> Vacia had been crying, Roderick thought and got up, waving the old warrior off. He walked to her, a deep frown marrying his handsome face and stood next to his younger sister. The raven-haired young girl’s slender face strained, her expressive large blue eyes swollen and the small fists clenched to her sides, barely visible under her long heavy coat.
>
> “What happened?” he asked and eyed the small group of Northern teens gathered around the tavern. “Did you go inside alone? Gods Vacia!”
>
> “I just walked past it, wanted to see who was singing,” Vacia sniffled and he gave her a hug, feeling her thin body shivering.
>
> “Are you cold?” He asked, as she just couldn’t handle the Kas weather that well and they had to cocoon her, which always made her sad.
>
> “I’m angry,” she replied in his chest.
>
> “What did they say?” Roderick asked narrowing his eyes.
>
> “I don’t want to talk about it.”
>
> “Vacia, you wouldn’t have come straight to us, if you didn’t,” Roderick said patiently and lifted her face. His sister was livid. These were tears of rage.
>
> “I was going for Logan,” she hissed. “These are pretty big bastards.”
>
> “Is this a taunt little lady?” Roderick admonished her. “Logan knows only the blade’s way. You wish to start a feud? They take these matters pretty seriously up here!”
>
> “They called her an aberrant harlot,” Vacia snapped angrily and this was more like the girl he knew.
>
> “That tall one?”
>
> “The others were involved also,” Vacia murmured, glancing behind her shoulder. “But I don’t want you hurt.”
>
> “Not going to sis,” Roderick retorted a little flushed. “You know what they say. The taller they are the harder they fall.”
>
> “Who says that? One of your army buddies?” Vacia asked and he paused for a moment afore replying with a confident smile.
>
> “He’s not in the army, but he is a giant.”
>
> “When will I get to meet him?” Vacia asked opening her eyes pleadingly. It was difficult to say no to her. His sister skills were not in her muscles.
>
> “When you manage to get through a winter without falling sick,” Roderick retorted and stood up straighter to march towards the leering group. He glanced at the watching them Logan to see if he was going to lend him a hand, but the old warrior grimaced in disgust, his hard eyes telling him to stop being a cunt and get it done.
>
> Thinking on the alternative which was getting the ancient warrior involved, Roderick was about to do them a favor.
>
> But they opted not to see it that way.
[https://i.postimg.cc/X7TdhJv6/Storm-s-Rest-195.jpg]
Storm's Rest
circa 195-199
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Praetor Lucius Alden
Storm’s Rest
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Operation ‘Rush to the River Groin’ day 159
Second month of Fall 192 NC
Minus (-) twenty days for the Eighteen Months offensive
The sky had darkened after a brief two day respite of fine weather. Heavy clouds that allowed sunrays to fall perpendicular, but failing to illuminate the valley. Lucius using a thin stylus with a lead core, a map drawing instrument, was working on a blank piece of velum despite the lack of proper lighting. Ramirus and Sirio were standing near him, along the massive Nord Layton. Three hundred meters away the forest leading to Framtond’s west tributary started, the rich undergrowth of the flatlands extending all the way to Baron Hermon’s captured forward camp. Parts of the Legion had already traversed the pontoon bridge and were crossing the river peninsula to reach their position, with others still trickling over the river using Durio’s unfinished bridge.
Prefect Trupo had released control of the operation to Tribune Veturius, Sirio’s uncle and rode to where Lucius entourage was standing, near the extinguished funeral pyres and the graves.
I got to go boy, Lucius said to the large parch of disturbed earth in front of him and finished up his sketch. But I shall return.
“Praetor,” Trupo started stopping at a respectful distance. “My Lord the First Cohort is marching to the camp.”
“Kaeso?” Lucius probed thoughtfully, his eyes roaming the now quiet battlefield.
“With Mamercus. Long is keeping an eye on the Fists. He sent a runner earlier, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“You have the casualties?” Lucius queried.
“I may need a couple of more days to sort through everything sir,” Trupo replied.
“Ramirus?”
The Legion’s Intelligence Officer cleared his throat and read from a paper Sirio handed him, the scholar’s leg was still bandaged, a brace keeping it steady and he used a support cane to move about.
“We have a count of a hundred and twenty from all Maniples, half of them injured,” he said and Trupo eyed him frustrated. “So we’re missing one hundred and eighty sir,” Sirio gave him another scroll. “Durio issued three hundred spears… and various other weaponry to civilians, only half of them were returned sir. Though there must be a number of cases of thievery in there as well—”
“Let them keep the weapons,” Lucius cut him off. “Trupo you have Durio’s list?”
“Affirmative sir,” Trupo replied.
“Marianus was hurt,” Lucius noted with a grimace.
“He’ll live Praetor,” the Prefect replied. “Stitched himself up. It was disturbing.”
“Why is that?”
“The wound was at the inside of his thigh sir. The Dottore insists on airing his privates since yesterday to avoid an infection.”
Good ole Marianus.
“We should perhaps keep an eye on those armed…” Ramirus suggested changing the subject.
“Make it clear we’re not looking to strip them away of their arms,” Lucius stopped him. “Those that fought to win us this land shall have a right to settle here without fear of punishment Ramirus.”
“You’re thinking of making a post here milord?” Trupo asked standing straight, arms behind his back.
“This shall be a monument, the whole area,” Lucius replied. “I’ll talk to Durio about it. As a matter of fact, you’ll have him come at my headquarters later Prefect.”
“Very well sir.”
“A statue right here,” Lucius continued and pointed at the graves. “Gates to the plains afore it, a large road leading to the monument’s square and the rest of the settlement build facing the west tributary on its smaller side and as far as the mountains on the other.”
“That doesn’t sound like a Castrum sire,” Trupo noted.
“Because it isn’t. The Legion can have its Castrum anywhere it wants. In my mind this is bigger than Anorum.”
He offered the Prefect his drawing and Trupo accepted it scrunching his mustache.
“It’s a fine horse sir.”
“It was,” Lucius corrected him, very moved. “None better.”
“Might I inquire on the… settlement’s name milord?”
“Stormbolt’s Rest,” Lucius replied hoarsely.
“An oxymoron,” Sirio blurted out interrupting him and Lucius stared his way. “Storms don’t rest,” the scholar added nervously his voice dying at the last word.
“An artist would like a pose from you to get yer semblance sir,” Trupo noted to help the struggling under Lucius scrutiny Sirio.
“He carried me throughout his whole life Prefect,” Lucius replied sternly. “Won’t have him do it in death as well, nor rest alone.”
Stormbolt hated the wilderness.
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That night on the Legion’s camp built near the dismantled Hermon’s, Lucius held a senior officers meeting that brought the Third’s core group in the same room for the first time in months.
“Galio we may have to fight again on the morrow,” Lucius said starting. He’d gotten little rest during the previous days, trying to get up to speed with everything that had happened and come up with a strategy for the near future.
“Then we will fight on the morrow milord,” Galio replied.
“What does Hermon have mister Long?” Lucius probed with a small smile. “How will the rain affect us up the slopes?”
“There’s more gravel than rocks beyond the mouth sir,” the cavalry officer replied. Long hadn’t had the chance to change into a clean outfit as he’d ridden straight from the field to get to the meeting in time. “Durio has worked on the road there and he’ll have more facts than me. The Baron is trying to dig in, but it’s not good ground up there and he’ll have to retreat even more to find the narrows.”
“Ramirus?” Lucius asked, his eyes on Sirio unfurling a map he’d finished updating that afternoon. Several maps were open on top of each other. The idea already on Lucius’ mind to create a permanent office to deal with the load.
“Around eight hundred soldiers is my estimate Praetor,” Ramirus replied. “Leys Boars surrendered, but we only have about a hundred of them held as prisoners. Armando Leys thinks they are at least as many deserters in the woods.”
“Will they be a problem?”
“They are mercenaries,” Ramirus said with a shrug. “Don’t see them sticking around when word gets out Armando relieved them from contract.”
“Galio, can we dislodge the Fists from the slopes?” Lucius asked although he’d a plan to make defending their camp untenable already formed in his mind.
“Respectfully, we’ll kick their teeth in so far back milord,” the old Tribune grunted. “They’ll have to crawl back to Lesia to find them.”
“Durio, how many machines has Toma in his possession?” Lucius asked.
“The Centurion was killed sir,” Durio replied. “Decanus Karson has assumed command of the machines. That would be sixteen Scorpios, four catapults and a broken trebuchet in total sir. I’m thinking of promoting Karson given the size of the unit.”
“You go ahead,” Lucius said thoughtfully. “Galio you’ll issue promotions and handle commendations for those deserving. Tarsus had family in Anorum, see they receive a monthly stipend from the Legion’s coffers until his sons are of age and a future commission. Kato… ahm, I’ve read your report Durio. Equal in praise and reproach.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Every bit of it the truth sir,” Durio replied, clenching his jaw. “The praise worthy of a gold Phalera.”
“The man’s dead, give his name to the First Maniple and write it first on the wall under Agricola’s,” Lucius decided. “Anyone from the old Centurion’s unit still living?”
Trupo looked at his papers with a grimace.
“Mede, Baldock, Ardas… scratch the latter, he died from his wounds. Ahm, well… Brevis suggested Mede should be commended sir. I suppose a promotion to Decanus to fill the spot? He has the same record as Kato that is worth equally of praise and reproach.”
“Brevis will keep command, he did an excellent job keeping the men fighting and didn’t shy away from the challenge, but promote Mede also. Let’s see how he does, Kato was like that as well,” Lucius decided.
“He’s injured, but I’ll make a note to notify him once he recovers sufficiently,” Trupo said.
“Do it now. It’ll help him recover faster.”
“Of course sir.”
“Galio we’ll move all the machines near Hermon’s positions on the morrow if it’s possible, or the other day. I want the men rested first. We’ll take our time and do it right. Repair that trebuchet Durio also.”
“You’ll bombard him milord?” Galio asked.
“Look at all the material he left behind in his camp. It’s an ugly sight Tribune, built on our land,” Lucius retorted sternly. “We’ll return them to the Baron along with an uncouth eviction notice.”
Day 161
Also known as minus (-) 18 to 18
‘2nd Storm’s Rest’
The rain stopped in the night and then started again -though much weaker- just before sunrise. It was a dour moment, not much light to see all the details, but more than enough to watch men and machines moving up the soft inclines towards the mountain paths. Everything was gradual and unseen, but once committed you could feel the difference in your knees. The Baron’s fortifications were extending out of both sides of his fortified camp, sturdy stonewalls with battlements and even wooden wall-walks behind them they reached almost two hundred meters out. The north protrusion touching the steep mountain wall.
The Baron has been building this for a while, Lucius thought, lowering the spyglass and patting Nightsilver’s gray mane with a gloved hand. It only reinforced his original belief that Lesia would never commit to a campaign up North on its own. The distance was unfathomable and the sea route had a narrow window to be successful near Kadrek afore the winter ice blocked the attacker and cut him off from supplies for a long time. Lesia had to strike Cartagen and mainly Cartaport to secure the Lorian Gulf and its own flanks, or sea trade routes. If it was left unchecked and Lucius won against Jeremy, then Hermon’s force –any force- could soon become trapped on the mountains without the possibility of escape.
So Hermon decided to stand and fight here to give time for better defenses to be built down the line, or just simply gain time.
“Praetor?” Prefect Draco asked, much thinner than Lucius remembered him, but twice as rigid.
“That was their original plan,” Lucius told him and the Prefect grimaced unsure seeing as he was not privy to Lucius’ thoughts. “Is why half his camp is missing, the supply train already gone afore we made it here,” he pressed his mouth, moving his jaw left and right in an attempt to adjust the bindings on his wholly engraved Legion type helm. Lucius now had three different helmets made for him, a closed full-face tourney helm, or tiger-helm, the Legatus helm and this one, as the blacksmiths kept coming up with ideas as far as Kas and he didn’t have the heart to refuse them. This one had been sent to him from Anorum as a matter of fact, made during his absence and taken by Veturius before he left the city. “The moment they realized we were waiting on the other side it came in effect. Hermon was never going to cross Framtond, not by himself.”
“Centurion Karson is requesting permission to fire range finding shots sir,” Draco explained, his mind firmly set on the difficulties of the present and Lucius puffed out pensively. Then he raised his gloved right arm, the long rows of legionnaires in the field afore Hermon’s camp extending far to the northeast turning completely silent in an instant. Almost five thousand men and women were present, as the whole camp had come out and most of Durio’s crews. You could hear the sound of metal clinking to metal, or stone. Wooden wall-walks creaking as men were trying to figure out what the Legion would do and animals neighing, or flapping their tails. The raindrops rapping on the men’s helmets and shields when the breeze picked up, then died again and the squeaking of many machines set up in a perfectly straight line, with the massive trebuchet standing twenty meters behind them like a bizarre giant insect.
Here it is then Baron, Lucius thought. Your answer.
His arm came down and one after the other the siege machines started firing. Some not made to best stone fortifications such as these, but working better against exposed men in the field, others ideal for the task and the last behemoth created to bring down far sturdier walls.
And it did with its first accurate shot.
> The ramparts crumbled in several spots, but the engineers led by a resolute Centurion Karson kept firing volley after volley tearing through walls and the fortifications of Hermon’s main camp for a full hour. A devastating shot fired by the large trebuchet –a hundred and fifty kilo rectangular slice of black granite dug out of the riverbed- dissolved the wooden gates, killed or maimed nine men standing behind them and pulverized Hermon’s hapless aide that was holding the reins to his horse, injuring the Baron in the process.
>
> Galio wanted to send the First Cohort in first, but Lucius stopped him and ordered the Fourth Cohort to march against the battered defenders, followed by the Third and Second. The Tribune didn’t like it, pressed as he was by the men that wanted to avenge Kato. ‘We’re here to deliver justice and not vengeance,’ Lucius explained to the aggrieved men of the First that had stayed behind. ‘The First has proven its valor again and again to me, so you get to sit this one out,’ he continued under the soft rain. ‘Plus you’re missing Marcus-Antonius and I really don’t want to have to deal with the Centurion’s whining for being left out!’
>
> The Iron Fists managed to defend the first wave near the openings, but Karson’s Scorpios started firing parabolic shots over them targeting rear personnel and animals. The mercenaries holding the wings retreated, but those inside the camp didn’t and they got assaulted from the flanks as the rear rows of the advancing Cohorts turned inwards.
>
> A brief massacre ensued, mostly due to the mercenaries being slow to realize they were getting killed too fast for it to be sustainable, or the legionnaires pretending they didn’t understand their cries for surrender. While this was happening in the surrounded center and the camp, the retreating towards the mountain paths flanks were attacked by Long’s well-rested Cavalry that broke through the advancing legionaries lines and galloped after them.
>
> Most run for the slopes to escape the horses, but Kaeso’s Rangers and Mamercus Sorex slingers –the two units had been camping together for days now- had sneaked up the steep slopes surrounding the paths the previous night and picked them off one by one.
>
> As an outraged Trupo colorfully commented in the after battle briefing ‘Gods damnit, half these kills were murders.’
>
> Kaeso who had just received another gold Phalera for his heroics back at the River Groin and the success at the Lesia Bridge, got cited for ‘violent acts’ and ‘conduct unbecoming an officer’ which earned him thirty lashes. Lucius halved the punishment, but sidelined the Centurion fining him with half-a-years wages.
>
> A mysterious character, Kaeso got to earn those wages later that year, but he continued to flip-flop between commendations and punishments for the rest of his spectacular but brief career in the legion.
>
> Lucius had been forced to show some tough love to the men, as the Iron Fists had suffered disproportionate casualties –the III Legio lost only sixteen soldiers and had twenty wounded in comparison for this last part of the struggle- and the ratio of dead vs injured was non-existent. Meaning there were no injured mercenaries amongst those that have surrendered mainly inside the camp.
>
> A seriously injured Hermon managed to escape with his entourage and the company’s books, but he lost part of the purse and valuable supplies and tools. In total around fifty mercenaries made it out of the mouth, which for a strong company numbering well-over a thousand men –a thousand five hundred at the start of the campaign- it was deemed catastrophic. In fact such were the losses that despite Hermon vowing to rebuild the unit back in Parmaport, the attempt all but ruined him financially, took him at least three years and by then it was too late to be of any use. While it still remains a respected company it never again reached the heights it had before Storm’s Rest and the Baron never got to lead his beloved unit in the field again, as he died bedridden in 196.
>
> Storm’s Rest construction started that fall with the plans laid down by Lucius himself. An aesthetically pleasing, cleanly build city, it is built between the two bridges and has access to the River Peninsula with some of its districts moving across, like its hide industry. With stone and bronze quarries to the south near the mountains, fishing, clay and water from the river, hunting, timber from its several nearby forests and perhaps the most fertile ground in all of Regia, Storm’s Rest ballooned in population. It had already more than three thousand people living there a year into its construction, seven by the third and well over twenty thousand by 199 when the walls were finished. It stands close to fifty thousand today –seven years later and fifteen after it was first planned- and it keeps growing as it is one of the kingdom’s vital administrative centers and also its newest duchy. As its citizens fondly call it, ‘Greater Regia’s Spine’.
Two weeks before the start of the Eighteen Months offensive.
Code-named minus (-) 15 of 18
Second month of Fall, year of the New Calendar 192
III Legio’s camp a kilometer from where Storm’s Rest West Gates stand today
“Praetor,” Galio started, but paused to allow him to read through the missive for a second time. Lucius grimaced and stood up pushing the chair away, opened his mouth to curse the bird handlers from Asturia, but paused in turn seeing Gripa walking inside with a solemn look on his face.
Great, Lucius thought unhappy. Gripa had arrived the previous day with Merenda and his family. Lucius had moved his busy headquarters to a wooden adjoining second building to allow them some rest and privacy, as Roderick got excited around the officers and it was difficult to calm him down afterwards.
“Can it wait?” he asked hopefully and his aide glanced at the rigid Tribune thoughtfully.
“I would caution against it milord,” Gripa said. “But the decision is yours.”
“Gripa we’re in the middle of a campaign!” Galio blasted him, grinding his teeth. “There are Lesia scouts in the mountain paths and disconcerting reports—”
“Let us deal with the fresher news first,” Lucius intervened with a sigh. “What in all hells is Sula doing?”
“Got himself in a bit of trouble milord,” Galio replied scrunching his wrinkled face this way and that, whilst still eyeing the solemn faced Gripa warningly. “I trust the lad to navigate it with a calm head.”
“What calm head…?” Lucius griped. “We have quite the body count here Galio. Allgods, the Duke of Riverdor? People will believe we’re outright criminals!”
“Van Calcar was the host milord, to him the onus shall be firmly placed upon,” Galio argued with a grunt, in what was a prepared statement on his part that smelled of his nephew.
“Can Sula take on Riverdor and Badum? Tollor was a difficult task already,” Lucius murmured and glanced at the waiting Gripa. What was the matter? He thought. Is Faye alright? I was just there and they appeared fine.
“It will be a long campaign, I trust the Wolffish not to go down without a fight,” Galio replied. “That’s a horrible place to defend, but an even worse place to attack milord.”
“Worse than here?”
“This a flat valley, let us forget about the Groin. In the summer the fields are like Alden. Pascor is literally knee deep in mire milord and surrounded by swamps in the summer. There’s a lot of water pouring into that lake.”
“Asturia seems to handle it nicely,” Lucius countered.
“Asturia shores are standing higher, but the beaches flood aplenty if you recall,” Galio replied and Lucius nodded, his own estate had been damaged by light flooding and several years of abandonment. “They opted for gravel instead of sand for a reason. Canlita beaches aren’t like those of Aegium.”
“Do we order him to retreat?”
“In two months it will be all over,” Galio replied. “A Sula would never retreat, them boys just can’t do it and you knew that.”
“I did.”
“So he stays.”
“He does.”
Galio puffed out and glared at the frowned silent Gripa. “Plaguing hells, what’s the matter Gripa? You’re making me feel like a cunt here and I don’t much like it son! Ye should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Lady Faye requests your presence sir,” Gripa started keeping his cool. “For a matter I’m not at liberty to discuss in front of the Tribune.”
Galio ogled his eyes affronted, a deep red covering his wrinkled cheeks, but the aide stood his ground.
“I’ll be right back Tribune,” Lucius decided. “Send for Trupo and Ramirus. We might have to move fast towards the Navel, take control of the Tunnel Pass approach and open a shorter road to the plains.”
“I’ll get them here,” Galio grunted, still frustrated and got up.
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Faye was knelt next to a short table and was washing the floorboards with a cloth when he entered her large but simple quarters ten minutes later.
“Wife,” Lucius said a little amused. “Gripa can handle this and has a detail of men eager to wash and sweep your floor at any time—”
Faye whipped her red head towards him and he stopped, but kept the smile on his face.
“Are the swords needed for the task?” he teased and approached to see what the damage was. “Was this Roderick? Is he sick?”
“Lucius,” Faye grunted and got up. She glanced behind his back at the silent Gripa and lobbed the dirty cloth to him. “This is serious.”
Lucius stood back with a frown. He checked on her, even reached with his arm to place a hand on her mostly flat belly. Faye had leather armour on unsurprisingly and they hadn’t had the time to sleep together since she had returned.
So he wasn’t sure if he had missed something.
“You’re with child?” He asked her.
“I’m not,” Faye responded curling her lip upwards. “Though I’m working on it. Not much more to do than being a wife so I get to take advantage of it I guess.”
“Lady Faye,” Lucius protested. “I value every sacrifice you’re making—”
“That little shit is pregnant,” Faye cut him off.
Lucius stood back thoroughly confused.
“That… little shit?”
“Yer fancy wife,” Faye grunted thoroughly unamused. “The other one that is. Plenty of fancy on dis one as well.”
Lucius gulped down and stared at the closed second bedroom door.
“Ahm, are we certain…”
“You’re not going to ask, how did it happen right?” Faye taunted warningly. “It’s yours, unless she snuck out on the road and found a native living in the woods. No soldier would have taken the risk.”
“I only went to her once,” Lucius puffed out and glanced at the silent Gripa holding the dirty cloth rigid as a board.
“Lucius that was her,” Faye said and pointed at the stain. “She’s puking everywhere like a headless chicken.”
“Right.”
“Right?”
“What do you want me to say?” Lucius protested feeling cornered. “She’s fertile, but it was always a possibility.”
Ah, Alistair’s wording perhaps wasn’t the best approach here, he thought and Faye quickly jumped on him frustrated.
“She’s… Allgods! What are you blubbering about? She’s your wife,” Faye sighed and grimaced. “Some support is needed here Lucius. You don’t plan for it, you just do it.”
“Faye I have a campaign to run,” Lucius said anxiously, feeling weak all of a sudden. “I’ll go to her, but I can’t stick around. It’s not a matter of callousness, or fear, but duty and cold logic. We need to act, this coming summer is crucial. Every day is crucial, Sula is in a bind up North and Lesia is going for Cartagen—”
“Lucius, Regia will be fine for half an hour,” Faye stopped him. “It’ll be alright after that,” she added softly. Lucius grimaced and stared at her glowing face.
“Are you sure? You don’t mind?” he murmured.
“I can’t hate kids,” she replied and gave him a hug. “Not if they are yours fool. Even if they aren’t.”
“Faye!” Lucius grunted choking and she chuckled waving Gripa off with her hand.
“I had to do it because this side of you is stupid, but now I want you to do your job also,” she murmured in his ear huskily. “And don’t give me no half-arsed effort Alden.”
Lucius had never half-done anything with her, since the first time they had met and neither had she.
So to keep up with the tradition, the soon to be a father again twice over Praetor gave it everything he could.
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