An Era of Turmoil

Xalerion was taken aback by such a surprise. For a moment, he felt that he was unable to speak. He bowed in formailty to the Commander, as was customary, and looked to his troops. A small smile slowly overtook his face.

"I am greatful for our great allies troops. The assistance is much needed, and yet I have not sent any word of the matter... I suppose word of mouth is indeed fast. Our force shall be bolstered forthwith by your troops, but a warning is needed." Xalerion said. "For even with both of our forces combined, the force of our imminent invaders shall surely by three times greater. They will come with the best fighters this world has ever seen, and the best navy this world has ever seen."

For a moment, Xalerion paused in his speech. He looked to the crowd of people that now encircled them. Anumian Soldiers and Watchmen, Capuans, and civilians alike looked on in excitement.

"But, our ambition shall outdo our foe! Our reason for battle shall outweigh their own! They shall stand below the One who Stands Upon the Highest Peak! Fear not their fell power, for ours shall be greater!"

Xalerion pumped a fist into the air. To the surprise of all, he was gilded in the same kind of Dark Ore armor (although more elegant looking) as his own Overlords. He had initially been clothed in grand silken robes, but now it seemed that he was no longer just the Emperor, but indeed the Commander in Chief... he was still the same Warrior that he had been from the first colonization.

The people cheered. Hope rose in the civilians hearts that the great Anumian - New Capuan alliance would succeed, thus becoming the greatest armies in the world. Rhunland, an Empire that toppled other Empires was on their doorstep... and the door had just swung open.

Later that day, Xalerion invited all of his Military commanders along with New Capuas reinforcement's officers to the Capital City of Citel Rhun. There, high up within the Anumian Military High Commands building, they started to formulate plans for battle. Agreements were made on barricades, watch tower positions, and where ever man would be. The battle had to be planned to the most minor of details if they wished for a total victory. Bridges would be systematically destroyed upon the enemies arrival, roads blocked, and traps like burning oil and various impediments would be armed along single routs.

The battle lines were drawn, the plots finalized. All that was to be done was more organizing; the triple-checking of every last aspect of the war effort. At home, Capua prepared for war; her stockpiles were sealed, the reservoirs filled to the brim, and rationing instituted. The Militia expanded dramatically, as every man, woman, and child over fourteen years were trained in use of the spear and bow; redoubts were established, and a plan drawn to defend the city until the bitter end.

This was, however, secondary to the Rhunlanders' primary target, the fledgling Anumian Empire. Engineers from both halves of the Winter Pact worked tirelessly, day and night, to weaken the foundations of some buildings so that they could be brought down upon attackers, or to reinforce others as cover. Bridges were weakened so that they could, in controlled fashion, be dismantled, and the Rhunlanders sent into the deep rivers below. Every back alleyway was barricaded with debris and heavy logs, to prevent the enemy's passage and force them into killing fields. Long-straight boulevards were to be grounds for cavalry charges or insidious deathtraps--one involving a terrible application of the sewers.

The plan was simple. Rhunland would have to land on a true beachhead--the same one that the Capuans had landed on a year and a half earlier during first mooring. They would set up camp somewhere on the plains in the Civitas' front yard; this would be the perfect time to ambush them and murder as many as possible in a storm of arson. Special forces troops would find themselves most useful during this altercation.

This process could repeat itself until the Rhunlanders were at Anumias' walls. From there, the Winter Pact defends could inflict casualties right up until a breach was detected; before this happened, they would withdraw to defencive positions within the walls; the enemy could be gradually herded into streets where they could be repeatedly ambushed and tricked until their demise.

Days had gone by, filled with eager anticipation, preparation, and nervousness. The various traps and diversions were all finished, all who were willing to fight were armed and in some cases, armored. The Military of Anumias and New Capua awaited the arrival of what would be a grand enemy in scale and production. Xalerion himself stood at the forefront of the army, gilded in his dark armor and a flowing red cape behind him. A silver handed, dark metal longsword hung from his hip.

Around the army were planted national flags, which fluttered lazily in the lack of a breeze. They bore the hammer and sickle of the allies, and the mountain with rising sun of Anumias. A wind however, suddenly picked up, sending the flags unfurling in the wind. Xalerion looked and spotted the grand armada of Rhunland war cruisers. There were about fifteen, still far on the horizon, but growing gradually.

Xalerion gritted his teeth. He knew that they would arrive around that time. The entire army stood by the cliffs at the north side of the land, watching their enemies arrival. Xalerion himself held a high flag of his domain, and stabbed it into the grown by his feet with defiance. He glanced back at the officers who awaited his orders. With a nod of his head, the commanders turned around to their respective companies and platoons and started to shout out orders.

"All forces, move to the southern borderline battlements and take up your positions. Reserve forces, please await further orders with the lower cities! Move now!" The General belted to the entire army.

The General, whom Xalerion places in charge was none other than the famous blacksmith and swordsmaster that had ventured to this land with Xalerion soon after colonization.. Masamune. For long, he had been made the General of the military under Xalerion's reign, and proved to be more than capable.

The wave of military and minutemen swept through the cities toward the southern end of the nation on Masamune's order. 800 in total were considered military formed in the national alliances, while around 2,000 civilians decided to pick up arms and fight for their independence. Soon, the army gathered upon the long stone battlements at the border, about fifty feet high. Torches were lit for the night, the gates shut, locked, and barricaded, and burning oil traps filled and heated. Archers stood by the front of the parapets, while swordsmen and auxiliary troops closed the gaps on the wall and below. The enemy troops would land within only a couple of hours.

A team of Dwarves on horses rode through the plains, towards the Coast of First Mooring, from Port Eclipse. Behind them, the doors to the port closed, and camouflage--bushes and other such debris, was draped over it to disguise the port. The men were not uniformed; they were given simple cloaks and packs, and rode mine ponies.

They set up camp in a small forest near the enemy's anticipated point of landing, keeping down as much as possible. They would strike when the enemy made camp; they carried with them parts for not one, but three ballistae; others carried jars of Vyre, a flammable, volatile substance. The plan was simple: arson. The Arcani would ambush the enemy camp with the Vyre and get the heck out of there.

They set up camp near the coast and waited.

Within a couple of hours, the vessels bearing a flag of black, aside from a large red circle in the center, landed at the coastline. Landing craft, large enough to carry around twenty or so soldiers rowed back and forth from the giant ships that lay in the deeper waters of the ocean. Soon enough, hundreds of Rhunland Troops stood upon the lands soil, taking it all in.

The soldiers looked elite, heavily armored, and heavily armed. Standard flag bearers joined the platoons and companies together upon landing, and soon officers would take the control. Scouts were sent a ways inland to scout of the terrain. None of them had ever been to this new land, therefore it was more or less one big mystery to them.

A yell escaped from a soldiers mouth. All turned to see what he yelled for. He pointed high up into the sky with a shaking arm. The other soldiers' jaws dropped open upon seeing a peak, high above the clouds. Upon the very top was the Imperial Palace of Anumias, the flag fluttered dominantly above. Battlements and thousands of buildings could be partially seen from far down below at the beach. The soldiers could not believe that anyone could create such a magnificent looking city, even if they were of Rhunnish decent.

When the Officers landed on shore, and looked up to the same thing. At first their expressions were of disbelief, then of stalwart pride. They spit on the sandy ground and pointed to the high mountain.

"We will take that peak!" Many said adamantly.

Hours had slipped by, and all three-thousand invaders landed at the shore. A hasty camp was erected on the shore, close enough to their boats in the rare case of retreat. Soon, archer towers and walls of logs were spread out around the camp, and a night guard was set. The rest of the soldiers retreated to their tents for the night for rest until the next day. Preparations were complete for them, they would attack the next day, the ultimate goal was subjugation of the entire land.

A team of Arcani worked feverishly in the woods; their endeavours were now finished, and their plan could be set into motion. Before them was a Rhunish camp, surrounded by wooden walls, packed with rows and rows of tents, in a style remarkably similar to plans for Capuan defences. A ballistae was loaded with one of the clay jars, and it was launched--along with two others--at the walls. The Arcani reloaded quickly, and fired another salvo of the invisible, deadly packages. When they hit the walls and tents, they shattered into a supply of black, flammable jelly--

WHOOSH

--which erupted into the air and jumped across gaps, setting most of the wall and many a tent ablaze. The fire, spurred on by enchantment, grew quickly and sought expansion. A third salvo was fired, and the Arcani prepared to flee at the first hint of retaliation. Behind them were left more jars, to be detonated in the event of entry into their camp by a tripwire.

OOC: Anumian Empire [500 + Armed Citizenry], Capuan Civitas [300] (800 professionals + 2,000 irregulars) versus Rhunish Empire [3000]
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The walls of Anumias stood fifty feet tall and fifteen thick, wrought of stone and brick, held fast with mortar. Wooden supports of oak existed in some places, forming an easily defensible barrier crowned with battlements for archers and large platforms for siege engines. Two gates had been locked and barricaded tightly, and defended from above with murder holes--and waiting cauldrons of searing oil.

Before the gates of Anumias stood an open expanse of rolling hills, devoid of any sort of tree, made pleasant by flowing grasses and the river running parallel to the walls. Over the river normally ran two drawbridges, but these had been closed in anticipation of the Rhunlanders.

Atop the battlements, on a small box, stood Leon, surrounded by his First Cohort vanguard and some of the elite soldiers of the Anumians. They had slept well, eaten a hardy breakfast, and trained constantly for the last few weeks; the work on the city proper had been backbreaking, feverish, and devious. This would be the first engagement of the Civitas Army against a foreign power; the Troll raid at first colonization had been their first fight to begin with. It would also be the first invocation of the Winter Pact; indeed, it decided the fate of the alliance. Leon was a veteran of both battles, as were most of the Dwarves standing next to him at this very moment--the most experienced Capua had to offer.

Magistrate Speris had given him the simple order to prevent the fall of Anumias at all costs. As it was written, as it would be; Markus' vision of a united Winter Pact demanded it. A strong Anumias meant a strong trading partner, and any Rhunland presence on the island signed the death warrant for the Civitas, its Soft Empire, and ultimately every single Dwarf. The reality and necessity were obvious.

"Lookout!" Leon ordered. "Survey?"

The lookout, a young Dwarf of eighteen years, replied. "Approaching Rhunlanders on the horizon, General."

Leon's face embraced the solemnity of a statue. "Signal, sound the alarm. The battle commences."

A red flag of warning was hoisted, as the trumpets blared; the Anumians in the garrison next to him shifted slightly, but wavered not. They had their allies and their will, and felt secure under their leader Xalerion and beside their Capuan allies. Engineers readied their siege engines; archers prepared their bows. Swords and mauls were unsheathed and shields readied in preparation for the coming slaughter; ordinary citizens, the average men and women of Anumias, gathered their equipment and took their places in the defencive matrix.

The Battle of the Borderlands had begun.

Xalerion stood by Leon. His sword hilt, pearl and studded with a large red diamond at the pommel, rested in his hand. His Dark Ore armor was on and he was ready to fight for his Empire. He could see the glimmering metal of the enemy approaching from afar, slightly distorted from heat rising from the ground. He could see the dreaded black and red flag of the Rhunlanders.

"I might be classified under the Rhunnish race, but forever shall I be known Anumian!" Xalerion said more or less to himself.

As they grew closer, and the figures of the individual soldiers could be spotted from the top of the battlement, Xalerion started to give orders to his Anumian army.

"Front line, raise shields! Spears out! Second defense, archers. Ready arrows!" Xalerion bellowed. All soldiers heard him on the walls.

He spoke those words in Anumian, knowing that Leon would say the same in Capuan. His front lines of hardened Anumian soldiers lifted their shields before them, forming a wall. Bowmen in back of them moved forward so their were by the primary lines sides and protected by the shields. They all raised their bows simultaneously, arrows knocked to strained bowstrings.

Xalerion waited for a couple of minutes. All arrows were aimed toward the enemy ranks whom advanced closer. He could clearly spot them looking up to his men, clearly anticipating the rain of arrows that would soon fall. Xalerion drew his blade and aimed it down to the encroaching enemy, who now lied about one hundred feet from the river.

"IRUKOS! (Fire!)" Xalerion shouted in Anumian.

The twangs of bowstrings could be heard in unison all down the battlements. A rain of arrows started to fall into the enemy. Many put their shields up, some didn't and fell to the ground dead or wounded.

A roar was heard down the battlements soon after. The trebuchets had let loose their payloads which consisted of large debris and rocks. The soldiers could hear screams and shouts from the enemy as they scattered from where the rocks would hit, leaving large craters in the earth afterward.

Through the ranks of Rhunnish soldiers came heavily armored auxiliary troops bearing long ladders, high enough to reach the top of the battlements even while being leaned over the river. The marching Rhunlanders gave off a terrifying battle cry as they finally started to charge toward the ladders and firing arrows back at the defenders. The battle had finally begun.

"Marksdwarves! Volley fire," the Centurion to Leon's left thundered. "Ready!"

The Dwarves loaded their crossbows, drawing them solemly. They aimed their crossbows between the battlements, placing them on their shoulders and aiming down the sights.

"Fire!"

Several Rhunlanders fell instantly as steel bolts flew from the walls into the vast formations below. Several had been aimed in the general direction of standard-bearers and leaders by the officers in charge of individual groups of Marksdwarves. All in all, the battle had a good start; the casualties were enormous on the Rhunish side.

As the arrows flew and the rocks landed with crashes into the earth, the enemy moved on without remorse. Their blades shined in the light as they advanced forward. Twenty ladders were now on the walls, clamped tight probably by use of some kind of magic. Hundreds of soldiers now moved to the walls and climbed to the top. The archers of the alliance had fallen back. Xalerion ordered all archers on the other side of the battlement and to fire onto the enemy.

Once the retreat of the second line of defense went through, the third and first lines began their defense. Swords were drawn and shields put forward. The enemy had climbed atop the battlements and thus a vicious melee began. The Rhunnish soldiers proved to be more brutal than the Anumians originally thought. Many climbed up with assaulting weapons: mauls, truncheons, maces, and even warhammers. The sounds of metal bending, smashing and cracking could be heard everywhere on the walls. Xalerion himself was bounced back from a mace hit to the chest, although no visible damage to the dark ore could be seen in his armor.

The enemy whom attacked him, a heavy auxiliary trooper looked at Xalerion with wide eyes, before the dark bladed sword of his own enemy was plunged deep into his gut. Five Overlords fought alongside Xalerion, although by order spread out along the wall to supplement weaker troops.

The wall was now a mass of struggling soldiers, trying to hold their own against each other. But, as unfortunate as it was to admit, the Rhunnish soldiers, larger, better trained, and better armed than the rest, started to push them back. Casualties were growing already. Bodies lay strewn across the battlements and on the Borderlands. pock-marks littered the other side of the walls from Trebuchets. Scorch marks went down the side of walls and on the side of the rivers from burning oil. It was truly hell.

A couple of hours after the battle had started, enemy catapults were wheeled into the field and prepped. The Anumian soldiers hollered to their officers, but it was to late. A salvo of boulders were launched through the air and into the border walls. Most of the rocks only made indentations against the thick and well made wall... however one well-aimed rock slammed into the gates and parapets above. The top piece of the wall above the gate blew into bits, killing all who stood upon it, as well as a trebuchet. The gates blew open into chunks and the drawbridge was destroyed.

The same happened to the second gate soon after. Xalerion watched in horror as the enemy places makeshift bridges across and started to charge into his lands. Xalerion gritted his teeth and mounted his stallion below the battlements. In a loud booming voice, he gave a last order of the battle:


"TAIJOROS (Retreat!)"

The response to the ladders was automatic. Those that could be detached magically and sent back into the mob were removed with a vengeance; the rest of them were a host to vicious ambushes, as anyone with a bludgeon moved to defend.

"Pro gloria quod Civitas!" the legions shouted, as they moved in with mauls and shields.

Leon and his soldiers fought bravely on the walls, but even the ferocity of Dwarves could not prevent the inevitable. Many Rhunlanders were killed, often sent down the ladder to injure and kill some more invaders below. The maces of the First Cohort saw the most blood, as they stood their ground and defended the Legatum and the walls. At the moment that the gates fell, Leon sounded the retreat; a select few men, pre-chosen by lots, stayed as a rear guard as the majority of the miles gregarius descended staircases to the City below.

"Retreat, comrades!" Leon shouted, as his cornicens trumpeted the order loudly. "We'll crush these bastards in the streets! Onward, legionaries!"

Leon was among the last to leave, but as he did, his eyes caught one of his Signifers sounding the battle-call for civilians to join the fray. It was miserable, maddening that such measures would have to be taken, but no other move would save the Ally. Already, mobs were forming and traps being prepared.

At least fifty had been lost in the melee above, but to hundreds of invader casualties, including officers. The walls had served their purpose.

The legionaries retreated to a fallback position, behind a waiting line of Hastati and Enclave soldiers, supported by fusiliers; as they streamed through, the wall of pikes closed behind them and prepared to hold back the enemy.

The main streets of the city, which were the only routes forward for the Rhunland invaders, were roughly forty feet wide; the occasional spot of debris forced apart their formations and prevented in some places the effective use of defencive tactics. This is where the lion-hearted bravery of the Partisans came in; they opened fire en masse with arrows and debris from the pillboxes and makeshift cover that they had converted the main street--sometimes their very homes--into.

As rotting vegetables, cobbled stone and arrows flew from the parapets, four Partisans emerged from the top of the building on the right side. As the lines collided, with Dwarven spear against Invader sword, the Partisans manoeuvred their payload to the edge of the building. Boiling oil poured upon the Rhunlanders.

"Welcome to Revolutionary Avenue, pigs!" one of them shouted, to a great "HOORAH!" from the crowd. The Winter Pact formation stood solid against the invaders, as the entrance to Revolutionary Avenue became a killing field.

The fire forced the line to retreat about fifty feet, gradually, as the reserves tried to extinguish the blaze. It was soon thought, however, that it would serve a better purpose were it to fall on the heads of the enemy; the effort was abandoned along with the building as the fight in the streets continued.

Gradually, however, the defenders were driven back to the bridges. A group of Partisans snuck under the bridge and prepared to destroy it, as the flight began across the river at all points by prepared soldiers and citizen defenders.

The first of three bridges fell right on cue, throwing a number of invading grunts into the deep river below. As the swift current pulled them away--at least, those not crushed by falling masonry--their screams went unanswered. The first cohort of Capuan soldiers withdrew to rest their weary bodies, and were replaced by fresh troops, this time mostly Partisans and fusiliers, who fired with impunity. Ballistae had been prepared, and skewered the enemy in droves. The Rhunlanders would be held at the first river until they could get a bridge over; in the meantime, they would be targets for merciless fire.

No doubt, by now, the enemy's morale was fading. Leon, still tireless, looked across at the enemy swordsmen. Poor, defenceless buggers they were, despite all their delusions and aims. Already, banners were wavering; the enemy would break if the torture went on for much longer.

In contrast, the Winter Pact troops were less desperate. They were the planners; despite being the oppressed, Anumias and her allies were in control. Xalerion, the leader he was, continued to inspire Partisan, Anumian soldier, and Dwarven ally alike. This was their city, their defencive matrix. It was also their losses, but their families and children had been evacuated beforehand; they fought to defend all that they held dear. It nearly brought a tear to the Dwarven general's eye.

In the meantime, a frontier had been set up--a temporary wall had been established and was used as a firing position. A trebuchet gave support from further back. As the enemy was pushed away, they were left with no choice but to bridge the river--under fire--or retreat. Only time would tell.

Behind them, also, cells of Partisans began to organize--formerly hidden in basements, they began to set fires and perform raids upon the enemy. They could appear and disappear without warning; Anumias' citizenry controlled their streets even after they had been marched through.

The war had been going on for three days straight. Most soldiers hadn't slept, eaten, or had any rest since the war began. During those rare times of cease fire, the men and dwarves all sat around fires and rested their legs. They were up all day, rarely stopping to sit or stand still. Always moving, preparing for a strike. The guerrilla warfare was something that none of the soldiers were used to.

Screams during the middle of the night told of yet another persons death, whether it be enemies or not, no one knew until the morning came and homes were searched. The dead were buried hastily, as the corpses could spread disease. Xalerion was no longer as gung-ho as he was at first. The war seemed to age the soldiers, battle was a frightful thing. And yet, not one soldier would lay down their arms, for it they did, it would dishonor their country, their Emperor, and would sully their cause for fighting! That fourth day, their spirits rose high.

As the ranks and lines of soldiers were formed, the casualties to both sides were apparent. Many men and dwarves lost their lives. But, the resolve to win was great, and the men cried out for battle. The ferocity of the attack, a full charge by infantry, and a flanking movement by Anumian Cavalry. Many Rhunlanders were cut down or trampled beneath horse hooves. The battle took place at the very northern end of the country. There were only hundreds now, fighting against hundreds.

As the numbers started to dwindle, not even the best of the Rhunnish Army had what it took to push the allies back. All chaos suddenly broke loose. Rhunlanders, fearing for their lives jumped off the high cliffs into the ocean many feet below, only to fall onto the jagged rocks at the coast. Other surrendered, throwing their arms to the ground and begging for their lives to be spared. Those who fought openly at the end of the battle ran through the cities southward toward the breached outer defenses. Those who did run, were allowed to, as Xalerion made a clear order at that point.

"Let them run, for they should. As all of us here, they have someone close they must return to." He said.

Those who had the will and resolve to continue fighting, which was only a couple hundred, did so... and fell. The battle ended with a mix of sorrow and joy. Anumians danced upon the battlefield, tears streaming from their eyes, crying out to the heavens, 'the war is over'. Xalerion sheathed his longsword and looked upon the crowd of soldiers and minutemen. All rejoiced, for it was the end to terror, and the beginning of a new era in time.

"And thus starts an era of peace, well earned. Those who fought, did not die in vain, for their sacrifice shall be remembered forevermore."

The Capuans joined in the celebration, many taking the rest they had been denied for days. Tears were shed as the warriors, their obligation to the Writ suspended in Victory, mourned their fallen comrades. Victory. Victory for not only the State, not only for the Ally, but for the moral Right. A representative from the Rhunish Empire--not without anger and bile--called an end to the war not a week later. The party itself, commemorating the event, was legendary--including the groundbreaking introduction of absinthe to the island by Dwarven brewers, which resulted--luckily--in no deaths, but in several embarrassing nicknames and reputations being established as liquor heavyweights.

The Rhunlanders had left as an army, but their fallen comrades littered the streets of the once immaculate Revolutionary Avenue, and any other place that the battle had touched--alongside Anumians, soldier and Partisan alike, and their Dwarven allies. Endless funeral pyres ran day and night to prevent the spread of typhus and other pestilence; the wounded hung on for their lives in medical camps. Many of them would be saved over the coming weeks, returning to a normal life.
Amidst the celebrations and dancing, it was plainly obvious that there was much to do for Anumias to regain its glory. Cleaning up and rebuilding would take weeks.

A note found its way to the desk of Xalerion, addressed from the Civitas Conclave.

"It is obvious that the devastation wrought by the Revolutionary War has set Anumias back several months in production, and may jeopardize her survival this winter, if we are not careful. Currently, Civitas military personnel are scheduled to leave after the removal of bodies, and our wounded are complete. However, we believe it could be arranged that we could do more for your nation.

We shall provide labour and materials for reconstruction, as well as food to sustain both our workforce and roughly a quarter of Anumian food requirements, for the next year. In the event of winter faltering of necessary supplies, they would be provided free of charge. Your city will be rebuilt and its glory restored, and your resilience for this next winter assured.

In return for services rendered, we ask for a supply of Dark Ore to be used on Civic projects, including gates and mechanisms to improve public life in Capua. A permanent mine shaft would also be established, with royalties appropriate paid to the Anumian government."