the tall, four-sided, narrow tapering monuments that are present in every Maghayir villages known to date, serving unknown spiritual and cultural purposes. While they do not take well to outsiders, it is not unheard of for some groups of Maghayiru to hire themselves out as mercenaries for passing armies, where their skills as hunters, trackers and warriors are greatly appreciated.
    (2). The Hollowwyrm, named Meset by the Akhtamenites and Nubarians, true name unknown, is a primordial deity worshipped by the wild people of Ta-Kapet. While their more civilized cousins considered the Wyrm to be nothing more than a hollow born demon spawned from the darkness of the Underworld, destined to perpetually hunger for victims, the wild men maintain that it is actually the Creator, using its own organs, flesh and blood to bring forth the world from nothingness, leaving only skin behind. As the Wyrm has sacrificed almost everything, the cultists argue that frequent offerings, preferably sentient, have to be made to sate the emptiness of their god, lest it devour the world in a fit of hunger-driven madness. The Hollowwyrm is usually depicted as a lithe, six-eyed serpent with a split stomach that constantly drips blood.
    (3). Legend has it that from the blood of Meset that spilled onto the Earth come forth the Meset-iannu (lit. Wyrmspawn). These are living engines of destruction, bipedal draconic monstrosities covered in horns and bony plates, with multiple clawed limbs and the ability to breathe fire. The only similarities between Meset and its alleged offspring are the enormous fanged maw and six eyes circling the head. More likely is the theory that the Wyrmspawn are descendants of normal animals changed by the application of magical energy, though by whom and for what purpose still remains unclear. Meset cultists however have a special affinity with the Spawn and are capable of taming the creatures to perform work and to use in battle, one of the reasons why they still remain such a thorn in the invaders' side, although there are fortunately only a few of them in a particular community. Attempts to harness the strength of Wyrmspawn by Nubaria and Akhtamen have all ended in disaster.
     
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    Chapter 6 - Akhtamenite/Nubarian border (Eastern New World)
  • The pharaoh of Akhtamen sat atop his golden throne in the great tent, surrounded by concubines and servants, two of whom attended to him with great feather fans to abate the heat. A young man in his early thirty, he wore a false beard and a plumed crown, and in his hand were the hook and the flail, looking very much like the pagan idols in those native temples de Lagarde had visited during his time in Qoshere. His ashen skin was of a much lighter tone than normal for an Akhtamenite, which confirmed de Lagarde's suspicion that the man hadn't had to endure much sunlight in his life - he probably had not even ventured out of the comfort of his palace for a long time, if at all. The only people present beside them were the shemshu – the king's trusted companions, who were all looking at the general with curious eyes.​
    His escorts immediately fell to the ground, prostrating themselves seven times upon the belly and back. They beckoned him to do the same, but the Frien only knelt, which raised more than a few eyebrows in those present, the pharaoh however didn't seem to take offense to the foreigner's apparent lack of respect to the supposed avatar of the supreme sun god, Akhen. The monarch observed him with a glance that lasted only a brief moment before signalling de Lagarde to stand up.​
    ''My friend, you have come far," the pharaoh said, his face unmoving. ''But I must say you have disappointed me greatly, for all of your supposed wonders you failed to prove your superiority on the battlefield. Are your reputation truly deserved, or are they just empty words of a braggart? I'm wondering if I formed an alliance with a wrong nation."​
    De Lagarde clenched his fist in anger. The man was a king, but just a king of savages, and a proud son of Friels would not be humiliated by one. For now, however, he decided to endure the indignities; the time for vengeance would come soon.​
    "That was but a minor setback, Your Majesty,'' the general replied. There were some murmurs in the ranks of the companions, but he decided to ignore them. "The attack was aimed at an outpost, and despite the ensuring chaos and confusion loses of men and material were light. The force stationed there is still very much combat effective.''​
    "I'd very much like to think so,'' the king said, nodding. "And for your sake, I hope that you have had a proper battle plan for the upcoming encounters? Based on situation I will decide whether or not to maintain the alliance with Friels.''​
    ''Of course, my lord,'' he replied, smirking slightly. His aide took a map out of his bag and unfolded it on the table brought for them by a pair of servants. All the men in the tent quickly huddled together around the desk to look at the paper, with the exception of the king, who still sat unmoving on his throne. The man seemed to deem himself above military planning, showing utter indifference to one of the most important matters of his kingdom, which disgusted the general to no end, though he again didn't show it.​
    ''This is one detailed map,'' an old man by the name of Reshef spoke up, examining the paper. ''You'll have to let us borrow a few of your mapmakers sometimes, general.''​
    ''I will. Unlike you people, we take cartography seriously. We would gladly enlighten you on the subject…for a price.'' Just as he uttered those sentences de Lagarde could already feel some hostile glances threw at him from the assembled Akhtamenite nobles. While the general certainly enjoyed humbling these fools it could actually do some harm if the natives decided to settle the score during the upcoming battle, so he refrained himself from further insults, though the ones already said appeared to have riled them up just fine. It seemed that he would have to placate them with some presents after this meeting, though his staff would have to take care of it, seeing that he would be occupied with far more pressing matters then.​
    ''Now, to the main issue,'' the general said, looking over various counters and symbols marking units and their positions. ''As you've already known, our main forces are to attack southward along the Nubarian highway – the only road in this region capable of supporting the rapid movement of a large army equipped with heavy artillery. Of course, the enemy are aware of this and have taken countermeasures to shield Khenubt from potential northern offensive with a series of strongpoints overlooking the highway.''​
    Pointing at several successive locations down the road, he continued. ''These are where we believe most of their troops are located. There are other outposts covering smaller, lesser known paths, but the garrisons are likely to be second line units and raiders, who will disperse ahead of contact and then attempt to stall the advance by striking at our supply lines and command posts as the main army continues southward.''​
    ''They will tie up a lot of manpower,'' a member of the council said, frowning. ''Can we utilize these paths to our advantage?''​
    ''I don't believe so. The strongholds have their own storehouses, so it makes little sense trying to cut their almost non-existent line of communication. Besides, these trails only allow for a very small number of men to traverse them,'' de Lagarde replied, shaking his head. ''Any reinforcement sent from Khenubt will simply brush them aside if they try to interfere.''​
    ''Then what do Your Lordship suggest we do in this situation?'' Reshef asked, tapping on the map, the tempo of which betrayed his growing impatience. ''Unlike the Nubarians, we do not have the luxury of a close homeland. If you keep on doodling I fear we will run out of supplies before you can provide a solution to this predicament.''​
    ''Patience is a virtue, Lord Reshef,'' the general replied, annoyed at the urging of the native. ''We have finished all necessary preparatory steps, although our force alone will not be enough; full and unquestionable supports of Akhtamen are crucial for the successful execution of the plan. There have been some minor…quarrels between us, but I hope we can put aside our differences in order to attain victory for Their Majesties the Pharaoh of Akhtamen and the King of Friels.''​
    The companions looked at each other with uncertainty for a second, and then nodded. ''We will do anything for the glory of our sovereign.''​
    ''Very well,'' de Lagarde said, looking up behind the companions to meet the gaze of the Akhtamenite monarch, who also nodded in approval. ''Now, where should we begin...''​
    XxXxXxXxX​

    ''So you are saying that the plan is to march our men over the mountains?'' Reshef exclaimed, appalled at the boldness of the suggestion. ''Preposterous! You are sending all of them to their deaths!''​
    ''The Nubarians seem to think so, too, although my scouts say otherwise,'' the general answered without missing a beat. ''The mountain path sure is treacherous, but not insurmountable, and it is capable of supporting artillery. A force of two or three thousand can clear the road and cross it in just under eight hours, then debouch onto the plain of Khenubt less than eight kilometres from the city while the enemy's attention is drawn toward our main thrust to the north. The diversionary landing across the river to the east will also force their commanders to allocate additional troops there.''​
    He paused for a moment, looking at the map. ''The south western defence of the city is light, as they obviously do not expect an attack from that direction. And with the reserve away the city will be vulnerable to an army like this, even when taken into account the casualties incurred through the crossing.''​
    As soon as de Lagarde had finished his speech the council erupted into a chaotic argument with slightly more restraint than a bar brawl. The sound of axes slamming into shields from the pharaoh's bodyguards quickly put an end to the squabble and restored some order in the tent.​
    ''How disgraceful, seasoned official bickering like little children in front of our honoured guests,'' the pharaoh said, his face again betrayed no emotion, however the tone of displeasure was evident. '' Lord Khumose, you are much more familiar with the lay of this land than us. Tell me, what do you make of this plan? Is there any other way of achieving our aim without resorting to such…risky tactics?''​
    ''Your Holy Majesty,'' the man spoke up with some hesitation, prostrating himself at the feet of his king. ''The strategy he proposed was actually drawn up by both of us during his stay in Qoshere. While it may sound doubtful, I can assure you that it is the fastest way to bring Nubaria to her knee without excessive casualties on our side. We believe that a sudden attack from behind in conjunction with our main thrust from the north will easily break the troops stationed in Khenubt, who are unprepared for a battle so far behind their own line. In addition, those engaged in combat with our main army will find themselves cut off from their retreat when the strike force captures the city. If we are lucky we may even be able to capture the Qore of Nubaria before he can escape.''​
    ''If you say so,'' The monarch frowned, rubbing his temples. ''But how do you intend to cover up a sudden disappearance of troops such as this? Three thousand men are not a small number. The southerners will realize something is wrong.''​
    ''Those issues are being taken care of as we speak, Your Majesty,'' replied the Frien. ''The decoys will take their place as soon as they leave camp. The enemies won't suspect a thing.''​
    ''Very well. I entrust you with this phase of the campaign. Speak with my scribes and marshals for the troops and supplies you need,'' the pharaoh said, his words grim. ''And general…Do not disappoint me again. You've already known what the price of failure is.''​
    ''I won't, my lord.'' De Lagarde smirked, bowing towards the native king out of mere formalism before exiting the tent with the rest of his staff to make the final preparations for the upcoming battle. He had a war to win.​
    XxXxXxXxX​

    ''It is good to see you well, sister.'' A familiar voice came, and Astrid looked up to see her brother walked into the tent with a tired smile. The girl quickly stood up from her half-eaten dinner to greet him with a hug.​
    ''You also.'' she said as they released each other. Judging by his relaxed demeanour and ordinary clothing it seemed that he was actually off-duty now, unlike those times when he snuck out of the barrack to meet her. ''I trust that the provosts have been gentle with you, yes?''​
    ''Kind of. I was presented at the time of the attack, so no disciplinary action has been deemed necessary. They even allowed me my monthly break,'' he replied, though some uneasiness was still evident in his voice. ''They cut my pay, however. Those goddamn sons of a bitch…''​
    ''Language.'' she said, glaring at him ''Money isn't of much use in this backwater, and we haven't even touched the allotment father gave you yet.''​
    ''I know that!'' he protested, but the look of disapproval on her face quickly silenced him. Despite being one of the official children of baron d'Albret René had always deferred to her whenever their father was not around. After several seconds of awkward silence the boy finally spoke up. '' The money I make here, both from wages and loots, will go to you. I have my inheritance, but you will likely receive nothing from father. Consider this my gift for your future wedding.''​
    ''And we've been over this. I can't take the money that you have worked and risked your life to earn. Besides, I can take care of myself. The baron may not be a good father to me, but living with him has taught me to be…resourceful.'' she replied, shaking off painful memories from childhood. René didn't respond right away, but she knew that he would readdress the issue again given the chance. While debating was not one of his strong points the boy could be very insistent, especially in matters like this.​
    ''Besides, you do not come here just to complain about a wage cut now, do you?'' she continued, quickly changing the subject and giving her brother no time to voice his objection. ''I've heard some rumours that we might be moving out soon.''​
    ''Ah yes, I was going to tell you that,'' René said, pausing for a moment to look at something in his bag. ''We've received orders to pack up and regroup with the main army. Apparently the raid has raised some serious concerns amongst the top brass and they've decided that it would be safer if the forces are situated close together.''​
    ''That's wonderful!'' she replied excitedly. Anything was better than staying out here in the bush, surrounded by thousands of crazed natives. The women could not even bring back water from the river without considerable escorts, and the attack…just thinking about it made Astrid nauseous. Suddenly she didn't feel like eating anymore.​
    ''By the way, are you hungry?'' her brother spoke up, interrupting her train of thought. From his bag appeared a large sausage and some slices of ham, the sight of which nearly caused her to vomit. ''I managed to nick some meat from the storehouse on the way back. I think you will like it.''​
     
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    Chapter 7 - Ta-Kapet (Eastern New World)
  • ''I must say, we are taking a very risky gamble here,'' Khumose said, looking at the barely visible Nubarian camp on the horizon. ''You know what will happen if we fail, right?''

    ''Such has always been the nature of war,'' de Lagarde mumbled. ''If we did nothing then failure was still the only option. If we lose in the upcoming battle...let's say that in either case heads still have to roll. Better take the chance while we still have it.''

    ''True. I trust that complete secrecy is still maintained, yes?'' he asked, and the general glanced down at the papers and documents strewing on his desk.

    ''Of course. The decoys are in place, and the existence of the operation is only known by some selected few within the ranks, all reliable sorts,'' he said, nodding. ''Rest assured, Lord Nomarch, we have done anything we can. For now, the only thing we can do is wait.''

    The general gestured toward a small table in the back, where some food had been brought to them by servants, ready to be consumed. The dishes looked simple, but no doubt had been prepared by the finest chefs available. As short as their time working together was, Khumose knew the Frien nobleman never did anything halfway. ''Tomorrow will be a busy day, and as my wife always says, a hearty meal is essential for keeping up strength. I would be honoured if you could join me for dinner.''

    XxXxXxXxX​

    Astrid felt awkward in her ''new'' clothes and helmet, which were several sizes too large for her. She didn't like to think of how they had become spares, and several dark blotches on the surcoat did not speak well of the fate of its previous owner either. Shouldering her equipment, which consisted of a re-shafted scythe and glorified wooden board, she went ahead to join with other camp followers who also volunteered for this strange duty. They were a bizarre sight to behold: women in baggy, blood-stained liveries of the king carrying peasant weapons and marching in formation, complete with drums and trumpets – a mockery of Frien proud legions if there ever was one.

    But despite how odd it was, she supposed they should not complain too much. The higher ups promised good pay and those who volunteered were free of the normal boring camp chores, which was a no brainer for her. All they had to do were parading around the camp, practicing using spears and forming shield wall, and escorting straw men in armour and painted logs on carriages. Those were simple and peculiar tasks, but Astrid was not going to question it. They paid good money, and some exercising to take her mind off the battle brewing on the horizon was always welcomed. Looking at the setting sun, she reminded herself to check on René at the barrack after she was done with her training. The boy would return from his daily patrol very soon, and probably want something tastier than military ration after a long day on horseback.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    Cold winds howled overhead, washing over the shivering workers as they struggled to clear the road. The uneven terrain of the ravine only made it worse as they could not utilize their full number to dismantle the numerous natural barriers choking the road. Fallen trees, rocks and thorny bushes all worked together to hinder troop movement, whose speed was vital to the success of the offensive. The path had now however been cleared sufficiently for most of the men to move through without problem, although the openings weren't wide enough yet for the few pieces of artillery they had, which were still waiting back at the other end of the ravine.

    An abrupt cry emerged from the front as one of the workers was accidentally hit by a dropped tree trunk. Others quickly rushed to his aid, and with great difficulty managed to remove him from under the fallen obstacle. The man was done for, however; the force of the impact had crushed his left leg, leaving it a bloody mangled mess.

    ''That was unfortunate,'' Bertrand said as the worker was carried off rear by two of his comrades. Turning toward the head engineer, he asked. ''Sir, should we slow down a bit? This has been the fifth accidents since we started clearing the road. The cold and exhaustion are taking their tolls on the men. ''

    ''No, we keep going.'' The words were firm. ''If I lose a hundred of men in this ravine, then so be it. If we cannot make it in time, thousands more lives will be at stake. Besides, there are always more to replace them if they fall.''

    Bertrand nodded reluctantly. He loathed to admit it, but most of the workers were natives and easily replaceable; Frien lives, however, were not. Although he felt a great amount of sympathy for the hardship they had to endure, he would have made the same choice if he had been the one in charge. The sapper looked at the crippled man being taken care of by his friends for a moment before picking up his shovel and went back to work, trying to make up for lost time while the head engineer was barking orders for them to redouble their efforts.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    ''Sir, it is time to get up. We are moving out.''

    René awoke to the sound of hundred marching feet and hoofs, being roused from a fitful sleep by Hughes, a valet from his lance. The man leaned over and offered his hand to him, which René took and struggled up to his feet. The three hours of sleep did almost nothing to alleviate the fatigue. His eyelids felt like lead.

    ''Feeling well?'' Hugues asked, smiling. Only now did René realize he was geared up fully for battle, a crossbow slung over his shoulder and a round targe on his back. The man was sitting next to a set of armour which René recognized was his own.

    ''Not really,'' he replied, yawning. The valet stood up and helped him into his suit, which took a lot longer than normal owning to his drowsiness. Given how difficult getting into half-armour in his current state, he for once felt lucky that he could not afford a full set.

    ''Where are Estienne and Josquin?'' René said, stroking Bruno's neck before mounting up on him. ''I can't imagine them still sleeping at this time.''

    ''They had already gone ahead when you were still sleeping, sir.'' the valet answered, taking the rein of the horse and led him toward the rally point. ''The heavy from our company form parts of the first wave if my memories serve me right.''

    ''I'm just relieved that it is not us,'' The squire said, stroking his chin. '' Is this your first time on the field, Hugues? Although all valets are trained in combat I'd prefer having an experienced man by my side.''

    ''I have fought several times before when I still served under master d'Aleman's older brother,'' the man replied. ''I know how to handle myself.''

    ''I'm glad to hear that.'' René nodded. Hugues' assurance however did nothing to alleviate the rising feeling of dread that was slowly creeping into his chest. Closing his eyes in an effort to retain his composure, a small part of him wished that Astrid had been here to comfort him in these difficult hours before battle. At least he could take comfort in knowing that she was no longer in danger – a rare luxury in this godforsaken place.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    Under the cover of darkness, a group of Frien sappers slowly crawled up the slope leading up to the village where defenders had established their camp, closely followed by Akhtamenite and Marsaillan assault troops. Bertrand always felt incredibly uncomfortable lying in the dirt, especially when he was encumbered by armour and strenuously trying to broken by hand the strands of razor wire linking the stakes together. Their defence was lax; the sappers and accompanied infantry had managed to get almost to the gate without being detected, but they could not risk using wire cutter as its tell-tale snip could reveal their position to the enemies. Not now, when they were so close to the objective.

    The last of the wire came undone before his eyes, and the troops guarding the low palisade still hadn't detected anything. They in fact did not even pay attention to the gate they were supposed to protect. He could easily go in and cut several down before anyone realized something was wrong, but he still had to wait for the signal. Luckily they did not set up any booby trap, Bertrand thought. He remembered their doomed campaign in the Far East against the Vitenese, who frequently deployed explosive devices to defend their bases and cover retreat. Nasty stuffs.

    He heard some rustling behind as the Akhtamenite warriors and Marsaillan armoured infantry closed the distance to the camp perimeter. The vassal troops were experienced, but the native warriors did not give him much confidence about their combat ability. Reaching down to his belt to grab one of the newly issued clay bombs, Bertrand found himself shaking in anticipation. One of the defenders ahead of him, a heavyset man with an impressive beard was talking with his friends, his weapon lying on a wooden barrel next to them.

    Any time now…

    The signal to attack came with a sudden roar of artillery that shattered the night and shook every bone in Bertrand's body, so close was he to the ground. The sappers lighted the fuses on the clay bombs, rising into a low crouch before throwing their weapons over the slope. The bombs landed right in the middle of the guards, who didn't even have time to utter a cry before the force of the blast ripped apart their bodies. The bearded man vanished as his body was pulverized to bloody bits by an explosion. The stunned survivors were still trying to cope with the deadly display of firepower as the combined force of sappers and cuirassiers went over the top and slaughtered them to a man. Bertrand and his comrades charged through the shattered gate and took control of the entrance, whose defenders were now either dead or dying. The men quickly broke into several groups, some returned to uproot the stakes in order to clear the way for the cavalry while the others either rushed up the internal stair to raise the banner of golden flame over the palisade or cleared the houses closest to the gate of defenders.

    The door of a building was quickly broken down by a bulky Akhtamenite with a strange weapon that looked like a cross between a mace and an axe. As they rushed through the entrance Bertrand and his comrades came face to face with the shocked defenders, fully armed and armoured but clearly unprepared for an attack. Before they could react, Bertrand quickly raised his pistol at the soldier nearest to him and squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into his helmet, went clean through the other side accompanied by a shower of gore, and the man's head snapped back from the sheer force of the impact. As the trooper toppled backward with an indescribable gurgling noise, Bertrand felt something crashed into him, pinning him in a mess of limbs and armours. Rolling over on top of the sapper, the Hälsan soldier drew his short sword and stabbed at the eye slit on his helmet. Tilting his head to the side to avoid the blow, Bertrand swung the axe head on his pistol at the side of the assailant's head, knocking him to the left. With a heavy grunt, he quickly pushed the dazed man off and brought down the axe. The blade punched through the soldier's helmet and buried into his skull, killing him instantly.

    Looking up, he saw a hand offered to him by a Marsaillan. Using all of his strength to get back on his feet, he saw that his legs were still shaking from the exertion. The entirety of the building's garrison were dead and casualties on his own side were negligible, though he could still make out some friendlies in the carpet of dead bodies covering the floor. Staring down the corpse he killed for a moment, the sapper leaned down to tear the axe pistol free from its head before re-joining his companions as they rapidly moved from house to house to clear out defenders - Time was of the essence now.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    A shriek, a flash, and all that remained the Seafarer next to Mero were the smouldering hulk of metal that used to be his armour. The explosion had knocked the wind out of him even when he was a long way from it, such was its power, and now he was lying on the ground, vulnerable, gasping for every bit of air he could get. Loud ringing filled his ears, and it took several seconds for his hearing to come back. Someone was shouting for them to get into cover, and he felt arm hooked underneath him as he was dragged backwards to safety by an unknown comrade.

    Then came a scent that sent horrified chill running up his spine. There were a lot of dangers in a soldier's life, diseases, accidents, wild animals, brigands etc. but nothing filled the heart of trained, hardened men with terror like the smell of burnt khyphir on the battlefield. His blood ran cold.

    ''Sakhor, Mistress of the Desert, Mistress of Terror, may no enemy find me…'' Tjari whispered the hymns to the Goddess of War, his voice choked with barely suppressed fear. The cloud of smoke and ashes drew ever nearer, accompanied by undulating chants and the intoxicatingly sweet aroma of incense. His banner of over two hundred had taken refuge in and around a particularly large complex, alongside fifty Marsaillans wearing knee-length suits of iron rings. Their expressions were unreadable, hidden behind metal helmets covering their entire faces, but he was sure they felt doubt as well. Holding up a small figure of Sakhor in his shaking hands, Mero began to pray, hoping the goddess would protect her children from the sorceries of their enemies.

    Another magical blast, this one hit the outer wall of the building across the wide street from his position. Part of it collapsed, exposing the small courtyard and opened the part for the future enemy assault. The chanting was getting louder and louder as the cloud slowly crept up towards their position. Gripping his weapons tightly, he could feel tension grabbing his throat. His nerve right now was a stretched cord that could be snapped at any moment by anything, even the slightest of provocation. Breathing in short, quick gasp of tension, Mero could hear his own thumping heartbeats, feel it hammering in his chest like an enormous drum. Waiting in formation, he jumped up to try and catch a glimpse of the cool breezes above, but all he could get for his effort was a gulp of hot, smoky air. A brief glimmer of something down the darkened street caught Mero's attention, and it was enough to send cold panic down his spine.

    There was movement in the smoke.

    Dozens of humanoid shapes emerged through the cloud, swarming the street and filling the air with alien battle cries. The magical glyphs on their ash covered bodies glowed like ember in the darkness as they charged through the breaches into the complex, filling the heart of the Akhtamenites with dread. The foreigners next to him sprung up from their crouched position and rained down javelins and bolts from their curious contraptions upon the horde below, felling half a dozen at a time before being driven back themselves by barrages of missiles thrown over the parapet by the charging Nubarians to cover their attack. Mero and his countrymen quickly formed a phalanx on top of the staircase to try and hold off the waves of crazed men streaming towards them from the courtyard. With a roar more terrible than anything he had experienced the Nubarians rushed up the staircase, their weapons burned brightly with unnatural fire. The crash was horrific; the mass of flesh slammed into the Akhtamenite phalanx with bone-breaking force, killing several outright and broke many of the spearheads. Men burst into flame and burnt to dead before the terrified eyes of their friends whenever the weapons of the southern warriors found their mark, creating large hole in the otherwise impenetrable ranks as their neighbours sought to avoid the spreading fire. In spite of the terrible casualties they had suffered the survivors of the phalanx continue to push at their foes with the desperation of men otherwise doomed to die, their faces the living embodiments of rage and hatred. Surrounded by death and butchery, the spearmen held their ground despite overwhelming odds, stabbing their weapons endlessly through the nightmarish forest of spraying blood and convulsing bodies in their death throes.

    In the madness of battle, no one noticed the few spherical objects hurled from behind the Akhtamenite spearmen by waiting Seafarers, their fuses burned merrily as the explosive sailed through the air and tumbled into the midst of struggling combatants, both friends and foes.

    Then there was a flash. A loud crack split the air as if lightning had struck right next to his ears. Mero could feel air escaping his lung, like it had been hit by a horribly powerful hammer. Something warm was sliding down his face, and it took only a few second for him to realize it was blood. His blood.

    ''Engaged!'' Someone was shouting in a frantic tone, accompanied by strange fwip sound of something whizzing over his head. ''Shoot them! Loose!''

    Ignoring the ringing in his head, the Akhtamenite shifted his battered form to try and get up on his feet, but found that suddenly impossible. The only thing he could feel was pure, undiluted agony all over. He coughed; by now every single movement, no matter how small, sent jolts of pain across his shrapnel-riddled body. Mero cursed under his breath as he gradually slid into unconsciousness, and then darkness mercifully took over.
     
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    Chapter 8 - Western bank of the Suedra (Western New World)
  • Togun huddled the raincoat around himself, trying to protect his weapon from the pounding rain as he and his unit struggled to move through the crowded, muddy road. He had almost forgotten how tiring it could be to do route-march in bad weather, as most of this faraway land tended to the dry. The constant downpour in the last few days was decidedly uncharacteristic, but even without it and on the best of days his unit would perhaps only manage to cover two-third the planned distance at the most. They were generally not trained or intended for rapid manoeuvre, heck, they were not supposed to be here at all, yet fate was always fickle and in the end they only had themselves and the higher-ups to blame for their current misfortune. I wish I hadn't slacked off so much in exercises, Togun thought to himself.

    ''This is terrible. Why do we have to move out in this kind of weather…'' someone grumbled from behind him, which gave rise to a murmur of agreement from the crowd.

    ''Quit your whining,'' another voice replied, which Togun realized was the lieutenant's. ''If you still have the strength to complain you certainly as hell can march. The sooner we get to our objective, the faster we can rest. Keep up your pace!''

    The faint grumbles of disappointment from the grunts were quickly drowned out by another gust of freezing wind, drenching the already hungry and tired Vitenese with cold water. Someone from his company lost his footing and fell face first into the mud, which normally would draw tons of jeering laughter from the men, but it seems they were more occupied with keeping themselves dry than ridiculing their unfortunate comrade, whose identity could not even be identify because of the coat and hat. The guy quickly scrambled to his feet, drops of mud trickled down his now soaked rain cloak. He'd better find shelters soon less he caught a cold, Togun thought; a sudden strike of sickness in the field would spell disaster.

    A few minutes later the fellow got his wish. Despite their earlier harshness it seemed that even the brass had their limits, and soon the signal to set up camp was given to the column as they reached a hilly area on the outskirt of a small town. After what feel like an eternity of setting up barricades and digging trenches the exhausted men were finally given their well-earned rest, huddling around a fire someone had managed to light, which was no mean feat considering damp branches were all they had to make do with.

    ''The higher-ups are absolutely livid,'' his sergeant said. A balding, jaded man in his late forties, his experience was always valued by everyone in the units, though no one knew why he had never managed to climb up the ranks. ''The mud has thrown their plan into chaos it seems.''

    ''Fine by me,'' Hoatu spoke up, gesturing towards the road, where several men were trying to get one of the wagons out of a quagmire without success. ''We cannot go anywhere in this mud, and I'm not eager to get into danger again. Almost got my head cut off last time by one of those blue-blooded bastards.''

    ''And hot meals, don't forget the hot meals,'' Manam added to his part to sentence, and the rest of the platoon nodded in agreement. ''I'm sick of eating dry ration three times a day. If they want us to slave in this kind of weather at least the brass should give us some proper food.''

    ''True, and we might get some tomorrow if they decide that our health is worth the trouble of going to that town for some fresh food, which I find doubtful.''

    ''My lord you are a spoiled bunch,'' the sergeant sighed in frustration. ''But I suppose it is normal for you brats in the Interior Guard. It seems you were sent here just so your parents and the Grand Preceptor can be free of your incessant whining.''

    ''True,'' Manam replied, pulling out his fried rice cake and tapping on its surface to prove his point. The dry sound coming from the pack reminded Togun of a brick. ''I'm sure if we feed someone with this thing for weeks on end he will lose the ability to speak. Or shit, too, for that matter.''

    The tent burst into laughter. Despite the deluge of jokes and derogatory being thrown around concerning the miserable piece of trash that was their meals, Togun was simply too tired to join them in further degrading the food. Breaking off pieces from the now stone-hard cake, his only wish at the moment was to quickly fill his belly and then hit the sack – a sleep would be a welcome distraction from the fact that he was soaked and sore all over.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    Lijta of Trettow looked on with boredom as the Outsiders scurried around their carriage, oblivious to the presence of their former enemy right next to them. Across the compartment – the opulent little box which contained mattresses, tables and a mirror, of all things – Sister Edelheid and Owys were performing maintenance on their new armour with the help of the novices. Laying the great axe on her lap, Lijta steadied her breathing as she performed the daily ritual check-up on the equipment. To say she hated the new Vitenese-made gears was an understatement; the Outsiders sure took delight in making the Sisterhood look as similar to their own devil-worshipping visage as possible, especially concerning the profane ornaments on her armour, although there was a tiny consolation in that their new panoply did not resemble the ancient spawn of Nija in the slightest. Still, despite the best effort by the Sisterhood's artificers to sanctify the foreign equipment through prayer and engraving of scriptures, they still represented an affront to the faith more than anything, much to her chagrin. Letting the Outsiders forge their kit was a mistake – though it was just one of the many humiliating terms forced onto them by the damned Truce, the worse of which was this humiliated forced servitude under the red-blooded fiends.

    But if Solhunn could bear daily suffering to atone for their sins, so could she endure these humiliations. Saying a quick prayer as she finished the ritual - it never hurt to beg Him for a little bit of extra help – Lijta lightly wiped the axe head with some oiled cloth, keeping it clean and pristine. It would have been better had she done it with the blessed oil, but she didn't feel like wasting the precious substance now that it was even harder to obtain than before thanks to the remoteness of this region.

    Edelheid, Owys and the novices joined her at the table, having already finished their prayers. The new robe-bearers were feeling a bit uneasy, fiddling around with every flap and decoration on the new armour; the novices though were visibly shaking with anticipation. Of course, they were on edge, but the younger girls were the worst, constantly throwing nervous questions towards her. Lijta could certainly empathize with their fear though – the first time she had gone into battle she had almost emptied her bowel, which was certainly not one of her fondest memories. Still, she couldn't help but sense some strange feeling of maternal affection towards her charge, looking over them in one of their weakest moments. It might have come naturally with being a monolith-bearer though, she mused. Had her predecessor felt the same the first time leading them into battle?

    ''See anything?'' The novice by the name of Nika asked, constantly peeking out of the small window into the darkness outside the light of the campfire.

    ''I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary for days,'' Lijta cut in. ''No sense in getting worked up right now, my dear, or else you will just get yourself exhausted when we actually find the enemy.''

    ''Yes, Sister Superior, but it is just, I have heard stories of them having all kinds of crazy magic. They could be stalking us right outside the camp now, waiting to cut our throat in the dark when we are not looking-''

    ''Breath, Nika,'' Owys said, seemingly annoyed and more than little bit embarrassed by her charge's twitchy behaviours. ''See those guards over there? They might be red-blooded abominations, but if anything happens they will certainly let us know, either by shouting or dying horribly. I know you are worried, but if you ever want to be a robe-bearer someday you will have to fix that attitude of yours. It is unbecoming of Solhunn's Chosen to be afraid.''

    That thankfully shut the novice up. As they turned to other subjects, the sound of spattered mud and muffled conversation from outside announced the presence of visitors. The door swung open to reveal two shivering figures covered from head to toes in raincoat, which Lijta recognized as her two personal novices, Adelajda and Foy.

    ''Sister Superior, we bring message from the abbess,'' Foy said, looking at her with apprehension. ''Look like we are too late. The Scourges has taken Suedros.''

    XxXxXxXxX​

    ''It's all your fault,'' said abbess Liewif, who was giving the colonel a look of pure murderous hatred. ''If your useless soldiers hadn't wasted time dawdling in the mud we would have reached the city and broken the siege. Now the faithful are all dead and the relic is lost. I curse you for your inaction, spawn of Nija.''

    ''Abbess Liewif, we have been over this. We came from Vitenan, not this... ''Nija'' place, wherever it was, so you can stop with the name-calling,'' Sang sighed, gesturing towards the stack of reports. ''Besides, there was nothing more we could do, even if we had reached the city in time. There are nearly ten thousand enemy troops alone defending the fords and bridges across the Suedra. That is suicide.''

    ''There were sixty thousand people slaughtered in that city, and their blood is on your hand, colonel,'' Liewif gritted her teeth, ignoring his reasoning. ''I demand battle. Such transgression on the people of Solhunn could not go unpunished.''

    ''That is not your call, Abbess,'' Sang replied, putting enough emphasis on the word to make his point clear. ''You and your warriors are officially subjected to my command, according to direct order from the Commander of Vitenese Expeditionary Force and Article 15 of the Truce of Sarnach. If you have any objection to that, then I cannot guarantee the safety of your little ''insurance'' back at Haitran. Am I clear?''

    The colonel thought Liewif was going to say something, but she just continued to stare at him. If look could kill then he would have already died several times over since the beginning of this meeting.

    ''I swear,'' the abbess finally spoke up after what had felt like an eternity of silence. ''I will make every single one of you demonspawn pay in blood when we finally get back what is rightfully ours. Your suffering will be long and painful, mark my word.''

    He didn't know how to react to that. Despite the previous threats he had thrown at her face to keep the woman in line, there was actually little he could do to the abbess herself. To kill or arrest her would not sit well with his commander, who was trying his damnedest to placate them, and he could not afford to lose an experienced, however reluctant, subordinate right before battle. She of all people knew best on how to deploy the Sisterhood to their fullest potential; besides, what hundreds of fanatics would do when their leader was In peril was anyone's guess, which he had all the reasons to avoid finding out.

    ''As long as you do your best against the enemies I will not punish you even for those treacherous words,'' the colonel said after a few moments. ''Now to the actual planning. Elder Valdek, what course of actions do you recommend?''

    The elder, who had been silent since the beginning of meeting, finally looked up from the stack of carved bones he had been examining. An old and somewhat frail man, it was quite surprising that he had been chosen as the leader of the Rymeran part of the combined army. Colonel Sang had known him since his first days in the New World and he had ever looked a delicate scholar, beardless and wrinkle. He was wise, that part was certain, but Valdek had shown no interest at all in fighting and plundering, which again was a peculiarity in such martial society as the Rymerans.

    ''Colonel, while it would appear foolish at first glance, the words of the abbess do hold some truth,'' the old man paused, taking a breath. Even without looking Sang could tell that Liewif's gaze was boring holes into the elder, although he didn't seem to pay her any heed. ''If we could deal them a strong enough blow to stall the crossing, it could buy us sufficient time to bring up additional reinforcement and set up a proper defensive line. But we have to proceed with utmost caution.''

    ''Thank you, elder. Your advices are much appreciated,'' Sang nodded, looking at the reports. He had never conducted such a large-scale operation like this by himself before. His experience usually involved commanding single battalion in support of a larger friendly formation, never a multi-thousand-man patchwork army defending vital bridgeheads against a massive attack. How many dead would it take to complete the mission, he wondered?

    XxXxXxXxX​

    ''Most of the Scourges are still on the eastern bank,'' his aide reported. ''The construction and repair on the bridges haven't been finished, so the bulk of their strength hasn't managed to cross yet.''

    ''So we still have a chance,'' the colonel said, then checked his map again. His force, with the recent addition of several thousand Wendgarders could probably take the three camps of the Scourges protecting the bridgeheads, but what worried him was the fact that their capability to reinforce these points was unknown. How many troops and how fast could they be transported across the river stayed a big mystery, which made him more than reluctant to carry out a head-on assault.

    ''The lands to the west and south west of their position were marshy and heavily wooded, but there are mounds and villages on high ground which are perfect to shelter our troops,'' he continued, circling the area with his fingers. ''We could stage an ambush and lure them there with feigned retreats. If the Scourges take the bait they will either be funnelled into high roads or forced to march through the wetland.''

    ''Such shameful conduct!'' Liewif exclaimed with disgust. ''That is not the Sisterhood's way, colonel. What glory can be won using those cowardly tactics?''

    He decided to ignore her protest and stay silent. The plan would go on regardless of the abbess's complains, no need to antagonize the woman further, seeing she was still a valuable asset to him. Turning towards the commander of the Wengarder contingent, he asked: ''Prince Gautyas, you have the most experience out of all of us fighting the Scourges, what do you think of this plan? Will they pursue the decoy?''

    ''I believe they most likely will, yes,'' the prince assured him. A gaunt, beardless young man with a narrow face and sunken eyes, he had been fighting a running battle against the Scourges since the first days of their incursion, and had received a massive burn scar on the left cheek from the invaders for his trouble. ''They seem quite the glory hounds. The whole lot of 'em. Even went out of their way to sack villages and chase refugees, even though they posted no threats.''

    ''That is good news, then,'' Sang said, trying not to look at the man's mutilated face. ''And we are very thankful for your timely help, Your Highness. Other than the much needed reinforcement, we also need as much intelligence on our enemies as you can provide, starting with…''

    XxXxXxXxX​

    ''Do you think they've posted us here because we are expendable?'' One of Vytis's companions called out to him. He hadn't remembered all of their names yet, seeing that his current units had been haphazardly assembled from recently raised levies, western border guards and those veterans who had managed to cross the Suedra with prince Gautyas before the trap sprung shut. While the new recruits might have doubt in the prince's decisions, Vytis trusted him completely. After all, he had times and again successfully led them to safety from almost certain destruction at the hand of the invaders.

    ''More likely because some of us have actually fought them before,'' he said, gesturing towards the southernmost Scourges' camp, barely visible in the morning mist. ''We are much better prepared to take them on than the westerners, especially if you factor in their monstrous mounts.''

    ''Yeah, and what is it about those things?'' another asked, pointing at the strange contraptions being pulled pass them by several horses. On first glance they look absolutely ridiculous: tubular things made of iron and mounted upon a…cart? He had heard fantastic tales of how the supposed ''spawn of Nija'' had used those things to devastating effects against Ardenian armies and cities, but seeing them up close really stretched his suspension of disbelief. Their operators did not seem to amount to much either, they sure were bizarre in their attires and appearance but still a far cry from the terror that was described in the Scriptures of Dawn. What was the deal with that?

    ''Silence in the ranks.'' The kornetas said, and Vytis nodded unconsciously. In front of them the Outsiders had already finished setting up their weapons, whose muzzles pointed menacingly at the Scourges' encampment. Some of them raised their equally curious sticks skywards before discharging them into the air with a sharp crack.

    He wasn't prepared for what came next. The six machines roared in unison with a sound more deafening than anything he had ever experienced. Tongues of flame and smoke spat from their mouths, accompanied by thunder that shook the very earth with their power. Such great had the force of the blast been that even he could feel the shockwave in his chest despite being dozens of yards behind the weapons. Moments later plumes of smoke went up from the camp as parts of its palisade buckled and collapsed under the weight of the concentrated attack.

    ''By Solhunn.'' Someone muttered in astonishment. ''It's got to be horrible up there.''

    Vytis agreed with him. If anyone was ever unfortunate enough to be hit directly there was probably not much left of him for a proper burial. In contrast to the stunned surprise of the Wendgarders the crewmen of the weapons simply wheeled them forwards back into the original firing positions, the officers shouting at their subordinates in an alien language as they adjusted the warmachines for the next volley.

    XxXxXxXxX
    Acahtli and hundred others of his fellow tecuhtin burst forth from the southern camp like a swamp of angry hornets. With training as a shield against fear, the riders gradually accelerated their pace while the deadly projectiles fell all around them, with occasional lucky shots tore apart men and beasts alike. From up ahead, just behind the cloud of unnatural fog he could just make out flashes of fire from the westerner's siege weapons, each one accompanied by thunderous sound that shattered the air and made the earth shiver. Still, they didn't come very often and wasn't always aimed right, which gave them more than enough chance to close in and cut down their crew and whoever was protecting them.

    ''Come on, come on!'' Acahtli shouted as another barrage flew harmlessly over their heads and plunged into the mud behind them. A sudden trumpet sounded, and to their right some hundred horsemen burst out from behind the treeline, raining down volleys of arrows upon the charging Mahuizalcah before disappearing behind the smoke. The attack was totally ineffective, causing only minor annoyance to the tecuhtin, their heavy armour and the combination of scales and barding on their reptilian mounts turned away most of the missiles. The skirmishers riding double behind the tecuhtin tried to reply with their own weapons, but the enemy horsemen proved themselves to be quite the elusive foes, causing most the arrows to fall short of their marks. The Mahuizalcah riders on their part however were moving too slowly, the mazayoh he and his comrades were riding on were not exactly known for their speed, trading swiftness for a durable outer skin, which made pursuing retreating foes a daunting task. A sudden gust blew holes in the smoke bank, and Acahtli squinted, managing to catch a glimpse of a strange cart moving away at speed, being escorted by horse archers. It moved like a chariot, but there was no doubt that the contraption was one of the siege engines that had hammered their battle line since the beginning of the battle.

    ''Drummers! Sound the charge! Don't let them escape!'' He roared, trembling with rage. As the tecuhtin spurred their mounts into a gallop Acahtli caught sight of something moving on their flanks and behind the slowly dissipating smokescreen. The movement coalesced into hundreds of enemy horsemen streaming with breakneck pace from three sides, ready to close the trap shut around the Mahuizalcah riders. The westerners' horses could not deal with the thick skin, enormous strength and the smell of the mazayoh, but they could still cause serious damage if they got the drop on the reptiles and attacked them from all sides. The tecuhtin however had been prepared for situation like this since the first days of their arduous training. With a flick of the banner, accompanied by several rapid sounds of the horn his riders quickly split into three columns and each turned to face a flank, their mounts lowering their head and launched themselves into a bellowing charge without hesitation, horns pointed straight towards the mass of opponents.

    Acahtli grinned savagely. Their plan was good, but not good enough. With a head-on charge like this the feeble creatures of the west stood no chance against his riders, even when they got his men heavily outnumbered. It seemed to him that they would not be denied their glory after all.
     
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    Description of the Nations of the Farther East & Truce of Sarnach
  • A Description of Empires, Kingdoms and States of the Eastern Reach.

    Digested by Giahan Ly,

    Rymeran League
    The League of Rymer has been discovered by the Sinithans more than fifty years since. To the north of this nation lies the great kingdom of Ardenia, and to the east and southeast it borders the twin states of Kalmer and Wendgard, as well as a deserted archipelago named the Isles of the Damned. The climate is regulated by the western ocean wind, being warm and dry most of the year in stark contrast to our country's hot and humid weather. The winter is short and mild, although snow and frost are sometimes present. The country is delightful from April to September, the trees being then in their most verdant, very pleasant to the beholders. However in the summer sailors should pay proper attention to shifts in the air and sea, for typhoons are unpredictable and terrible in power.

    As for the terrain, it is hilly and mountainous, so not proper to manure. Animal husbandry therefore plays a huge role in providing for these people, supplying hundreds of tons of meat, wool, fur and hide. Cattles we saw in herds upon herds, and the inhabitants told us of many more that sheltered amongst the rock and shrubs of the mountains. That said, those few types of fruits and crops that are harvested prove to be enjoyable, despite a bit lacking in variety and flavour.

    Their goods are numerous, and seem to blend those of Sinithae with Friel. Outside of the above mentioned raw products, the Rymerans are also expert winemakers and perfumers. From their crop and fruits they distil a type of liquor called vinu, which is cold and pleasant, and from the flower farms in the valleys they create soothing perfumes which fetch huge price back home and even higher in our neighbouring countries. We should count ourselves lucky, then, that we have managed to ally with the League and gain monopoly on such ludicrous source of goods, which has benefited the coffer immensely.

    This country is divided into tribes, which control different regions, however the tribes are by now so subsumed into the League that they are more similar to provinces than anything independent. Their ruler is in theory elected by representatives from the tribes, but it is now a de facto hereditary position held by the chieftains of Trejai; the election is at the moment little more than formality. However, the inhabitants of each tribe retain their own traditions, their rulers uninterested in forcing their customs upon those unwilling making the country quite diverse culturally. Still, there are enough similarities that outsiders can easily recognized these people are kin. They are of a rather turbulent spirit, and martial prowess is the most praised trait a person can have, even for a woman. Yet they are very ready to admit of strangers, and are very well pleased that they should come even from the farthest reach to trade with them. Both the sexes are well proportioned, of moderate stature and pale, greyish complexion, though not as much as their northern neighbours or the Westerners like Friens. And unlike the surrounding countries the Rymerans do not worship Solhunn, instead putting their faith in their own pantheon of Gods who govern nature and all aspects of their everyday lives. Rituals are held in sacred groves across Rymer to appease these deities, sometimes involving abhorrent customs such as the sacrifice of criminals and captured foes…


    Kingdom of Ardenia
    The entity known as the Kingdom of Ardenia is divided from the former by a border of river and mountains. This country is for the most part low and flat, not unlike our own heartland, especially for its moat and banks. Rivers travel deep into the interior, and diverse themselves into many branches, most of them navigable by ship of mean burthen, which make them very commodious to traders. On the west side of the country they all disgorge themselves to the sea by a mean of a single estuary, which is coincidentally situated on the tiny cape that composes this nation's entire modest shoreline. In the east, most of the water is not under their control, except for the inland Sea of Daix. Despite their lack of coast, the presence of many rivers more than makes up for it, allowing the Ardenians unmatched mobility in their territory.

    The climate is temperate in this country, having generally no period of hot weather. The winter is terrible in contrast, cloudy with regular snowing, which is almost unheard of back in Vitenan. The land is fertile, however, providing the Ardenians with ample food: Maize and a type of edible tuber are the chief sustenance of these people, and the country produces sufficient quantities thereof. The inhabitants find it necessity to cultivate what ground they have with their crops, which forms into enormous fields, not neglecting the least spot.

    The people resemble their neighbour the Rymerans, although they are much paler of skin and of more elegant facial features. Their manners are also more civilized, for their God Solhunn demands of his people utmost courtesy in their interaction with other followers. Yet infidels are afford none of it, and regularly subjected to torments and oppression. Another occasion of hindrance and stop to relation is, that they are not curious of other countries, believing none so good as their own, as the great plenty of Ardenia has always afforded all things necessary for the support of human life. Because of that reason, the presence of foreigners inside their countries is heavily regulated, especially our countrymen, who are outright forbidden, for the decision of His Excellency the Grand Preceptor to cement an alliance with their mortal enemies the Rymerans has greatly angered them. It is pity so many conveniences and opportunities to make the country rich and its trade flourish should be neglected.

    There is a limit on the presence of strangers in this country, as has been said before, therefore there is no recent description of this country. That said, from the tales I have heard, their cities are stupendously majestic and comparable to the largest city in our land for populousness. The Temple of Solhunn has a formidable presence there, by means of the devoutness of the inhabitants, and their authority is equal of or even exceeded that of the King, enforced by a private army of militant orders. Their influence is not as strong in the eastern part of the kingdom however. Those provinces used to belong to a separate country entirely, but were absorbed into Ardenia since time immemorial; the people and towns from those parts still retain their distinct names and customs…


    Duchy of Kalmer & Principality of Wendgard
    The twin entities known as the Principality of Wendgard and the Duchy of Kalmer lie to the southeast of the known region of the Eastern Reach. Formerly a single country, Kalmer was granted to the cadet branch of the ruling royal family after the death of the founding prince of Wendgard, separating it from the main state. While Kalmer nominally accepts the Wendgard Princes as its overlords, it is a de facto independent realm, and the authority of the Princes there only exists on paper. The Principality has never attempted to rectify this, as its rulers have been busy walking a tightrope to keep a balance between their two superior mainland neighbours, who constant jockey for influence in the court of Wendgard. Swaying the Princes over to one's side is of utmost important to both Ardenia and Rymer in their endless struggle for dominance, for this country is situated on the extreme eastern flank of both, and control over the great river of Suedra will allow them to strike at target cities and towns deep behind the border, which is rarely possible in the stalemate.

    The people of Wendgard are closely related to the inhabitants of Rymer in both appearance and language, although they are more civilized in manners owning to the worship of Solhunn. Unlike the Ardenians, however, their devotion is not so extreme and the inhabitants are more open to outsiders despite still keeping a wary distance. They are also talented seamen and shipbuilder, and the vessels and sailors from this region are famous across the Eastern Reach, their service greatly sought after by anyone who can afford the astronomical price.

    Most of the above points can also be applied to Kalmeri, although not much else is known about them and their country since their rulers pursue an isolationist policy. The population usually keep to themselves, forbidding foreigners to land in any of the ports for fear of getting involved in mainland politic, although sometimes a lone vessel from the Duchy will call at a mainland harbour for either repair or resupply. In those rare cases most the sailors will stay on board, only the captain and some trusted attendants will disembark to bargain for services and goods, and even then they do so reluctantly. The reason for their xenophobia I cannot tell, and even the Wendgarders are at a loss of word to explain.

    Bordering Wendgard to the east are the great Wurm Mountains, and those are the edge of the world for the people of the Eastern Reach. Pass the colossal range travellers are met by an endless desert, and all those who attempted to brave the waste either returned empty-handed or were forever lost amongst its innumerable dunes. Even those who tried to bypass the desert by sea were unsuccessful; the only thing they found is an unbroken coastline of desolation with no life in sight…


    XxXxXxXxX

    Truce of Sarnach (excerpt)

    Treaty of Peace, Friendship and Commerce, concluded between Vitenan, the League of Rymer and Ardenia at Sarnach on 9 August 1461
    His Excellency the Grand Preceptor of Vitenan, the Chieftain of the League of Rymer and His Majesty the King of Ardenia, animated by an equal desire to put an end to the difficulties they have given each other, and wishing to establish the relations of friendship and commerce, have resolved to conclude a truce responding to the common interests of the three nations. All parties, after communicating to each other their plenipotentiary powers, which they have recognized as in good and due form, are agreed on the following Articles.

    § I Mutual peace between Vitenan, the League of Rymer and Ardenia.

    § II Opening of the ports of Grishaufen to Rymeran and Vitenese ships.

    § III Import and export trade shall be permitted to Vitenese, Rymeran and Ardenian merchants with appropriated documents on the land frontier between Rymer and Ardenia, as well as in the port of Grishaufen.

    § IV Vitenese goods shall be exempted from all Ardenian taxes.

    § V Two Vitenese trading posts will be designated in Ardenian territory, one in Grishaufen and the other in Treuwar.

    § VI Temporary foreign residents in treaty areas shall be given freedom of movement (with limitations) and protection from harm.

    § VII Ardenia, Vitenan and the League of Rymer shall immediately recall the troops they have sent across the agreed upon border.

    § VIII All Ardenian fortifications within 30km (6 leagues) of the border shall be demolished and their garrisons recalled.

    § IX A combined Vitenese and Rymeran military force shall be stationed in Grishaufen and Treuwar on a permanent basis to monitor the implementation of the Truce.

    § X A Resident Minister, representing His Excellency the Grand Preceptor, shall be stationed at Grishaufen to facilitate trade and friendship between Vitenan and Ardenia.

    § XI The repatriation of prisoners of war and captured civilians shall take place as soon as possible after the coming into force of the present Truce and shall be carried out with the greatest rapidity.

    § XII Ardenia shall pay Vitenan and the League of Rymer each an equivalent of 72 tons of silver (whether in silver, gold, commodities, securities or otherwise) over a period of 6 years as war reparation.

    § XIII A number of hostages shall be exchanged between Ardenia and the League of Rymer to ensure peace and cooperation between both nations.

    § XIV The relics captured by Vitenese and Rymeran force shall be kept in Sarnach under guard. Officials from the Temple of Solhunn shall be permitted to undertake regular visits to tend for the relics.

    § XV All members of the Luminous Sisterhood including prisoners of war and members still residing within the Kingdom of Ardenia shall immediately be relocated to Sarnach and placed under the command of the acting Vitenese general of the Expeditionary Force for ten years. The Temple of Solhunn shall retain their spiritual authority over the Sisterhood and their officials shall be permitted to undertake regular visits to tend to their needs. The Sisterhood shall not be directed against other followers of Solhunn.

    § XVI Ardenia shall immediately stop all intervention in the internal affairs of the Principality of Wendgard and recognise the protectorate of the League of Rymer over that country.

    § XVII The provisions of older treaties, accords and conventions between Vitenan and the League of Rymer, or between the League of Rymer and Ardenia, not modified by the present truce, remain in full force.

    The present truce will be ratified first by the Chieftain of the League of Rymer, and after that it will be ratified by His Majesty the King of Ardenian, and finally the Commander of Vitenese Expeditionary Force, the exchange of ratifications to take place at Grishaufen after the shortest possible delay.

    Done at Sarnach, on 9 August 1461, corresponding to the 3rd day of the eight month of the eleventh year of the reign of King Alberic II.
     
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    Chapter 9 - Western bank of the Suedra (Western New World)
  • Hey there teen, it has been quite a long time, but I have returned at last with a new chapter. In addition, many of the previous parts were also rewritten, which consist of important lore information, therefore I would suggest that you guys take a look at that. Some of the more important changes are the appearance of the New World natives, the organization and composition of the Vitenese combat troops, some allusions to Nija and the Veil, and some more. Now, enjoy the story.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    ''See anything?'' Togun asked, peeking out from his hiding place in a hollow in the ground to survey the unit's assigned area. His unit and one of the close combat platoons from the company had been thrown forwards in front of the wood to cover the rest of their companions from the prying eyes of the few enemy who might have managed to evade the allied patrols prowling all around the place. He knew the enemy was close, yet his detachment hadn't gotten any visual contact yet; the only signs they had received from their foes had been the terrible dins of charging Scourge reptiles, and even those had already been replaced by the reverberating echoes of faraway artillery bombardments which no doubt were targeting the lizards and their riders. Just the distant echoes of battle were enough to put mind on edge; he could hear his own heartbeat, feel the tension slowly spreading its suffocating tendrils in his chest, gripping his throats. Something began to stir in his stomach, and Togun recognized what it was. He had constantly being tormented by a dull stomach ache for the last few days, which always happened to him before moments of anxiety, but now the pain threatened to take a turn for the worse. Remembering the intense abdominal pain that had almost knocked him out cold before his first battle, the handgonner quickly loosened the cap on one of his bamboo drinking tubes and chugged the medicinal drink: a mixture of water, honey and sliced ginger which hopefully would prevent the cramps from flaring up again.

    ''Stomachache again?'' Khanh asked, and Togun replied with a silent nod. The other man was outwardly relaxed and calm, in constrast to his jitters, yet having served alongside them for quite a while now Togun knew that his comrades were just better at suppressing their own nervousness.

    ''Try to lie down for a bit,'' his friend continued. ''I will tell you if anything happens. You don't have to sit up to keep watch, and I'm sure others are also doing their own thing in their hidey holes so nobody will give a damn if you just loosen up a bit.''

    ''Thanks, I appreciate it,'' Togun replied and lay down on his back. Doing so eased the pain a lot, yet the anxiety was still there and like always was boring a hole through his chest. But at least now he wasn't in agony, so it was still an improvement.

    ''What do you think those lizards we saw a while before are doing at the moment?'' Khanh asked after a few minutes of silent. ''They shouldn't have been able to catch those decoys, considering their bulk and all, right?''

    ''Now you are the one worrying,'' Togun answered back, grinning from ear to ear. The thought that his friend, a giant, muscle-bound hulk of a man carrying a glaive would openly express his nervousness was oddly hilarious. ''You haven't visited the new cannon foundry in Haitran I assume. They might not be able to cast any heavy piece yet, but small guns like those are perfectly replaceable. The crews though, losing them could be a problem.''

    ''True, we don't have many of those to spare,'' Khanh concluded, stifling a yawn. ''We must have been here for hours already. How much time do you reckon we still need to burn before being allowed to go back?''

    Togun opened his mount to reply, but hold his words as he suddenly felt a rumble in the ground, small at first, but growing alarmingly louder with every passing seconds. Quickly sitting up and bringing his handgonne to bear, he stole a glance at Khanh, and judging by the tense posture he was certain the other man was aware of that too, his hands gripped the glaive's handle tightly. Exchanging a silent nod to each other, both of them began withdrawing from their position, and from other hiding spots they saw their comrades were also doing the same, silently and swiftly, trying to make themselves as undetectable as possible. As they reached the edge of the wood Togun looked back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the horizon turning black with enemy infantry streaming down the road, the ground itself shook under their footsteps.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    With a hard and fast jab of the heel into its neck, Acahtli steered his mount to the left, barely avoiding a threshing mazayotl on the ground whose entrails were ripped open by the blasted weapons of the West. Cursing his own mistake as his command was slowly picking apart and vaporized by the ambush, the only thing he could do at the moment was to concentrate on riding in the hope of making it out of this hell alive. All of the cavalry attacks had simply been ploys to slow the Mahuizalcah down so that the siege engines could reach the prepared ambush site, their participants quickly wheeled away without contact every time the mazayoh had gotten near them, suffering only inconsequential losses and furthermore driving Acahtli and his men deeper into a blind fury. In their rage and their haste to gain glory the tecuhtin had been foolishly lured into an elaborated trap, only realizing too late that something was wrong when their quarries stopped behind a line of camouflaged stakes and opened up on the pursuers.

    Not all was lost, however – despite the battering he and his men were being subjected to, the smoke, spark and sound did much more to morale than physical damage. He had lost over a hundred men since the beginning of the pursue, yet while losses had surely been significant the survivors were still more than numerous enough to carry out the assault home should the need arise. Not that he would attempt it, the veteran tecuhtin were too valuable to be wasted in suicidal charge against fortification, especially while having to endure blistering barrages from three sides. After signalling the trumpeters and flag bearers to sound the retreat, Acahtli expertly wheeled his mount to the side, closely followed by the rest of his men without missing a beat. The column split into four as it turned away from the death trap, the two front halves drifting far out to the flanks while the rear halves performed a sharp turn, lining themselves parallel to the former. The sudden change of formation must have thrown off the aim of the war machines' crews somewhat as several projectiles plunged harmlessly into the dirt, yet the smaller fire weapons were still pouring incessantly onto them seemingly without any difficulty, causing even more suffering and deaths on the beleaguered tecuhtin. One of his neighbouring riders was shredded as several shots cut through his body, sending bits of flesh and metal splattered all over the place, but no one paid them any heed. It was not the time or place to mourn a dying friend.

    A line of western cavalry rushed out of their hiding place, racing desperately to try and cut off Acahtli's line of retreat. The artillery had stopped their terrible bombardment, clearly trying to avoid causing friendly casualties. But if they had thought that the thin line ahead were enough to stop the charging tecuhtin then they were clearly mistaken. Too bad they overestimate their chance, he thought, and with a blow of the horn ordered all four columns to converge together, aiming at the centre point of their line.

    They had not even came close to the horsemen before their panic-stricken opponents took flight, scattering all over the place to avoid the unstoppable hammer blow. Acahtli and his companions let out a blood-curdling howl, surging forwards at the remaining clumps of troops blocking their escape route, either suicidally brave or just too slow to move out of the way. Zuma, his attendant, loosed an arrow which found its mark at the nape of one of the fleeing westerners and sent the man tumbling down into the dirt with bone-shattering force. The open helmet the man wore allowed Acahtli to witness the expression of terror frozen on his face, which the tecuhtli took in with delight. Suddenly, as if he had been submerged underwater, the noise of battle grew dimmed and Acahtli realized they had broken through to the other side.

    XxXxXxXxX​

    Sister Avinin was shaking with anticipation. Being stationed in a damp, soggy wood made her miserable, yet it was nothing compared to the feeling of dread swelling within her. If she still had anything left in her stomach she would have already thrown up right here and now in front of hundreds of people, but luckily there was none left, the mess behind their carriages was the testament to that. The pressure of being a robe-bearer was very different from that of a novice, and she could tell that it was still too early for her to take on the responsibility, and like many of the other newly promoted, woefully inexperienced. Avinin probably would still have been in the same spot if it hadn't been for the enormous casualties taken nearly a year ago at Sarnach, which had forced the current Abbess to ramp up promotion and recruitment to fill the holes left behind by the dead. The armour and axe weight uncomfortably on her, further confirming the inadequacy of their user for the role, but it was becoming of her to show weaknesses. She had her own novice to look after, which felt incredibly surreal to one who had not even reached seventeen yet.

    Beneath her feet the ground shook with the footsteps of the Scourge who continued to march towards the distance sound of thunder, oblivious to the small army hidden in the woodlands parallel to the road. The distance was far enough that they could not be easily discovered, and the lack of Scourge scouts who had been easily swept away by marauding Wendgard cavalry ensured that the ambushers would stay hidden. The horsemen's rapid attacks into their formation had caused the enemy infantry to form themselves into several mobile squares, slowing them down to a crawl. With the current situation they would be too late to come to the rescue of their vanguard, which hopefully by now had already been destroyed by the Outsiders' fire weapons. As a veteran of Sarnach, she knew what untold destruction those ridiculous looking things were capable of, yet a disturbing thought formed on the edge of her mind all the same. What if they had survived their own ambush and were now returning, just in time to catch the Sisterhood while they were on open ground? A lump formed in her throat. If that was the case, it would be the end of the order and probably of her as well. She had cheated death once through the sacrifice of others, but it was different now, if that ever happened she was to be the one sacrificed, holding the line and dying gloriously in His name so that not to bring shame to the Temple.

    Avinin shook her head and took a deep breath, pushing her anxiety down. Turning her thought towards her new ward, who had already taken up position alongside the Wengard skirmishers, she muttered up a quiet prayer. While she could not find the girl in the sea of people in front of her, she knew from experience that the kid was even more terrified than her at this very moment in time.

    ''Be strong, Fara,'' she whispered under her breath.

    The rear of the Scourge column would be their target as the rest had already passed into the area flooded by heavy rain. There the manoeuvrability of the front and centre of their formation would be heavily restricted, the only pieces of dry land would be the high road they were travelling on and some smaller footpaths still not inundated. Even if they wanted to the enemy would not be able to turn and save their comrades, their only choices would be to press forwards to try and escape the bottleneck or turn and waste time slogging through the wetland to engage the ambushers, in which case the rest of the allied army would come and hem them in after they finished the destruction of the reptiles. All the pieces were in place, all they were waiting for was the signal to attack, which undoubtedly would come soon. Opposing them were at most eight hundred Scourge foot, significant, but the element of surprise was on their side, and there were Outsider's artillery hidden somewhere in the forest on the other side of the road, which would undoubtedly add significant weight to their assault. Gripping the handle of the axe tightly, Avinin could feel the tension shoot through the air as the sisters steeled themselves for the call to arms.

    Moments later, a pair of fiery snakes soared skywards with an infernal hiss and the skirmishers burst out from the wood, falling upon the startled invaders like a swarm enraged wasps.
     
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