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Completed [LP] Bleed for your Kingdom, officer! Codex plays Guns of Infinity
- Thread starter Lithium Flower
- Start date
3
3
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Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"Even in your current state, you might turn your talents elsewhere, sir."
"Elsewhere?" Cunaris asks, sounding utterly unconvinced. "Where else could I go? Cavalry command has been the only thing I have ever been truly good at. Why else would I have spent so long deluding myself, making myself believe that I would somehow still be able to persist in it?"
"We do not know that for sure, sir," you reply. "Havenport has given you a brigade to lead, surely you shall have the chance to prove yourself in command of it."
The Duke shakes his head. "A brigade that is three-quarters infantry, Ortiga. I have never commanded Line Infantry in my life."
You do not quite have a reply to that.
For a moment, there is only silence between the two of you, the muffled sounds of the army around you seeming to fade away, leaving you and Cunaris alone amidst a camp of twenty thousand men.
"Forgive me, Ortiga," the Duke finally mutters. "I have made you miss the last part of the meeting, and I have subjected you to my private anxieties."
He takes a deep breath in, then out again. "I must return to my own headquarters, attend to the business of my new command, and await Havenport's inevitable apology. You should go see to your men."
It is an informal dismissal but a dismissal nonetheless. You nod and turn away.
-
The next two days are spent digging in.
If Cunaris retains any lingering bitterness over his confrontation with the Duke of Havenport, he shows no sign of it. Instead, he throws himself whole-heartedly into the task of preparing the three crossings assigned to your brigade. At all hours, Cunaris and the brigade's other banecasters go back and forth across the muddy riverbanks, staking out and setting up immense patterns of baneseals in the path of any probable Antari attack.
Only at the rarest intervals is Cunaris at a pause, usually to brief you and the other regimental commanders in detail upon some matter of importance pertaining to the battle that is to come; matters which you, in turn, must impart to your junior officers and sergeants when you brief them almost immediately afterwards.
They are not the only preparations being made. While your dragoons help the infantry in clearing brush and staking out fields of fire near each crossing, the hill behind you swarms with engineers. Some prepare the site chosen for brigade headquarters, but most work the crest of the heights with pick and shovel, gouging an immense crescent scar into the dark earth and piling the displaced dirt into a mighty breastwork along its outer edge.
On the morning of the second day, you find that hilltop redoubt filled by two dozen sleek, iron-grey 12-pounder cannon, lean and sparkling in the morning dew. With them come two companies from the Royal Artillery and firm assurances that from their elevated position, your newly sited guns will be able to rain a hail of solid iron balls upon any of your three crossings.
Such assurances come none too soon, for that evening, the plains beyond the River Kharan come alive with what seems like an endless swarm of dark shapes and glittering steel. As night falls, the horizon glows dull orange with the light of ten thousand cookfires, their smoke thick enough to blot out half the stars in the night sky.
Khorobirit's army is here.
-
Despite the looming inevitability of the battle to come, the mood back at the cantonment that night is far from sombre.
Instead, the air is filled with the sounds of song and cheer, along with the stink of spilled wine and spirits. Not even the precautions that Havenport has ordered can dampen the mood. The immense bonfires meant to light the riverbank only add to the festive mood. The sight of entire companies standing guard as picquets against any nighttime attack seems to make little impression at all.
Why should it? The men of the King's Army know exactly what kind of danger the enemy poses. It is, after all, the very reason for their carousing; with battle on the horizon and death not far behind, it is only natural for soldiers to seek out friends and companions who they may never see again, to say what could be their final farewells, be it through a solemn affirmation of fellowship or one last round of desperate celebration.
Perhaps you ought to be doing the same?
1) I shall seek out Cazarosta; no doubt he could use the company.
2) Perhaps Lord Marcus is up for one last game of Tassenswerd.
3) Best I take the Experimentals up on their invitation now; I might not have another chance to.
4) I would like to see the men of my squadron, one last time.
5) No, tonight I would have no company, save my thoughts
Personal Information
As of the Spring of the 611th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 23
Rank: Lieutenant-colonel (Brevet)
Wealth: 304
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 21%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 66%; Cynicism: 34%
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: 46%
Strength: 82%
"Elsewhere?" Cunaris asks, sounding utterly unconvinced. "Where else could I go? Cavalry command has been the only thing I have ever been truly good at. Why else would I have spent so long deluding myself, making myself believe that I would somehow still be able to persist in it?"
"We do not know that for sure, sir," you reply. "Havenport has given you a brigade to lead, surely you shall have the chance to prove yourself in command of it."
The Duke shakes his head. "A brigade that is three-quarters infantry, Ortiga. I have never commanded Line Infantry in my life."
You do not quite have a reply to that.
For a moment, there is only silence between the two of you, the muffled sounds of the army around you seeming to fade away, leaving you and Cunaris alone amidst a camp of twenty thousand men.
"Forgive me, Ortiga," the Duke finally mutters. "I have made you miss the last part of the meeting, and I have subjected you to my private anxieties."
He takes a deep breath in, then out again. "I must return to my own headquarters, attend to the business of my new command, and await Havenport's inevitable apology. You should go see to your men."
It is an informal dismissal but a dismissal nonetheless. You nod and turn away.
-
The next two days are spent digging in.
If Cunaris retains any lingering bitterness over his confrontation with the Duke of Havenport, he shows no sign of it. Instead, he throws himself whole-heartedly into the task of preparing the three crossings assigned to your brigade. At all hours, Cunaris and the brigade's other banecasters go back and forth across the muddy riverbanks, staking out and setting up immense patterns of baneseals in the path of any probable Antari attack.
Only at the rarest intervals is Cunaris at a pause, usually to brief you and the other regimental commanders in detail upon some matter of importance pertaining to the battle that is to come; matters which you, in turn, must impart to your junior officers and sergeants when you brief them almost immediately afterwards.
They are not the only preparations being made. While your dragoons help the infantry in clearing brush and staking out fields of fire near each crossing, the hill behind you swarms with engineers. Some prepare the site chosen for brigade headquarters, but most work the crest of the heights with pick and shovel, gouging an immense crescent scar into the dark earth and piling the displaced dirt into a mighty breastwork along its outer edge.
On the morning of the second day, you find that hilltop redoubt filled by two dozen sleek, iron-grey 12-pounder cannon, lean and sparkling in the morning dew. With them come two companies from the Royal Artillery and firm assurances that from their elevated position, your newly sited guns will be able to rain a hail of solid iron balls upon any of your three crossings.
Such assurances come none too soon, for that evening, the plains beyond the River Kharan come alive with what seems like an endless swarm of dark shapes and glittering steel. As night falls, the horizon glows dull orange with the light of ten thousand cookfires, their smoke thick enough to blot out half the stars in the night sky.
Khorobirit's army is here.
-
Despite the looming inevitability of the battle to come, the mood back at the cantonment that night is far from sombre.
Instead, the air is filled with the sounds of song and cheer, along with the stink of spilled wine and spirits. Not even the precautions that Havenport has ordered can dampen the mood. The immense bonfires meant to light the riverbank only add to the festive mood. The sight of entire companies standing guard as picquets against any nighttime attack seems to make little impression at all.
Why should it? The men of the King's Army know exactly what kind of danger the enemy poses. It is, after all, the very reason for their carousing; with battle on the horizon and death not far behind, it is only natural for soldiers to seek out friends and companions who they may never see again, to say what could be their final farewells, be it through a solemn affirmation of fellowship or one last round of desperate celebration.
Perhaps you ought to be doing the same?
1) I shall seek out Cazarosta; no doubt he could use the company.
2) Perhaps Lord Marcus is up for one last game of Tassenswerd.
3) Best I take the Experimentals up on their invitation now; I might not have another chance to.
4) I would like to see the men of my squadron, one last time.
5) No, tonight I would have no company, save my thoughts
Personal Information
As of the Spring of the 611th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 23
Rank: Lieutenant-colonel (Brevet)
Wealth: 304
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 21%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 66%; Cynicism: 34%
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: 46%
Strength: 82%
4 > 3. While we certainly enjoy our time with the experimentals, we must see the men of our squadron. We must all come to prepare ourselves, to know what to expect of each other, and know that in this we are brothers in arms.
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
4.
4. I've been interested all game in checking out Cazarosta but at this point, with our units' stats this far in the gutter, we've got to take every opportunity to shore up that we can.
4
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
The men of your squadron are hardly difficult to find, for they gather within the massive canvas walls of your squadron's common mess tent, not twenty paces away from the entry to your own tent. Inside the immense structure, where the men of Sixth Squadron had once gathered in orderly lines to take their meals, the sounds of raucous laughter and song mingle with the orange light streaming from the open entrances.
Surely, it would be a simple enough task to stride in, announce yourself, and do that thing which you suppose you ought to do—raise their spirits and all that. After all, while your men do not go out of their way to declare their fondness for you, surely they will respond well to an informal visit from their commanding officer, right?
Apparently not.
You are not half a dozen paces from the entrance when you are stopped by a familiar figure: your Staff-sergeant. He steps out into the night, smelling rather strongly of Antari potato-wine.
"Sir?" he asks. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought I would talk to the men a little," you reply. "Is there anything wrong with that?"
Hernandes hesitates for a moment, as if reaching for the right way to reply with the appropriate amount of delicacy. "I-is that a particularly g-good idea, sir?" he asks, even more nervous than usual.
"Is there any reason why it shouldn't be, Staff-sergeant?" you reply.
"Well, sir, w-while it is acceptable for a j-j-junior officer with a small c-command to fraternise with his men to b-build unit cohesion, the same c-c-cannot be said for m-m-more senior officers like yourself," he explains. "There is t-too m-much organisational distance b-between you; I am n-not sure the m-men would respond favourably."
Your Staff-sergeant's words give you pause; are you truly so far above your common dragoons that you cannot even drink next to them or speak to them without having them stand before you at attention?
1) Hernandes is right; this isn't my place anymore.
2) I should at least let them know that I wish them well.
3) I will do as I damned well please; I am going inside.
Surely, it would be a simple enough task to stride in, announce yourself, and do that thing which you suppose you ought to do—raise their spirits and all that. After all, while your men do not go out of their way to declare their fondness for you, surely they will respond well to an informal visit from their commanding officer, right?
Apparently not.
You are not half a dozen paces from the entrance when you are stopped by a familiar figure: your Staff-sergeant. He steps out into the night, smelling rather strongly of Antari potato-wine.
"Sir?" he asks. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought I would talk to the men a little," you reply. "Is there anything wrong with that?"
Hernandes hesitates for a moment, as if reaching for the right way to reply with the appropriate amount of delicacy. "I-is that a particularly g-good idea, sir?" he asks, even more nervous than usual.
"Is there any reason why it shouldn't be, Staff-sergeant?" you reply.
"Well, sir, w-while it is acceptable for a j-j-junior officer with a small c-command to fraternise with his men to b-build unit cohesion, the same c-c-cannot be said for m-m-more senior officers like yourself," he explains. "There is t-too m-much organisational distance b-between you; I am n-not sure the m-men would respond favourably."
Your Staff-sergeant's words give you pause; are you truly so far above your common dragoons that you cannot even drink next to them or speak to them without having them stand before you at attention?
1) Hernandes is right; this isn't my place anymore.
2) I should at least let them know that I wish them well.
3) I will do as I damned well please; I am going inside.
2
2
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
2
2
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
You suppose there is a sense to it; you are not a junior officer anymore, and you can no longer afford to act like one.
Still, it seems so very wrong to simply treat your men like something less than human beings, to have no more connection to them than you would to fighting automatons in green-grey coats, to put on a stone face as they pass by and see them only as if their sole purpose was to fight and kill and die at your command. No, that is not something you could do; you're not your bloody father.
You shall not intrude upon them, but you shall at least make a gesture, so they know.
"Staff-sergeant, could you at least convey to the men my compliments?" you ask, keeping your voice as steady as you can. "Tell them that I am proud of them, and that I wish them the best of fortune for tomorrow's battle."
Hernandes's face softens as he nods. "Yes sir, I'll do that, sir. Is that all?"
"It is," you reply. "Carry on."
You stay outside the entrance as Hernandes makes his way back inside. The voices die down as he shouts for quiet. Then, with a loud and clear voice, you hear him convey your words to the men.
For a moment, there is silence.
Then it comes. "Three cheers for the Colonel!" a voice calls out, its owner hidden by the folds of tent canvas.
The tent erupts in robust cheers, hundreds of voices united. "Huzzah!" they roar, "Huzzah!Huzzaaaaah!" The third cheer stretches until it fades and is drowned out by the sound of mugs clashing and glasses being shattered in your honour.
It is only then that you turn and walk away, with the lusty voices of your men ringing in your ears and tears of bittersweet joy stinging your eyes.
-
For a moment, you consider turning back. Considering the way your men have welcomed your words, surely—
No, you quash that thought. Perhaps it is better this way, to stand as a distant figure of authority rather than a present one, standing over your men more like a god or a king than a companion.
It is partly a galling thought; gods do not receive friendship and affection from their worshippers, only offerings and supplication.
You try to push that heavy thought out of your mind. At least you will have the rest of the night to do it.
1) I shall seek out Cazarosta; no doubt he could use the company.
2) Perhaps Lord Marcus is up for one last game of Tassenswerd.
3) Best I take the Experimentals up on their invitation now; I might not have another chance to.
4) No, tonight I would have no company, save my thoughts.
Personal Information
As of the Spring of the 611th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 23
Rank: Lieutenant-colonel (Brevet)
Wealth: 304
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 21%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 67%; Cynicism: 33%
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: 44%
Loyalty: 46%
Strength: 82%
Still, it seems so very wrong to simply treat your men like something less than human beings, to have no more connection to them than you would to fighting automatons in green-grey coats, to put on a stone face as they pass by and see them only as if their sole purpose was to fight and kill and die at your command. No, that is not something you could do; you're not your bloody father.
You shall not intrude upon them, but you shall at least make a gesture, so they know.
"Staff-sergeant, could you at least convey to the men my compliments?" you ask, keeping your voice as steady as you can. "Tell them that I am proud of them, and that I wish them the best of fortune for tomorrow's battle."
Hernandes's face softens as he nods. "Yes sir, I'll do that, sir. Is that all?"
"It is," you reply. "Carry on."
You stay outside the entrance as Hernandes makes his way back inside. The voices die down as he shouts for quiet. Then, with a loud and clear voice, you hear him convey your words to the men.
For a moment, there is silence.
Then it comes. "Three cheers for the Colonel!" a voice calls out, its owner hidden by the folds of tent canvas.
The tent erupts in robust cheers, hundreds of voices united. "Huzzah!" they roar, "Huzzah!Huzzaaaaah!" The third cheer stretches until it fades and is drowned out by the sound of mugs clashing and glasses being shattered in your honour.
It is only then that you turn and walk away, with the lusty voices of your men ringing in your ears and tears of bittersweet joy stinging your eyes.
-
For a moment, you consider turning back. Considering the way your men have welcomed your words, surely—
No, you quash that thought. Perhaps it is better this way, to stand as a distant figure of authority rather than a present one, standing over your men more like a god or a king than a companion.
It is partly a galling thought; gods do not receive friendship and affection from their worshippers, only offerings and supplication.
You try to push that heavy thought out of your mind. At least you will have the rest of the night to do it.
1) I shall seek out Cazarosta; no doubt he could use the company.
2) Perhaps Lord Marcus is up for one last game of Tassenswerd.
3) Best I take the Experimentals up on their invitation now; I might not have another chance to.
4) No, tonight I would have no company, save my thoughts.
Personal Information
As of the Spring of the 611th year of the Old Imperial Era.
Age: 23
Rank: Lieutenant-colonel (Brevet)
Wealth: 304
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 21%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 67%; Cynicism: 33%
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: 44%
Loyalty: 46%
Strength: 82%
3
1
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
3
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