1 > 3
-
Welcome to rpgcodex.net, a site dedicated to discussing computer based role-playing games in a free and open fashion. We're less strict than other forums, but please refer to the rules.
"This message is awaiting moderator approval": All new users must pass through our moderation queue before they will be able to post normally. Until your account has "passed" your posts will only be visible to yourself (and moderators) until they are approved. Give us a week to get around to approving / deleting / ignoring your mundane opinion on crap before hassling us about it. Once you have passed the moderation period (think of it as a test), you will be able to post normally, just like all the other retards.
Completed [LP] Enlist in the Royal Dragoons! Codex plays Sabres of Infinity
- Thread starter Lithium Flower
- Start date
JRIz
Augur
- Joined
- Aug 17, 2015
- Messages
- 502
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
Have the majority of my men distract the enemy while I deal with each group one at a time.
"You three! With me! The rest of you! Give us cover!"
Your Dragoons open fire with their carbines as your three handpicked men form up — rather far back — behind you. As your men attempt to keep the enemy from striking you with a constant barrage of carbine fire, you spur your horse forward into the first group of enemies, sabre out in a flash of silver. Your blade lashes out into the throat of the first Antari as you bring your boot down onto the face of another.
Before you can strike again though, a third man charges at you with a short spear. You look frantically for the men following you only to find them too far away to guard your flanks. You hiss with pain as the steel point of the Antari spear pierces your calf and curse the timidity of the men who were supposed to be guarding you.
Frustration and pain boil over, and you swing with renewed rage and fury. Your remaining attackers are cut down by wrathful strokes of your blade; the remaining enemy, still under constant fire and now seeing you thundering their way all covered with blood, begin to break and run. Behind them swarm dozens of camp followers and servants, civilians brought to serve the needs of the Antari soldiery. Enemy and innocent alike stream across the bridge southwards, where Cazarosta and Elson await in ambush. You order your men to:
1) Run down the enemy soldiers on horseback.
2) Kill as many Antari as I can: soldier or civilian, the only good Antari is a dead one!
3) Sack the camp! Surely a victory as great as this merits some substantial reward!
"You three! With me! The rest of you! Give us cover!"
Your Dragoons open fire with their carbines as your three handpicked men form up — rather far back — behind you. As your men attempt to keep the enemy from striking you with a constant barrage of carbine fire, you spur your horse forward into the first group of enemies, sabre out in a flash of silver. Your blade lashes out into the throat of the first Antari as you bring your boot down onto the face of another.
Before you can strike again though, a third man charges at you with a short spear. You look frantically for the men following you only to find them too far away to guard your flanks. You hiss with pain as the steel point of the Antari spear pierces your calf and curse the timidity of the men who were supposed to be guarding you.
Frustration and pain boil over, and you swing with renewed rage and fury. Your remaining attackers are cut down by wrathful strokes of your blade; the remaining enemy, still under constant fire and now seeing you thundering their way all covered with blood, begin to break and run. Behind them swarm dozens of camp followers and servants, civilians brought to serve the needs of the Antari soldiery. Enemy and innocent alike stream across the bridge southwards, where Cazarosta and Elson await in ambush. You order your men to:
1) Run down the enemy soldiers on horseback.
2) Kill as many Antari as I can: soldier or civilian, the only good Antari is a dead one!
3) Sack the camp! Surely a victory as great as this merits some substantial reward!
As of the Summer of the 607th year of the Old Imperial Era
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 45%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 81% Cynicism: 19%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 45%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 81% Cynicism: 19%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sixth Troop, Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 28%
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 28%
1
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"Dragoons!" you shout, raising your sabre over your head and swinging it in the direction of the fleeing enemy. "Pursue the enemy! At the gallop!"
With a ragged cheer, your men wheel their horses about and spur them back into motion across the bridge, picking up momentum with every step.
The thunder of horses' hooves lend the fleeing Antari a fear which compels them to run ever faster, but no man can outrun a galloping horse on good ground. Your men wreak a fearful slaughter as they fall upon the routing enemy with their sabres or run them down with the iron-shod hooves of their charging warhorses, leaving a trail of bloodied bodies and screaming wounded behind them.
So great is the thrill of the chase that you barely register the smoky flashes lighting up the inky night ahead of you, or the distant crackle ringing from the treeline. Only when it sounds again do you recognize the carbines of Elson and Cazarosta's ambushing elements for what they are. You raise your sabre high and give the signal to wheel away before you too are carried into the deadly crossfire of your own allies.
-
Unfortunately, few of your men see the danger as quickly as you do. You wave your sabre and you shout until your throat is hoarse, but although many of your men heed your command and peel off, a handful continue onwards, blinded and deafened by battle-lust. When you see the faint shadows of the treeline looming ahead of you, you know that you have no choice but to pull away, lest you too are caught in the next volley.
Suddenly, there is a flash and crack of massed gunfire, too close and too bright for comfort. Turning in your saddle, you hear the screams of dying horses and men. A Dragoon horse hurtles by you and into the dark, its saddleblanket stained with blood and its saddle empty. There is another volley, and then another.
Then all is silent save for the cries of the wounded and the last screams of the dying.
-
It does not take long for Elson and Cazarosta to come out of the trees, their men behind them. Elson steps forward as you flash him a weary salute.
"My dear fellow, are you quite well? We believe some of your men were caught in our fire."
When you admit that this is so, Elson shakes his head sadly.
"A pity, Ortiga, that we should lose good men so ignominiously."
Cazarosta steps forward, his face a mask of sadness.
"A shame indeed, sir."
Elson turns and looks towards the north and shakes his head again. "We don't even get decent souvenirs this time around either."
You follow the Captain's gaze to behold the spectacle of the Antari encampment, currently in the process of merrily burning itself to the ground. You grit your teeth in frustration: the proceeds from the pillaging would, at least, ease the pain of losing so many of your men.
Captain Elson turns back to you.
"Then we've no business left here. Get your men formed up and ready to move in ten minutes."
-
Once the squadron's dead are burned, once those Dragoons wounded in the evening's fighting have been dressed and those of your men still fit to ride are assembled for the long slog back south, you finally have the time to reflect upon the day's engagement.
Your men have done well enough in what, for many, was their first taste of battle. However, the men which you left in that bloody clearing weight heavily on your mind still. Despite this, the many men still with you seem to have more faith in your competence, either out of genuine respect, or simple relief that you have led them out of battle alive.
Those men you and the rest of the squadron have lost this night will surely be replaced, but by new recruits of even more dubious spirits and quality. It is clear that the war is wearing the King's army down bit by bit, as dozens of minor engagements like the one which you have just fought in continue to sap the strength of His Majesty's regiments.
Eventually, there will be a breaking point: Tierra will have no more men to send, no more supplies to feed them and no more treasure with which to pay them. You cannot imagine what would happen to you and your fellow soldiers, stranded in a foreign land, should that unthinkable point be passed.
Hopefully, the war will end before you find out.
-
It is a long night's ride back to the camp in the ruins of the old monastery. Awaiting you is a courier bearing a message from the Duke of Cunaris himself: Your squadron is to be recalled to Noringia….
To join the Duke of Wulfram's army.
"I have read your reports, gentlemen, and I saw fit to send them forward to my superiors. A close but hard-fought victory, I believe, was how you put it, Captain Elson?"
The Captain nods in agreement.
"Yes, sir, a victory won by Lieutenant Cazarosta's cunning plan sir."
The Duke nods, a beatific smile on his face, looking very much like a proud father.
-
Cunaris looks at each of the three of you in turn, making sure that he has your undivided attention.
"Gentlemen, as you are likely well aware, the Duke of Wulfram is gathering his army here because he believes there is a chance for us to swing the war decisively in our favour. I must admit that nothing would quite be more welcome: This whole Antari adventure is not popular amongst the commons back home, never mind that we were the ones attacked. The King has appealed to the Cortes to raise a tax on wages, a dreadfully unpopular measure, obviously. Even so, if the war continues, by this time next year, Tierra will be in debt for the first time in its history. The King, the Cortes and the Commons all want a swift end to this war, and Wulfram plans to give it to them."
The Duke leans forward, his voice lower, almost conspiratorial, as if he were sharing a secret with the three of you.
"But to do that, he shall need a victory, a great victory. He needs officers of skill and intellect in command. That is what I shall expect you to be; I shall trust all three of you not to disappoint me."
There is silence for a moment, broken only by the quiet scratching of quill on parchment coming from the desks of the Duke's aides behind you. Cunaris leans back, satisified that he has gotten his message across.
"Now, gentlemen. I assume I shall see you at the reception tonight?"
Captain Elson replies for you.
"Of course sir."
"Then you are dismissed. Good day."
-
The streets of Noringia have become almost unrecognizable since your return from the North less than a week ago. Over the space of five days, a dozen regiments recruited from all over the Unified Kingdom and formerly stationed all over Southern Antar have converged upon the town. The formerly half-empty streets are now awash with uniforms of every colour from the green-grey of your own regiment, to the silver of the Wolf's Head Cuirassiers, to the burnt orange of the Line Infantry.
In addition, having apparently sensed the likelihood of a climactic campaigning season, observers from half a dozen nations share the streets with Antari stragglers and Tierran soldiers. The harbour is filled with ships from all over the Northern Kingdoms, and a sleek black-hulled schooner from Takara as well.
Elson's eyes seem to dart everywhere as you walk down the crowded main thoroughfare with your fellow officers of the Third Squadron. Occasionally, he will point out a particularly distinctive uniform or emblem of some regiment or houseguard or other. Cazarosta remains silent, though his eyes seem to follow your captain's. Eventually, the other lieutenant disappears into the crowd, leaving only the two of you.
"Saints above!" Elson exclaims as the two of you step into the cool shade of your lodgings. "Tonight's reception shall be like a moving shrine window, save with dress uniforms instead of coloured glass. Our green-grey shall seem as dull as stone compared to some of those lot."
I reassure Elson that our recent victory will make these uniforms recognizable enough.
Elson smiles, but shakes his head.
"I see what you're trying to do Ortiga, and I thank you for it, but we shall not be the only officers in the room fresh from a victory. There has been skirmishing all along the front over the past few months and I have no doubt there shall be toasts made to some victorious young officers tonight, but they shall be men of richer families and more prestigious regiments, not us."
"Nonsense sir," you say, before you even realize you've said it. "We may not be of powerful families, but there is no house more powerful than that of the Duke of Cunaris, save that of the King himself. Would he not want to show us off to good effect? I would think so."
The Captain stops to consider your words for a moment, before flashing you a bright smile.
"Damn me, I think you've the right of it, dear fellow," he says, patting you happily on the shoulder.
Ask Elson about the reception.
The Captain seems shocked that you had forgotten when you ask him about the evening's reception.
"Pray tell me that you have not forgotten already! Damn me if we were not given the invitations to them just yesterday at low tea."
When it becomes evident to the other officer that you have, indeed, misremembered, he gives a rather melodramatic sigh before reminding you.
"If you'd care to recall, the Duke of Wulfram has organized a reception for this evening. He's invited every single officer in Noringia, the foreign observers too, though one wonders how he plans to fit them all into one building, let alone one hall. In short, it is the most important formal event either of us shall ever likely be invited to, not to mention the first one I've seen in six years."
Elson smirks boyishly.
"Do you remember now, dear fellow?"
Ask Elson about the Duke of Wulfram.
The Captain explains for you: "The Duke of Wulfram is the commanding officer of the King's forces here in Antar, of course. He's also the most senior member of the King's army and privy council."
Elson pauses to recall further, as if being tested by a schoolmaster. "He's a career soldier, made his name in the Royal Marines during King Alaric's War, if I recall correctly. He's of the old school of officers, but he's a pretty powerful 'caster and has been a general longer than either of us have even been alive. I'd like to think that puts us in good hands, regardless of any conservatism on his part."
I excuse myself and retire to my room to prepare for the reception.
You make your excuses and return to your room to make yourself presentable enough for the evening's reception.
The long and painstaking process of preparing yourself for a formal event has become an unfamiliar one after so many years of soldiering on the frontier and shuffling down the ramshackle streets of formerly-empty Noringia. However, you are still the son of a noble house and remember your lessons on the subject well enough.
You change into your finest underclothes and daub dashes of scent in the places where you are most likely to sweat. This done, you begin the ordeal of putting on your uniform.
For an occasion of this magnitude, not even your dress uniform will be ornate enough. Instead, you must attend the Duke of Wulfram's reception in what is known as "court dress", which adds more belts, more ornamentation and more gold braid to your dress tunic. A half-jacket, half-cape confection called a dolman is tied over your left shoulder; its even more uselessly ornamental cousin, the pelisse, a bastard child of fur cloak and jacket, is draped over it.
-
As you begin the final process of looking over your sword and the grooming of your hair, you sense a bane-signature of immense power approaching you from far away. It is certainly even more overwhelming than the presence of a knight of the orders-militant, a rather unsettling thought.
A moment later, your hear the sound of hobnailed boots beating against the cobbles in perfect order. It is only then that you realize that the bubbling noise of the streets below seem to have faded away. The crunching beat grows louder, and with it, the source of the banesign draws nearer.
The sound of marching grows louder and louder, until suddenly, it stops: as does the banesign, right below your window.
1) Take a look.
2) Ignore it.
SPRING, 602:
With the thawing of the winter snows, the Tierran Army has begun expanding its beachhead around the town of Noringia.
The King has demanded that at least three Regiments of Foot and one Regiment of Horse must be deployed reinforce the forces in Antar by the end of summer.
The Earl of Crittenden, Port-Admiral at Northern Pillars, reports the Calligian Sea to be free of Antari warships.
SUMMER, 602:
Elements of the King's Army have reached the River Kharan. Construction has begun on numerous outposts along the river.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that a large Antari army is being mustered to repel the Tierran Army. His Grace the Duke of Wulfram is dispatched to take overall command of the Tierran Army in Antar.
The Northern Fleet attempts to launch an amphibious raid against the Antari port of Kharangia. Shore batteries repel the attack. The Northern Fleet loses two frigates, and a third-rate of the line.
The Royal Dragoon Regiment lands in Antar, along with the 6th of Foot, the 8th of Foot and the Kentauri Highlanders.
AUTUMN, 602:
A 14 000-strong Antari army advances south from Octobirit, with the intent of retaking Noringia.
The Duke of Wulfram assembles a force of nine regiments, numbering 6 000 men, to face the Antari, with the intention of isolating individual columns and destroying the enemy by detail.
WINTER, 602:
After a twelve-day running battle, the last 4 500 survivors of the Antari army surrender to the Duke of Wulfram's troops, 70 km northeast of Noringia. Thousands of men die on both sides from the bitter winter weather.
The Duke of Wulfram makes the decision to bypass the heavily fortified city of Kharangia. As a result, the River Kharan is designated the main line of defence on the western front. Elements of the Grenadier Guards, the 9th of Foot and the White Rose Lancers are dispatched to reinforce the picket forces already present.
SPRING, 603:
Increased Tierran presence along the River Kharan has led to an increase in partisan activity.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports evidence of a second Antari army being assembled in northwestern Antar.
SUMMER, 603:
An army of 18 000 Antari advances south from Octobirit. Their intention is to retake Noringia.
The Earl of Weathern, Deputy Privy Councilor for War, proposes that His Tierran Majesty offer the Antari favourable peace terms coupled with the payment of a face-saving level of war reparations. The proposal is dismissed out of hand.
AUTUMN, 603:
The Duke of Wulfram successfully forces the Antari to divide their army into three parts, all of which are destroyed by Tierran forces over a period of two weeks.
SUMMER, 604:
The King requests that the Cortes add an additional 2 000 000 crowns per annum to the military budget, for the purpose of maintaining the Tierran forces in Antar. The proposal passes, barely.
AUTUMN, 604:
The Duke of Wulfram leads a reconnaissance-in-force into the central plains of Antar, burning sixteen villages and disrupting the harvest in that region.
Antari envoys to the Convocation of the Orders-Militant put forward a motion to excommunicate the Unified Kingdom of Tierra and declare them Pariah-Among-Nations.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit demanded that the League Congress supply him with the authority to recruit fighting men from the holdings of all Antari lords, for the purpose of creating an army to throw the Tierrans into the sea. He receives overwhelming support, but is vetoed by a personal rival.
WINTER, 604:
Central Antar is hit by a severe famine, thanks to the raiding of Tierran forces. The death toll reaches 75 000 by the beginning of spring.
SPRING, 605:
The Cortes votes to raise a tax on pewter bowls and plates to maintain the war in Antar. The state coffers, having once possessed reserves in excess of 30 000 000 crowns, is now empty.
AUTUMN, 605:
Antari envoys appeal to both the Court of the Sun and Heavens of Kian'Zi and the Richsenaat of Takara for aid against the Tierrans.
SPRING, 606:
The Antari begin mounting major raids into Tierran-held Antar, comprising rapidly-moving forces of one to two hundred men.
The Convocation of the Orders-Militant vote against declaring Tierra Pariah-Among-Nations by a narrow margin.
SUMMER, 605:
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that a series of "accidental deaths" have befallen several known personal and political enemies of Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit.
SUMMER, 606:
The Ministry of the Exchequer announces that the Tierran government will be more than 2 500 000 crowns in debt by the end of 608.
AUTUMN, 606:
The King presents the Duke of Wulfram with an ultimatum: end the war in Tierra's favour within a year, or face dismissal from service.
The King requests an additional 3 000 000 crowns per annum from the Cortes to expand the Royal Army. His proposal is voted down by a margin of three to one. The Throne's political position is growing dangerously precarious.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit has successfully enlisted the aid and resources of nearly two hundred Lords of the Congress for the purpose of building his army.
Riots break out in Tannersburg over the rising cost of bread. Without Antari imports, the price of grain has risen three-fold.
The Duke of Wulfram attempts another reconnaissance-in-force into the central plains, but is intercepted by a force of Antari cavalry. A six day running battle proves inconclusive, with heavy losses on both sides.
WINTER, 606:
The Earl of Weathern once again proposes opening peace talks with the Antari, this time, to an open session of the Cortes. His motion passes by a margin of seven votes. For the first time in three decades, a King of Tierra uses his royal prerogative to veto the motion.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that the League Congress has given Mikhail of Khorobirit the authority to recruit an army to defeat the Tierrans within the next year.
Richsgraav Maximillian vam Holt of the Takaran Richsenaat proposes sending observers to both Antari and Tierran armies to gain a better understanding of the Tierran-Antari war.
The Cortes votes to raise taxes on coffee and postage stamps for the purposes of financing the war in Antar and raising three additional Regiments of Foot to reinforce the Tierran Army. The average Tierran now pays twice as much in taxes as he did a decade ago.
SPRING, 607:
Antari raids increase in intensity and power, to the consternation of Grenadier Square.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that Mikhail of Khorobirit has assembled an army of 40 000 men and is advancing south.
Intendants representing the Takaran government arrive in Antar.
With a ragged cheer, your men wheel their horses about and spur them back into motion across the bridge, picking up momentum with every step.
The thunder of horses' hooves lend the fleeing Antari a fear which compels them to run ever faster, but no man can outrun a galloping horse on good ground. Your men wreak a fearful slaughter as they fall upon the routing enemy with their sabres or run them down with the iron-shod hooves of their charging warhorses, leaving a trail of bloodied bodies and screaming wounded behind them.
So great is the thrill of the chase that you barely register the smoky flashes lighting up the inky night ahead of you, or the distant crackle ringing from the treeline. Only when it sounds again do you recognize the carbines of Elson and Cazarosta's ambushing elements for what they are. You raise your sabre high and give the signal to wheel away before you too are carried into the deadly crossfire of your own allies.
-
Unfortunately, few of your men see the danger as quickly as you do. You wave your sabre and you shout until your throat is hoarse, but although many of your men heed your command and peel off, a handful continue onwards, blinded and deafened by battle-lust. When you see the faint shadows of the treeline looming ahead of you, you know that you have no choice but to pull away, lest you too are caught in the next volley.
Suddenly, there is a flash and crack of massed gunfire, too close and too bright for comfort. Turning in your saddle, you hear the screams of dying horses and men. A Dragoon horse hurtles by you and into the dark, its saddleblanket stained with blood and its saddle empty. There is another volley, and then another.
Then all is silent save for the cries of the wounded and the last screams of the dying.
-
It does not take long for Elson and Cazarosta to come out of the trees, their men behind them. Elson steps forward as you flash him a weary salute.
"My dear fellow, are you quite well? We believe some of your men were caught in our fire."
When you admit that this is so, Elson shakes his head sadly.
"A pity, Ortiga, that we should lose good men so ignominiously."
Cazarosta steps forward, his face a mask of sadness.
"A shame indeed, sir."
Elson turns and looks towards the north and shakes his head again. "We don't even get decent souvenirs this time around either."
You follow the Captain's gaze to behold the spectacle of the Antari encampment, currently in the process of merrily burning itself to the ground. You grit your teeth in frustration: the proceeds from the pillaging would, at least, ease the pain of losing so many of your men.
Captain Elson turns back to you.
"Then we've no business left here. Get your men formed up and ready to move in ten minutes."
-
Once the squadron's dead are burned, once those Dragoons wounded in the evening's fighting have been dressed and those of your men still fit to ride are assembled for the long slog back south, you finally have the time to reflect upon the day's engagement.
Your men have done well enough in what, for many, was their first taste of battle. However, the men which you left in that bloody clearing weight heavily on your mind still. Despite this, the many men still with you seem to have more faith in your competence, either out of genuine respect, or simple relief that you have led them out of battle alive.
Those men you and the rest of the squadron have lost this night will surely be replaced, but by new recruits of even more dubious spirits and quality. It is clear that the war is wearing the King's army down bit by bit, as dozens of minor engagements like the one which you have just fought in continue to sap the strength of His Majesty's regiments.
Eventually, there will be a breaking point: Tierra will have no more men to send, no more supplies to feed them and no more treasure with which to pay them. You cannot imagine what would happen to you and your fellow soldiers, stranded in a foreign land, should that unthinkable point be passed.
Hopefully, the war will end before you find out.
-
It is a long night's ride back to the camp in the ruins of the old monastery. Awaiting you is a courier bearing a message from the Duke of Cunaris himself: Your squadron is to be recalled to Noringia….
To join the Duke of Wulfram's army.
CHAPTER VIII
Wherein the cavalry officer is given some knowledge of the momentous EVENTS soon to pass.
The summer sun shines bright through the windows of the Duke of Cunaris's office, wreathing your regimental commander's burly form in an outline of flaxen light as he considers the three of you standing at attention before him. Wherein the cavalry officer is given some knowledge of the momentous EVENTS soon to pass.
"I have read your reports, gentlemen, and I saw fit to send them forward to my superiors. A close but hard-fought victory, I believe, was how you put it, Captain Elson?"
The Captain nods in agreement.
"Yes, sir, a victory won by Lieutenant Cazarosta's cunning plan sir."
The Duke nods, a beatific smile on his face, looking very much like a proud father.
-
Cunaris looks at each of the three of you in turn, making sure that he has your undivided attention.
"Gentlemen, as you are likely well aware, the Duke of Wulfram is gathering his army here because he believes there is a chance for us to swing the war decisively in our favour. I must admit that nothing would quite be more welcome: This whole Antari adventure is not popular amongst the commons back home, never mind that we were the ones attacked. The King has appealed to the Cortes to raise a tax on wages, a dreadfully unpopular measure, obviously. Even so, if the war continues, by this time next year, Tierra will be in debt for the first time in its history. The King, the Cortes and the Commons all want a swift end to this war, and Wulfram plans to give it to them."
The Duke leans forward, his voice lower, almost conspiratorial, as if he were sharing a secret with the three of you.
"But to do that, he shall need a victory, a great victory. He needs officers of skill and intellect in command. That is what I shall expect you to be; I shall trust all three of you not to disappoint me."
There is silence for a moment, broken only by the quiet scratching of quill on parchment coming from the desks of the Duke's aides behind you. Cunaris leans back, satisified that he has gotten his message across.
"Now, gentlemen. I assume I shall see you at the reception tonight?"
Captain Elson replies for you.
"Of course sir."
"Then you are dismissed. Good day."
-
The streets of Noringia have become almost unrecognizable since your return from the North less than a week ago. Over the space of five days, a dozen regiments recruited from all over the Unified Kingdom and formerly stationed all over Southern Antar have converged upon the town. The formerly half-empty streets are now awash with uniforms of every colour from the green-grey of your own regiment, to the silver of the Wolf's Head Cuirassiers, to the burnt orange of the Line Infantry.
In addition, having apparently sensed the likelihood of a climactic campaigning season, observers from half a dozen nations share the streets with Antari stragglers and Tierran soldiers. The harbour is filled with ships from all over the Northern Kingdoms, and a sleek black-hulled schooner from Takara as well.
Elson's eyes seem to dart everywhere as you walk down the crowded main thoroughfare with your fellow officers of the Third Squadron. Occasionally, he will point out a particularly distinctive uniform or emblem of some regiment or houseguard or other. Cazarosta remains silent, though his eyes seem to follow your captain's. Eventually, the other lieutenant disappears into the crowd, leaving only the two of you.
"Saints above!" Elson exclaims as the two of you step into the cool shade of your lodgings. "Tonight's reception shall be like a moving shrine window, save with dress uniforms instead of coloured glass. Our green-grey shall seem as dull as stone compared to some of those lot."
I reassure Elson that our recent victory will make these uniforms recognizable enough.
Elson smiles, but shakes his head.
"I see what you're trying to do Ortiga, and I thank you for it, but we shall not be the only officers in the room fresh from a victory. There has been skirmishing all along the front over the past few months and I have no doubt there shall be toasts made to some victorious young officers tonight, but they shall be men of richer families and more prestigious regiments, not us."
"Nonsense sir," you say, before you even realize you've said it. "We may not be of powerful families, but there is no house more powerful than that of the Duke of Cunaris, save that of the King himself. Would he not want to show us off to good effect? I would think so."
The Captain stops to consider your words for a moment, before flashing you a bright smile.
"Damn me, I think you've the right of it, dear fellow," he says, patting you happily on the shoulder.
Ask Elson about the reception.
The Captain seems shocked that you had forgotten when you ask him about the evening's reception.
"Pray tell me that you have not forgotten already! Damn me if we were not given the invitations to them just yesterday at low tea."
When it becomes evident to the other officer that you have, indeed, misremembered, he gives a rather melodramatic sigh before reminding you.
"If you'd care to recall, the Duke of Wulfram has organized a reception for this evening. He's invited every single officer in Noringia, the foreign observers too, though one wonders how he plans to fit them all into one building, let alone one hall. In short, it is the most important formal event either of us shall ever likely be invited to, not to mention the first one I've seen in six years."
Elson smirks boyishly.
"Do you remember now, dear fellow?"
Ask Elson about the Duke of Wulfram.
The Captain explains for you: "The Duke of Wulfram is the commanding officer of the King's forces here in Antar, of course. He's also the most senior member of the King's army and privy council."
Elson pauses to recall further, as if being tested by a schoolmaster. "He's a career soldier, made his name in the Royal Marines during King Alaric's War, if I recall correctly. He's of the old school of officers, but he's a pretty powerful 'caster and has been a general longer than either of us have even been alive. I'd like to think that puts us in good hands, regardless of any conservatism on his part."
I excuse myself and retire to my room to prepare for the reception.
You make your excuses and return to your room to make yourself presentable enough for the evening's reception.
The long and painstaking process of preparing yourself for a formal event has become an unfamiliar one after so many years of soldiering on the frontier and shuffling down the ramshackle streets of formerly-empty Noringia. However, you are still the son of a noble house and remember your lessons on the subject well enough.
You change into your finest underclothes and daub dashes of scent in the places where you are most likely to sweat. This done, you begin the ordeal of putting on your uniform.
For an occasion of this magnitude, not even your dress uniform will be ornate enough. Instead, you must attend the Duke of Wulfram's reception in what is known as "court dress", which adds more belts, more ornamentation and more gold braid to your dress tunic. A half-jacket, half-cape confection called a dolman is tied over your left shoulder; its even more uselessly ornamental cousin, the pelisse, a bastard child of fur cloak and jacket, is draped over it.
-
As you begin the final process of looking over your sword and the grooming of your hair, you sense a bane-signature of immense power approaching you from far away. It is certainly even more overwhelming than the presence of a knight of the orders-militant, a rather unsettling thought.
A moment later, your hear the sound of hobnailed boots beating against the cobbles in perfect order. It is only then that you realize that the bubbling noise of the streets below seem to have faded away. The crunching beat grows louder, and with it, the source of the banesign draws nearer.
The sound of marching grows louder and louder, until suddenly, it stops: as does the banesign, right below your window.
1) Take a look.
2) Ignore it.
As of the Summer of the 607th year of the Old Imperial Era
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 47%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 81% Cynicism: 19%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 47%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 81% Cynicism: 19%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sixth Troop, Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 29%
Loyalty: 32%
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 29%
Loyalty: 32%
MICHAEL BRIGGINS
(Born 578 OIE) Lieutenant in the Royal Tierran Navy, Third Lieutenant, HMS Victorious, Baneless.
CAIUS D'AL CAZAROSTA
(Born 585 OIE) Lieutenant of the Royal Dragoon Regiment. Illegitimate son of the Countess of Leoniscourt. Deathborn.
SIR JOHANNES D'AL FINDLAY, DUKE OF CUNARIS
(Born 556 OIE) Lord colonel of the Royal Dragoon Regiment. Knight-Grandmaster of the order of Saint Jerome. A sitting member of the Cortes and head of the noble house of Findlay. Married with three children. Banecaster of the 8th Calibre.
LORD DAVIS D'AL ELSON
(Born 584 OIE) Captain of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, eldest son of the Baron of Hawthorne , a poor, but politically influential Cortes noble. In possession of aspirations to knighthood.Banecaster of the 3rd Calibre.
WILLIAM FENTON
(Born 578 OIE) Corporal of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, formerly in service to the Ortiga family. Baneless.
ATHELSTAN HARLECH
(Born 572 OIE) Corporal of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, popular with the men. Baneless.
LEONARD HERNANDES
(Born 578 OIE) Staff Sergeant Sergeant of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, disciplinarian. Baneless.
SOLHAMMOND LANZEREL
(Born 574 OIE) Sergeant of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, formerly of the 4th Regiment of Foot.Baneless.
DANIEL D'AL LEFEBVRE
(Born 575 OIE) A staff officer of the Grenadier Guards Regiment with the rank of captain. Baneblood.
SIR ALFRED D'AL MONTEZ
(Born 565 OIE) The Commanding officer of the Third Squadron of the Royal Dragoon Regiment. holds the rank of captain. Baneblood.
HIS TIERRAN MAJESTY, KING MIGUEL I OF HOUSE RENDOWER
(Born 586 OIE) Reigning monarch of the Unified Kingdom of Tierra as well as Duke of Aetoria. Young and impetuous, but capable. Baneblood.
RICHARD WALKEN, RN
(Born 565 OIE) Captain of the List in the Royal Tierran Navy. Commanding officer, HMSVictorious. Baneless
SIR ENRIQUE D'AL HUNTER, VISCOUNT OF WOLFSWOOD
(Born 577 OIE) An officer of the Grenadier Guards Regiment. Knight-Captain of the Order of Saint Jerome. Commanding officer of Second Battalion, Grenadier Guards. Banecaster of the 9th Calibre.
HECTOR CANDLESS, DUKE OF WULFRAM
(Born 542 OIE) Lieutenant General in command of Tierran forces in Antar. Duke of the northern duchy of Wulfram. An experienced, but conservative career soldier. Banecaster of the 6th Calibre.
(Born 578 OIE) Lieutenant in the Royal Tierran Navy, Third Lieutenant, HMS Victorious, Baneless.
CAIUS D'AL CAZAROSTA
(Born 585 OIE) Lieutenant of the Royal Dragoon Regiment. Illegitimate son of the Countess of Leoniscourt. Deathborn.
SIR JOHANNES D'AL FINDLAY, DUKE OF CUNARIS
(Born 556 OIE) Lord colonel of the Royal Dragoon Regiment. Knight-Grandmaster of the order of Saint Jerome. A sitting member of the Cortes and head of the noble house of Findlay. Married with three children. Banecaster of the 8th Calibre.
LORD DAVIS D'AL ELSON
(Born 584 OIE) Captain of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, eldest son of the Baron of Hawthorne , a poor, but politically influential Cortes noble. In possession of aspirations to knighthood.Banecaster of the 3rd Calibre.
WILLIAM FENTON
(Born 578 OIE) Corporal of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, formerly in service to the Ortiga family. Baneless.
ATHELSTAN HARLECH
(Born 572 OIE) Corporal of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, popular with the men. Baneless.
LEONARD HERNANDES
(Born 578 OIE) Staff Sergeant Sergeant of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, disciplinarian. Baneless.
SOLHAMMOND LANZEREL
(Born 574 OIE) Sergeant of the Royal Dragoon Regiment, formerly of the 4th Regiment of Foot.Baneless.
DANIEL D'AL LEFEBVRE
(Born 575 OIE) A staff officer of the Grenadier Guards Regiment with the rank of captain. Baneblood.
SIR ALFRED D'AL MONTEZ
(Born 565 OIE) The Commanding officer of the Third Squadron of the Royal Dragoon Regiment. holds the rank of captain. Baneblood.
HIS TIERRAN MAJESTY, KING MIGUEL I OF HOUSE RENDOWER
(Born 586 OIE) Reigning monarch of the Unified Kingdom of Tierra as well as Duke of Aetoria. Young and impetuous, but capable. Baneblood.
RICHARD WALKEN, RN
(Born 565 OIE) Captain of the List in the Royal Tierran Navy. Commanding officer, HMSVictorious. Baneless
SIR ENRIQUE D'AL HUNTER, VISCOUNT OF WOLFSWOOD
(Born 577 OIE) An officer of the Grenadier Guards Regiment. Knight-Captain of the Order of Saint Jerome. Commanding officer of Second Battalion, Grenadier Guards. Banecaster of the 9th Calibre.
HECTOR CANDLESS, DUKE OF WULFRAM
(Born 542 OIE) Lieutenant General in command of Tierran forces in Antar. Duke of the northern duchy of Wulfram. An experienced, but conservative career soldier. Banecaster of the 6th Calibre.
SPRING, 602:
With the thawing of the winter snows, the Tierran Army has begun expanding its beachhead around the town of Noringia.
The King has demanded that at least three Regiments of Foot and one Regiment of Horse must be deployed reinforce the forces in Antar by the end of summer.
The Earl of Crittenden, Port-Admiral at Northern Pillars, reports the Calligian Sea to be free of Antari warships.
SUMMER, 602:
Elements of the King's Army have reached the River Kharan. Construction has begun on numerous outposts along the river.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that a large Antari army is being mustered to repel the Tierran Army. His Grace the Duke of Wulfram is dispatched to take overall command of the Tierran Army in Antar.
The Northern Fleet attempts to launch an amphibious raid against the Antari port of Kharangia. Shore batteries repel the attack. The Northern Fleet loses two frigates, and a third-rate of the line.
The Royal Dragoon Regiment lands in Antar, along with the 6th of Foot, the 8th of Foot and the Kentauri Highlanders.
AUTUMN, 602:
A 14 000-strong Antari army advances south from Octobirit, with the intent of retaking Noringia.
The Duke of Wulfram assembles a force of nine regiments, numbering 6 000 men, to face the Antari, with the intention of isolating individual columns and destroying the enemy by detail.
WINTER, 602:
After a twelve-day running battle, the last 4 500 survivors of the Antari army surrender to the Duke of Wulfram's troops, 70 km northeast of Noringia. Thousands of men die on both sides from the bitter winter weather.
The Duke of Wulfram makes the decision to bypass the heavily fortified city of Kharangia. As a result, the River Kharan is designated the main line of defence on the western front. Elements of the Grenadier Guards, the 9th of Foot and the White Rose Lancers are dispatched to reinforce the picket forces already present.
SPRING, 603:
Increased Tierran presence along the River Kharan has led to an increase in partisan activity.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports evidence of a second Antari army being assembled in northwestern Antar.
SUMMER, 603:
An army of 18 000 Antari advances south from Octobirit. Their intention is to retake Noringia.
The Earl of Weathern, Deputy Privy Councilor for War, proposes that His Tierran Majesty offer the Antari favourable peace terms coupled with the payment of a face-saving level of war reparations. The proposal is dismissed out of hand.
AUTUMN, 603:
The Duke of Wulfram successfully forces the Antari to divide their army into three parts, all of which are destroyed by Tierran forces over a period of two weeks.
SUMMER, 604:
The King requests that the Cortes add an additional 2 000 000 crowns per annum to the military budget, for the purpose of maintaining the Tierran forces in Antar. The proposal passes, barely.
AUTUMN, 604:
The Duke of Wulfram leads a reconnaissance-in-force into the central plains of Antar, burning sixteen villages and disrupting the harvest in that region.
Antari envoys to the Convocation of the Orders-Militant put forward a motion to excommunicate the Unified Kingdom of Tierra and declare them Pariah-Among-Nations.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit demanded that the League Congress supply him with the authority to recruit fighting men from the holdings of all Antari lords, for the purpose of creating an army to throw the Tierrans into the sea. He receives overwhelming support, but is vetoed by a personal rival.
WINTER, 604:
Central Antar is hit by a severe famine, thanks to the raiding of Tierran forces. The death toll reaches 75 000 by the beginning of spring.
SPRING, 605:
The Cortes votes to raise a tax on pewter bowls and plates to maintain the war in Antar. The state coffers, having once possessed reserves in excess of 30 000 000 crowns, is now empty.
AUTUMN, 605:
Antari envoys appeal to both the Court of the Sun and Heavens of Kian'Zi and the Richsenaat of Takara for aid against the Tierrans.
SPRING, 606:
The Antari begin mounting major raids into Tierran-held Antar, comprising rapidly-moving forces of one to two hundred men.
The Convocation of the Orders-Militant vote against declaring Tierra Pariah-Among-Nations by a narrow margin.
SUMMER, 605:
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that a series of "accidental deaths" have befallen several known personal and political enemies of Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit.
SUMMER, 606:
The Ministry of the Exchequer announces that the Tierran government will be more than 2 500 000 crowns in debt by the end of 608.
AUTUMN, 606:
The King presents the Duke of Wulfram with an ultimatum: end the war in Tierra's favour within a year, or face dismissal from service.
The King requests an additional 3 000 000 crowns per annum from the Cortes to expand the Royal Army. His proposal is voted down by a margin of three to one. The Throne's political position is growing dangerously precarious.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit has successfully enlisted the aid and resources of nearly two hundred Lords of the Congress for the purpose of building his army.
Riots break out in Tannersburg over the rising cost of bread. Without Antari imports, the price of grain has risen three-fold.
The Duke of Wulfram attempts another reconnaissance-in-force into the central plains, but is intercepted by a force of Antari cavalry. A six day running battle proves inconclusive, with heavy losses on both sides.
WINTER, 606:
The Earl of Weathern once again proposes opening peace talks with the Antari, this time, to an open session of the Cortes. His motion passes by a margin of seven votes. For the first time in three decades, a King of Tierra uses his royal prerogative to veto the motion.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that the League Congress has given Mikhail of Khorobirit the authority to recruit an army to defeat the Tierrans within the next year.
Richsgraav Maximillian vam Holt of the Takaran Richsenaat proposes sending observers to both Antari and Tierran armies to gain a better understanding of the Tierran-Antari war.
The Cortes votes to raise taxes on coffee and postage stamps for the purposes of financing the war in Antar and raising three additional Regiments of Foot to reinforce the Tierran Army. The average Tierran now pays twice as much in taxes as he did a decade ago.
SPRING, 607:
Antari raids increase in intensity and power, to the consternation of Grenadier Square.
Royal Tierran Intelligence reports that Mikhail of Khorobirit has assembled an army of 40 000 men and is advancing south.
Intendants representing the Takaran government arrive in Antar.
1
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
dat 30% discipline booooi
Reinhardt
Arcane
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2015
- Messages
- 29,697
1
Подчиненный перед лицом начальствующим должен иметь вид лихой и придурковатый, дабы разумением своим не смущать начальство.(с)
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
You peer out the window…
And you behold a sight which will remain with you until the end of your days.
Standing before you are two perfect ranks of the most spectacularly outfitted and drilled soldiers you have ever seen. Even from a distance, you can see that not a single hobnailed jackboot is out of line, not a single fold of their black and silver uniforms looks any less than perfectly placed. The steel of their breastplates and helmets shine mirror-like in the afternoon sun. The barrels of their muskets and the scabbards of their long, curved swords blaze with the chained power of banerunes.
You cannot recognize their uniforms, but the flag which the black-clad soldiers carry with them is unmistakeable: a field of silver quartered with the dark blue elm and falcon of the Emperor of Takara.
At their head stands a muscular figure with straight, chin-length platinum-blond hair and the bearing of an officer. The leader of the Takaran soldiers shouts a command in a rich, throaty voice. It is only then that you realize that the Takaran officer is a woman.
It is common knowledge that their racial ability to use the bane without restriction allows Takaran society to draw no distinctions of sex; however, seeing the principle in action is an entirely different matter. Now that you look closer, you realize that it is likely that a good number of the other soldiers in the formation might be of the fairer sex.
Heady stuff, isn't it?
1) A frightening notion actually: if the Takarans are unprincipled enough to expose their women to battle, who knows what they might be capable of?
2) I'm sure it's all fine and good for the Takarans, but elven women have so many advantages which their human counterparts simply do not possess.
3) The Takarans have allowed their women to fight in their wars, and they are one of the most powerful nations in the world. Should we not follow their example?
4) If only we allowed our women to fight alongside us! Not only would it allow us to replace lost soldiers faster, but it would allow Tierra to field a larger army.
And you behold a sight which will remain with you until the end of your days.
Standing before you are two perfect ranks of the most spectacularly outfitted and drilled soldiers you have ever seen. Even from a distance, you can see that not a single hobnailed jackboot is out of line, not a single fold of their black and silver uniforms looks any less than perfectly placed. The steel of their breastplates and helmets shine mirror-like in the afternoon sun. The barrels of their muskets and the scabbards of their long, curved swords blaze with the chained power of banerunes.
You cannot recognize their uniforms, but the flag which the black-clad soldiers carry with them is unmistakeable: a field of silver quartered with the dark blue elm and falcon of the Emperor of Takara.
At their head stands a muscular figure with straight, chin-length platinum-blond hair and the bearing of an officer. The leader of the Takaran soldiers shouts a command in a rich, throaty voice. It is only then that you realize that the Takaran officer is a woman.
It is common knowledge that their racial ability to use the bane without restriction allows Takaran society to draw no distinctions of sex; however, seeing the principle in action is an entirely different matter. Now that you look closer, you realize that it is likely that a good number of the other soldiers in the formation might be of the fairer sex.
Heady stuff, isn't it?
1) A frightening notion actually: if the Takarans are unprincipled enough to expose their women to battle, who knows what they might be capable of?
2) I'm sure it's all fine and good for the Takarans, but elven women have so many advantages which their human counterparts simply do not possess.
3) The Takarans have allowed their women to fight in their wars, and they are one of the most powerful nations in the world. Should we not follow their example?
4) If only we allowed our women to fight alongside us! Not only would it allow us to replace lost soldiers faster, but it would allow Tierra to field a larger army.
As an Amazon Associate, rpgcodex.net earns from qualifying purchases.