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RoE Archive => RoE2 Archives => Fire and Steel => : DM B April 19, 2010, 09:48:51 AM
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WM 1: Nothing happens.
WM 2: Begins
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Weeks pass. The siege continues on land and sea.
WM 5 begins.
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Nothing happens. The siege continues.
WM 9 begins.
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The arrival of a sizable contingent of Ghiestan troops, bearing the banners of both Duke Hiriele and Marquis Tireseren, arrive at the camp of Archduke Carvaloen Diem. They now have the numbers to try and take Ilien, once and for all. What is more - a dread presence cloaks the Ghiestan troops. Magic most foul the Diemans whisper, the sorceries of the foul Sword Mage no doubt (i.e. The Terrible Army). The Diemans themselves are rather more piously fortified - by the Archbishop Briesen, whose presence is something of a surprise given the schism in the OIT, walking among them and conferring the blessings of Haelyn upon them (Bless and Aid - with Chant for the actual attack).
Other, more subtle preparations are also being undertaken. The RCS priests are vigilant as ever, ready to repel vile magics (Prot from Realm Magic). The Sea Witch is also there, though she remains apart. She has the power to cloud the advancing army in mist (Obscuring Mists), ward them against arrow fire (Protective Winds) and stop any enemy magics from touching them (Dispel Realm Magic).
In Ilien they really feel the siege now. Food is scarce. People have begun to suffer. There is also the issue of the damaged gate. Repairs have been affected, but it remains a weak point. It is here that the enemy will strike...
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It starts at dawn with a heavy artillery barrage. The Dieman artillery has been repaired or rebuilt and has stocked up on ammunition. Soon there are rocks in the air, smashing into the walls. There is some return fire, but nothing like before. Next comes the siege engines. Lumbering towers, scaling ladders, rams and picks. Archers carrying wooden shields. By midday the assault on the weakened gate and adjacent sections are well underway...and the Ghiestan units prepare to storm the walls...
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As they wait behind the mantlets the Duke walks his lines, dressed in black and in steel, axes and daggers on his hips, his white lion emblazoned on his chest, as it is on so many men around him. He beams at the masses that serve him now, where once the army of Ghieste was a joke now, and in two wars, it serves with honour and with strength. When at last he is happy and ready he calls the officers forward and speaks allowed so that a large number can hear him.
"We are gathered now for this day. Our alliances, our friendships, our honour and our glory have all called us to this place. We all shall share in the glory of the victory and we shall have to said that it was the good, solid, sensible men of Ghieste who took the walls of once fair Ilien and raised our banner over them. The Countess within has done great evil, consorted with ghosts and sacrificed her own people to her dark and shadowy masters but no more shall it be tolerated! We shall wipe her stain from this place and see friends raised up in her place, friends who shall treat us with honour and not kill those men of ours who came as friends!
We have the honour of leading this assault, the place of pride and of courage! We have already struck fear into their hearts, now let us put terror there instead! Onward! Onward! TO THE WALLS!"
With those last words he gives the final signal and the assault begins.
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The boulder sailed through the cold morning air, to slam into the the already damaged walls of the gatesection. The heavy thumps from the other warmachines heralded their immediate release moments later.
"Again!" the officer directed with his deep booming voice, coordinating the efforts of the massive engines, as they kept pounding the walls relentlessly and in concert.
Kaven watched the scene, a frown creasing his brow. "You knew how to set these stones," he stated absentmindedly of whoever had raised the formiddable walls that surrounded the city. "A pity that craftmanship as this must take such punishment in the name of justice."
He looked at the fresh troops from Ghieste. Even from here he could sense the sinister energies surrounding them - he wasn't sure he approved of the magic weaved into their charge, but hopefully it would speed up the assault and lessen the amount of dead as people fleed rather than face whatever gruesome foe the energies sent towards them. He had ordered his General to keep what few Medoereans graced the field amongst thousands of soldiers away from that host, and they instead held a position on the flank, Lord General Ghant taking control of that general area and leading the charge there. The old knight had wanted to prove his worth after the initial defeats of the Ilienese campaign, and Kaven had been more than willing to comply, presenting his case before the Archduke.
From further up he heard the the words of the Duke of Ghieste as they drifted towards them, and Kaven found himself nodding along, a brief smile gracing his lips. While initially more cautious towards the Ghiestean Duke, he had found the man to be honourable and true to his word. A Duke in action and deed, even if his ancestors where naught but commoners. And certainly they would not have come this far without his assistance.
The Duke signalled the charge, and Kaven turned in the saddle and nodded to the men behind him. Twin horns where put to the lips and a series of long clear notes rang across the battlefield to be taken up by other hornblowers further down the line. Signalling the Diemean and Medoerean advance.
He adjusted the massive oaken pole in his left hand slightly and made sure it rested along his side. The night before the Baron had asked his liege to be granted the honour of carrying the Archdukes personal standard during the siege. Too many attempts had been made on the life of Carveloen, and Kaven feelt better knowing he would be nearby to intervene should some manner of foul witchcraft hit them now.
Thus flanking his liege, and with the personal banner of the Archduke unfurled above him, the Baron watched as the massive army of Diemeans, Ghiesteans and Medoereans surged forward. This would be a bloody and grueling affair, and he had no illusion that the scars left from this attack and the siege leading up to it would take years to heal.
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Meanwhile the Diemans are launching their very own attack - it's not a diversion as much as it is a second attempt at gaining a foothold...you have to many units to mass them all against one section of the wall. Besides, it will prevent the enemy from massing their resources. The Diemans are proceeded by great banks of morning mist that only dissipate when they draw near the walls. As they quickly take to their ladders - the preparations here are much simpler, no massive siege towers for example - the enemy pens fire, only to find their arrows blow away by a sudden windstorm. Up the wall they go, bolstered by their faith in Haelyn and singing battle hymns (Chant). Soon a long section of the wall is under attack. The situation is desperate.
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Inside the walls General Manders is heading the defence.
"Brave men of Ilien! Our enemy has decided to show his true intentions. Under the guise of wanting investigations in our city to ensure no harm is becomming us, her loyal subjects, Diem and his dogs take advantage of our Countess great care. Baronetess Tilgentor is off fighting for the safety of all of Anuire and in disregard for our care they pound on our walls. But we will answer with steel in our hands and through their evil hearts. We will defend the city from this assult and when our Admiral returns victorious from slaying Manethander we will celebrate by breaking the blocade of the see. For Ilien and Glory"
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Diem paces in front of his men,
"What has this come to? Some might say, why are we here? Is this some pissing match between the nobility? Should I fight for someone else's honour?" "No, what that woman stands for inside those walls is an affront to every man, woman, and child in Anuire. She imprison's her own people in their walls, forcing them to endure her fate for which she is judged. El Masir desires a world with no gods, and no traditions, and no Anuire. she invisions a world where men and women live and die for nothing but coin. She has stooped as far as to sell her soul, which she obviously values very little, and the hearts and minds of the citizens of Ilien, which she no doubtedly cares even less about, to the very depths of oblivion to achieve her goals. Her ruthlessness and godlessness knows no bounds as she tries to reinvent the world with herself as god and emperor. No sacrifice is too great for her, no line too taboo to cross. Diemens, Anuireans all, we have a duty like none other to end her nefarious schemes! Now join me together, as we race like the wind, strengthened by Haelyn, to scale these walls, and show her divine judgement and the citizens of Ilien divine mercy from their godless tyrant!"
Diem draws his sword and points in the direction of the castle, "Forward! for we will seize the day! by our hand Ilien will know the freedom of order, and chaos will end! Let us take the fight to their flanks and lift up our weary Anuirean brethren assaulting the gate. This is what we have been waiting for. To the walls Now!"
and with that the Diem forces advance...
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All is not lost for the Ilienese:
As they Diemans try to gain the wall they find that many more defenders have been waiting just out of sight. Among them Ser Estevan, the Green Knight (yes, he's actually fighting FOR Geraldine now - please keep that man locked up...) and a number of black-skinned warriors, some of them learned in the arcane arts. It will be a long and bloody day...will faith and number prevail over tall stone walls?
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Further down along the wall there is also a...development. A wizard appears on the wall and calls to him great power...stripping away whatever spells might have been affecting the dogs of Ghieste. Back in the Dieman camp the high priests of the Moon Good are powerless in face of this gathering of arcane might. And so the defenders of Ilien stand firm...but the Ghiestans move forward nonetheless. Forward and to their deaths. From nowhere doom comes - in the shape of a thousand daggers. Daggers that cut through armor, flesh and bone. Hundreds are killed in and instant - nine out of ten among the front ranks. Less so further back...shielded as they are by the bodies of their comrades. They break then and there...their courage gone they begin to waver...if they are not rallied they will disgrace Ghieste and run back home!
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From his vantage point Ghorien watches his men, the Iron Legion, and the destruction unleashed upon them.
"NO!" he shouts and throws himself upon his horse, charging forwards himself as his guard hurry after him. He rides into the men who are beginning to turn, shouting for them to hold and to push into the gap, to sieze the day and to take this hell cursed place.
"See their tricks and dark magics! We must rid this city of these curses and free the people within the walls! Overthrow the Witch and we shall remember this day with glory! Hold the line and drive them out! Drive them out my boys! For Ghieste! Drive them from their walls for Ghieste!"
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"'Tis not the witch Sire. Look upon the gate. The wizard in red - they have the Red Wind! Doom doom. Flee we must!"
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With the men of Ghieste running away, Kaven grimaces.
Calling a dispatch-rider over, he sends him on the way with a message. A few minutes after, the first boulder sails from the siege machines again, the machines apparently trying to actually target the small figure of the wizard, attempting to provide very rough cover for the fleeing Ghiesteans, while the Duke tries to rally his men.
Meanwhile the Baron turns in his saddle and calls out to a nearby commander. "Keep an eye on the Roesoneans! Prepare to subdue them, should they decide to join Ser Estevan! And someone bring me a spyglass - I need to know who that Wizard is!"
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"To flee man is to die. There is no doom here but his. Turn now and face the enemy or you are lost. Turn and face the enemy, or face my Wrath!"
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Diem yells over the Din and carnage, blood on his sword, the few words he can manage without loosing focus... "Ser Estevan! Why dost thou go?"
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Kaven sticks close to his liege’s side, as the Archduke lead his troops forward. Holding the colours of the Archduke, the Baron of Medoere maintains one hand wrapped around cloth and pole both to keep the banner held somewhat in place amidst the buffeting winds the Seawitch has conjured.
"Onwards and upwards!" the Baron yells, whipping his axe above his head as he eagerly encourages those around him to greater feats of strength and valour. "For Haelyn and the Archduke!"
His voice though trained from years of battle-use is all but lost in the sound of battle chant, combined with the winds pushing the Diemean and Medoereans forward, and the arrows of the foe back, and soon even Kaven is chanting along with the rest – easily remembering the orthodox prayers to the Lawmaker;
Not to us, not to us, Haelyn,
But to your name give glory.
Climbing one of the seigetowers after his lord, the chant still ringing clear around him, the Baron finds a short respite to marvel at the lack of death usually falling from above in the form of missiles, arrows and bolts. It doesn’t prevent armored men and gushing blood from spilling down and over the walls as the defenders bite back at those that try to storm the parapets.
Still it is fresh troops, unharried by arrows and bolts, that reach the foe, their eyes ablaze with fervor and determination - singing at the top of their voice while chopping away at every Ilienese within reach.
A faint tug in Kaven makes him stop midstride on the drawbridge of the siegetower with a look of intent puzzlement on his face. To his left a man clad in black, a black galley raider perhaps, rose momentarily from cover to starts muttering mystic words – an arcane incantation – his eyes directed at the Archduke. Crying out as he realizes it was this sorcerer he sensed, the Baron twists and throws his weapon. The crescent-shaped axe twisting gracefully through the air before burrowing itself in the sternum of the man – who sinks to the ground with a look of utter surprise on his face.
Drawing his sword from his scabbard, Kaven Enlien pushes forward to remain by his liege’s side. Arriving just in time to hear him raise his voice – and see the Green Knight ahead.
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"Selwick! Rogr! Targetted dispel on Ser Estevan!" Kaven turns to two of the men in the gathered entourage of the Baron and the Archduke. "Quickly now, before he closes with us!"
His orders given, the Baron of Medoere turns again just in time to dodge a clumsy swing and kick out with his plated foot, crushing the kneecap of his assailant. The Green Knight was a mystery on a battlefield, as much a blessing as a curse. Nevertheless, in this case Kaven could only hope that his initial feelings prove to be true. If the Ghiestean commander could be turned by magic, Ser Estevan could as well. And if that was the case, no words from Carvaelon could hinder him in rushing the group. Something which could turn out to be a rather one-sided encounter.
The chants behind him, a strange blend of prayers to Ruornil from one priest, and Haelyn from another began as both men looked towards the Green Knight, hands clasped to their respective icons.
"Come on!" Kaven found himself willing, absentmindedly skewering a charging soldier with his sword, before finishing him with the spiked tip at the bottom-end of the standard. "Snap out of it... snap out of it!"
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He doesn't snap out of anything - and you suddenly realize why. He's not spelled at all. In response to Carvaloen's challenge he shouts: "There is only One God, and he is my Lord and Master!"
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Stepping forward Kaven slams the standard into the stone with a resounding clang a stern look on his face.
"Then as the sworn defender of His followers I would have you back down, Ser Estevan - lest none win this day but the Unmaker!"
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"To flee man is to die. There is no doom here but his. Turn now and face the enemy or you are lost. Turn and face the enemy, or face my Wrath!"
There is no stopping them. Like a dam breaking - first a few men in the back, then suddenly there is a great flood. The terrible army of Ghieste, heirs to the legacy of the Iron Guard, breaks and flees before the might of a single wizard. If the walls are to be taken it will be up to the Diemans.
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Stepping forward Kaven slams the standard into the stone with a resounding clang a stern look on his face.
"Then as the sworn defender of His followers I would have you back down, Ser Estevan - lest none win this day but the Unmaker!"
Unsurprisingly Ser Estavan keeps hacking away. He and his fellow warriors are all shouting and chanting now, stuff like "I was an empty cup, now I am full. I walked in the shadow, now I stand in the light. Where before there was many, I see the One." Heretical stuff.
Moreover, seeing the Archduke's standard on the wall no doubt encourages the Dieman troops - but it also makes all of you one big fat juicy target. Few things are more dangerous that assaulting the well-defended walls of a major fortification...and if the standard falls you can be sure the attack will falter!
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Unrelenting, Kaven keeps addressing the Green Knight.
"Ser Estevan!..." He dodges the swipe of a sword and plants his elbow in the face of an attacker, grimacing at the sickening crunch the follows.
"Ser Estevan! That is *NOT* the Speaker!" The bloodied sword points towards the wizard facing the fleeing Ghiestean hordes, a short moment of respite lets Kaven get his breath. "The *real* Speaker left Ilien weeks ago to fight the Unmaker! I know, I was with him!"
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Now you've completely lost me...to whom might Kaven be referring???
Edit: To the red-robed wizard on top of the gates. Clearly the rumor has spread like wildfire - the Red Wind (who would not be seen dead wearing a robe, but no matter) is here. Flee! Flee!
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As the Ghiestian troops flee the field the curses and fury of the Duke can be heard ringing around him. His voice grows hoarse with the shouting, he orders the signal issued for the rally and sends his runners to request that the Dragoons and the Knights, that he held back, to move forward and to aid in shepharding his running foot back to the reserves and the encampment. The Duke himself rushes headlong forward of his men and turns as he nears the mounted men. Watching his men run towards him he breaths slowly and deeply, controlling his anger and attempting to maintain his control. He sees the pain and fear in their faces and the tired exhaustion of soldiers who have run half a mile in armour, afeared for their lives; in that moment he hates them for their failure but he knows he will have to deal with that in due course, once this matter is settled.
As their legs weary, as their lungs labour he knows he will wave the cavalry forward at the flanks, to gather up the untidy rabble. He knows he will recall all gthe senior officers that can be found to his side and one by one, by turn either too tired to argue or too afraid of what will happen should they not do so, he knows they will come. He knows that each in turn will be spoken to, in flat and frank terms, names will be noted, details will be taken, statements will be signed.
Ghorien knows that this army will not see the field again this day, or perhaps even this week, but in the months to come a clever and firm hand on this tiller will not let this army slip away into the night - it still has work to do. His work.
While he waits for all this to happen he turns his eyes to the walls and the progress there, a prayer said silently that the day will be carried there.
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Whatever Kaven seems about to say next is lost in the swirl of melee as a new group of Diemeans charge past him into the fray. A battlefield is a poor place to attempt diplomacy in any case, and the Baron has enough to do rallying those few who begin capering up about the Red Wind and pushing them forward.
The Green Knight can still be heard, supported by his new following, sword raising and falling like a scythe in a corn field as die-hard orthodox Haelynites throw themselves at him with abandon and divine fury. Realizing there is no way of getting through to Ser Estevan just now, Kaven looks about from the steady growing piece of the wall now held by Diemeans. A gatehouse looms up from the wall close by.
“With me!” The Baron cries, hefting the standard high. “Wedge formation!”
Kaven swipes his sword forward in a wide arc to drive a foe back, and delivers a powerful kick to another, sending him tumbling from the walls. As arms clash and men fall screaming to their deaths below, the Diemeans push towards the squat shape of the gatehouse, their foes unnerved by the overwhelming charge of foes clearly touched by the Lawmaker himself.
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The Lion of Ghieste flutters high on the standard at Ghorien's back as he watches the wall from the field and from the front ranks of the Reserve force; all full of impatient, nervous men, some wanting to be at the walls, others afeared of the fate that may come upon them at a moment's notice. To one side the tattered men of the Iron Legion stand, sit and lie now, regaining their energy and the will to fight again another day, for they have lost it this day, with their run to the breach and then back again, all spent in the terror of the moment.
The Duke of Ghieste looks at the banner of Diemed moving along the wall, swaying back and forth in the swell of battle and every so often, as it dips and wobbles, he holds his breath whispering words of encouragement to those who assault the battlements, trying to drive them on by the force of his will alone. Officers and messangers run to and from him, offering papers, maps and words as he stands back, trying to ascertain the bigger picture, make sense of the chaos in front of them. He bides his time now, hoping that at least they may gain a foothold into this hell-hole, drive a wedge into its fortifications and sieze at least a smaller victory from this day - the efforts expended here cannot be allowed to be for nowt; the monies, the magics, the steel and more importantly the blood that has been spilt to come this far it cannot halt here. There is more to be done, surely.
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A well-aimed crossbow bolt nearly ends Kaven life as he heads towards the tower. Fired from one of the gate-house defenders, it is sheer dumb luck that sees the Baron turn at the last moment to shout encouragements to the men behind him. The steel-tipped missile zips past mere inches from his face to burrow itself in one of the men behind him.
Further up the foe was trying to drag the portal to the tower shut, before the Diemeans closed the distance. The door, a thick slab of oak with dark iron bands, was being kept open by one of their own wounded – his armour slick with the blood spilling from his cleaved cervic as he lay on the ground trying to drag himself into safety and the comrades inside with the strength of the desperate.
A heavy blow from a poleaxe ends his pleading moans, and a mix of arms, legs and weapons wedge themselves into the space left open by the closing door. Cries of pain as the defenders stab and slash at exposed limbs prevail for several moments, but then the Diemeans manage to push the oaken door open and spill inside.
As the sounds of battle are renewed in the tight interior of the small tower, Kaven uses the brief lull in his own fights to get his breath, before heading into the gate house himself. A fierce melee raged inside as Diemean armsmen eschew their traditional weapons in lieu of the long daggers, axes and short stabbing swords that favour the cramped conditions.
Something roars towards him, and the Baron deftly evades a brutal stab to his midsection by an Ilienese soldier with a forked beard. Returning the gesture with a grim blow to the man’s forehead using the pommel of his sword he watches the man’s eyes roll back in his sockets, as the Ilienese sinks to the ground without a word, blood seeping from his temple.
Kaven starts up the curving tower stairs towards the roof. In seconds a bolt flash downwards, ricocheting from the wall, and the Baron press himself to the wall as another crossbowman fires down the spiral stair.
Clearing the last few steps Kaven lets out a defiant shout as he pushes the standard in front of him and twists as a third crossbow is fired, the billowing banner confusing the man, so the bolt goes wide.
More men follow him up, and the crossbowmen watches with dread as dead hard veterans of many battles clad in full-plate and brandishing bloody weapons close on them. One of them decides to try his chances with gravity rather than the Diemean and quickly jump off of the tower, aiming for the walkways leading to the tower on the side still held by the Ilienese and landing among his fellow men with a cry of pain as bones break. The others fare somewhat worse.
With the top floor of the gatehouse cleared and the forces pushing onwards and downwards to open the gate, Kaven orders the men to gather up the discarded missile weapons, and soon the Ilienese have a new threat to deal with, as their own weapons are turned inwards and bolt and arrows rain at the city defenders from above.
The baron glances around to get his bearing and assess the situation, then he steps to the crenellations, facing the Diemean forces outside and raises Archduke Carvaelon Diem’s banner high.
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Several hundred lightly armored men and the heavily armored military guard of Ilien reinforce the Green Knight.
Meanwhile from the other flank General Manders advances with the dismounted knights of Ilien and another hoarde of lightly armored men.
Crossbow bolts fly into the ranks of the diemans infront of the advance from both flanks.
Sweating heavily General Manders takes the front of the advance his banner held by one of the men behind him: "Onwards men, we have one goal. We reach ser Estavan and strike down all Diemans in our way!"
Suddenly A boulder is flinged from a catapult deep within the city. It is hurled towards the compromised Gate tower and makes it rumble and crack as it hits. Anther boulder flies through the air towards the tower......
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It is one of his guards that first notices it. Quickly the shout rolls across the lines, as the banner of Diem flutters atop the gatetower. The Duke of Ghieste turns to look, a smile growing across his face as he pricks the flank of his pure white steed with spurs and guides her across to the Diemed commanders and knights gathered in front of the substantial reserve block of the Diemian army.
"Baron Moere, would you do the Duke of Ghieste the honour of joining him in the securing of that gate for your Grace? Perhaps half of the reserve at this time, just to push home the progress so far made and break those fresh reinforcements of the Ilienese traitors?"
With that he turns his horse for the gate and orders his own dragoons and knights to form up behind him. A runner is dispatched to Hermedhie requesting politely what aid she is able to grant in the action that is about to occur in case of further magical deployments. He watches the back of the man with the missive until he is out of the line of movement and his horse are arrayed. Then he pushes his mount forwards. A slow step at first. Then another. Then another and another. Quickly he transitions from the walk to a trot, the pounding of the earth bringing a satisfying rythym to the movement.
He does not look round to see who follows, as he knows the Baron will commit those reserves he considers sensible and to search for support is to show fear and he cannot show such now. The long strides eat the distance. As the gate of the tower begins to become clearer he nods to his herald and the horn is sounded for the switch to a canter. The pace drives forwards now, onward, ever onward, and the lines of cavalry start to grow ragged now. But this is a rapid cavlary deployment, a surge across the field to hold a key position and all present know what they need to do - manouvere after manouvere on the plains of Ghieste have trained for this, and so they shift for the final time on this charge, into the gallop, the headlong rush, giving each horse it's head and hunkering down, ready for the impact as they surge towards the gates to try to take and hold them against the Ilienese.
Now is do or die.
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The direct hit to the gatehouse makes everyone stumble at first, and several bolts go wide as soldiers have their aim jostled by the blow.
Watching the Diemean lines from his vantage-point in the tower, Kaven doesn’t notice the first stone and finds himself forced to steady himself on the battlements, as the screams of Diemean and Ilienese soldiers below the gatehouse increase for a moment, the flung rock delivering a gruesome and indiscriminate death to all it hits as it crashes to the ground.
Turning in time to see the second rock arch up from inside the city Kaven’s eyes goes wide. “She’s mad!” he mumbles as the stone twirls slowly, almost as in slow-motion through the air towards the raging battle. Quickly raises his voice. “Brace yourselves; our foe is targeting the battle lines!”
The little handful of men around the Baron quickly drop down, hugging themselves to the crenellations as the catapult stone reaches its peak and starts to descend towards the gatehouse – either the Ilienese had trained their weapons on this place in advance, or they were simply getting of some lucky shots. Not that either case mattered much to Kaven as a huge rock sailed towards him. Offering a quick prayer, he hoped his assessment of the stones passage was correct.
With a thundering whack, the large missile hammers into the battlements next to the gatehouse, smashing men from both sides of the field to a bloody pulp and shaking those others nearby. Kaven is momentarily stunned – to fire into a melee, knowing you could hit your own troops? He spits and sneers. It seemed like the treachery of el-Mesir would be felt by her own troops as well, before this day was over.
The arrival of fresh troops to the scene draw his attention – light infantry and what looked to be dismounted knights approached from his side. A clattering of metal on stone told him that there were some crossbowmen among their numbers too. Crossing the top of the gatehouse quickly to look over its side at the Diemeans massing on the walls below, he raises his voice. “Armsmen, reform and advance - enemy reinforcements enroute from the south! We take the fight to them!”
Rather than risk his chance with more hurled stones, the Baron then heads down the stairs again, ready to rejoin the men below, and push at the enemy advance.
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Deep within the cidadel Geraldine is standing over a bowl of water, twirling and twisting in colors, the sound of battle eminates from the bowl.
She smiles all the while the walls of her city turns red by the blood of Diemans and Ilieneese alike.
Her watchfull eyes carefully study the scene as Baron Enlien and Archduke Diem lead the assult on the gatetower. "Damned fool" she mumbles as the closest soldier inside struggles to pull his comrade to safety instead of pushing him aside and shutting the door.
Turning away from the bowl she hastly walks towards the door shouting as she push it open: "The western gatetower is lost! Remove it from my wall so that Diem will know he will not hold anything he take here!" A stunned officer studders:" Buh but.." Furious the countess twirls around and face the unfortunate man "You shall not question my orders! If we are quick we will crumble it on top of him, and if we are not he WILL get the message!" No less stunned than before he nods:"O Ofcause your Excellency, I will send your order to the catapults." As if stuck calm by his words she turns and walks out of the room saying on her way out: "I am going to join the battle. If word reach you that Diem and Enlien have left the tower, you may stop the bombardment short of the towers destruction."
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On the walls Baron Enlien and Archduke Diem have fought their way through the fray and leads the defence against the advancing Knights of Ilien. The sight of both the enemies banners in the front of the line halts the advance and numerous furious blows from both the Baron and the Duke turns the tide of the battle for the diemans.
A steady retreat is turned into a steady advance as the Baron press infront of the Archduke and start to pound on a demorilised Ilieneese knight to his knees. Suddenly a roaring cheer commences from the back of the Ilieneese lines as the personal banner of Geraldine el-Mesir is raised in the middle of the Ilieneese collum of knights. With renewed strenth from knowing his countess is present the knight swiftly blocks Baron Enliens blow and with all his strength stand still wobbeling a bit from the heavy blows he had taken. Unrelentingly and swiftly Baron Enlien strikes at the knights leg forcing him to his knees again. With a just as swift a motion he moves his sword back and strikes at the knight...
Edited by DM due to power creep/excessive manipulation of events:
*clang* Another sword parries Baron Enliens killing blow as the knight still too wounded to continue fighting drops to the ground. It belongs to is a grizzled muscular knight with the personal crest of General Manders engraved on the chest of his plate. Looking briefly towards the personal banner of the countess, he spots her incanting her vile witchcraft not more than a hundred feet in front of him. Swords flash as Manders and Enlien trade blows. ...
Gracefully Gerladine moves in between the knights advancing to get her eyes and witchcraft in reach of the Archduke...
-
Catapult fire has never been very accurate - nor is it this time. A number of stones go in the direction of the tower captured by Baron Enlien. A few even strike true (but most do not, ending up damaging building and killing friend and foe alike). But it is too little. Ilien's walls and towers are tall or strong or they would not have withstood the torrent of fire thus far directed at them. This new barrage does no discernible damage.
Meanwhile the melee rages on - the Dieman's have gained the wall and has seized on tower. Now they are expanding their bridgehead and aiming to secure another tower. Once they do that the Ward will be lost. And to be honest, it is only a matter of time - more and more Diemans are pouring onto the wall by the minute...and there are no more reserves available to stem the tide. And the Red-robed wizard has done what he could - his last spells came to nothing as someone, the Sea Witch presumably, countered them.
But even if the outcome is given the battle is not over. Ser Estevan, General Manders, Archduke Diem, Baron Enlien, Countess el-Mesir...they are all caught up in the fighting and in mortal peril. Will any of them make it through the day alive?
-
Manders overextends or maybe he stumbles. It doesn't matter. Kaven smashes him in the helmet with his shield, sending him reeling. Before he can recover Kaven swings at his left knee - the blade doesn't penetrate, but the knee buckles. With a mighty heave Kaven sends Manders over the inner edge of the wall - a fall of thirty feet to the waiting flagstones below.
Then Kaven discovers something terrible. In the heat of battle he has been pushed back, away from the standard. And where is there Archduke? There he is! In melee with three Ilienese knight and the Green Knight! No no no!!! Another Ilienese knight hacks down the Dieman standard and hurls into the city below. A Dieman armsman bull rushes him over the edge and he falls to his death to land beside Manders and the fallen banner...
And what of Geraldine? Does she finally appreciate the gravity of her mistake? For an unarmored woman to walk into frenzied killing? Steel-clad men, slashing swords and the air is filled with arrows and bolts. She's already bleeding from a cut she received from gods know who.
-
Meanwhile Dauk Hiriele has take his cavalry - as yet uncommitted - and ridden it straight through to the Dieman assault position. They are dismounting and pushing forward...to gain the ladders and join the melee...
-
Geraldine is holding her left arm tight. "Damn my folly" she thinks as she see the reinforcements ride toward the city.
She looks around looking for an escape from the wall and the melee that will surely end her life should she stay........
-
As Ghorien crests the walls he is almost shocked by the carnage on the other side; the frantic chaos of massed melee in such confines, of walls and towers and stairs and courtyard below leave a tangled heaving mob that means to hit the floor is to die. It tooks a short while to focus as his men stream past him, forming ranks and anticipating the order to action. Quickly his eyes scan over the knots, watching for the defining figures within, the points at which the battle might be forced or broken. The odd bolt rams into his shield as he stands there, causing his left arm to twitch in response each time until, with a sweeping gesture of his axe, he clears them from the face, almost causually.
And then he spies her, moving quickly with a party of men close around her hand carefully placed to her arm, trying to find a path off the walls to safety. The smile that spreads behind the bevoir is twisted and there is almost a purr in his throat as he chuckles. With a nod of the head and a point of the axe he marks her out to those men around him and a trumpet bark begins behind him, almost a call to the hunt and the prey of the day. The Ghiestians press forward quickly, fresh legs pushing them into the melee in a wedge, the intention to push through and divide ranks as the drive straight, like an arrow, for the Countess and her probably escape from the wall. Axe and sword cleave and slice as the energy of the thrust starts to cut through the ranks and as the gap begins to close a whistle goes up from the Knights of the Iron Legion, and from behind them the dragoons, now on foot, unleash a wave of javelins, followed by another, and then another, casting a shadow over the bloody combat they fly over.
-
Geraldine is holding her left arm tight. "Damn my folly" she thinks as she see the reinforcements ride toward the city.
She looks around looking for an escape from the wall and the melee that will surely end her life should she stay........
The Ward is lost. The sooner you accept that the better. Now you must make sure that this breech doesn't turn into an overrun. You must save as man of your men as possible and make ready for the next assault - for it WILL come.
Poor General Manders...so briefly did he hold command....and now you are left without a capable commander.
-
A myriad of thoughts run through Kaven's head as he sees the Archduke belaguered by the Green Knight. Around him time almost seems to slow down as the adrenaline rush through the Baron's head and his features set in grim determination.
"NO!" He yells, and starts forward, using fist and sword to press towards his liege. Scratches and wounds visible on the Paladin's body close, as the divine energy of Haelyn course through him. "With me to the Archduke!"
Leading what support he can gather in his push to save his lord, Kaven raises his voice in a loud and clear shout "Ser Estevan! Face me!"
-
Geraldine grabs hold of the nearest officer, grinding her teeth in pain as she lets go of her arm:"Get the pikes to form a line we can retreat behind and get word to the other flank so they can do the same. The ward is lost."
-
Further down the wall, a wounded General Ghant withdraws from the frontline and pauses to get his breath. His sword is bloody and his armor battered from the battle, and a fresh slash to his temple causes blood to run down his face and into his eye. Wiping it away as best he can, Ghant bellows in his deep booming voice.
"Push forward you runts! The day is ours - now we break their spirits! Run them down like the rats they are! ATTACK!"
-
As the shout goes up for "Pike! Pike to the fore!" Ghorien grunts an acknowledgement. His prey is covering it's retreat at least, or trying to, but the walls and the stairs are not the best place for pike until they are fully formed and so he raises his own voice " On my boys! Onward, break their line before it is formed and this day is ours! Take them, take them all!"
He steps to the side as a lightly armed Ilienese man thrusts forward with his short sword, the Duke turning the stab wide with the edge of his shield and then bringing his heavy axe blade down and straight through the arm that follows through before smashing his shield in the screaming man's face, driving him back into his own ranks, adding to the confusion of those lines as blood pisses freely from the stump of what was his arm. In defiance as he goes forward again, every step pushing them closer to a rout, Ghorien shouts in their faces, his own men chasing his wrath across the field of battle, all pure aggression, "Take them boys, Take them! 5000 Gold to the man who brings me the Countess! Bring her to me!"
-
Further down the wall, a wounded General Ghant withdraws from the frontline and pauses to get his breath. His sword is bloody and his armor battered from the battle, and a fresh slash to his temple causes blood to run down his face and into his eye. Wiping it away as best he can, Ghant bellows in his deep booming voice.
"Push forward you runts! The day is ours - now we break their spirits! Run them down like the rats they are! ATTACK!"
It's the last thing Ghant ever says. One of the Ilienese catapults...his body...it is never really recovered. Just some bits that MIGHT have been him.
-
As the shout goes up for "Pike! Pike to the fore!" Ghorien grunts an acknowledgement. His prey is covering it's retreat at least, or trying to, but the walls and the stairs are not the best place for pike until they are fully formed and so he raises his own voice " On my boys! Onward, break their line before it is formed and this day is ours! Take them, take them all!"
He steps to the side as a lightly armed Ilienese man thrusts forward with his short sword, the Duke turning the stab wide with the edge of his shield and then bringing his heavy axe blade down and straight through the arm that follows through before smashing his shield in the screaming man's face, driving him back into his own ranks, adding to the confusion of those lines as blood pisses freely from the stump of what was his arm. In defiance as he goes forward again, every step pushing them closer to a rout, Ghorien shouts in their faces, his own men chasing his wrath across the field of battle, all pure aggression, "Take them boys, Take them! 5000 Gold to the man who brings me the Countess! Bring her to me!"
The Ghiestan's run into a solid block of Ilienese. They are falling back in good order. Getting the Countess won't be easy.
-
The solid resistance of the Ilienese troops draws some grudging admiration from the Duke. They most know now that this ward is lost and within a few weeks the entire city will fall but still they fight, still they hope. He nods at their dreams and then halts the advance of his men. The puzzlement on the faces of the block is clear and then the front rows of the Knights of Ghieste crouch, shields held fore and the javelins thud into the infantry lines of the defenders. Heavy headed shafts of steel, iron and wood where they don't wound the iron of the shaft band on impacts and cripples armour and shield and, it is hoped, turn the line ragged, unready to meet the charge.
Then as fast as they stopped the heavily armoured foot push forwards again, trying to break through the block and push deeper into the heart of the city, chasing the Countess still.
-
The Ghiestans finally come to a halt as they are taken under heavy crossbow fire.
-
A myriad of thoughts run through Kaven's head as he sees the Archduke belaguered by the Green Knight. Around him time almost seems to slow down as the adrenaline rush through the Baron's head and his features set in grim determination.
"NO!" He yells, and starts forward, using fist and sword to press towards his liege. Scratches and wounds visible on the Paladin's body close, as the divine energy of Haelyn course through him. "With me to the Archduke!"
Leading what support he can gather in his push to save his lord, Kaven raises his voice in a loud and clear shout "Ser Estevan! Face me!"
Battle is joined. Ser Estaven and some black-skinned men as well as the Ilienese knights...versus Duke Diem, Baron Enlien and the knights of Diemed...it's been a while since something like this happened in Anuire. An entire war in the balance.
-
The men of Ghieste form shield against the crossbows and take secure postion to minimise casualties from the incessant fire.
Ghorien looks around again, trying to work out where the pockets of resistance within the ward holds and then his eyes linger on the man in the green armour and those that face him. His breath leaves his body in a long exhale and he knows now is the telling moment. A step forwards, then another, quicker and his immediate guards take a second before the realise he is moving again, at speed and give chase. Although he does not show it he worries that he will not make it before it is all over, but he will not have it said he did not try.
-
The archduke is fighting shield to shield now as there is pushing and shoving on the walls. One of his men-at-arms uses his kite shield to swing open "the barn doors" on an unfortunate Ilienese soldier fighting with a center-boss shield, allowing the archduke a swift and fatal stab with his sword. Many more men are pushed off of the crenelations than are ran through that day. He shouts to Ser Estevan, who is forbiddingly hacking his way nearer... "Ser! you have been duped! the Mistress El-masir with her foul witchcraft does not serve one god, or many, she serves none! Search your heart! Look to Drago's teaching's if you must, but she serves the unmaker! both Enlien and I can attest to this!"
-
Kaven does his best to stay close to the Archduke, using sword and blade to defend the man. He doesn't spare any time on words this time - accutely aware of the danger the Green Knight poses on a field.
Having faced this man before however, he is ready as a strike darts out towards his Liege: With a resounding clang of metal on metal, Kaven's sword intercede and prevent the deadly blow from landing, before the Baron quickly returns to his intial position, maintaining his balance and dodging the lightning quick riposte from Ser Estevan by a hairs-breadth.
A knight take the opportunity to launch himself at Ser Estevan, and interposes himself between the green Knight and the Baron only to find his head removed cleanly from his body by he swift strike of his foe. Kaven's handiwork is a lot less pretty, as he turns on another enemy, slams a sword to the side with his shield and cleaves his sword into the mans neck. The soldier dies screaming, his life fountaining into the air and painting Kaven's fair skin a bloody red.
Dropping back as another Diemean knight takes his place, Kaven raises his sword into the air and chants a quick prayer to Haelyn, feeling and seeing the limbs of him and the allies close around him infused with the blessings of the Lawmaker. Rejuvinated and emboldened he steps into the swirling melee once more, raising his sword to mete out judgement on those who close with him.
-
Headlong now, almost a sprint, the Duke of Ghieste plows forwards, his blackcloaked guard fanning out around him, pushing through the mass of what are now mostly Diem's troops. The odd Ilienese man is dropped in an almost forgetful manner as they pass with axe or sword or steelshod foot crippling them for someone behind to stab through armpit or visor or under breastplate ensuring they will not rise again. But not all of it runs how Ghorien would like it, as he must pause as he runs into a mountain of a man. Dressed in burnished plate, soaked now in the blood of those his blade has already claimed, the Duke has to duck under the point of his blade as it works it's way over the top of the lion emblazoned shield and threatens to rip out his throat. Ghorien tries to break the man's defences, with one, two and then three strikes to knee, hip and elbow, but each one is guarded against well and the series of parries both men enter becomes frantic as each works out that they have met a broadly equal opponent. The exchange continues for what feels like an age, but no more than about ten seconds in reality until both men take a step back, a deep sharp breath in wonder, curious as to what will happen next. Around the pair has grown a space, as though no one wishes to interfere, afraid that ally and foe are both at risk here.
Standing upright again Ghorien nods at his opponent, acknowledging his skills. When the other nods in return he speaks aloud, "Apologies Sir, I do not have the time for this, as amsuing as it is." And while the knight looks at his curiously he gazes over his foes shoulder and gestures sharply. There is a loud series of thuds and the knight tries to reach around to pull out the bolts that now stick out from his spine, but his grip on one of them grows weak and he falls to his knees. The duke steps forward and pulls a long thin dagger from his belt, wraps his shield arm over the man's back and drives the the blade under his breastplate, before standing fully again and starting to run on.
As they gain pace again Ghorien checks his lines and they seem to be moving well, a few injuries here and there but given their late arrival to the fight they have more legs than most and he hopes that energy will help finish this matter. He steers them through the press and they have to push both sides out of the way as they go, keen to reach the place where a fatal knot has grown and then suddenly they are in and on them, the force of the run pushing them deep into the side of the dark skinned men and Iliense knights. In desperate haste they stab and strike, bound and beat, trying to overrun the flank and drive them from the Green Knight's side, exposing him. The Duke ducks and dodges incoming blows as he cleaves and splits arms, hands, heads and shoudlers in return, though a trailing sword point manages to pierce the mail in the shoulder joint above his shield as it skitters off. As he feels it scratch and draw bloods he growls in anger, smashing his shield into the chest and backhanding his axe across the face of the man who had just struck him, ripping the nose from his face and then he sees the Green Knight and Kaven fighting close by, just feet away.
-
Rationalization. Denial. Faith. Different words for the same phenomenon, no? The human need to make sense of their surroundings, no matter how unnatural or horrendous.
But I digress - despite having seen the Green Knight in action, despite having fought him, despite the fact that he is hacking and stabbing his way through the Dieman ranks the fatal skill and unflinching determination...still Kaven Enlien's mind tries to cope with this unnatural thing. Trying to explain away the facts and bring order to chaos. Surely no warrior, no mortal warrior could fight with such skill? Perhaps if there was time to analyze the situation an explanation could be found...but instead the mind settles upon that age-old mantra, that of 'divine guidance'...if so then his change of faith has dulled none of his potency.
Another knight goes down, undone by a shield strike by the Green Knight to the inside of his knee, sending him stumbling over the edge and to his death in the city below. It must have been a lucky blow? No mortal man could have planned for such an outcome!
Ser Estevan to Carvaloen: "I serve not the witch, I serve the One. He has taken this city as His, and I will not let it fall!"
Then he is upon Kaven and Carvelon blade flashing...from the very first exchange you find yourself in trouble, for however much you try you cannot seem to support one another properly, you keep getting in the way of the other...but luckily more knight arrive to back you up, staving of disaster - for a time...
-
"Haelyn shield me," Kaven mutters, as he barely manages to deflect a slash for his throat. The man was a roaring tempest, slicing into anything that came too near. The Baron grits his teeth as his return blow is countered seemingly without conscious effort from the Ser Estevan.
As Kaven’s world narrows down to the Green Knight, he begins to pray. Not loud and boisterous chants to the glory of the gods, but a soft mumbling prayer in rhythm with the flow of the battle.
His eyes seem to glaze over momentarily and then suddenly he goes on the offensive. Kaven’s sword and shield lash out time and time again in an attempt to drive Ser Estevan back and away from his liege lord. Blood seeps from more than one joint in the Baron’s armor and from several nicks and cuts to his face, a telling sign of the Green Knights skill.
As his shield is ripped away by a brutal riposte from the Green Knight, Kaven finds himself breathing heavily, all but spent. He offers a weak almost apologetic smile to Carvaloen Diem before he looks to the Green Knight once again.
“… Thy will be done!” the maimed knight whispers ending his prayer, as he levels his shoulder and rushes towards Ser Estevan, using his last vestiges of strength to batter at the Green Knights sword in an attempt to drive it to the side, as he charges forward.
-
Once again the Green Knight uses the power which only he possesses - the ability to coolly and accurately assess the situation, plan an appropriate response and execute flawlessly. All in the blink of an eye. Gift of the gods? Arcane secret? Freak of nature? Take your pick. Regardless of his source of power - rushing headlong to meet with Ser Estavan is inviting disaster...
A step so. A parry like this. A shield moved just so. A plate-armored elbow to the temple. Ser Kaven Enlien drops like a rock. Unconscious, but not dead. Exactly as intended. Then over the edge he goes...not to his death, but to land upon the roof of small stable upon which lies many slain men already. Quite the lucky fall.
The next few moments are rather confused. The Green Knight step in close to Lord Diem, disarms him in the process, then uses his shield to lift the Duke of his feet...Duke Hiriele rushes in with a ready blade to rescue his ally...ad the suddenly the red wizard appears on the wall, unleashing a magical barrage of epic proportions against the three of them. The trio already has momentum and Duke Diem is actually up in the air when the blast strikes - they are thrown over the edge of the wall and down into the murky waters of the moat far below. The blast also blows away both the top of the wall and the battlement and kills everyone within fifty feet...
...then crossbow bolts start chattering around the wizard and more soldiers are gaining the wall - he steps of the inner edge of the wall and disappears...
-
Over to more practical issues; WM 11 starts now so there are still the possibility of more combat. If there are to be more assaults, for example, it needs to happen right now.
-
As the three armoured bodies hit the dirty, oily, fetid water of the moat there is an enormous splash, followed sharply by a series of smaller ones as chunks of the wall, projected from above by the explosion, land in that same dark, dank ditch. Then there is stillness. While the ripples hit the earthen walls and are relected back across the broken surface one could be forgiven for thinking that is the end of the matter - that in those precious seconds there is no more war and this is the finish of it all. Unfortunately the watcher should be reminded that there is no luck in this world, except that which you make.
It is over ten seconds since the three, tumbled around each other, struck the glossy pool, when there is a breaking of those few minutes of silence. A bloodied Duke of Ghieste pushes clear, gasping for urgent desperate air for his battered lungs. His left arm is wrapped around the shoulders on another figure, armoured and still in his armlock and as he kicks for the edge of the moat, for the safety of it's refuge the figure coughs and splutters it's breath still. The distance is no more than 10 yards from where they broke surface but every inch is a struggle as Ghorien strives to save them both. Men of Diem and of Ghieste who were ready to climb the wall turn and watch for a moment, some then moving to help them, throwing ropes and lowering a ladder to aid the escape of the two from the stake strewn open sewer that was once the pristine moat of Ilien.
Almost as soon as he is out the Ghorien hands the ArchDuke to the care of his men, saying he is well enough but that there are matters here he must attend to, and taking command of a small number of men he quickly strips off the heaviest pieces of his armour and begins the rapid search. Between them they duck and dive within the mess of the moat, keenly searching for the body of the Green Knight, with orders to do all within their ability to save his life, to let him die such an ignoble death as drowning in this cesspit. It is but a few minutes later when one of the number, a young lad with curly blonde locks that would like fine about some small girilish child, brings up first a gauntlet, then the helm and then the breast plate of the Green Knight, The later with a lump of stone from the walls imbedded deep within it, like a rocky fist driven far into it's steel strength. It is not long before the search is called to a halt and a Council is called to assess the progress of the siege, the losses taken and the sadnesses felt.
Many have been lost. How many more have still to fall?
-
The cawing of a crow was the first thing the drifted through the haze. Kaven blinked and groaned. Why was he lying on his back staring into the sky? Hadn’t he been in some fight? Trying to get up he found himself pinned down by something heavy. Kaven tilts his head slightly and glances down. The full weight of an armoured body was splayed out on top of him. By the looks of the scorched clothing and flesh, something very unpleasant had been the cause of this particular individual’s demise – Kaven couldn’t even determine if he had been friend or foe.
“Lord Kaven,” the corpse said as it twisted about and moved closer, its empty eyesockets staring at him and the jaw dropping open to reveal a lolling and blistered tongue. Kaven’s eyes went wide as he found himself glaring right at the thing mere inches from him.
“Lord Kaven, are you hurt?”
The corpse jerked and moved away, as a Diemean soldier heaved it to the side to reach the prone form of the Baron.
Kaven blinked twice and shook his head to clear the blurry images he had just had. Something he immediately regretted as the movement sent jagged shards of burning metal through his head.
“I think… I am fine.” Reaching a hand out, he found himself assisted to his feet and down from the roof that had somehow graced him with an easy fall. His right hand hurt from where he had clenched it unconsciously around his sword for the last few hours. “Well, at least I managed to hold on to that…” he found himself mumbling.
“What was that, milord?” the soldier asked, as he helped the shaky Baron get his bearings.
“Nothing, just me rambling. What happened? I only remember fighting Ser Estevan.”
“I don’t know, milord. I was fighting further down the wall. An explosion tore the entire section of the upper rampart – killed dozens. “
Kaven directed a blurry eyed stare in the direction of the wall. True enough a sizeable section of it was missing.
“And the Archduke?”
“He was thrown into the moat by the blast – as was the Green Knight and Duke Ghorien. The Duke managed to pull him out of the water.”
Kaven gave a sigh of relief and then a thought struck him – his prayer. He had asked for forgiveness for something. For forcing the gods to decide between himself and...
“The Green Knight… is he..?”
“Dead, milord. They say his chest was caved in by a rock thrown from the blast, though I haven’t seen it for myself. “
Kaven stopped dead in his tracks and closed his eyes as he steadied himself.
“I see… thank you. Could you point me to Duke Ghorien and Archduke Carvaloen?”
The man gave a worried look at the state of Kaven but in the end resorted to nodding and extending an arm to point in the direction of the command-tent. Shaking his head as he watched the Baron limp forward he found himself chuckling at the sight of a highborn noble massaging a sore tailbone. You had to cherish the little things in this royal mess.
-
The conversation within the heady scents of the command tent is as heated as it is pungent. There are few who do not bear the scratches and scrapes of battle, bruises and bandages on significant display. Those who do not share in these badges of honour seem resolutely clean; clearly the ones who remained within the lines rather than as part of the assault. As the Baron enters though it is the Duke of Ghieste's voice that is raised, seething with barely controlled rage
"And let me tell you Sir Whateveryournamemightbe that, if you continue to attempt to impune the honour and courage of my forces on this field, I shall be showing your friends and colleagues just how guts you actually contain; is that clear? Given that the Iron Legion of Ghieste bore the brunt of the casting from that Mage, after having marched hundreds of miles to your aid, I think we can all agree there is no need for blame or cowardice to be thrown the way of me and mine. As is we are now inside the main walls, having seized this ward. There is a major breach in their exisiting walls still. They have no General anymore and" with a gesture that highlights to Kaven the battered helm upon the table within the tent, "The Green Knight will trouble us here no more. It is time to offer the City their chance to surrender before Winter means they eat each other and then freeze themselves to the death."
-
Kaven blinks a few time as he enters the gloom. An angry purple bruise is visible on his forehead, almost giving the resemblance of a horn growing out from one side of his head.
He clears his throat.
“Eh… gentlemen? Excuse my tardiness.” Walking towards the gathered men, he indicates his bruised brow. “I seem to have been trying to open the gates of Ilien with my forehead.”
As he stands next to the table, Kaven rests two fingers on the helmet and lets them follow the contours of the green knights headgear, looking at the thing with a sad smile on his lips. He gives an almost imperceivable shake of his head before he moves towards a chair, and eases himself into it with an audible groan.
Removing his gloves he hands them to a soldier nearby, and leans back while someone brings a bowl of water and a soaked cloth to dab at the bruise. Kaven grimaces momentarily, but then relaxes.
“You were talking about surrender, Your Grace? I agree that it would certainly be the honourable thing to do. I have no wish to watch the city starve as the weather gets worse, and even Geraldine should realize that it is all but over now. The shell has been cracked and it is only a matter of time now.”
He waves the soldier with the water away and sits up straight, looking from the Duke to the Archduke.
“I would be honoured, if the duty of providing terms for Ilien would rest in my hands, Your Grace – Sire.”
Kaven massages his temple.
“There is also the matter of reinforcements. Should this continue further, I believe I can draw in the vicinity of thousand men into active duty in the siege again. It’ll be mostly archers, to be honest – but they’re battle-hardened and should fill the ranks amply.” He offers a wan smile to Ghorien. “And I can assure you they’ll be instructed to target anything wearing red robes first and foremost, Your Grace. ”
-
With a sip on a goblet of wine Ghorien winces as he swallows past a bruise on his neck.
"Aye, it is probably better it come from you than it comes from I Baron. For one I am only here as an ally of the Arch-Duke and secondly my terms would no doubt be significantly more brutal and less polite than yours, I have no doubt. And at this point trying to scare the frightened children within those walls would just result in more anger and extra hate, things that if we wish them to surrender then it is best not to do just yet. Though if they do continue to try to maintain this facade I would prefer we make it clear to them that there is no opprtunity for mercy beyond this point."
He nods and smiles.
"I also have more troops to call in, should we deem it necessary."
-
“Thank you, Your Grace. I will debate it with General Ghant and draw up something to send to the Ilienese… what?”
Noticing the grim looks on many of the present, Kaven hangs his head somewhat and gives a small sigh.
“Right.”
He rises, wobbling slightly.
“If you will excuse me, I think I need to lie down somewhere.”
-
----
The banner of Diemed flies proudly from the towers overlooking the conquered ward, as thousands of soldiers purposefully walk about the streets, and more join them all the time bunking down wherever they find space in the war-torn ward.
Houses have been appropriated to make room for the wounded and priests of the RCS find themselves working on overtime alongside a few OIT priests to tend to the wounded and still reach out to those faithful in Ilien that haven’t been able to congregate in months.
At noon the following day a small group of soldiers ride towards the enemy held walls leading to the citadel. When within ear-range of the defenders they stop up. With his sword still in the scabbard, the front rider hefts his shield closer to his body as he looks to the towers, then he raises his voice to be heard:
”People of Ilien. The city will fall. It is inevitable now. But we do not wish to fight our kinsmen. We take no pleasure in watching Ilienese artillery or archers kill their countrymen at the orders of a desperate leader. As such I have come on behalf of Lord Baron Kaven Enlien to bring you the offer of an honourable surrender. All you have to do, is agree to abide by the following terms:
Firstly, that you open the gates of Ilien and that each and every soldier march out without their arms and surrender themselves to the Diemean and Ghiestean forces.
Secondly, that every citizen and inhabitant of Ilien accept that they will be granted the right to leave the city unharmed and with whatever belongings they call their own, should they wish it, as long as they do not congregate in groups to plot against their rightful Lord, Archduke Carvaloen Diem. Any noble will, upon their oath not to abuse our trust, be treated according to their station, will be allowed to retain their arms, and will receive quarters, food and ministration according to their ranks as well.
Thirdly, that Geraldine el-Mesir and her advisors surrender themselves unconditionally to Archduke Carvaloen Diem or one of his commanders, or to Baron Kaven Enlien or one of his commanders who will vouch for their personal safety in his care until such a time as they can be put before a fair trial and the extent of their actions can be divulged.
This is the Lord Baron’s offer to the city of Ilien. You have twentyfour hours from now to consider this. If you do not open the gates by then, and refuse to surrender, no such promises will be given for the future. The offer will be considered null and void, and the blood, battles and hunger will continue."
With that, the group turns once more to leave the way they came.
-
"They said what?" The displeasure in her voice quickly made the courtier look at the ground and with a feeble voice he replied: "That Baron Enlien wants us to surrender to him or Archduke Diem and stand trial for our actions."
Geraldine shook her head and sniggered: "Have Diem forgotten his betrayel of our city? Have we not learned that he had his guild undermined our rule of Ilien even as he acknowledged us as his vassal and were suposed to be our protector? Did he not betray a written treaty with us regarding the war against Boer?
Did he not promise to come and talk with us, only to cancel his visit. And his excuse?" Now her voice is clearly mocking" He was too busy with his allies to come and talk with his vassal. Not even an envoy did he send. Yet now he has the time to personally stand guard outside our walls for months without end?"
Geraldine paused and studied the courtier and with a softer voice she spoke: "Look at me my friend. Do you think that any justice will be delt by a man like Diem?
Surely it is not his intention to be lacking such in his way to rule. But his rule will be the downfall of any who follows him. Just look at Baron Enlien...
He promised that his temple would stay neutral in this conflict. But then, and I am sure he was pressured by Diem, he has his temple try to recruit a militia. And despite what lies might be told of the reason for that action, I know it was to use is against my rule.
So we have Diem, who breaks both his words, his treaties and ignores the sacred bonds of vasalage. And we have Enlien, treading down the same path breaking his word at the order of his corrupted liege."
She looked the courtier straight in his eyes: "Now, after they have proven themself willing to kill to protect their lie, do you think they will find justice for us, or kill us to protect thier lie further?"
She looked out the window at the dieman flag in the distance. "Leave me now. I will think of it and send our reply."
-
The following day about an hour before noon a small band of soldiers and a nervous looking courtier walk into voice range of the dieman held ward. The courtier clears his voice and speaks:
"Diemans, Medorans, vassals and allies of Archduke Diem. A fair trial regarding the actions of Geraldine el-Mesir and Archduke Carvelon Diem has taken place, and Carvelon Diem was found guilty of neglegting his duties as liege of Ilien.
The evidence precented at that trial was so compelling that the Impregnable Heart of Haelyn immidiatly conducted a ceremony of divestiture to remove Archduke Diems claim of overlordship of Ilien.
The people and court of Ilien does not wish to surrender to Archduke Diem, his vassals or his allies.
If Archduke Diem wish to continue his unlawfull murder of the citizens and soldiers of Ilien he will be stopped and judgement for his continued crimes will be passed by the gods.
Thus said her Excellency, Geraldine el-Mesir, Countess of Ilien"
The small band turned around and walked back towards the citadel.
-
The news of the refusal of terms is greeted with little surprise and some expectation. There is a hum of busy preperation once it has been relayed through all present, an acknowledgment of the task ahead and of the ridiculousness of the claims. A trial that IHH had denied happened? A breaking of the oath of fealty without a discussion with the Liege, without a raising of petition in his court? This is no way for a noble to continue, if she can claim to be a noble at all. Such are the whispers around the camps inside the Diemed held ward and the camps that surround the city.
Terms were offered and refused. Such are the rules of war. Terms must be offered once breach has been achieved, once a foothold has been gained. If they are refused, when the end is coming, then there is no restraint any more. There is no mercy. Outside of the ranks of Ilien there are some who look forward to it; there are always those warriors, those soldiers, who delight in the moment of the rage, of the letting of blood on a scale unseen outside of the greatest of battles, of the most terrible of sieges. There are others who dread it too, it is true, but it is too late now for any other path and even those who squeal and squeam at the excesses of war swallow their worries now, as the time comes. As sad as one may be about them choices have been made.
As promised, at noon, one hour after the reply was delivered, the barrage begins again, stones raining down on the next ward and the weakened areas of the defences of the city. Soldiers start to gather, to form up again. The siege continues.
-
It is just after sundown inside the Ward. Private Mogr is quietly thanking Haelyn for his assignment to guard duty; he's never been very fond of the army life, least of all when ordered on active duty. Guarding something just feels... safer. Even inside a beehive such as Ilien. He continues his patrol. It's been a quiet evening, all things considered. Quiet before the storm. As if waiting for such a thought, something large suddenly drops to the ground in front of him. A human body, lifeless and battered. Mogr mutters a startled curse and reaches for his blade as he hears the soft sound of someone moving behind him. "At ease, my friend", a coarse, evil voice whispers, just as a hand grasps his arm, preventing him from drawing his blade further; "I am not the enemy". Mogr can see him now, a hooded apparition towering above him. But Mogr was never a coward, and he yells out as he continues to try to wrestle his blade free. "ALARM!". His adversary sighs and Mogr feels the jolt of pain as a fist connects with his jawline. Then the world is blissfully dark...
Stepping over Mogr to pick up the other lifeless body, the figure seems not to be alarmed by the mass of soldiers suddenly surrounding him. "Friends, do not fear for your lives" he says, his coarse voice loud and dangerous. "I do not wish to harm you. I am Trader Maerel. If you would be so kind to help me carry my cargo, I request an audience with Baron Enlien and his associates." When nobody moves, he sighs once again and lifts his cloak, showing two large gruesome daggers hanging from his belt. "See, gentlemen. I am nearly unarmed, and do not wish any more fighting today. The Baron is that way, I'll just get there myself if you don't mind. Keep me at a pikes lenght, if I seem like such a threat to you". He starts walking, clearly knowing the way. "Oh, and please do remember to pick up my cargo. He's a sympathizer of el-Mesir. I found him trying to pass on information to the enemy, I'm sure you can blame him for several of your buddies deaths". Angry mutters are heard, both directed at the cloaked figure and the lifeless body lying on the ground. "Not that it matters, one captured just means there are ten more sneaking around".
As Mogr comes to himself again, he hazily sees the towering figure walking down the street, several soldiers trailing him with spears out. The coarse voice can be heard, going softer as they move away. "Now remember to inform the Baron of my visit, I've heard he's not much for surprises these days".
-
Diem sits, patiently waiting his surgeon to finish stitching the gash on the side of his head. His chef enters with a dish but he waives it off. "My appetite does not go with me today Fraedric, please, find a hungry Ilienese, resident of this ward, the dirtier, the poorer, the hungrier the better and give it to them." Fraedric shrugs and leaves. Carvaloen then speaks to Kaven, being careful not to move his head while the surgeon works. "Baron Enlien, my memory is very foggy, I remember naught but being lifted from my feet. can you fill in any gaps for me?"
-
...an more importantly; will there be more assaults this turn???
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As saps and mines, and no doubt countermines, continue to be dug the pounding of heavy chisselled stone upon stone fortifications repeats and repeats, a constant series of dull thuds through day and night. Behind the lines of siege works and within the taken ward troops are assembled again, straps of the harness of war tightened, weapons checked for the ease of access and the fluidity of movement from sheaths and scabbards. Two strikes again, with the fresh troops who had stayed in the lines or the reserve before, or had just added to the momentum of the press for the last assault and had hardly seen any action - all know without the defenders lines that Ilien is sore pressed now and that starvation, attrition and morale must now be taking a heavy toll upon those within the supposed safety of those walls.
When all are ready, when the positions and plans are in place then one banner dips, almost a dive and a rise again. It does this strange movement three times and the other standards, held forth from their lines, do likewise in response. It is now that the horns and trumpets and drums sound, all clamour and rage and the feet start to move forwards. The assault, the unending assault, begins again.
-
The assault is repulsed, with heavy losses among the Dieman regular infantry that lead the assault. The reason for this setback: Large numbers of Ilienese militia has joined the defense of the walls. The militia seems to have very good morale.
If a final assault is to be made this season alternate arrangements must be found - Ghiestans, mercenaries, militia, Diem's vassals, dismounted cavalry etc.
WM 12 begins
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Following the bloodied repulse of the allied troops efforts then the camps settle into routine and process. The defences of the city continue to be battered while engineers progress their more subtle attacks and forms and the siege goes on.
Around the walls the lines of siege are hardened further, the ramparts built higher, fresh stakes added, gates and earthen banks reinforced, while the ward already taken is secured further. Troops are divided between camps and guard positions, rotated through rest and drill. Supplies are brought in for the Winter and a heavy picket placed on them to restrict looting or raiding. Layouts are also prepared for the arrival of new troops, some twenty or more regiments it seems.
It does not appear that the attackers expect to abandon their task.
-
Conditions in camp are horrendous. It's cold, its wet, its dirty. Food supplies are only barely adequate. Many men suffer from sickness. There are desertions.
Inside there walls they have their own issues.
-
Turn ends
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By the end of Autumn, ETN temple in Ilien looks more like hospital than proper temple. Wounded and sick are everywhere, caring priestesses with tired faces and local volunteers among them. Yet semblance of order and efficiency is maintained. Basic sanitation works, temple guards manage to keep arms and troublesome and useless people outside and everyone able to eat gets a fair share of food.
During the assault, some of the priestesess wanted to go and help just behind the places of fight, but High Priestess (incidentally present in Ilien in this time) exppressly forbade it. "You are more useful here. They could kill you there and what would be dead priestess good for? Just do your work where are you and have faith. I know it is hard for you." her face radiated comprehension and sympathy "Many of you have relatives and friends there in danger. But believe me, it si better this way."
Of course, many of those people inside are dying. Mundane medicine can do just so and magic is short supply. They are just too many. Sometimes more than even dedicated servant of Nesirie can bear. Breakdowns are not uncommon. How much can people endure? Winter will come and more assaults probably too. That little storage of food will eventually run out as well as storage of willpower and optimism and what then? Hopefully, Goddess will grant strength to her followers, but will it suffice? Hardly.