King Odokar readied his men for a night attack on the city. Corvinna was a major port city of the Empire, in the last 150 years it grew ever mightier. It was strategically important enough, that it had taken turns with the ancestral capital of Rumelia, as the administrative center of the Empire. Multiple emperors, not including Nepitus, had claimed this city as home and used it as their ruling base. Its position in the north made it a key partner with the foreign nations to the north and acted as the true gate to Rumeila.
The Longbeards had begun their siege a few days ago, the invading forces had surrounded the city from all sides on land, only leaving the dock as a way out for the defenders. Odokar decided he was going to join his men for the first attack. In a siege, morale was one of the most important things that an army had to maintain, outside of food, money, and manpower. The mission for tonight was to just harass the defenders and keep them on edge.
Odokar followed a thousand of his men as they snuck around the south-side city walls; in moments some of his troops, would begin pelting the walls with ballistae and onagers, complements of Aurestes. The men held their breath as they waited, the dark furs covering their armor, became a camouflage against the surrounding darkness. They watched some of the youthful auxiliary defenders on the wall slowly approach their position underneath. In minutes, they heard the first salvos smashing against the city walls and gates. The teenage guardsmen, momentarily forgot to check their position and rushed towards the northern posts.
The invaders smiled at their luck, and a few dwarven stone-shapers created steps along the sides of the city wall, for the Odokar’s men to walk up to the top. After the first 50 safely entered, the King walked up the steps and looked at the city from his elevated position. He watched Nepitus arguing with his Legate in the city square. Mindless of onlookers, surrounded by the bulk of his legion, his animated form gestured wildly in altercation. Then he saw a strange sight, the Legate struck the back of Caesar’s head knocking him unconscious, a few legionaries carried the passed-out Nepitus to the dock and on an awaiting ship. Odokar mischievously grinned while most of his 1000 warriors had finished walking onto the city walls; he signaled his men to inform the rest of the army that the plan had changed, they would take the city tonight.
The king split his forces in two, the majority would attack directly into the city and the rest would focus on opening the south and west gates, to allow the rest of the army easy access to the city. It was almost too easy for the veteran general, so he decided to lead the foray into the city. They followed along the roads moving toward the dockside; there they would begin their attack. The invaders moved like ghosts and glided through the streets, unaware of a pair of eyes that hatefully watched them pass by.
Artimus Ulparius came from a mining family. Artimus as a youth, was considered one of the luckiest and brightest members of his village. As an adolescent, he developed a composite pine-tar and naphtha mix; it improved his village's traditional thermal shock techniques for mining. His creation made him a star in the village; and it caught the attention of the local patrician magnates, House Ulparius. The family's patriarch was so taken with Artimus that he adopted him into his familia; he was given tutors suitable to nurture his genius and he bloomed into an engineering genius.
Artimus’s life was great until he returned one fateful day to his village, to see it consumed in a raging fire. He hid and watched as a Hussack raiding party comprised of tribal Longbeards; brutalized the people of his village. His family had mercifully died in the initial attack by the raiders, but the other villagers were not as lucky; their screams, haunted Artimus to this day. Artimus safely escaped and nursed a deep hatred for the barbarians. His presence in the city was thereby a star-crossed or heaven-sent event, depending on perspective; he was here to sell a few gallons of his new prototype incendiary mining mixture.
When he saw the groups of Longbeards moving through the city he didn’t panic. He saw an opportunity; he grabbed small jars of his special mixture and a handful of rags, then headed for the nearest auxiliary guard. He was looking forward to getting a little revenge, to soothe his wounded heart.
The Rumelian Legate was giving his men an inspirational speech: “Men of Remilia! We must hold this city against the barbarian hordes at our gates. Our Caesar has pledged to send for reinforcements and bolster our position. We are few and the enemy is many, so our goal is simple; we stand firm and keep them out. If we hold for but a week, we will completely stop the barbarian advance. We are fortunate that the Spirits have blessed us with a target-rich environment; we now have plenty of enemy heads to offer upon their altars, we need only to cut the necks that they are attached to. We are the iron of the Empire, and we will not bend to the barbarian, nor bow to the horde slathering at our door. They came to steal gold, so let us reward their efforts by giving them iron!”
Odokar liked the legate’s speech; he ordered his men to cheer with the other legionaries. When the Rumelian troops realized that there were more cheers than people: Odokar’s forces charged into the defenders and began hacking, screaming, and tearing apart the unprepared legionaries. The legate quickly ordered his men into formation, and the experienced soldiers rapidly reformed ranks and started to fight back against the enemy warriors. The clash of steel was deafening for the participants and dozens were cut to pieces in the short but fierce melee.
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In moments a no-man’s land was created between the barbarians and legionaries; both leaders recalled men and reformed ranks and prepared to clash once more. They had been fighting for an hour, the sounds of heavy conflict erupting at the gates of the city. The defenders were soon hard-pressed to stop the waves of enemies from entering the city. The tribals had successfully opened gates in the south and west, and the defending resistance was too weak.
The legate resigned himself to fate; he ordered his men to fight to the last and cried out; “The more we kill here, the less we must kill tomorrow.” The King would not be outdone, “Men, the city has almost completely fallen into our hands! The faster we win; the less wine, women, and song that we must share with the others!” A combination of laughter and roars erupted from the barbarian warriors, and they charged once again into the fray.
The legates were full of stoic power as they took advantage of the enemy's charge; they threw their short spears into the wall of warriors. Men fell and died, and more men filled the empty places and spaces; the line of scrimmage threatened to devolve into a cacophony of grinding meat and screams. The legionaries held their lines and used their shields as hammers and bashed hard into the barbarians; their short swords cutting and crushing any limb that threatened to poke out of opposing shield-wall.
Odokar was panting in exertion, but he was winning, and he paused to check the progress at the gates. His eyes widened and he saw some of his men burst into flames. Near the gates, the barbarians slaughtered the defenders, and in turn flaming jars were chucked at them; the ceramic shattered and spilled liquid fire on the attackers, and burning men slammed themselves into the earth, in a poor attempt to put out the inferno. The flames were fierce, but it was too little to stop the barbarians from winning the battle. Odokar turned to look at the legate and hacked at the line of scuta before him. The two forces erupted with yells and screams as the two sides reformed their ranks, in the momentary lull, the Legate saw the King.
“Warrior, do you have the mettle, to face me and live?” The legate saw Odokar and issued his challenge, and he could see the writing on the wall; they had no chance of victory, but he might as well go out with a bang. The King laughed and humored the request, cries soon erupted from both sides as men separated to give them space to meet. The melee did not cease, the soldiers simply allowed the commanders a space to fight, and so two battles were waged; The soldiers fought one and the commanders participated in another. They charged one another in the small five-foot space, and battered furiously at each other. The legate’s sweaty grip held his bloody gladius tight, his shield was battered and smeared with bodily fluids, and his breath was heavy with resolve. Odokar’s wolfish grin widened across his face as his ax repeatedly slammed into the Rumelian shield; in the space of a few breaths, with his axe, he attempted to the pull edge of the legate’s busted shield; the Legate saw his opportunity and slid his shield along the axe, and his gladius stabbed hard into the side of Odokar. The King yelped in surprise as a blade stabbed across his ribs, cutting deeply and chipping into the bones of his side. In vehement retaliation, the King’s axe swung down on the Legate’s gladius-wielding hand; the flesh did part and the bones did sunder, transforming his hand into a bleeding stump.
The legate’s teeth clenched until they cracked, but he did not fall nor faint from the shock of his maimed appendage. The legate slammed his shield against the King’s own, in an attempt to gain some breathing room. Both sides continued like this for a few moments, each sought an opening to advance through, their melee devolving into a contest of pushing. The deadlock was soon interrupted by a stampede of soldiers, and the two commanders’ attention had been solely on their duel, they discovered the situation had changed. A throng of fiery horses swarmed in the not-so-far distance, and the soldiers of both sides seeing the conflagrant menace, broke ranks and evacuated the scene. The two leaders, possessed of a wisdom beyond the common soldier; did not retreat in the face of this new threat, but rather, advanced in another direction.
With fleet moments they ran through the streets attempting to escape the charging horses, and at every opportunity, they swung their weapons at each other hoping to trip their opponent. The deadly content between these embittered foes ended yards from where they began. Odokar threw his shield at the legate, which bounced off the remains of the Rumelian leader, and with a two-handed grip he swung his ax into the leg of the Legate; he was rewarded with the sweet sound of meaty bones cracking. The Legate with the desperate energy of a dying man, leaped onto the back of the King's legs. They tumbled to the ground together neither giving up, the longbeard king lay on his back, and the legate held his legs with a death grip. In dire determination, Odokar bombastically pounded his ax into the legate’s back, the edge of its blade sinking deep into the Rumelian’s armor and leaving bloody holes where it impacted.
The legate’s grip held firm even in death, Odokar broke free with a hard struggle and stumbled away. His triumph was short-lived, and his vision gave way to darkness, under the terrible hooves of stampeding horses.
Under the break of dawn, in a small fishing boat outside the port of Corvinna, Artimus victoriously laughed.