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Completed [LP] Bleed for your Kingdom, officer! Codex plays Guns of Infinity
- Thread starter Lithium Flower
- Start date
1. We have our orders.
2
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"Squadron!" you shout. "Halt and make ready for volley fire!"
There is a risk to what you plan to do. Your squadron must be on steady horses to deliver a volley with anything which might be described as accuracy, and you can think of no more disadvantageous way to meet an enemy cavalry charge than by standing still.
You will need to break the enemy with a volley before they can close; a simple thing, if enough of your men are able to keep steady atop their shifting saddles and hit the enemy.
If.
The Antari are at a hundred paces, close enough for you to see the lather streaming down their horses' necks.
"Squadron! Present!" Around you, the men of your command bring their short-barrelled carbines to bear.
Eighty paces now. Sixty, forty—
"Fire!"
-
There is a single moment of thunder, fire, and smoke as all around you, the men of your squadron unload their carbines into the enemy.
Your hand closes around the hilt of your sword as you peer into the powder-fog, preparing yourself to meet those of the enemy who have survived your volley.
They do not come.
When the smoke blows away in the summer breeze, it reveals that the ground before you is covered with naught but shattered men and broken horses. The surviving Antari are already beating a hasty retreat.
You order a pursuit without delay; you have wasted enough time with this skirmish. Now you shall have to make haste to fulfil your orders before it is too late.
-
You can now see the Antari camp defences in detail as you lead your squadron towards them; they are no more than a sloped berm of packed earth, perhaps waist-high. Quite frankly, by itself, it is little obstacle at all. You have confidence that even a mediocre equestrian could vault a horse over it with ease.
No, the problem lies with the men still defending it.
There are not many of them; you count no more than twenty directly before you, but even at two hundred and fifty paces, you can see the long slim shapes of muskets in their hands. They bring their weapons to bear with something only a coffee-house comedian would dare call 'good drill,' but they bring them to bear nonetheless.
Two hundred paces away now, and the Antari at the earthen parapet wait for you to close into range, the sun flashing off the barrels of their mismatched guns. They may not be anything close to disciplined Line Infantry, but a musket ball fired by a peasant will kill a man just as well as one fired by a grenadier, and a charging squadron of cavalry is a damned hard target to miss at close range.
A hundred and fifty paces; you could try to ride around them, but that would cost you valuable time. You could try to rattle their nerves, make them break.
Or, you could ride right into the teeth of the enemy's volley, swallow the inevitable loss of a few men and risk no more of your precious time.
1) We'll tough out the enemy volley and ride right through.
2) Let us see if I cannot rattle their nerves.
3) We make a detour; better to lose time than to lose men.
Personal Information
As of the Summer of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 393
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 65%; Cynicism: 35%
Ruthlessness: 33%; Mercy: 67%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Unit Information
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 38%
Loyalty: 45%
Strength: 85%
There is a risk to what you plan to do. Your squadron must be on steady horses to deliver a volley with anything which might be described as accuracy, and you can think of no more disadvantageous way to meet an enemy cavalry charge than by standing still.
You will need to break the enemy with a volley before they can close; a simple thing, if enough of your men are able to keep steady atop their shifting saddles and hit the enemy.
If.
The Antari are at a hundred paces, close enough for you to see the lather streaming down their horses' necks.
"Squadron! Present!" Around you, the men of your command bring their short-barrelled carbines to bear.
Eighty paces now. Sixty, forty—
"Fire!"
-
There is a single moment of thunder, fire, and smoke as all around you, the men of your squadron unload their carbines into the enemy.
Your hand closes around the hilt of your sword as you peer into the powder-fog, preparing yourself to meet those of the enemy who have survived your volley.
They do not come.
When the smoke blows away in the summer breeze, it reveals that the ground before you is covered with naught but shattered men and broken horses. The surviving Antari are already beating a hasty retreat.
You order a pursuit without delay; you have wasted enough time with this skirmish. Now you shall have to make haste to fulfil your orders before it is too late.
-
You can now see the Antari camp defences in detail as you lead your squadron towards them; they are no more than a sloped berm of packed earth, perhaps waist-high. Quite frankly, by itself, it is little obstacle at all. You have confidence that even a mediocre equestrian could vault a horse over it with ease.
No, the problem lies with the men still defending it.
There are not many of them; you count no more than twenty directly before you, but even at two hundred and fifty paces, you can see the long slim shapes of muskets in their hands. They bring their weapons to bear with something only a coffee-house comedian would dare call 'good drill,' but they bring them to bear nonetheless.
Two hundred paces away now, and the Antari at the earthen parapet wait for you to close into range, the sun flashing off the barrels of their mismatched guns. They may not be anything close to disciplined Line Infantry, but a musket ball fired by a peasant will kill a man just as well as one fired by a grenadier, and a charging squadron of cavalry is a damned hard target to miss at close range.
A hundred and fifty paces; you could try to ride around them, but that would cost you valuable time. You could try to rattle their nerves, make them break.
Or, you could ride right into the teeth of the enemy's volley, swallow the inevitable loss of a few men and risk no more of your precious time.
1) We'll tough out the enemy volley and ride right through.
2) Let us see if I cannot rattle their nerves.
3) We make a detour; better to lose time than to lose men.
Personal Information
As of the Summer of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 393
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 65%; Cynicism: 35%
Ruthlessness: 33%; Mercy: 67%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Unit Information
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 38%
Loyalty: 45%
Strength: 85%
What would "rattle their nerves" do?
Edit: So let's tank this: 1
Edit: So let's tank this: 1
Last edited:
3.
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
Try to find a way to get them to either flee or waste their volley before you come within effective range.
3.
So I think with our intellect score, it wouldn't go very well...
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
You have no inclination to waste time and effort on pointless manoeuvres. If your orders demand that you must lose a few men to fulfil them, then so be it.
"Squadron! Straight forward at the gallop!"
A straightforward hell-for-leather into the teeth of the enemy's volley. It will not be elegant, it will not be pretty, and some of your men will die. Yet it will also get the job done. Had you wished to lead men without seeing any of them die, then you would have become something other than a soldier.
Behind you, your squadron picks up speed, passing the fleeing remnants of the defeated Antari cavalry and closing the distance at a ferocious pace. Eighty paces now, close enough to see the muzzles of the Antari muskets shake, even as their hands pull their flints back to full-cock.
Fifty paces.
The earthworks before you erupt in a bank of white smoke as the ragged beat of an amateur's volley cuts through the din of your charging dragoons.
Then, before the smoke even clears, you are through. Thunderer leaps the earthwork with a single bound even as the breeze rips the acrid fog away from your eyes. Ahead, you see the Antari infantry fleeing in all directions, their empty muskets discarded on the ground in great piles. They may have had the nerve to fire off one volley but nowhere near enough to face a squadron of charging horse.
That matters little; you are through. Already, the earthworks recede behind you as you lead your men at full gallop into the vast expanse which once housed Khorobirit's army, leaving behind the remains of the half-dozen dragoons unlucky enough to be cut down by the unsteady fire of the now-running enemy.
Six men and horses, too damned many. Perhaps it would have been better to go around.
No, it is too late to dwell on the matter now, far too late. The important thing is that you are through the enemy's lines, and now you must see to carrying out your orders.
-
Your squadron is already riding deep into the enclosed space of the Antari camp as the rattle of musketry echoes from behind you, battalion volleys melding together into a rising tide of lead and fire; the main body of the King's Army has joined the battle.
Far to your left, you can see the shattered remnants of the main force of the Antari cavalry fleeing. They had charged into battle with sabres high and voices raised in ferocity, yet the fighting spirit of the Antari could not match Tierran drill and Tierran numbers; even before the infantry battle in the centre could properly begin, the cavalry battle on both flanks had already ended in Tierran victory.
Ahead, you see your objective: the low shapes of the ferry barges of the river, not three hundred paces away now. The only things that lie in your path are the disordered ranks of tents which had served to house the small and scrawny force which is already meeting its destruction behind you.
That does not mean the success of your mission is no longer imperilled; human shapes clamber over the barges, working at moorings and ropes. It is clear they mean to cut the ferries free from the crossing line and escape downstream.
You order your men to follow you through the camp with utmost haste, but not all of them listen. The looting of a defeated opponent's camp and baggage is a matter of course for a victorious army, but some of your men are not waiting for victory. Even as you try to lead the rest towards the riverbank, some are peeling off or dismounting to sift through the tents and supply carts, flinging back canvas covers in search of coin, trophies, and women.
It is a breakdown of discipline, for sure: your own men abandoning you for plunder before the assembled eyes of the King's division…but will you spend precious time to restore discipline? Will you place the mission above your reputation?
Or, will you discard both? Your dragoons are the first into the enemy's camp, so you have first pick of the plunder. Not since the fall of Kharangia have you been presented such an opportunity to fill your own pockets. Will you take it?
1) I'll deal with the looters later; my orders come first.
2) Discipline comes first; get the looters back in line before proceeding.
3) Threaten to shoot any man who deserts his post to plunder.
4) The battle is all but won; surely I might look to my own financial welfare?
Personal Information
As of the Summer of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 393
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 65%; Cynicism: 35%
Ruthlessness: 39%; Mercy: 61%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Unit Information
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 38%
Loyalty: 45%
Strength: 82%
"Squadron! Straight forward at the gallop!"
A straightforward hell-for-leather into the teeth of the enemy's volley. It will not be elegant, it will not be pretty, and some of your men will die. Yet it will also get the job done. Had you wished to lead men without seeing any of them die, then you would have become something other than a soldier.
Behind you, your squadron picks up speed, passing the fleeing remnants of the defeated Antari cavalry and closing the distance at a ferocious pace. Eighty paces now, close enough to see the muzzles of the Antari muskets shake, even as their hands pull their flints back to full-cock.
Fifty paces.
The earthworks before you erupt in a bank of white smoke as the ragged beat of an amateur's volley cuts through the din of your charging dragoons.
Then, before the smoke even clears, you are through. Thunderer leaps the earthwork with a single bound even as the breeze rips the acrid fog away from your eyes. Ahead, you see the Antari infantry fleeing in all directions, their empty muskets discarded on the ground in great piles. They may have had the nerve to fire off one volley but nowhere near enough to face a squadron of charging horse.
That matters little; you are through. Already, the earthworks recede behind you as you lead your men at full gallop into the vast expanse which once housed Khorobirit's army, leaving behind the remains of the half-dozen dragoons unlucky enough to be cut down by the unsteady fire of the now-running enemy.
Six men and horses, too damned many. Perhaps it would have been better to go around.
No, it is too late to dwell on the matter now, far too late. The important thing is that you are through the enemy's lines, and now you must see to carrying out your orders.
-
Your squadron is already riding deep into the enclosed space of the Antari camp as the rattle of musketry echoes from behind you, battalion volleys melding together into a rising tide of lead and fire; the main body of the King's Army has joined the battle.
Far to your left, you can see the shattered remnants of the main force of the Antari cavalry fleeing. They had charged into battle with sabres high and voices raised in ferocity, yet the fighting spirit of the Antari could not match Tierran drill and Tierran numbers; even before the infantry battle in the centre could properly begin, the cavalry battle on both flanks had already ended in Tierran victory.
Ahead, you see your objective: the low shapes of the ferry barges of the river, not three hundred paces away now. The only things that lie in your path are the disordered ranks of tents which had served to house the small and scrawny force which is already meeting its destruction behind you.
That does not mean the success of your mission is no longer imperilled; human shapes clamber over the barges, working at moorings and ropes. It is clear they mean to cut the ferries free from the crossing line and escape downstream.
You order your men to follow you through the camp with utmost haste, but not all of them listen. The looting of a defeated opponent's camp and baggage is a matter of course for a victorious army, but some of your men are not waiting for victory. Even as you try to lead the rest towards the riverbank, some are peeling off or dismounting to sift through the tents and supply carts, flinging back canvas covers in search of coin, trophies, and women.
It is a breakdown of discipline, for sure: your own men abandoning you for plunder before the assembled eyes of the King's division…but will you spend precious time to restore discipline? Will you place the mission above your reputation?
Or, will you discard both? Your dragoons are the first into the enemy's camp, so you have first pick of the plunder. Not since the fall of Kharangia have you been presented such an opportunity to fill your own pockets. Will you take it?
1) I'll deal with the looters later; my orders come first.
2) Discipline comes first; get the looters back in line before proceeding.
4) The battle is all but won; surely I might look to my own financial welfare?
Personal Information
As of the Summer of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 393
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 65%; Cynicism: 35%
Ruthlessness: 39%; Mercy: 61%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Unit Information
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 38%
Loyalty: 45%
Strength: 82%
2
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
Actually, it's Charisma. What happens is you stop, draw your pistol, and aim. Even though you have no chance of hitting anything, you do it with such confidence that the Antari think you do, and fire their volley early. If you succeed, you lose two men, and the enemy flees. If you fail, your horse dies and you fail the mission.
There was also a fourth option, that only appears if you have high Intellect, and successfully managed to defeat the Antari cavalry (either by stopping them with a volley or smashing them with the sabre.) As the Antari cavalry retreat, you basically maneuver your force behind them and pursue them, using them as shield against the infantry. You don't take any losses, and you don't lose any time.
There was also a fourth option, that only appears if you have high Intellect, and successfully managed to defeat the Antari cavalry (either by stopping them with a volley or smashing them with the sabre.) As the Antari cavalry retreat, you basically maneuver your force behind them and pursue them, using them as shield against the infantry. You don't take any losses, and you don't lose any time.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
You order the squadron to a halt as you wheel Thunderer about. The first duty of any King's Officer is the maintenance of discipline within his command. It is an obligation which supercedes even your battle orders.
"Dragoons!" you shout. "Back in ranks!"
For some of the fugitives, your attention is enough to get them back in the saddle. As for the remainder, it seems clear that words will not work.
"Staff!" you shout, summoning Hernandes to your side. "I want those looters brought back into ranks," you command. "Drag them back, if need be."
Rounding up a few other NCOs, your Staff-sergeant quickly begins returning the would-be plunderers back into your ranks. Faced with the scowling faces and ready fists of half a dozen sergeants, the fugitives do not resist, but they scowl and mutter amongst themselves as they are led back into formation. Some of the other men scowl, too. After all, is it not the right of a poor soldier to fill his pockets with the belongings of his enemies?
Your heavy-handed response may lead to problems down the line, but dealing with those can wait; you still have orders to carry out.
-
You burst out of the Antari camp onto the riverbank at full gallop, but it is too late. The Antari ferry barges are already floating slowly away. The peasant bargemen, their work done, flee as the last mooring line snaps under the force of the river's current and the inertia of the other barges chained to it.
Now, you and your dragoons can only watch as the precious cargo that you had been ordered to seize floats further away from the riverbank.
In the distance, you hear a great triumphal roar; the main body of the Antari force is breaking apart, dissolving into knots of men fleeing the advancing ranks of Tierran Line Infantry.
The enemy is broken. The battle is won. At least today has not been all bad.
-
You and your men are not allowed a victory celebration. Before the day is out, orders come down from the King's headquarters demanding that your dragoons strike out along the River Kharan to recover the drifting ferries and their contents.
With every step you take, your men grow more dispirited. With every hour they spend away from the comforts of newly seized Mhillanovil, they grumble more and more. The initial sting of failure was bad enough, but to be subject to days more of hard riding and danger because of it compounds the damage even further.
Some of the men blame you for their predicament. Why shouldn't they, when it was your decisions which led them to it?
It takes you three days to find the first remains of the barges. Left uncrewed and at the mercy of the river current, they had been dashed against the rocks and scattered along the length of the river. The shattered shells of the crates which they had carried are strewn along the riverbank. Of the cargo, there are few signs, save for a handful of unrecognisable lumps of wrought iron fished out from the shallows.
By the time you return to Mhillanovil four days later, the news of your failure has spread to the whole body of the army. While none of your brother officers insult you openly, you feel their looks of disapproval upon your back as you lead your demoralised squadron into the town and see to the process of billeting your men and horses.
It has not been, by any means, your best week.
-
Your stay in Mhillanovil proves significantly more comfortable than the weeks you spent in Solokovil. For one thing, the King's new base had been a considerably larger town before the war, and serving as Prince Khorobirit's field headquarters for two years had only caused it to grow further.
The summer heat is significantly less tiresome as well, not because of any matter of location, for Mhillanovil is barely thirty kilometres to the north of Solokovil, but because the town is bounded on three sides by the cool waters of the River Kharan, and on the fourth by a not-insubstantial belt of trees, perhaps the last northern vestige of the Great Forest.
It is the presence of this forest which seems to be the new focus of the army's efforts, for every day, companies of foot march out into the trees armed with hatchets and saws. They return with carts full of newly felled logs, to be piled in the town square, cut into planks by yet more companies of infantry, and set to dry in the hot summer air.
Though your dragoons are still required to patrol in search of any approaching enemy force, no longer are they required to keep the obsessive watch that had so fatigued them earlier in the summer. Now, it is a rare occasion when any more than one out of eight of your men are posted as vedettes at any given time. To your dragoons, it is practically a vacation. Liberty in a well-provisioned and well-established town does nothing but good for their spirits.
You too are no longer worked to exhaustion every day. Your duties seem to have been pared back to handling one or two patrols a week and dealing with the occasional breaches of discipline which come almost naturally to any group of young, fit, and courageous men with too much time on their hands.
In fact, once the patrols are cut back further with the end of the campaigning season and the onset of the autumn rains, you find yourself with barely any work at all and a great deal of free time.
How do you plan to spend it?
1) I shall finally get around to learning the Antari language.
2) I think I shall continue working on my memoirs.
3) I'll use the time to oversee the development of one of my lieutenants.
4) I shall call upon and spend time with a personal acquaintance.
Personal Information
As of the Summer of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 408
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 21%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 65%; Cynicism: 35%
Ruthlessness: 39%; Mercy: 61%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Unit Information
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 38%
Loyalty: 41%
Strength: 82%
"Dragoons!" you shout. "Back in ranks!"
For some of the fugitives, your attention is enough to get them back in the saddle. As for the remainder, it seems clear that words will not work.
"Staff!" you shout, summoning Hernandes to your side. "I want those looters brought back into ranks," you command. "Drag them back, if need be."
Rounding up a few other NCOs, your Staff-sergeant quickly begins returning the would-be plunderers back into your ranks. Faced with the scowling faces and ready fists of half a dozen sergeants, the fugitives do not resist, but they scowl and mutter amongst themselves as they are led back into formation. Some of the other men scowl, too. After all, is it not the right of a poor soldier to fill his pockets with the belongings of his enemies?
Your heavy-handed response may lead to problems down the line, but dealing with those can wait; you still have orders to carry out.
-
You burst out of the Antari camp onto the riverbank at full gallop, but it is too late. The Antari ferry barges are already floating slowly away. The peasant bargemen, their work done, flee as the last mooring line snaps under the force of the river's current and the inertia of the other barges chained to it.
Now, you and your dragoons can only watch as the precious cargo that you had been ordered to seize floats further away from the riverbank.
In the distance, you hear a great triumphal roar; the main body of the Antari force is breaking apart, dissolving into knots of men fleeing the advancing ranks of Tierran Line Infantry.
The enemy is broken. The battle is won. At least today has not been all bad.
-
You and your men are not allowed a victory celebration. Before the day is out, orders come down from the King's headquarters demanding that your dragoons strike out along the River Kharan to recover the drifting ferries and their contents.
With every step you take, your men grow more dispirited. With every hour they spend away from the comforts of newly seized Mhillanovil, they grumble more and more. The initial sting of failure was bad enough, but to be subject to days more of hard riding and danger because of it compounds the damage even further.
Some of the men blame you for their predicament. Why shouldn't they, when it was your decisions which led them to it?
It takes you three days to find the first remains of the barges. Left uncrewed and at the mercy of the river current, they had been dashed against the rocks and scattered along the length of the river. The shattered shells of the crates which they had carried are strewn along the riverbank. Of the cargo, there are few signs, save for a handful of unrecognisable lumps of wrought iron fished out from the shallows.
By the time you return to Mhillanovil four days later, the news of your failure has spread to the whole body of the army. While none of your brother officers insult you openly, you feel their looks of disapproval upon your back as you lead your demoralised squadron into the town and see to the process of billeting your men and horses.
It has not been, by any means, your best week.
-
Your stay in Mhillanovil proves significantly more comfortable than the weeks you spent in Solokovil. For one thing, the King's new base had been a considerably larger town before the war, and serving as Prince Khorobirit's field headquarters for two years had only caused it to grow further.
The summer heat is significantly less tiresome as well, not because of any matter of location, for Mhillanovil is barely thirty kilometres to the north of Solokovil, but because the town is bounded on three sides by the cool waters of the River Kharan, and on the fourth by a not-insubstantial belt of trees, perhaps the last northern vestige of the Great Forest.
It is the presence of this forest which seems to be the new focus of the army's efforts, for every day, companies of foot march out into the trees armed with hatchets and saws. They return with carts full of newly felled logs, to be piled in the town square, cut into planks by yet more companies of infantry, and set to dry in the hot summer air.
Though your dragoons are still required to patrol in search of any approaching enemy force, no longer are they required to keep the obsessive watch that had so fatigued them earlier in the summer. Now, it is a rare occasion when any more than one out of eight of your men are posted as vedettes at any given time. To your dragoons, it is practically a vacation. Liberty in a well-provisioned and well-established town does nothing but good for their spirits.
You too are no longer worked to exhaustion every day. Your duties seem to have been pared back to handling one or two patrols a week and dealing with the occasional breaches of discipline which come almost naturally to any group of young, fit, and courageous men with too much time on their hands.
In fact, once the patrols are cut back further with the end of the campaigning season and the onset of the autumn rains, you find yourself with barely any work at all and a great deal of free time.
How do you plan to spend it?
1) I shall finally get around to learning the Antari language.
2) I think I shall continue working on my memoirs.
3) I'll use the time to oversee the development of one of my lieutenants.
4) I shall call upon and spend time with a personal acquaintance.
Personal Information
As of the Summer of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 408
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 21%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 65%; Cynicism: 35%
Ruthlessness: 39%; Mercy: 61%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Unit Information
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 38%
Loyalty: 41%
Strength: 82%
3.
I'm sad we couldn't BLAM! a few of our men to restore order last time. Not ruthless enough I guess.
I'm sad we couldn't BLAM! a few of our men to restore order last time. Not ruthless enough I guess.
Last edited:
3
Reinhardt
Arcane
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2015
- Messages
- 29,587
3.
WAT. Niggaz, it was exactly because you, faggots, ignored commander decisions and orders.
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