Kho
Landed Knight
Posts: 140
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Post by Kho on Sept 19, 2017 1:41:45 GMT
Victory Denied
1135 of the Esharan-Aulus I Calendar / 942 YP
***
Year: 1135 / 942
Brenhilda watched with silent fury as the Jotun ships disappeared down the Velnir. Rain drenched her hair, washing the blood of giants off her cuirass and from her blade.
'Victory is ours, Legatus.' One of her men declared. Putting her anger aside, she smiled and nodded.
'You fought well - I saw you skewer that brute with masterful precision.' The Cuirassier chuckled at her words.
'Yes, right through the eye. Bloody shit mys- uh, apologies. Slip of the tongue, Legatus.' Brenhilda smiled.
'There is no shame in admitting fear - we all feel fear in these moments. But that, despite your fear - or rather, because of your fear -, you were able to rise up and achieve that feat of courage and discipline does you much credit. You have honoured yourself, you have honoured your family, and above all, you defended the homeland and its ideals. You did well, soldier.' The man - for it was a man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties - smiled and nodded respectfully to the elf and said no more.
Turning away, Brenhilda nodded to and commended various soldiers, and then made for the location of her clash with the Jotun marines. It had been a crushing victory - Jotun raiders who had terrorised the people of these lands in ages past had met their doom on Esharan blades. But many good men, goblins, elves, and dwarves had also met with death today. And, bitterest of all, their victory was incomplete. The cursed raiders had made off, their ships intact and the majority of their force in one piece. Her orders had not been carried out as they were meant to, and heads would roll.
'Make a record of all our dead. Notify their families and give them an honourable burial. And do not forget to honour the enemy's slain - bury them and do not desecrate their bodies. They are corpses now, and corpses have no creed, they follow no religion, they are enemies to none and shall nevermore harm or raid.' She then moved towards the port district, which had seen relatively little fighting, and from there into the devastated market district.
'How much did they loot?' She asked.
'We have not yet ascertained the damage or how much was stolen properly, but they stole - in value, at least - upwards of thirty-thousand Jien.' The Legatus turned away in shock and had to steady herself against a yet smouldering wall. Once she had composed herself, she turned back to the merchant in question and thanked him.
'Have no doubt that His Sacred Majesty will be notified of the amount looted and, with the beneficence and blessing of the Gods, you will all be compensated for what was stolen.' The merchant nodded gratefully and turned away. And as he turned away, Brenhilda's fury returned with gusto. 'Tell Colonel Azwad that I want to see him. Now.'
Returning to the army district - which had seen no fighting - she set about writing a battle report for the Recimera. It was a victory, but it had come at an immense cost in lives and property - near enough all of it the people's property.
She had not gotten too far into the writing when there came a knock at the door. 'Colonel Azwad, Legatus. You asked after me.' Putting her pen aside, she permitted him entrance into her makeshift office - it had all been a very ad hoc affair, she had not gotten round to being assigned a proper office for a commander of her station; not that it mattered when the enemy was quite literally at the gates.
'Colonel Aszwad, please be seated.' She said frigidly. The dwarf took a deep breath and shook his head.
'I can see I'm in for it, Legatus. I'd prefer to stand.'
'What were your orders, Colonel?' She asked coldly.
'Burn the ships.' The dwarf said.
'Did the ships burn, Colonel?'
'No, Legatus.' Azwad responded stiffly.
'Do you understand why your assigned duty was so important, Colonel?' Brenhilda asked, eyes boring into the standing dwarf.
'It was their one route of escape. Cut-off their escape and victory is ours - we had the numbers, we just needed the time.'
'Do you know how much they made off with?' The dwarf shook his head slowly. 'According to our estimates, upwards of thirty-thousand Jien.' The dwarf's eyes widened and he looked towards the seat.
'M-may I?' he asked with a shaking voice. Brenhilda nodded, and the colonel took a seat. 'By the Gods - that... that is beyond criminal. I have never heard of the Jotun carrying off that much...' Brenhilda was silent, her lips pursed as she looked at the dwarf. He looked down, somewhat ashamed. 'I... I apologise, Legatus. I was unable to carry out my assignment due to the fog. Their ships never entered port, meaning that it was nigh impossible for my men to reach their ships without being detected. We failed, and our failure has cost the nation dearly.' Brenhilda leaned back and thought for a few seconds.
'Your failure was grotesque, and I would have you court-martialled were it not so that the failure of your commanding officer was ever more so. You are hereby stripped of your command until your case is reviewed by a panel.' The dwarf nodded, taking his punishment without complaint.
'Will that be all, Legatus?' He asked.
'That will be all, soldier.' Saluting perfectly, he turned and departed from the office. She watched the door for a few moments before reaching for her pen and continuing her report. She acknowledged her blunder and accepted accountability for the loss of the people's property, as well as the burning of a sizeable portion of the market district. She should have realised that Jotun raiders would be after the warehouses, the market - in short, the money. She had been so focused on getting them before they got anything that she did not think to use their greed against them - trap them at the place they were bound to head towards. She had been an utter fool, and so though she had bested the Jotun on the field today, victory had been denied her. The only victors were the raiders who even now sailed off with Esharan money, having robbed Eshara of countless lives during their vicious and cowardly attack.
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Kho
Landed Knight
Posts: 140
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Post by Kho on Sept 20, 2017 0:50:42 GMT
Happy the People
1135 of the Esharan-Aulus I Calendar / 942 YP
***
Year: 1135 / 942
Night was quick approaching as the Esharan 1st Army continued its steady march. The heavens were clouded over, the setting sun could not be spied and the risen moon was out of sight; the stars which fought and crowded one another out - not a single one of them sent its twinkling light down. Winter gripped the north, the skies were grey and the earth was white and the wind whipped any who dared raise his head. To his left, Aulus could make out a frozen river in the quickly descending darkness.
'Have the men light their fires.' Aulus commanded, and a horseman saluted before spurring his steed forward to give the order to the drummers. The Recimir had, as the sun was setting, surveyed the battlefield from a high vantage point. It was not a conventional battlefield by any standard, and even from where he had sat to observe he could not see it all. Quickly drafted maps were brought to him, descriptions by some of the locals they had passed - it was insufficient. The short and thin of it was he was going into this blind, and the Orcs had likely had days, if not over a week, to prepare for his coming. And there was no doubt that they outnumbered his force by a stupendous amount - after all, he had come here to defend Gusko's Rest, not to engage an Orcish horde in open combat. And yet, here they were. And now they continued their march - they would be camping nearby for the night and waiting for the coming dawn before beginning operations. While night-time strikes were an interesting battlefield tactic, he did not think it wise given his lack of information. In the dark it was only too easy for orders to get confused, formations to break, soldiers to mistake friends for foes. They would camp, they would rest, and they would fight on the morrow.
Beside him, on his own horse, was the ever-trusty, every-loyal Corin. In the dwindling light, Aulus looked over at his comrade and found him smiling. 'What's this? Happy to flirt with death yet again?' The Recimir laughed. Corin chuckled.
'I don't flirt with death at all! - the ugly bugger won't stop flirting with me!' The two men laughed quietly. After a good half minute or so, silence descended between them once more. Corin saw immediately that Aulus was somewhat anxious, much as he tried to hide it. 'Worried, eh?' Aulus gave him a sidelong glance.
'Somewhat. This is not going to be easy.' The Recimir spoke low, but Corin heard.
'It will not be, but no great thing was ever easy. Tomorrow we make history - victory or defeat, our names will live on and all of Ergoria will have our names on its lips.' Aulus was silent. 'And I bet Haldwin will write a book on us - "The Annals of Aulus and Corin" he'll surely name it.' Corin added jokingly. Aulus sighed.
'Happy the people whose annals are vacant in the history books.' Aulus murmured. Corin raised an eyebrow.
'Pssht. That's tosh. Such a people are not a people at all.' Aulus smiled wryly at his friend's words.
'What's this? Corin the Wise speaks out at last? Where is your record keeper, he should be ever beside you to put down the pearls you speak!' The Legatus guffawed, receiving a few looks from riders further back.
'Let none say, after I am dead, that Corin only ever harvested souls - see, I planted wisdoms too!' Aulus shook his head and chuckled.
'I am certain the Gods will reward you immensely in due time.'
'Hey, I'm counting on it.' And Aulus thought the man said it with a hint of seriousness.
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Post by talis on Sept 26, 2017 2:35:28 GMT
A Great Mind Emerges
For centuries the realm of medicine had been one of guesswork and quackery. Kindhearted but often inexperienced doctors labored under the specter of doubt, each operating as best he could through trial, error and his own intuition. Quackery was especially dangerous, as the lack of formal knowledge made it easy for charlatans to ply their trade, and desperate patients would often pay a great deal for the slightest glimmer of hope. Recent strides such as the development of epidemiology had only begun to turn back the tide of ignorance.
But now a new light arose in the field of medicine. A young elf by the name of Castien Yelren was making waves across the north with his pioneering approach to medicine. After studying medicine for decades as a village doctor he obtained growing fame through his common use of the controversial procedure of inoculation and his insistence on clean, open environments for his patients. His experience as a battlefield surgeon during the Great War and the various battles for Esharan Unification would earn him national recognition as an authority on medicine. Yet it was disease that would forever dominate his attention, and would be the site of his latest and undoubtedly greatest breakthrough: vaccination.
Using samples from the mild cowpox disease, Doctor Castien Yelren had developed an injectable serum which, when given to healthy patients, made them completely immune to smallpox! The scourge of villages and killer of kingdoms could now be forever defeated with a mere needle-prick. Shockwaves were already spreading across the north, and the doctor found himself inundated with invitations to courts across the north and even into the south. But Castien Yelren was a patriot and a humanitarian; his goal was to relieve human suffering, not to pad the courts of nobles. He would continue to serve as a doctor in his native Eshara, travelling only on speaking tours to spread his techniques. Meanwhile, he began to speak of his greatest ambition: to found a national school of medicine where doctors could be trained in tested techniques. The specter of ignorance would no longer overshadow the art of healing.
The Holy Union of Eshara gains the Great Mind Doctor Castien Yelren- The Doctor acts as a free Agent for Eshara. When attached to an army he greatly reduces attrition and battlefield losses. When in a Province he greatly reduces death and unhappiness from natural disasters, starvation or other hardships. - As a Great Mind, Doctor Castien Yelren has expectations of his host nation. If another nation becomes more worthy of his services, he may leave to provide them with his services instead. Castien Yelren approves of humanitarian missions, truces or retreats to prevent loss of life from sieges or to recover injured on a battlefield, and infrastructure projects that improve the health and livelihood of citizens. He disapproves of sacking cities, negative Public Order and neglecting the citizenry. - As long as Castien Yelren remains with the Union you will have the option of building a National Academy of Medicine for 40 Gold and 20 Supply (2 turns). This Academy is an upgrade to a city's Administration district, and provides the following benefits: +2 Public Order. +5 Splendor. May recruit Doctor Agents (reduces attrition and battlefield losses for 10 units when attached to an army. Reduces death and unhappiness from hardship or disasters when in a province). |
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Kho
Landed Knight
Posts: 140
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Post by Kho on Sept 28, 2017 12:58:44 GMT
Thrum of the Mountain
1135 of the Esharan-Aulus I Calendar / 942 YP
***
Year: 1135 / 942
It had been a long time since the dwarves of the Thrum and the goblins of the Gurd [who, having become near enough one people over the decades, were now known as the Thrumgurd] had heard the Thrum of the Mountain. Sure enough, their people sang until their souls flooded with ecstasy or grief and kept ever alive the memory of the Thrum - but the Thrum itself, the true, eternal, mighty Thrum, they had not heard in a long, long time.
When the Orcs first heard the Thrum of the Mountain, it was under circumstances altogether different from when the Gurd had first heard. All had been peace then, and all had been joy. But when the Orcs first heard the Thrum of the Mountain, all had been death and destruction, fear, chaos, and unadulterated divine fury. The soldiers of Eshara stood straight but no less awestruck as the mountain's song rose up high and, like a terrible Leviathan of fire and earth, fell upon the helpless enemy force.
Aulus, sitting straight on the back of his mare, watched with eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a grim, straight line. Blood was seeping from his thigh furiously and he knew he would have to see it attended to swiftly, but this moment he had to see. It was important to witness glorious victories with one's men, but it was also important that one did a powerful and honourable foe the honour and dignity of watching. To pay your felled enemy a small tribute, even if a silent one between yourself and the Gods, was important.
And it was not only enemies who fell. Brave sons of Eshara had been seized by the mountain's mighty Thrum, had willingly given themselves over for the sake of honour and victory, to protect the orderly retreat of their comrades. They would not forget the legendary final stand of the 1st Royal Union Foreign Legion, and they would eulogise for long the bravery of the 1st Royal Union Rifles who fought off enemy troops and set off the mines though it meant their own destruction. They perished that their comrades may survive - they perished, but in the halls of the mighty, the brave, and the great, they were still alive.
As the mountain settled and its Thrum was once more silent, they heard the distant moan of Orcish horns sounding the retreat. A goblin - one Ashkin Guska - looked up at Aulus, awe and fear in the little soldier's eyes. Aulus looked down at the soldier. Of all the things Ashkin expected to see in the mighty Recimir's eyes, a deep, incomprehensible sadness was not one of them. Behind Ashkin, a red-haired dwarf was also looking up at Aulus, his eyes somewhat glossed over.
'The Thrum...' he murmured. Aulus heard the dwarf in the silence and looked at him. 'The Thrum!' The dwarf declared more loudly. Others of the Thrumgurd heard his cry and took it up also; 'The Thrum!' they cried together. The other soldiers looked around them as the dwarves and goblins cried out in unity - and they joined, not out of any understanding, but to be part of the spirit of the victorious moment. Not all knew exactly what this 'Thrum' was, but the cry itself was clearly one of victory.
Aulus circled his horse around and watched as his men - haggard and worn well by the road and battle - cried out in joy at their victory. The Recimir smiled - and the smile seemed to suddenly open the door of tears, as though his furrowed eyebrows and hard-set mouth had acted to block all emotion, and now that he displayed pleasure he let also his sorrow through. Before any of his men could see, however, he turned his mare away quickly and caused her to rear up on her hind legs. The display seemed only to excite the men more, and their chant became louder. And for a few short minutes, it seemed as though the mountain was once more falling.
It had been one of those battles which added to a man's many titles. Others may come to know Aulus as the Mountainnbreaker, or the Mountainfeller, but to his soldiers he was none of those. He was forever Aulus of the Thrum.
'Men of Eshara, raise the Phoenix Banner high!' he declared, 'We have had victory at Suvaneh - but remember always the men who fell. Remember our comrades who died that we may live victorious and free. Remember the men of the 1st Royal Union Foreign Legion, remember the 1st Royal Union Rifles.' And he said no more.
That night, as Aulus' leg was amputated from the hip, biting down on a rag and trying to forget the pain, he heard another chant. It was not truly a song, more of a chant. As his leg was sawed off, he listened to it and repeated it in the silent halls of his mind.
Here we are, O Flag of Ergoria, one and all give up the soul Here we are: make of our skulls a ladder that you may stand tall
Here we are; should your banner thirst we sate it with our blood
Here we are until the sky is born our cries by mud
Here we are! Here we are! Here we are! |
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Kho
Landed Knight
Posts: 140
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Post by Kho on Oct 1, 2017 17:34:20 GMT
Bury Your Dead
1135 of the Esharan-Aulus I Calendar / 942 YP
***
Year: 1135 / 942
As the collapsed mountain was slowly cleared and the crushed remains of Yrik were unearthed, the bodies of the dead only grew. The majority of them were Orcs, but here and there an Esharan elf or dwarf or goblin were unearthed, here and there a human. Further south, under the direction of Legatus Ziral Dura, the abandoned Orcish encampments were searched. Over one-hundred Orclander troops were discovered and, after a brief stand-off, it became apparent that they had no intentions of fighting. The Esharan soldiers abandoned supplies and, with the help of the hundred or so Orcs, gathered the dead. Those injured were carried by still-tired soldiers to Esharan military hospitals for rudimentary care. Once the dead and wounded had been gathered, Corin Aqard ordered the dead counted.
It took some time, but once completed, teams of volunteers were organised and handed shovels. 'Men!' Corinn declared, gesturing towards the endless corpses of Orclanders and Esharns alike, 'bury your dead!' And the men set to work with admirable perseverance. As Corinn patrolled, shouting out rebukes to a team doing a poor job here, or praise for a team working well there, helping another group struggling with a particularly big Orc elsewhere, he came across a band of Orcish prisoners watching the affair with a level of disbelief. 'You,' Corinn ordered, 'get up and get to work.' The band looked at Corinn suspiciously, before a big Orc - one of those left behind to bury the dead, it seemed - joined him and grunted something in the Orcish tongue. The prisoners reluctantly got up and joined the bands.
With so many at work, it was not long before the thousands of dead were buried. Corinn observed with curiosity the Orcish burial rites and the way the equipment and weapons of each dead Orc were put aside. Picking one rifle up for observation, he was given a hostile look by an Orc who quickly approached the Legatus and took the weapon back. Raising an eyebrow, Corinn was about to give the order that the weapons be seized when Ziral approached. 'Got a first hand look at an Orcish rifle, eh?' the man asked.
'Yeah,' Corinn responded with a grin, 'was about to call a few men to seize them. Look like fine things.' Ziral frowned and shook his head.
'You don't want to do that now. The Orcs have a strange attachment to their weapons - these will go back to the family of the dead Orc in question.' Corinn raised an eyebrow at this.
'Yeah? What for?' Ziral shrugged.
'Gods know, but it's important to them.' Corinn sighed.
'So I can't even take one as a trophy?' Ziral smiled and shook his head.
'Not even as a trophy.'
And so the weapons were loaded on to wagons and, with their injured on other wagons, the Orcs set off for home. All had pledged that they would not engage the Esharans in combat for five years and, on that understanding, all Orcish prisoners were also released. Aulus, though still recovering, made clear that he did not want the prisoners to be present when the Sacryans arrived - who knew what they would demand? With the weapons and equipment of their dead on wagons, their injured on others, their dead buried, and their firm oaths taken, the Orcs set off for home. Leaning on a rifle or smoking a pipe, the Esharans watched their Ergorian brothers - whom fate had decreed they fight - depart. |
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Post by cerdigon on Oct 22, 2017 14:23:00 GMT
Sea Wolves on the Prowl
While the end of the War of Berrandan Succession was being debated in the backrooms of Mog Bhelnom, Jotun warships were on the hunt. Often striking at night at villages along the Velnir River, the Esharan Army simply did not have the manpower to patrol the entire stretch of the river which bordered three of the Union's provinces. Over 40,000 troops combed the riverbanks but they were hunting an elusive foe: one that would strike over for the citizen soldiers arrive to find burning homes and ashes to greet them. The hardest blows came to the province of New Averio where six villages were attacked and ransacked over a fortnight, leaving hundreds of villagers dead and even more fleeing to the larger provincial settlements further inland. Fields were left fallow as peasants abandoned their homes or desperately took up arms while merchants lamented the fact that they could no longer safely bring their barges of goods safely up the river, leaving their boats to rot at docks and jetties.
Fear had begun to grip the populace on where the Jotun would strike next.
A sense of panic and mass hysteria were rampant. Often Esharan patrols would receive false reports as any ship on the river had to be a Jotun vessel.
Yet there would be no massive slaughter such as the attack on New Crimsamara. The Esharan Third Army was doing its best to hold the line against an enemy that struck without warning and methodically.
Casualties could only be expected.
EFFECTS:- -1 Public Order for 2 turns (may be further compounded by continued Jotun raids) - New Averio produces only 50% taxation and food for Turn 9. - Jotun Jarldom gains 14 Gold, 3 Food, 10 Supply, and 5 Splendor from raiding. (Splendor bonus lasts five turns) |
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Kho
Landed Knight
Posts: 140
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Post by Kho on Oct 23, 2017 3:21:04 GMT
And the Guns Grew Silent, and the Fruit of the Tree of Victory was Defeat
1136 of the Esharan-Aulus I Calendar / 943 YP
***
Year: 1135 / 942 - 1136 / 943 [Turn 6-8]
Winter came and winter went, and winter came again. Little happened on Eshara's Sefti front beyond a few skirmishes and the clearing out of Dunmore province from Sefti presence, albeit temporarily. As winter of 1136 set in once again, the guns had been silent for near enough a year. Hairuwulf found himself returned from Mog Bhelnom during autumn and set about to forming a council of Dunmorian notables who would, once the Sefti extended their control once more over these lands, be the political leadership Dunmorians could unite behind to insist on their rights and freedoms. There was little Eshara could do in the face of the Aedak nations which even now looked for an excuse to tear Eshara apart once again. It was true that, if Hairuwulf gave the command, over one-hundred thousand men would flood over the Sefti border and make their march southward, but he knew well that even a force so great could not hope to challenge the combined power of the Sefti, the Jotun, and whatever Southern overlords they could call upon. Eshara was strong, but Eshara was - essentially - alone. The Sacrye were fighting their own war and would likely not aid Eshara even if they were not, the Vinayans continued to delay and stall for no reason Hairuwulf could fathom, and the New Byrnians were limited by their ties to the Southerners. Eshara had fought half the war for Dunmore, Dunmorians would have to do the rest
As winter set in, Esharan troops - long still and waiting on orders from above - stirred again at last. They marched back north in columns that stretched from horizon to horizon. The Dunmorians, the vast majority of whom had welcomed the Esharans as liberators, watched somewhat sadly as the troops departed. Perhaps there was a sense of betrayal. Hairuwulf could not look into the eyes of the villagers who came out and watched as they marched away, and the troops could not either. Their eyes hugged the earth and defeat once more hung over the shoulders of victorious Esharan soldiers. They had earned victory on the field here as they had earned it against the Jotun in New Crimsamara, and yet they tasted the bitterness of defeat here as they had done there. Yes, there was a sense of betrayal, a sense of shame...a sense of anger.
It was an anger shared by Legatus Brenhilda Sikyas as she watched the burning ruins of yet another village, and the columns of refugees who slowly made their way to the safety of the west. Her steed whinnied and let out a cloud of cold air, and Brenhilda's piercing yellow eyes followed the lone Jotun ship that even now sailed swiftly down the river. Gritting her teeth and clenching her fist in frustration, she hardly noticed the white-clad figures - led by a rather tall, bespectacled elf - who made their way towards the fleeing villagers. There were groups of them, some with wagons bearing food and medicine. Eshar's Own, it seemed, were doing their duties as the Recimir desired. This bespectacled elf was a stranger however, he was clearly not a member of the order. Curious, Brenhilda steered her steed and followed the group he was leading. It appeared that there were a few villagers in need of urgent care, the cowardly raiders had not only stolen but also seen fit to do serious harm to unarmed villagers. The bespectacled elf worked calmly, with an air of experience and confidence, and his patients immediately grew calm at the sound of his voice. There was kindness there and the promise of peace.
'Who is he?' she asked a white-clad Sister of Eshar's Own.
'Surely you have heard of the famed Doctor Yelren - the bane of smallpox,' the Sister said with a smile, 'that's him.' Brenhilda nodded slightly and looked back as the bespectacled Doctor rushed off with another group to see to others who needed him.
'He has his work cut out for him it seems,' Brenhilda noted. The Sister nodded.
'But Her Sacred Majesty has asked him to be part of a great new project - the National Academy of Medicine. We have but one Doctor Yelren today, but this National Academy will create a Doctor Yelren for every village and neighbourhood.' So saying, the Sister spotted a child who looked lost and confused and, excusing herself, rushed over to take the little one to safety.
The Legatus turned her horse away and, after her orders were trumpeted and drummed out, made swiftly away. The Esharan 2nd Army was returning from Dunmore, along with the remainder of the Esharan 3rd. Hairuwulf had sent orders ahead commanding that Brenhilda assemble all her forces and prepare. The Jotun had raided and looted freely, massacring the innocent and robbing the people of their wealth. There could be no response to such acts of savage and barbarian aggression but just and righteous war. The dead would have blood, the robbed and expelled would be avenged, and the Jotun would be made to pay for their crimes.
Eshara amassed her strength, Brenhilda united with Hairuwulf and the troops were rested and reorganised. And the floodgates were held closed by Hairuwulf...but when spring finally broke winter's hold, they would be opened. And the silence of the guns would break, and the tree of victory would bear victorious fruit at last.
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