Fantasy Nations RP

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Frowning, Leto and his standard-bearer turned and made back for the lines at a trot. A brief discussion was had at the command tent, and then the first catapult was given the order to fire.

From there the mortars came regularly, aiming to either smash the towers along the walls directly, or land on any group of defenders on the ground behind them. The infantry, lacking quite the numbers to surround the castle town without stretching themselves to the point of uselessness, was instead massed in front of the gate. They had a relaxed air about them, having been placed well out of reach of the defender's slings and arrows. As far as they were concerned, they'd be just fine with doing this all week.

Meanwhile, the cavalry sent regular patrols out to scout the rest of the wall, as the archers stood in reserve behind the footmen.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Having largely agreed with the shaman's tactics, Backbreaker stood on the walls alongside many other orcish hunters and raiders, watching with growing irritation as the cowardly humans refused to attempt scaling the walls in favor of attempting to break their morale and destroy their defenses with siege weaponry. It made sense - if there was one thing the softskins could be trusted to do, it was try to fight on their own terms, knowing that (in close combat) their average warrior would be felled in an instant by the superior strength of his brethren. He took a few steps to the side moments before a rock the size of his thigh crashed into his previous position, making a great deal of noise and throwing splinters of stone into several of his fellows - though not, of course, the plate-clad warchief. The one benefit this protracted warfare gave the defenders was time - until the humans made an assault, they could not hope to dislodge their entrenched foes.

He growled, a low and threatening sound reminiscent of boulders colliding, and issued orders in his native tongue - with the circumstances of the battle changed, the plan needed to adapt to work. "Fall behind the walls once the towers are felled or the walls are breached; they won't try getting in before then. We will let the men come in through the hole they make and harass them once they're inside, as according to the elder's plan. Until then, just stay alive. Tell the others along the wall, and then Third Root." He ordered an unarmored hunter, trusting him to act as messenger where he could not as an archer. As the warrior bounded off, Backbreaker walked along the wall to a stretch that was (relatively) safe from siege weapons, though kept an eye out for their massive projectiles all the same. Even his armor would have no chance of protecting him from such a blow, and he sensibly deigned it best to avoid coming to such grievous harm altogether.
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
The first few stones to be hurled at the walls caused a good degree of fascination amongst the defending Orcs, who had never seen such siege weaponry used before. Watching the gigantic rocks soar through the air and crash into the wall, almost in reverence of the elements in motion. Of course, it did not take long for the crashes and the splintered wood and rock to transform the experience into something considerably less than spiritual. Heeding the orders of the hulking armored giant, the hunter dutifully ran back along the path of the wall, informing any remaining archers to fall back, not that many needed further encouragement. Apart from one or two broken bones from the foolhardy and oblivious, the sparse and spry defenders managed to avoid too many serious injuries. Once the warrior had done his rounds, he ventured off to find the Shaman.

Though his task had him running nearly the full perimeter of the wall, by the time he found the old man conversing in the clipped, Northern Tongue with several of his followers, it seems as the news had been conveyed to him already. Not to waste the services of an able messenger, the Third Root directed him to inform the fire-dancers that it was time to ignite the pyre, and that the banner must be raised.

No sooner than ten minutes later, the besiegers of the walls would have spotted the beginning of what would have been a large column of smoke, seeming dark and thick against the blue skies of the Western Reaches. The smoke came heavy, the acrid scent of smoldering wood and paper filling the air and it rose lethargically in the still morning. The defenders soon disappeared from the walls, leaving only the stone to block the path of the attackers.

Far away, hidden well within the forest and grass surrounding Verthill, a small army would soon receive message that the siege had begun, and the Count's forces were committed against the walls...
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Really, if the general were to have his way, the whole army would be content to simply wait out the days from beyond reach of the defender's weapons, until the other side submitted either to thirst, starvation, or disease - hostages notwithstanding.

The Count, however, had other priorities. The sounds of saws and hammers echoed throughout the outlands of the barony, and the true value of Ava's constant military drill came to shine in the fore. The sun had not long since passed directly overhead before a pair of fresh-built siege towers rolled out towards either side of the gate, with a company of men hauling each of them with shields held overhead. Between them went a triangle-roofed siege engine, battering ram attached, which began sounding on the gate within mere moments of arrival. The loud crash of oak on steel swiftly replaced the prior knocking of rock against stone, and the Court Enchanter stood back among the main line with but one directive: extinguish any fires that came to appear on the walls or below, lest it be allowed to ignite the machinery...
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
No flames appeared either on the walls or attempted to catch the machinery, rendering the Court Enchanter without much to do. As the hours passed and the ram began to take shape, the Shaman remained within the walls of the keep, straining his aged eyes at the distant hills he knew the King's army to hide behind. By now the signal must have been received at the camp, as the fires had burned for much of the morning now. Firetenders found yet more fuel to add to the smokey pyre, and prepared the rituals needed to manipulate the smoke to choke out the attackers as they breached and swarmed through. It was a stalling strategy to be sure, but sometimes all that is needed. The gate stood up about as well as one of wood may to a steel battering ram, and it soon buckled, leaving the emptied and smoke filled streets open to advancing soldiers. Behind the labyrinth of smoke and stone, lay many practiced warriors and hunters, now ready to ambush.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
It would have been an overwhelming charge at the start, for a defending force of warriors so unused to formation-based combat. It turned into an underwhelming stall shortly after, with the attacking force so unused to such low visibility and hidden opponents. As the breaching force stumbled and coughed through the smoke and fumes within the walls, the commander outside fumed, metaphorically, rather heavily himself. In hindsight, having the old wizard at least prepare some countermeasures against fog, if nothing else, should have been an obvious decision. Instead, he'd neglected to consider it and simply focused on more conventional advantages, as usual. While he didn't doubt that the Count's forces would ultimately succeed in taking the castle, it was clear that his lack of flexibility would be exacting a heavy toll from them throughout.
 

Jeroth

Mach Ambassador
Moderator
Location: The Outskirts of Western Oberland

The thunderous pounding of hooves against the dirt road approached the outskirts of the Oberland city of Stromberg. With the impending threat of East Oberland the guards rallied to protect the entrance to the city filled with refugees and the injured.

“H-HALT!” The Captain of the Guard barked out an order with the slightest bit of hesitation at the sight of the horseman with their horns and discolored skin - an intimidating and foreign sight. “State your name and reason for being here.” The guards were on edge as they eyed the steel that rested on the rider’s hips. It was not drawn, so surely they could be reasoned with.

The sound of dismounting could be heard as the horseman gave way for a tall scarlet-skinned man to stride forward. Towering over the guard, an impish smile spreading as the glimpse of ivory fangs poked from his lips. “I am Sultan Jalij the IV. The Supreme Pillar of the Empire Hidden Within the Sand. I wish to speak to your King.”

The Guard gave a nod as the horseman waited behind the Sultan. His extravagant clothing and golden jewelry seemed worthy of the title as the guard captain pondered. “Very well. I can offer you an audience with the Colonel who is in charge of managing Stromberg. If you would not mind waiting to see if he would be available.”

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The refugees and citizens passing by the government building gawked at the unfamiliar troops. Tall, horned men and women with varying skin colors stood by the doors as they had steel and gold at their side.

Inside the building, the Pillar of Might accompanied Sultan Jalij the IV as he sat in the plush chairs within the office.

“This is a small room for royalty…”

Jalij’s lengthy fingers drew along the oaken arm of his chair in appreciation. “But the wood is surprisingly nice. I wouldn’t mind bringing some of it back to the Empire.”

The Pillar of Might stood in attention as the Sultan rested against the back of the chair, waiting for the Colonel to arrive.

“Did you see the people? They looked so poor and sad. Do you think it’s their King?”

“No, my liege. They did not seem eager to steal, but sought solace in this town. I am certain they will explain why their people suffer so.”

Tag: @Tirin
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Location: Verthill

Backbreaker waited not far from the breach point, crouching low under thick cover of smoke and in the company of his fiercest fighters. There were perhaps twenty small units stationed throughout Verthill, but his was by far the best-equipped and most experienced; of course, the Warchief's presence alone all but guaranteed that. His breathing steadied and slowed, and his ears perked as the sound of armored boots echoing across the cobblestones reached him. All waited for his signal to attack, and after the first few of the Count's soldiers passed the mouth of the alleyway he was concealed in, the armored colossus sprang to life. The prompt came in the sound of crunching metal and agonized screams which resonated along the roads; moments later, the twang of bowstrings and clashing of steel joined the symphony of battle, as dozens of Eximian soldiers were ambushed and struck or shot down with precious little resistance.

An oppressive silence fell, then, as the Ashen Tusk's warriors regrouped and readjusted, the initial engagement won quite easily. His plate now wet with blood and viscera, Backbreaker grinned, chuckled, and commenced stalking the smoke-filled streets in search of his next prey alongside his men, as the other groups of assailants positioned themselves for the next assault. Their enemies would be more wary, but that was all the better for keeping their attention on the battle inside of Verthill.

TAG: @Chlegyr, @Easy

Location: Stromberg

A stern, wiry man soon joined the Sultan and the Overseer, seating himself at the desk before them and regarding both quite carefully, wringing his hands all the while. He wore a dark grey uniform decorated with silver epaulettes, a small golden insignia designating his rank (not that either Jalij IV nor the Pillar of Might was likely to recognize as much), and a few well-polished medals indicating distinguished service and a number of commendations. "Sultan," he began, in heavily accented Eximian, "I am Colonel Sieger. I apologize for your wait, but you must understand that I have much to deal with. No doubt you saw the refugees; they require food, work, shelter, and protection. The war has made life difficult for all of us." He said with a sigh, reaching into his desk to retrieve writing supplies, along with an envelope, wax, and a seal, and beginning to write while he continued speaking.

"The Captain informed me that you wish to meet with our King - we have three, and at present High Command has more control over the Republic than they do. For security reasons, I'm not allowed to disclose their location, but if you take this letter to the parliament in Freiheim - far to the east, along the southern coast - you will be able to speak with our Kings and, possibly, High Command as well." Sieger added, quickly sealing the letter and sliding it to rest in front of the Sultan. "Forgive me for the trouble you will have to go to, but I have very little say in the matter. Do you have any questions?"

TAG: @Jeroth
 

Jeroth

Mach Ambassador
Moderator
Location: Stromberg

The Sultan raised an eyebrow at the wiry man, looking over his dark grey outfit that was devoid of color. He seemed like a dull, plain man sans the medals that adorned his breast. Jalij looked over the intricate design of each one as he pursed his lips, pondering the reason for them before turning his attention to the Colonel. "Colonel Sieger, it is no problem." The Sultan's voice was heavy with an accent unfamiliar to the area. "I understand the issues that your city is going through.." Lifting his head, Jalij's golden eyes looking over the script that the Colonel was writing.

"Three Kings?" The Sultan seemed surprised as he began to chuckle. Speaking in his native tongue, he looked over at his own general. "Do you hear that, Denat? They have three Kings. The North truly is a bizarre place."

Denat managed a smirk before the Sultan. "It is, your Supremacy."

Jalij returned his attention to Colonel Sieger before taking the fresh parchment, looking over it as his lengthy fingers ran along it. "So, Colonel Sieger, you have mentioned a war. Who started this war and who are your foes?" Jalij's eyes narrowed as he attempted to gather information about the war from Colonel Sieger.

TAG: @Tirin
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Verthill

The path to power, in a newly fragmented empire, is blazed with fire and blood. Count Sighorn was no warrior, true, but the men that made up his forces had seen the front end of many a battle, and many a siege, with the Count sparing none of the same concern for their lives with which he jealously guarded his own. And although the prowess of the individual of these forces could, for the most part, be considered an equal or even lesser match for their counterparts in the Baron's guard, their far greater numbers, along with that collective experience, made them far more of an enemy to be reckoned with. The screams and calls of alarm from the site of ambush broke the hesitation with which the rest of them had entered into the smoke and silence, and, having finally found the enemy, troops from the surrounding streets immediately abandoned their searching, took up the cry, and swarmed in from all sides.

As ranks of armed men appeared to block off the alleyways all around him and his company, shields and swords at the ready, and his archers fired blindly and uselessly into the smoke from above, the joys of easy victory faded from the forefront of Backbreaker's thoughts, giving way to horrible realization and despair. Even if they had not been hunters and raiders, if they had the training and the practice to fight effectively against the humans' shield-walls; even if they had been fighting in the open woods and plains, rather than the wood-and-stone traps built by men... even then, the Count's forces outnumbered theirs almost five to one. He had no business taking leave of the keep's protection with these orcs, to engage openly with the soldiers so far out, by the city walls.The naked blades and grim expressions of the advancing ranks of men spelled death for any orcs foolish enough to try heroically charging at them, in hopes of breaking through to safety.

He'd been a fool, to have taken this so lightly.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Location: Verthill

The Warchief's bloodlust was abated by the all too sudden appearance of dozens of the Count's men in the streets and alleyways surrounding his meager squad, as he regretfully realized the mistake he had made in his bravado. In the back of his mind he said a brief prayer to the Great Mammoth asking not for protection, but the strength to strike down the human shieldwall and in doing so save the lives of the hunters and warriors that accompanied him. "We fall back to the keep." He rumbled in the orcish tongue, leaving no room for questions - there was no time, in any case. "Warriors after me, then hunters. We have only one chance. Get through quickly."

But a moment later Backbreaker and his group rushed the thin human ranks between them and the keep, in as close to a wedge formation as they could make with eight fighters who were untrained in such military doctrine. The Warchief, steelclad in his entirety and carrying by far the most momentum, led the charge, with those warriors who were lucky enough to bear steel weapons and some armor immediately behind him, and then the unarmored hunters. The first blow Backbreaker struck with his enormous mace held enough force that, were he unable to sunder a shield, he would surely shatter the arm behind it, and his reach was such that he would not be at the point of a blade before it impacted. Even so, he did not stop, instead keeping his free arm held up to absorb the impact of any ill-advised slashes and, if necessary, dislodge any blades braced against him.

He made his second strike with the mace as the orcish warriors entered the fray, their own reach, strength, and skill in combat all they had to help exploit the gap that Backbreaker had created (and was expanding). The Warchief fought with every ounce of his brutal strength and savage skills to hold an opening, and when the time came that he could do so no longer, he disengaged and sprinted towards the keep alongside the other survivors, privately thankful for the blessing the Mammoth had bestowed upon him. Even so, more than half of his companions - each capable fighters in their own right - had met their ends during the fighting, and of those still living he was the only one not wounded. As they approached the keep, still making a pace brisker than the attackers would be capable of following at (without foolishly breaking formation), Backbreaker swore to himself that he would learn whatever war sorcery the humans knew and turn it against them in the name of the Ashen Tusk.

TAG: @Easy

Location: Stromberg

While Sieger was writing the Sultan had been able to get a brief look at a few parts of the letter; however, beyond the mention of both his and Sieger's names and titles (his own in the body, and Sieger's the signature), Jalij was unable to recognize anything. The Oberlandish language used the same alphabet as Eximian, which he was much more familiar with, but was distinct enough in composition that he could not read it. Evidently, however, they did not have a word of their own for "Sultan".

Sieger did not look concerned by his guest's questions about the war, though the corners of his mouth folded down, and his left hand formed a tight fist. "This war was started at the behest of our brethren," he spat the word like the foulest of curses, "in the East Oberland Empire. After making grievous accusations toward and detaining our diplomat within our embassy, they had the audacity to demand that we make reparations toward them. We refused, of course, and they predictably decided that war was the only other way to deal with the problem. Their new king has made savages of the Empire."

He sighed and relaxed a little, the cold anger in his voice giving way to naked sorrow. "Now the eastern quarter of our country is burning while they invade, and refugees are in every city in the thousands - often more. To be frank with you, I'm not sure how long we can hold out like this, but I'm damn sure it's longer than those bastards will be able to. Now, it has been an absolute pleasure meeting you, Sultan, but unless you have any further questions I have much to attend to, and I have no doubt you're eager to get to Freiheim."

TAG: @Jeroth
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Verthill

The advance went on much the same in the aftermath of the initial ambush, save for a few small changes. First, the soldiers that had cut down members of the Ashen Tusk's ambush squads stopped momentarily to collect trophies from their victims. Second, houses were now passed much more slowly, as men broke down doors and searched inside and along the rooftops of each dwelling.

Thirdly, here and there among the ranks, a number of torches started to appear.
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
As the limited losses that could have been inflicted by the ambush tactics had been inflicted, Third Root could easily see that any advantage gained by the surprise had quickly worn off. To prevent any more of his troops from throwing their lives away against the steel shield wall, he ordered his remaining troops to withdraw from the town and enter the keep whilst they still had time to do so. The firedancers could not be counted on to maintain the smoke forever, though they'd likely provide an incendiary end to any wayward soldiers who wished to claim a trinket from the flaming dervishes.

He waited for Backbreaker to return to the keep, watching impassively over the ramparts as his hand flexed around his staff. The smoke filtered the sights but not the sounds of battle, as he heard the sounds of men dying, their spirits swirling up and into the sky. Always the shadows chased after them, occasionally they even managed to catch one. The dark things shrieked and howled, threatening to break his concentration, but nothing could sway him from his duty now.

His other hand reached forwards, the incantation already reaching his lips. A harsh symphony of alien syllables that would have given headaches to any classically trained mages were any present. Blue runes began to glow along his staff, conjuring small, frigid breezes that eddied up and down the surface of the wood. His hands caught the arctic energy, bending the eldritch force to his will. With a frosted breath, he unleashed the force out and onto the streets of the Verthill. The temperature plunged, freezing small puddles and making the cobbles themselves slick with ice. Any orcs left on the streets would likely also perish in what was to come, but that was the price for being slow.
 

Jeroth

Mach Ambassador
Moderator
Jalij relaxed in the chair, raising an eyebrow as Sieger mentioned the start of the war. “I see… “ Jalij listened to Sieger’s explanation for the conflict and the consequences that followed through with it. While he heard and understood the issue, Jalij saw it as an opportunity for his people to be seen as strong and kind. Surely, it would be a benevolent gesture to aid this nation instead of simply trading, but that was to be a discussion later with his Pillar of Might.

Jalij placed the parchment in his pocket before extending his hand to Sieger. “Well, my new friend, it has been a pleasure to meet you. If all goes well, there is a chance that this situation will be alleviated shortly.” His lips curled into a smile. “I will speak highly of you to your Kings and General, Colonel Sieger. I hope that your spirit is as tempered as your body for the upcoming days. I will see what I can do at Freiheim.”

With that, Jalij and his General stepped away from the office, returning to his troops that were stationed outside of the government building. All of them moving at once as the Pillar of Might and their Sultan were safely between them.

“To Freiheim, then. We could potentially aid new allies assuming that they’re willing to meet our demands.” He spoke in his native tongue to his Pillar of Might. “Who knows? You may even learn a thing or two from the generals at Freiheim.”

TAG: @Tirin
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Verthill

As the orcs retreated back into the city's keep, the invading soldiers began to express their anger with this resistance, as well as exact payment from the residence for their time and effort, and their comrades' lives, in the traditional way: looting and pillaging. What began as the Liberation of Verthill soon became, in the traditional manner, the Sacking of Verthill, as he torches they'd lit earlier for this purpose were heaved onto any particularly impoverished-looking dwelling, to burn away any potential enemies inside or on the rooftops, while larger shops and storehouses were given a more... personal touch. Of course, when the frost came, some of them simply started burning houses in an attempt to beat back the foul devil-magic from their immediate area. A couple of volunteers began running back outside the city and towards the command tents, intending to inform the general, and by extension, the Court Enchanter, of the appearance of such a phenomenon.

Fortunately, this was something that the venerable old wizard had prepared for, if inadvertently. Soon, the pyromancy he'd prepared would start to be applied to the city's thatch-roof houses. The magic formerly intended to sap the heat from a burning siege engine, and disperse it into the earth, would be instead used to sap most of the heat from a number of burning cottages, and disperse it into the immediate surface of the inner-city roads. For now, the army held back a ways from the keep, and took their time looting, being separated from their enemies by an impenetrable ring of ice and fire.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
The Sultan was seen out without any trouble and quickly headed on his way, heading east along the Republic's brick roads toward Freiheim. While it was mostly clear near Stromberg, their travels found the highways swarmed by more and more men, women, and children fleeing from the chaos of the war the further they went. The unusual appearance of the Hidden Empire's emissaries inspired curiosity, fear, and wonder alike in the refugees, but they were rarely stopped; resting to hear tales from faraway lands was a luxury that few in the West Oberland had. Those soldiers they met along the way seemed mostly to be there ensuring the safety of the civilians, and were quickly swayed to allow the Sultan's passage by speech or the seal borne on the letter he carried.

It was near a week later when they arrived at the gates of Freiheim, the towering marble walls of the city marred - but unbroken - by cannonfire on the sides facing the sea. Not far from the city was a large patch of recently-upturned earth, capped off by a large monument bearing Oberlandish script and the image of a dragon; further examination made clear that it was a war grave, doubtless made for casualties of a recent attack on the city. The wind rising up from the sea brought the scent of brine, and with it something more sinister - that of blood. Two infantrymen bearing shining breastplates and tough leather clothing guarded the gates of enchanted steel, and both levelled firearms at the Sultan and his entourage as they approached. "State your business here," the more senior of them said sternly in Oberlandish, his eyes narrowed in suspicion of the strange men. The war, it seemed, had been far harsher here than in Stromberg.

TAG: @Jeroth
 

Chlegyr

Active Member
Member
The shaman furrowed his brows, his breath beginning to fog against the rapidly cooling air, as the feeble autumnal sunlight failed to warm the stone upon which he stood. He focused his gaze down onto the town, as the sacking and looting (of their own city) seemed to fade away as the soldiers retreated from the onset of the ethereal rime or attempted to douse the cold with their own mundane fire. He could see and feel the influence of some unseen wizard, presumably some kind of human sorcerer attempting to unwind the spell he had been casting. With a grunt, he began to twist the staff, his own withered hands clutching the driftwood with the same fervor of a drowning man.

Unleashing yet more of the chained ice and snow from the reaches of the North, he forced yet more ice and salt from that fissure at the end of the world. The ice rose and creaked like a living being, expanding in deadly spines and icicles, threatening to freeze solid anyone caught in this new avalanche of brine and ice. Near the brink of exhaustion himself, Third Root only hoped he'd have to stop short of his last contingency before the already delayed forces of the King could arrive. Closing his eyes, he could already see it's hungering maw, cracked and ancient, pushing against his will to be unleashed.
 

Jeroth

Mach Ambassador
Moderator
The Road to Freiheim / Freiheim

The emissaries were silent as they passed through the sea of men, women and children that fled from conflict. The soldiers allowed them to progress once they were shown the seal or the Sultan declared his intent to aid West Oberland, inspiring some hope in the nation. On each night, the Hidden Empire’s caravan would discuss amongst themselves in their foreign tongue about the conditions of West Oberland and whether or not they would engage in the conflict.

“Potentially.” The Sultan would let out between sips of his drink, pondering the outcome of if they succeeded or if they failed. For all purposes, it seemed wise to aid the West Oberland. It would form and strengthen the relationship with the outside world along with securing a trade partner.

After a week, the caravan arrived outside the marble walls of Freiheim, gazing at the gate. The atmosphere was bleak between the war grave, the smell of brine and blood, and the response of the guards. Once the bizarre weapons were pointed at the Sultan and his men, the entourage of tieflings snapped into quick response. Balls of flame forming in their hands as shields were raised. The Pillar of Might placing himself in front of the Sultan.

"Men. Stand down. The same to you two, Oberland men.” The broken dialect was accompanied by an unfamiliar accent. The Sultan stepped around the Pillar of Might clutching Sieger’s letter with the seal facing the men. Slowly, the Sultan approached him, extending the letter out to the men.

“We do not seek to harm you. We were sent here from Stromberg. We wish to talk to your Kings.”

Tag: @Tirin
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Verthill

The extra effort on the part of the shaman was slow to take effect, but take effect it did. The first sign was a gradual waning of the flames burning through the innermost buildings of Verthill, which passed without notice until, one by one, they suddenly extinguished, as the Enchanter Dymund's spell began draining too much heat for the fire to continue to propagate throughout the piles of frozen thatch and timber.

The first time a fire was doused, it came to the immediate attention of nearly every soldier within sight of it. By then, however, it was too late for the first rank of troops that loitered about the inner city, and nearly all of the second and third ranks as well. Here, as men stumbled, fell, and died in response to the bone-chilling cold that swept over, them, the drill and discipline of Leto's troops truly shone through their reaction. Without the general's envoys to direct them, Leto's sergeants swiftly assumed control, shouting out the commands necessary for retreat and reformation. Countless hours of drills and parades finally bore fruit in the form of a swift and orderly retreat, and the soldiers that had only been adequate in battle proved to be exemplary at the art of retreat. The further they marched double-time to the outskirts of the castle town, the slower the sweeping frost followed them. Eventually, they were re-formed near the inner walls of the Barony of Verthill, watching the orcs' freezing mists dance and swirl at a safe distance in front.

It seemed that the foul magic of the orcs had reached its limits, in terms of area that could be covered at a given point in time. The sergeants readied their platoons for further withdrawal, and had them stand at the ready in the meantime. A few minutes' coordination with the general yielded the following results: as soon as the enemy's spellcaster became unable to maintain this witchcraft, even for a moment, the ranks would charge, and the entire town would be put to the torch in their passing.

No more chances would be taken. No more quarter would be given. With or without their magic, a mere hundred raiders had no chance against an Eximian army. Examples would have to be made, so that any future savages, before thinking of repeating such an attempt, would be sure to consider them.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Freiheim

For a long moment after the Sultan stepped out from the protection of his men, the two Oberlanders kept their weapons levelled. Finally, the man in front lowered his and signalled his junior to do the same, taking and opening the letter before quickly scanning it over. His expression crossed somewhere between surprise and relief; clearly he hadn't been expecting an endorsement from Colonel Sieger, but it was welcome in the tense atmosphere. Finally the guardsman looked up, meeting the Sultan's eyes. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sultan," he said, the word unfamiliar in his mouth, "but I have no authority to grant you an audience with parliament, only open the gates of Freiheim to you. This, I will do gladly."

The grey-haired man turned and slipped into a small gatehouse, quickly communicating that the gates were to open for the small retinue and amending the letter with a note that it had been sealed before reaching him. He stepped out and handed it back to the great Jalij IV as the towering steel doors ground open, the massive system and chains and pulleys that moved them creaking and clanking. It stopped with just enough space for two men to walk through side by side, and both guards gave slight bows - closer to respectful nods. "Welcome to Freiheim, men of the South. The parliament is near the city's center. I hope that you find what you seek." He said in farewell, and stepped aside to allow them passage.

Despite the silence - save wind and tides - around the city walls, the inside was far from deserted. War or on, Freiheim was bustling with activity; few refugees had come to the city for knowledge it would be among the first attacked, but citizens had refused to leave their homes, and with good reason - at the political and economic heart of the wealthy Republic, the city was filled with soaring architecture and gorgeous statues and monuments. The streets here seemed to be tiled in silver, and sturdy, massive trees provided cover from the sun, brilliant even mid-autumn. The only sign that this was a nation at war was the sound of blacksmiths working their forges echoing throughout the city. A fair sight though Freiheim was, the parliament at its heart unknowingly awaited the Sultan's arrival.

TAG: @Jeroth
 
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