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Completed [LP] Bleed for your Kingdom, officer! Codex plays Guns of Infinity
- Thread starter Lithium Flower
- Start date
2. Let's be polite and show that we acknowledge his nobility.
Also I'm totaly for wearing our sweet armor for the assault, we should have the choice to do so
Also I'm totaly for wearing our sweet armor for the assault, we should have the choice to do so
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"Well enough, I suppose," the deathborn Captain replies, his expression one of aloof and complete disinterest. "Keane has me scouring the forest for Antari partisans. Difficult going at first, but we are making more progress now that we have begun to fight like them."
"What do you mean by that?" you ask. For a moment, you imagine Cazarosta skulking through the woods like a common poacher with a squadron of two hundred. A ludicrous image, and probably completely at odds with his actual meaning.
Cazarosta shakes his head. "Never you mind. It would likely be better that you not know."
"How do you mean? What predicament?"
"The predicament being that there were previously three officers vying for the command of the Forlorn Hope," Cazarosta explains. "Now there are two."
"Yet only one of us shall have the command," you point out.
The deathborn nods, his grey eyes cold as ice. "The predicament is simplified, I suppose, but that does not mean it no longer remains."
"I am afraid I must ask you for a personal favour, Ortiga," Cazarosta finally says. "I need you to withdraw your request to lead the Forlorn Hope."
"Why do you want to lead the Forlorn Hope so badly?"
"I have no other chance of advancement," Cazarosta replies. "Colonel Keane will not sell me his major's commission, he has stated so. Thus, I must obtain a promotion by a manner which bypasses him immediately."
You nod at Cazarosta's description of his sorry situation, one which you will never have to face; when you get your three years' seniority, you have no doubt that Lieutenant-colonel Keane would be nothing less than pleased to sell you his old major's rank, so long as you've the funds to purchase it. After all, you are a man of proven valour, tested ability, and above all, you are a proper baneblood of good family, something which allows you privilege and consideration which Cazarosta, for all of his prodigies of soldiering, shall never achieve.
1) "Yes, I suppose I shall."
2) "I am afraid I cannot do that, sir."
3) "Could I not convince Havenport to allow us both to take part?"
"What do you mean by that?" you ask. For a moment, you imagine Cazarosta skulking through the woods like a common poacher with a squadron of two hundred. A ludicrous image, and probably completely at odds with his actual meaning.
Cazarosta shakes his head. "Never you mind. It would likely be better that you not know."
"How do you mean? What predicament?"
"The predicament being that there were previously three officers vying for the command of the Forlorn Hope," Cazarosta explains. "Now there are two."
"Yet only one of us shall have the command," you point out.
The deathborn nods, his grey eyes cold as ice. "The predicament is simplified, I suppose, but that does not mean it no longer remains."
"I am afraid I must ask you for a personal favour, Ortiga," Cazarosta finally says. "I need you to withdraw your request to lead the Forlorn Hope."
"Why do you want to lead the Forlorn Hope so badly?"
"I have no other chance of advancement," Cazarosta replies. "Colonel Keane will not sell me his major's commission, he has stated so. Thus, I must obtain a promotion by a manner which bypasses him immediately."
You nod at Cazarosta's description of his sorry situation, one which you will never have to face; when you get your three years' seniority, you have no doubt that Lieutenant-colonel Keane would be nothing less than pleased to sell you his old major's rank, so long as you've the funds to purchase it. After all, you are a man of proven valour, tested ability, and above all, you are a proper baneblood of good family, something which allows you privilege and consideration which Cazarosta, for all of his prodigies of soldiering, shall never achieve.
1) "Yes, I suppose I shall."
2) "I am afraid I cannot do that, sir."
As of the Summer of the 609th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 383
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 80% Cynicism: 20%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
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.
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 383
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 80% Cynicism: 20%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
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.
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 54%
Morale: 54%
Loyalty: 39%
Strength: 99%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 54%
Morale: 54%
Loyalty: 39%
Strength: 99%
Covenant Ringthane
Novice
Came in to say that these LPs with our lovely little retard convinced me to buy the games, and hell, I'll throw my votes in every now and again.
On that note, we love our glory, idealistic youngster that we are, but Cazarosta's basically a cynical Ortiga, minus the fetal alcohol syndrome. He'd be a sight better atbutchering killing the enemy and commanding than a lot of the other officers we've met, so more power to him.
1.
On that note, we love our glory, idealistic youngster that we are, but Cazarosta's basically a cynical Ortiga, minus the fetal alcohol syndrome. He'd be a sight better at
1.
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
1.
I suppose the third choice is unavailable since we're too stupid/not charismatic enough?
I suppose the third choice is unavailable since we're too stupid/not charismatic enough?
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
The only requirement is a decent relationship with Cazarosta.
Well I can understand why it's not available then!
1.
1. To deny this lesser man a fair chance at coming to our level is ignoble. Let him become a worthy adversary for us, in due time. Our eventual slaying of him will be all the more satisfactory.
Allow him to retain what honor he has in this matter. In time, he will be indebted to you should he survive.
Allow him to retain what honor he has in this matter. In time, he will be indebted to you should he survive.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"You have my gratitude, sir," the deathborn officer replies. He pauses for a moment, then in an afterthought, extends his hand. "I wish you good luck, Ortiga. It is the least I could do."
You take it eagerly. "Good luck, Sir Caius," you reply. "I shall pray for your success."
With that, you make your way out of the Duke of Havenport's tent and back to your own.
-
The next few days are spent in a long, tense process of preparation. The entire army makes itself ready for the immense task which is before it. Bayonets and sabres are sharpened, muskets and pistols cleaned, oiled, and cleaned again. Throughout it all, the dull thunder of the siege guns continues, blasting open the breach in Kharangia's walls ever wider and serving as a constant reminder that very soon, all the waiting and preparation will be put to the test in a single, cataclysmic crush of steel and flesh and fire within the confines of that all-important breach.
Your own squadron is no different. Your men are readied for the task before them. Every one of them, from your lieutenants to the lowliest common dragoon, is honed to an edge for the bloody, messy work which must be done to take Kharangia for His Tierran Majesty.
You are right there with them, checking carbines for rust and fowling, touring the forward trenches through which your men must advance, discussing with your officers the things which shall be expected from all of you when that terrible, glorious day finally comes.
As the days pass, a sense of unease and impatience rises like a barely palpable stench. The storm clouds grow larger on the horizon, and the days grow shorter, darker, and colder. Soon, it becomes clear that the army shall only have one attempt to take the city before the rains come and render any further effort pointless.
Finally, the morning of the assault arrives. It begins the same way every other morning has during your three months within the fieldworks of the siege camp. There is Marion with a cup of hot water and your razor. Here comes breakfast: bacon and coffee, and for once, the very pleasant delicacy of a fresh egg, fried with black pepper and a little salt.
The assault is to begin at ten o'clock, but a messenger arrives from the regimental headquarters two hours in advance. He presents you a summons from Lieutenant-colonel Keane; all squadron and troop commanders are to report in for a final briefing before stepping off.
So, you finish your breakfast, put on your coat, and assemble your officers. You set off, pushing whatever regrets, half-forgotten errands, and second thoughts into the invisible recesses of your mind.
It is too late for them now.
CHAPTER V
In which KHARANGIA FALLS.
Lieutenant-colonel Keane does not waste time with pleasantries. Within five minutes of your arrival at his tent, he is already outlining the plan of the assault.
"The Highlanders shall lead the attack. It is only natural that His Grace has demanded that honour for his own regiment." Around you, the other officers of the Royal Dragoon regiment lean in closer to get a better view of the large map sprawled across the table which takes up the centre of the tent.
To Keane's side, a cornet places wooden blocks representing the two battalions of the Kentauri Highlanders onto the map, clumsy facsimiles compared to the intricate outlines of the assault trenches marked on the paper below them. The map is a beautiful thing, the anatomy of a siege in its terminal phases, like a sketch in a natural philosopher's notebook. Kharangia's defences are detailed down to the individual door and stairwell, and every bit of the vast maze of assault trenches surrounding the city are rendered with pinpoint accuracy.
You know well enough that the real thing shall be as different as a sketch of an eagle to that same bird in flight. The sterile lines and rough blocks cannot come close to representing the full grandeur of the army on the attack, of the ranks upon ranks of men in grey-green and burnt orange as they march into battle, drums rattling and regimental colours fluttering high.
"We shall go in second," Keane continues, "advancing in column until we cross the breach into the city."
Murmurs swirl around the room at that, for Keane's directives cannot seem anything but unwise. For a regiment of dismounted light cavalry to advance in a tightly packed column into the teeth of the enemy defences, and to do so near the van of the attack, when a solid regiment of Line Infantry might serve so much better…
It does not make sense. Even the rawest man present must be able to see it.
If Keane has detected any sense of the disquiet which he has instilled in his subordinates, he does not give any sign of it. "Lieutenant Hawkins, as Captain Cazarosta is to command the Forlorn Hope, you shall command Third Squadron. You'll advance behind Captain Ortiga's Sixth Squadron, which shall, in turn, follow behind my own."
Your commanding officer looks to one side, then the other, his lips taut, his eyes…
nervous? Yes, that must be it; even most veterans cannot help but feel some anxiety before battle. In any case, it fades quickly enough as the Lieutenant-colonel's gaze and expression solidify again. "Any questions, gentlemen?"
1) A few:
"Might I ask why we are to advance in column, sir?"
"What are we to do once we enter the city, sir?"
"Surely we might be employed in some better way than as a battering ram."
2) "No, sir."
SUMMER, 609:
The Duke of Havenport's army begins to lay siege to Kharangia. Initial progress is slow, with Havenport's artillery proving inadequate for the task of breaching Kharangia's walls.
The King's division takes the town of Solokovil on the northern edge of the Great Forest, facing Khorobirit's army.
SPRING, 609:
The army in Antar splits into two divisions. The King's division, consisting of 12 000 men, is to head north, while the Duke of Havenport's division of 11 000 men is to advance west and take the fortified Antari port city of Kharangia.
Two regiments of line infantry, three companies of engineers, and the Experimental Corps are dispatched from the Duke of Havenport's division to reinforce Fort Kharan, an extant outpost at the northern crossing over the River Kharan.
Prince Khorobirit moves his army to the town of Mhillanovil in preparation for the year's campaigning.
WINTER, 609:
The Earl of Weathern is able to assemble a temporary coalition between the various factions of the Cortes for the duration of the war. Rumours abound that both Lord Barithorne, the head of Royal Intelligence in Aetoria, and the Queen-Dowager Gwyneth d'al Havenport were heavily involved in negotiations.
Major Victor d'al Reyes of the 8th Regiment of Foot submits a proposal for the creation of a small force of foot skirmishers armed with rifled muskets. The King responds positively to the proposal and orders the creation of a temporary Experimental Corps of two hundred men, under Major Reyes's command.
SUMMER, 608:
Still mourning the death of his father, Ewen d'al Candless, the new Duke of Wulfram makes his first appearance in the Tierran Cortes. The young Duke aligns himself with the peace faction, throwing the precarious balance of power into disarray.
A board of inquiry is commissioned by Grenadier Square for the purpose of investigating the events of the defeat at Blogia.
AUTUMN, 607:
With the onset of the autumn rains, Prince Khorobirit retreats to winter quarters near the fortress of Januszkovil, on the southern edge of Antar's southern plains.
King Miguel orders the temporary reinforcement of line infantry regiments serving in Antar with men from marine complements serving on-board the ships of the Royal Tierran Navy. The move proves deeply unpopular with the Tierran Admiralty, but it serves to help replenish the Army's depleted ranks with hardened veterans.
Faced with the spectre of food riots an order of magnitude more severe than those of the year before, the Cortes, led by the Earl of Weathern, implements a grain subsidy. With Tierra starved of Antari grain by the war, Tierrans must now buy their grain from Kian merchants, who do not hesitate to raise prices to meet increased demand.
SUMMER, 607:
The Duke of Havenport is officially appointed Lieutenant-general and Councillor-Militant, to replace the late Duke of Wulfram.
Prince Khorobirit begins to send raiding parties south to probe Tierran defences. Anxious to avoid making plain the weakness of his position, the Duke of Havenport orders the Tierran cavalry, under the command of the Duke of Cunaris, to intercept these raids with utmost vigour.
LATE SPRING, 607:
Leading the bulk of Tierran forces in Antar, the Duke of Wulfram fights a larger Antari army led by Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit in a set-piece battle north of the town of Blogia. The Antari score a decisive victory, killing the Duke of Wulfram, many of his senior staff, and nearly three thousand Tierran soldiers.
The battered remnants of the Duke of Wulfram's army retreats to Noringia. King Miguel of Tierra arrives in Antar to take personal command, leaving the Earl of Weathern to lead the government in his stead.
Starved of supplies and reinforcements by the machinations of his rivals within the League Congress, Prince Khorobirit is forced to halt his advance on Noringia.
For the purposes of replacing the men lost at Blogia, the King orders the beginning of limited conscription. Vagabonds, debtors, and the unemployed are now liable to be forced into the army by recruiting agents in Tierra, to be sent to Antar.
You take it eagerly. "Good luck, Sir Caius," you reply. "I shall pray for your success."
With that, you make your way out of the Duke of Havenport's tent and back to your own.
-
The next few days are spent in a long, tense process of preparation. The entire army makes itself ready for the immense task which is before it. Bayonets and sabres are sharpened, muskets and pistols cleaned, oiled, and cleaned again. Throughout it all, the dull thunder of the siege guns continues, blasting open the breach in Kharangia's walls ever wider and serving as a constant reminder that very soon, all the waiting and preparation will be put to the test in a single, cataclysmic crush of steel and flesh and fire within the confines of that all-important breach.
Your own squadron is no different. Your men are readied for the task before them. Every one of them, from your lieutenants to the lowliest common dragoon, is honed to an edge for the bloody, messy work which must be done to take Kharangia for His Tierran Majesty.
You are right there with them, checking carbines for rust and fowling, touring the forward trenches through which your men must advance, discussing with your officers the things which shall be expected from all of you when that terrible, glorious day finally comes.
As the days pass, a sense of unease and impatience rises like a barely palpable stench. The storm clouds grow larger on the horizon, and the days grow shorter, darker, and colder. Soon, it becomes clear that the army shall only have one attempt to take the city before the rains come and render any further effort pointless.
Finally, the morning of the assault arrives. It begins the same way every other morning has during your three months within the fieldworks of the siege camp. There is Marion with a cup of hot water and your razor. Here comes breakfast: bacon and coffee, and for once, the very pleasant delicacy of a fresh egg, fried with black pepper and a little salt.
The assault is to begin at ten o'clock, but a messenger arrives from the regimental headquarters two hours in advance. He presents you a summons from Lieutenant-colonel Keane; all squadron and troop commanders are to report in for a final briefing before stepping off.
So, you finish your breakfast, put on your coat, and assemble your officers. You set off, pushing whatever regrets, half-forgotten errands, and second thoughts into the invisible recesses of your mind.
It is too late for them now.
CHAPTER V
In which KHARANGIA FALLS.
Lieutenant-colonel Keane does not waste time with pleasantries. Within five minutes of your arrival at his tent, he is already outlining the plan of the assault.
"The Highlanders shall lead the attack. It is only natural that His Grace has demanded that honour for his own regiment." Around you, the other officers of the Royal Dragoon regiment lean in closer to get a better view of the large map sprawled across the table which takes up the centre of the tent.
To Keane's side, a cornet places wooden blocks representing the two battalions of the Kentauri Highlanders onto the map, clumsy facsimiles compared to the intricate outlines of the assault trenches marked on the paper below them. The map is a beautiful thing, the anatomy of a siege in its terminal phases, like a sketch in a natural philosopher's notebook. Kharangia's defences are detailed down to the individual door and stairwell, and every bit of the vast maze of assault trenches surrounding the city are rendered with pinpoint accuracy.
You know well enough that the real thing shall be as different as a sketch of an eagle to that same bird in flight. The sterile lines and rough blocks cannot come close to representing the full grandeur of the army on the attack, of the ranks upon ranks of men in grey-green and burnt orange as they march into battle, drums rattling and regimental colours fluttering high.
"We shall go in second," Keane continues, "advancing in column until we cross the breach into the city."
Murmurs swirl around the room at that, for Keane's directives cannot seem anything but unwise. For a regiment of dismounted light cavalry to advance in a tightly packed column into the teeth of the enemy defences, and to do so near the van of the attack, when a solid regiment of Line Infantry might serve so much better…
It does not make sense. Even the rawest man present must be able to see it.
If Keane has detected any sense of the disquiet which he has instilled in his subordinates, he does not give any sign of it. "Lieutenant Hawkins, as Captain Cazarosta is to command the Forlorn Hope, you shall command Third Squadron. You'll advance behind Captain Ortiga's Sixth Squadron, which shall, in turn, follow behind my own."
Your commanding officer looks to one side, then the other, his lips taut, his eyes…
nervous? Yes, that must be it; even most veterans cannot help but feel some anxiety before battle. In any case, it fades quickly enough as the Lieutenant-colonel's gaze and expression solidify again. "Any questions, gentlemen?"
1) A few:
"Might I ask why we are to advance in column, sir?"
"What are we to do once we enter the city, sir?"
"Surely we might be employed in some better way than as a battering ram."
2) "No, sir."
As of the Summer of the 609th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 383
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 80% Cynicism: 20%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
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.
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 383
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 80% Cynicism: 20%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
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.
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 54%
Morale: 54%
Loyalty: 39%
Strength: 99%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 54%
Morale: 54%
Loyalty: 39%
Strength: 99%
IAGO D'AL BLAYLOCK
(Born 588 OIE) Lieutenant of the Royal Dragoon Regiment. Noted duellist. Baneblood.
LOUIS D'AL ENGLESSEY, EARL OF CASTERMAINE
(Born 558 OIE) General-of-brigade in the Tierran army. Commands an infantry brigade in the King's Army. Baneblood.
SIR CAIUS D'AL CAZAROSTA
(Born 585 OIE) Lieutenant in the King's Army. Commander of Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons. Knight-Companion of the Order of Saint Joshua. Illegitimate son of the Countess of Leoniscourt. Deathborn.
SIR JOHANNES D'AL FINDLAY, DUKE OF CUNARIS
(Born 556 OIE) Colonel-in-chief 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.Commander of the cavalry brigade in the King's Army. Lost the use of his legs at Blogia. Married with three children. Banecaster of the eighth calibre.
ULRIKE ECKHARTS
(Born 458 OIE) An Intendant of the Takaran Empire, assigned as an observer to the Duke of Wulfram's army prior to the Battle of Blogia.
LORD DAVIS D'AL ELSON
(584-607? OIE) Captain of the Royal Dragoon regiment, eldest son of the Baron of Hawthorne, a poor but politically influential Cortes noble. Former commanding officer of Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons. Missing and presumed dead after the Battle of Blogia. Banecaster of the third calibre.
LORD RENARD D'AL FINDLAY
(Born 594 OIE) Lieutenant of the Royal Dragoon regiment, eldest son and heir of the Duke of Cunaris. Baneblood.
EDMUND GARING
(Born 575 OIE) Master gunsmith and junior partner in the Aetorian firm of Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott. Baneless.
WINTHROP D'AL HARTIGAN, VISCOUNT OF HUGH
(Born 580 OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the 5th Regiment of Foot. Related by marriage to the Elsons of Hawthorne. Banecaster of the second calibre.
ARTHUR D'AL HAVENPORT, DUKE OF HAVENPORT
(Born 573 OIE) Lieutenant-general of the Tierran army. Succeeded the Duke of Wulfram as Councilor-Militant and Lieutenant-general. Baneblood.
LORD MARCUS D'AL HAVENPORT
(Born 588 OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the Kentauri Highland regiment. Younger brother of the Duke of Havenport. Baneblood.
LORD ROLAND D'AL KEANE
(Born 571 OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the Royal Dragoon regiment. Baneblood.
PRINCE BOLESLAW OF KHARANGIA
(Born 533 OIE) Antari lord of Kharangia. Allied with Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit. Banecaster of the second calibre.
PRINCE MIKHAIL OF KHOROBIRIT
(Born 573 OIE) A powerful Antari nobleman and the League of Antar's greatest general. Defeated the Tierran army decisively at Blogia in 607 OIE. Baneblood.
LORD KAROL OF LOCH
(Born 569 OIE) An Antari Church Hussar sworn to the service of Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit. Baneblood.
ROBERT MARION
(Born 581 OIE) Corporal in the Royal Dragoons, bat-man to Captain Alaric d'al Ortiga. Baneless.
HARLANDO D'AL MARRAS, BARON OF MARRAS
(576-607? OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the Royal Dragoons, formerly second in command of the Regiment. Missing and presumed dead after the Battle of Blogia. Baneblood.
HIS TIERRAN MAJESTY, KING MIGUEL 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.
HELENA VIZTELAS
(Born 471 OIE) Captain of the Takaran Imperial Guard. Military attache to Intendant Eckharts.
JAMES D'AL SANDORAL
(Born 592 OIE) Lieutenant of the Royal Dragoon regiment. Baneblood.
"STRELLYK"
(Born ???) Antari freeholder turned partisan. Commands a small group of irregulars raiding the Tierran-controlled stretches of the Imperial Highway. Baneless.
SIR ENRIQUE D'AL HUNTER, VISCOUNT OF WOLFSWOOD
(577-607 OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the Grenadiers. Knight-Captain of the Order of Saint Jerome. Former commanding officer of 2nd Battalion, Grenadier Guards. Killed at the Battle of Blogia. Banecaster of the ninth calibre.
HECTOR D'AL CANDLESS, DUKE OF WULFRAM
(542-607 OIE) Formerly commanding officer of the King's Army in Antar and Duke of the northern duchy of Wulfram. Killed at the Battle of Blogia. Banecaster of the sixth calibre.
(Born 588 OIE) Lieutenant of the Royal Dragoon Regiment. Noted duellist. Baneblood.
LOUIS D'AL ENGLESSEY, EARL OF CASTERMAINE
(Born 558 OIE) General-of-brigade in the Tierran army. Commands an infantry brigade in the King's Army. Baneblood.
SIR CAIUS D'AL CAZAROSTA
(Born 585 OIE) Lieutenant in the King's Army. Commander of Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons. Knight-Companion of the Order of Saint Joshua. Illegitimate son of the Countess of Leoniscourt. Deathborn.
SIR JOHANNES D'AL FINDLAY, DUKE OF CUNARIS
(Born 556 OIE) Colonel-in-chief 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.Commander of the cavalry brigade in the King's Army. Lost the use of his legs at Blogia. Married with three children. Banecaster of the eighth calibre.
ULRIKE ECKHARTS
(Born 458 OIE) An Intendant of the Takaran Empire, assigned as an observer to the Duke of Wulfram's army prior to the Battle of Blogia.
LORD DAVIS D'AL ELSON
(584-607? OIE) Captain of the Royal Dragoon regiment, eldest son of the Baron of Hawthorne, a poor but politically influential Cortes noble. Former commanding officer of Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons. Missing and presumed dead after the Battle of Blogia. Banecaster of the third calibre.
LORD RENARD D'AL FINDLAY
(Born 594 OIE) Lieutenant of the Royal Dragoon regiment, eldest son and heir of the Duke of Cunaris. Baneblood.
EDMUND GARING
(Born 575 OIE) Master gunsmith and junior partner in the Aetorian firm of Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott. Baneless.
WINTHROP D'AL HARTIGAN, VISCOUNT OF HUGH
(Born 580 OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the 5th Regiment of Foot. Related by marriage to the Elsons of Hawthorne. Banecaster of the second calibre.
ARTHUR D'AL HAVENPORT, DUKE OF HAVENPORT
(Born 573 OIE) Lieutenant-general of the Tierran army. Succeeded the Duke of Wulfram as Councilor-Militant and Lieutenant-general. Baneblood.
LORD MARCUS D'AL HAVENPORT
(Born 588 OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the Kentauri Highland regiment. Younger brother of the Duke of Havenport. Baneblood.
LORD ROLAND D'AL KEANE
(Born 571 OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the Royal Dragoon regiment. Baneblood.
PRINCE BOLESLAW OF KHARANGIA
(Born 533 OIE) Antari lord of Kharangia. Allied with Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit. Banecaster of the second calibre.
PRINCE MIKHAIL OF KHOROBIRIT
(Born 573 OIE) A powerful Antari nobleman and the League of Antar's greatest general. Defeated the Tierran army decisively at Blogia in 607 OIE. Baneblood.
LORD KAROL OF LOCH
(Born 569 OIE) An Antari Church Hussar sworn to the service of Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit. Baneblood.
ROBERT MARION
(Born 581 OIE) Corporal in the Royal Dragoons, bat-man to Captain Alaric d'al Ortiga. Baneless.
HARLANDO D'AL MARRAS, BARON OF MARRAS
(576-607? OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the Royal Dragoons, formerly second in command of the Regiment. Missing and presumed dead after the Battle of Blogia. Baneblood.
HIS TIERRAN MAJESTY, KING MIGUEL 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.
HELENA VIZTELAS
(Born 471 OIE) Captain of the Takaran Imperial Guard. Military attache to Intendant Eckharts.
JAMES D'AL SANDORAL
(Born 592 OIE) Lieutenant of the Royal Dragoon regiment. Baneblood.
"STRELLYK"
(Born ???) Antari freeholder turned partisan. Commands a small group of irregulars raiding the Tierran-controlled stretches of the Imperial Highway. Baneless.
SIR ENRIQUE D'AL HUNTER, VISCOUNT OF WOLFSWOOD
(577-607 OIE) Lieutenant-colonel of the Grenadiers. Knight-Captain of the Order of Saint Jerome. Former commanding officer of 2nd Battalion, Grenadier Guards. Killed at the Battle of Blogia. Banecaster of the ninth calibre.
HECTOR D'AL CANDLESS, DUKE OF WULFRAM
(542-607 OIE) Formerly commanding officer of the King's Army in Antar and Duke of the northern duchy of Wulfram. Killed at the Battle of Blogia. Banecaster of the sixth calibre.
SUMMER, 609:
The Duke of Havenport's army begins to lay siege to Kharangia. Initial progress is slow, with Havenport's artillery proving inadequate for the task of breaching Kharangia's walls.
The King's division takes the town of Solokovil on the northern edge of the Great Forest, facing Khorobirit's army.
SPRING, 609:
The army in Antar splits into two divisions. The King's division, consisting of 12 000 men, is to head north, while the Duke of Havenport's division of 11 000 men is to advance west and take the fortified Antari port city of Kharangia.
Two regiments of line infantry, three companies of engineers, and the Experimental Corps are dispatched from the Duke of Havenport's division to reinforce Fort Kharan, an extant outpost at the northern crossing over the River Kharan.
Prince Khorobirit moves his army to the town of Mhillanovil in preparation for the year's campaigning.
WINTER, 609:
The Earl of Weathern is able to assemble a temporary coalition between the various factions of the Cortes for the duration of the war. Rumours abound that both Lord Barithorne, the head of Royal Intelligence in Aetoria, and the Queen-Dowager Gwyneth d'al Havenport were heavily involved in negotiations.
Major Victor d'al Reyes of the 8th Regiment of Foot submits a proposal for the creation of a small force of foot skirmishers armed with rifled muskets. The King responds positively to the proposal and orders the creation of a temporary Experimental Corps of two hundred men, under Major Reyes's command.
SUMMER, 608:
Still mourning the death of his father, Ewen d'al Candless, the new Duke of Wulfram makes his first appearance in the Tierran Cortes. The young Duke aligns himself with the peace faction, throwing the precarious balance of power into disarray.
A board of inquiry is commissioned by Grenadier Square for the purpose of investigating the events of the defeat at Blogia.
AUTUMN, 607:
With the onset of the autumn rains, Prince Khorobirit retreats to winter quarters near the fortress of Januszkovil, on the southern edge of Antar's southern plains.
King Miguel orders the temporary reinforcement of line infantry regiments serving in Antar with men from marine complements serving on-board the ships of the Royal Tierran Navy. The move proves deeply unpopular with the Tierran Admiralty, but it serves to help replenish the Army's depleted ranks with hardened veterans.
Faced with the spectre of food riots an order of magnitude more severe than those of the year before, the Cortes, led by the Earl of Weathern, implements a grain subsidy. With Tierra starved of Antari grain by the war, Tierrans must now buy their grain from Kian merchants, who do not hesitate to raise prices to meet increased demand.
SUMMER, 607:
The Duke of Havenport is officially appointed Lieutenant-general and Councillor-Militant, to replace the late Duke of Wulfram.
Prince Khorobirit begins to send raiding parties south to probe Tierran defences. Anxious to avoid making plain the weakness of his position, the Duke of Havenport orders the Tierran cavalry, under the command of the Duke of Cunaris, to intercept these raids with utmost vigour.
LATE SPRING, 607:
Leading the bulk of Tierran forces in Antar, the Duke of Wulfram fights a larger Antari army led by Prince Mikhail of Khorobirit in a set-piece battle north of the town of Blogia. The Antari score a decisive victory, killing the Duke of Wulfram, many of his senior staff, and nearly three thousand Tierran soldiers.
The battered remnants of the Duke of Wulfram's army retreats to Noringia. King Miguel of Tierra arrives in Antar to take personal command, leaving the Earl of Weathern to lead the government in his stead.
Starved of supplies and reinforcements by the machinations of his rivals within the League Congress, Prince Khorobirit is forced to halt his advance on Noringia.
For the purposes of replacing the men lost at Blogia, the King orders the beginning of limited conscription. Vagabonds, debtors, and the unemployed are now liable to be forced into the army by recruiting agents in Tierra, to be sent to Antar.
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2. We go where we are ordered by our greatest of Majesties, the King. We pray that we may live well enough to see the city fall.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
Fucked up chapter title. Should read as below:
CHAPTER V
In which KHARANGIA FALLS.
I will now roll to break this tie.
CHAPTER V
In which KHARANGIA FALLS.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
No, sir.
Your Lieutenant-colonel nods and looks to the other officers in the tent. Some look back blankly as if a squirrel caught before a charging lancer. None speak up. You realise somewhat belatedly that aside from you and Keane, there is no man in the room above the rank of lieutenant. It seems that they have trusted you to voice their concerns. You were in their place once, not so long ago, but you must have some sort of potency about you; perhaps it is the assurance earned by the experience you have won in battle.
It is an assurance which Lieutenant-colonel Keane seems to lack. He has no inspiring words to close off his briefing, no exhortation to glory, nor even the most elementary reminders of the basics of duty, nor the traditional 'Saints guard the King.'
No, when he finally speaks, it is nothing more than "To your positions, gentlemen. Let us see this day through and count our dead."
Well, that could have certainly been more cheerful.
-
Whatever morose sentiments set down by Keane's gloomy dismissal are brushed away not seconds after leaving the briefing tent, for before you, arrayed in their full splendour, are the two battalions of the Kentauri Highlanders, their bayonets shimmering in the morning sun and parti-coloured cloaks fluttering in the summer breeze.
To the rattle of the drums, the arrayed ranks of the Duke of Havenport's own regiment proceed step-by-step into the trenches which are to take them within three hundred paces of the breach. They must know that they are like to face the brunt of the fighting and take the lion's share of the dying, but they laugh, whistle, and sing jaunty tunes regardless as they march forward.
They shall not be the first into the breach, no; that job shall be for the Forlorn Hope. They shall be the ones to face the first volleys and to bear the brunt of the traps and defender's ruses which await the attacking army. Cazarosta had taken mostly men from his own squadron for that perilous task, and you doubt that many of them will survive.
Perhaps you should have taken a chance to say goodbye to Cazarosta before he departed. He was, after a fashion you suppose, your friend.
Yet you do not have time to linger on such thoughts. The last of the Highlander companies is moving forward now. You must assemble your own dismounted squadron to go in after them. Your watch reads twenty minutes past nine; there is no time to waste. The assault is to begin in little more than half an hour.
-
Two hours later, you are standing with your squadron's officers, still in the depths of the trenches and waiting for the thrice-damned signal to advance. The long-since familiar pounding of the siege guns stopped at ten to ten, right on schedule, yet not a single man has been ordered forward.
"Saints above!" Blaylock growls as he raises his field glass to his eyes and peers not forward but to the rear. "What is taking so damned long?" he asks, giving voice to the question which everyone seems to want to ask but for which nobody has an answer.
"I suspect the Line Infantry," Sandoral replies. "Last night, many were insensible with drink, searching for courage at the bottom of a bottle, perhaps," the bespectacled Lieutenant observes disdainfully. "It would stand to reason it is these men, with their aching heads and sour stomachs, which are the cause of our delay."
"By Saint Octavia's heaving bosom, Sandoral, why do their officers not lay on the stick then?" Blaylock responds. "Why, the officers of foot are even allowed to flog their men! Surely there is no better remedy for such disgraceful behaviour as…"
You shut out the voices of your two subordinates, even as Lord Renard's own polished tones join in the conversation. Regardless of who is to blame, the delay itself is most distressing. In the end, you cannot help but think…
1) So our victory shall be delayed a few hours, what of it?
2) If this delay means that danger is made a few hours distant, I take it gladly.
3) A delay? Now? This army's incompetence will be the death of us all!
Your Lieutenant-colonel nods and looks to the other officers in the tent. Some look back blankly as if a squirrel caught before a charging lancer. None speak up. You realise somewhat belatedly that aside from you and Keane, there is no man in the room above the rank of lieutenant. It seems that they have trusted you to voice their concerns. You were in their place once, not so long ago, but you must have some sort of potency about you; perhaps it is the assurance earned by the experience you have won in battle.
It is an assurance which Lieutenant-colonel Keane seems to lack. He has no inspiring words to close off his briefing, no exhortation to glory, nor even the most elementary reminders of the basics of duty, nor the traditional 'Saints guard the King.'
No, when he finally speaks, it is nothing more than "To your positions, gentlemen. Let us see this day through and count our dead."
Well, that could have certainly been more cheerful.
-
Whatever morose sentiments set down by Keane's gloomy dismissal are brushed away not seconds after leaving the briefing tent, for before you, arrayed in their full splendour, are the two battalions of the Kentauri Highlanders, their bayonets shimmering in the morning sun and parti-coloured cloaks fluttering in the summer breeze.
To the rattle of the drums, the arrayed ranks of the Duke of Havenport's own regiment proceed step-by-step into the trenches which are to take them within three hundred paces of the breach. They must know that they are like to face the brunt of the fighting and take the lion's share of the dying, but they laugh, whistle, and sing jaunty tunes regardless as they march forward.
They shall not be the first into the breach, no; that job shall be for the Forlorn Hope. They shall be the ones to face the first volleys and to bear the brunt of the traps and defender's ruses which await the attacking army. Cazarosta had taken mostly men from his own squadron for that perilous task, and you doubt that many of them will survive.
Perhaps you should have taken a chance to say goodbye to Cazarosta before he departed. He was, after a fashion you suppose, your friend.
Yet you do not have time to linger on such thoughts. The last of the Highlander companies is moving forward now. You must assemble your own dismounted squadron to go in after them. Your watch reads twenty minutes past nine; there is no time to waste. The assault is to begin in little more than half an hour.
-
Two hours later, you are standing with your squadron's officers, still in the depths of the trenches and waiting for the thrice-damned signal to advance. The long-since familiar pounding of the siege guns stopped at ten to ten, right on schedule, yet not a single man has been ordered forward.
"Saints above!" Blaylock growls as he raises his field glass to his eyes and peers not forward but to the rear. "What is taking so damned long?" he asks, giving voice to the question which everyone seems to want to ask but for which nobody has an answer.
"I suspect the Line Infantry," Sandoral replies. "Last night, many were insensible with drink, searching for courage at the bottom of a bottle, perhaps," the bespectacled Lieutenant observes disdainfully. "It would stand to reason it is these men, with their aching heads and sour stomachs, which are the cause of our delay."
"By Saint Octavia's heaving bosom, Sandoral, why do their officers not lay on the stick then?" Blaylock responds. "Why, the officers of foot are even allowed to flog their men! Surely there is no better remedy for such disgraceful behaviour as…"
You shut out the voices of your two subordinates, even as Lord Renard's own polished tones join in the conversation. Regardless of who is to blame, the delay itself is most distressing. In the end, you cannot help but think…
1) So our victory shall be delayed a few hours, what of it?
2) If this delay means that danger is made a few hours distant, I take it gladly.
3) A delay? Now? This army's incompetence will be the death of us all!
As of the Summer of the 609th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 383
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 80% Cynicism: 20%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
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.
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 383
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 80% Cynicism: 20%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
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.
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 54%
Morale: 54%
Loyalty: 39%
Strength: 99%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 54%
Morale: 54%
Loyalty: 39%
Strength: 99%
3. We ought to advance under the cover of continuous shelling. This absence of fire is giving our enemy the chance they need to prepare for the inevitable assault.
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