>
> Ol’ Scrawny ever his time be biding
>
> Polished red ‘n gold plates peeking behind lanky reeds
>
> -Death rests nigh… in the Plains
>
>
>
>
>
> ‘Armless Boney’ craved – all Tiger’s forces be dividing
>
> For he feared the old Duke’s brave steeds
>
> -be let loose… beyond the bridges iron chains
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Ol’ Scrawny crept out o’ hiding
>
> Athwart moldy Platanus* n’ Red Maple lake’s trees
>
> -near misty Isle-port’s… soggy meadow’s lanes
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> ‘Brazen’ missed the lure -in Triumph’s shade residing
>
> For doomed Nonus misread the witch’s heeds
>
> -Whence a Lady’s fair arm reach… to pluck ‘em out the bloody drains
>
> In the plains…
>
>
>
> Tap –tapa – dum.
>
> In the plains…
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> -Ol’ Scrawny-
>
> (Also known as In the Plains)
>
> Jan-Bert Luffy
>
> Circa 197
>
>
>
> *(The ominously slow at its start but turning soon into a riotously wild hit song was written in 194 during the Battle for the Lorian Plains according to a later JB-Luff’s account.)
>
> ** (Sycamore trees.)
----------------------------------------
4thLegion*
(Abbreviated | IV LEGIO, Brazen Fourth, IV-LG)
Dictum: Triumph beats Infamy
Solem Rubrum Mons | Bronze and gold sign representing a red sun emerging behind a black peak (Comparable emblem to the City of Demames, but for the coloring)
Organizational chart
-Winter of 194NC, Lorian Plains-
Overall strength ~3852**
(Legio general staff not included)
~2800 legionnaires,
~1052 other units
(400 cavalry, 200 ranger/scouts, 200 slingers, 220 engineers, 32 medics)
> Legatus Legionis | Nonus Sula (Demames – His father was second cousin to Duke Paulus Sula of Demames. One of the four more influential officers in Lucius Army, some would argue the most influential, but not everyone agreed. Along with Marcus Antonius the strongest militarily of the Quadrumvir with Macrinus being the richer and Trupo the more politically connected.)
>
>
>
> Aide de Legatus, Prefect (General Staff) | Pete Dumont (Demames. The Prefect was Nonus Sula’s closest childhood friend and advisor.)
>
>
>
> First Prefect | Harrison Jacobred (First non-Lorian senior officer, his family a cadet branch of the Redmonds’ of Kadrek, founded by the Duke’s younger second cousin Jacob. A political appointment.)
>
>
>
> 2nd Prefect | Rufius Valens (Late Prefect Declan’s younger brother –a gold Phalera recipient in oak leaves in gold with swords posthumously- that got promoted in his place after the latter was killed in Maiden’s Wedding. Rufius had sailed for Kadrek immediately upon receiving word from his late brother. The Baron was ‘unaware’ officially of his offspring whereabouts, the appointments revealed after Lucius entered Cartagen. The reason given –to preserve the family’s honor- the distance involved and the Fourth’s participation in a different theater in the war. Gold Phalera recipient for his spirited defense of the collapsed walls during the siege of Pascor.)
>
>
>
> 3rd Prefect (of engineers) Isaak Boston (Lesia. Former First Legion engineer. Former Third Legion engineer. A decorated officer.)
>
>
>
> 2nd Optio Sigma Mercator (a political appointment and favor due to the friendship between Lady Lucretia Mercator and Lady Martha Redmond the influential Legatus’ wife. The lowly nobleman was –the then exiled- Lord Hostus Mercator’s of Islandport legitimized son from a dalliance with a lowborn girl. While older than his legal son Dima, the latter was the Baron’s declared Heir. Lucretia ‘pressed’ Sigma to join the Legion to avoid problems down the line. Distant relative to Duke Holt of Asturia.)
>
>
>
> LID officer (Centurion rank) | Hugh Bolton. (Kadrek- Late Rolo’s cousin.)
>
> LID Sergeant Rob Zerou (Yepehir)
>
>
>
> 1st Optio (of Cavalry) Roger Bailey (Halfostad)
>
>
>
> Quartermaster | Legio Master Sergeant (LMSg) Sulpicius Scrofa (Demames. Also Keeper of the purse)
>
>
>
> Solem Rubrum Mons Signifer | Legio Sergeant (LSg) Duc Gratian (Centurion Quintus’ second cousin)
>
>
>
> -
>
> First Cohort
>
> (ICH-IVLG)
>
> (Moniker the laconic ‘Triumph’. Sula’s personal red and black Demames banner, embroidered in gold at the corners of the square.)
>
> Strength 850 legionnaires*
>
>
>
>
>
> First Century
>
> (ICN-ICH-IVLG)
>
> Gold Standard of a painted red sun
>
> (Monikers ‘Them Crimson Banners’, Sula’s Guards)
>
> 400 Legionnaires (The vast majority of the century were awarded the golden Phalera after their heroics at Stad River, 2/5 of them posthumous. The unit doubled its size with the addition of Anorum’s cohort in early summer 192NC)
>
> Centurion (Primus Pilus) Paulus Didicus (Demames. Gold Phalera recipient twice for holding the bridge at Stad River near Halfostad and defending the gates of Pascor during the Maiden’s War.)
>
> Decanus Derio Papus (First Maniple) (Demames. Decorated Legionnaire. Mentioned in the dailies three times.)
>
> Decanus Baro (2nd Maniple)
>
> Decanus Trebius (3rd Maniple)
>
> Decanus Avienus (4rth Maniple)
>
>
>
> Second Century
>
> (IICN-ICH-IVLG)
>
> 150 Legionnaires
>
> Centurion Lar Montaus
>
> Decanus Badi Littera
>
>
>
> Third Century
>
> (IIICN-ICH-IVLG)
>
> 150 Legionnaires
>
> Centurion Sissena Draco (Whitetiger. A distant kin to Baron Draco)
>
> Decanus Varo Bellator
>
>
>
> Fourth Century
>
> (IVCN-ICH-IVLG)
>
> 150 Legionnaires
>
> Centurion Publius Surinas
>
> Decanus Vala
>
>
>
> -
>
> Second Cohort
>
> (IICH-IVLG)
>
> Gold Standard, a bronze plaque with the number of the Cohort in red.
>
> (Moniker, the ‘Solid’)
>
> Strength 650
>
>
>
> First Century
>
> 200 legionnaires
>
> Centurion | Opiter Carbo (Demames. Gold Phalera recipient three times. The third with oak leaves in gold. Mentioned multiple times in the dailies.)
>
> Second Century
>
> 150 legionnaires
>
> Centurion | Glean Lale (Kas)
>
> Third Century
>
> Centurion | Winston Levy (Kas)
>
> Fourth Century
>
> Centurion | Gavin Page (Kas)
>
>
>
> -
>
> Third Cohort
>
> (Halfostad, moniker the ‘Cultured’)
>
> (IIICH-IVLG)
>
> Strength 650
>
>
>
> First Century
>
> Centurion | Luke Whitt (Halfostad)
>
> Second Century
>
> Centurion | Jim Chad (Halfostad)
>
> Third Century
>
> Centurion | Cornelius Cropp (Unknown, probably Halfostad)
>
> Fourth Century
>
> Centurion | Willie Page – Gavin’s twin brother (Kas)
>
>
>
> -
>
> Fourth Cohort
>
> (Anorum, moniker the ‘Instructors’, highest ratio of minor officers elevated from this unit after 193NC)
>
> (IVCH-IVLG)
>
> Strength 650
>
> Former training cohort of Anorum, classes of 190-192 NC
>
>
>
> First Century
>
> Centurion | Quintus Gratian (Anorum, the Signifer’s cousin. Gold Phalera recipient for his brilliant maneuvers and capture of the bridge during the siege of Pascor. Gold Phalera recipient three times in total. The third with oak leaves in gold. Mentioned multiple times in the dailies.)
>
> Second Century
>
> Centurion | Sextus Mellitus (Asturia. Decorated officer.)
>
> Third Century
>
> Centurion | Mael Prisca (Asturia)
>
> Fourth Century
>
> Centurion | Tarsus Zeno (Anorum)
>
>
>
> -
>
> (Initially transferred from III Legio)
>
> Legion Slingers
>
> 200 Slingers (numbers vary due to high casualties, 100 well-trained slingers were added in Anorum. The unit was rebuilt in late 193 again due to appalling casualties sustained at the siege of Pascor.)
>
> Centurion | Joe Fallon (Nord, Maza Burg)
>
> Decanus | Drusus Thrasea (Anorum)
>
>
>
> -
>
>
> Scouts Legio
>
> ~180 Ranger-type units (A mix of mounted archers and light warriors)
>
> Under
>
> Centurion | Gerard ‘Half-Ear’ Pike (Decorated officer. Gold Phalera recipient for fighting while injured to protect Gratian’s flanks at Serene River near Pascor.)
>
> ~80 Rangers + 50 scouts (A mix of Nords, Lorians and Half-breeds)
>
> + 50-70 attached semi-autonomous Nord warriors nicknamed ‘Marlene’s Brutes’ (lightly armoured with axes and swords)
>
> Led by ‘Ugly’ Marlene Lake (only unit led by a female, mostly warriors from Gerard’s Raiders but wandering Northmen joined when the Fourth arrived in Asturia.)
>
>
>
> -
>
> Legio Cavalry
>
> Around 400 horsemen (overwhelming majority from Sovya, mainly Halfostad)
>
> -150 Medium Cavalry under
>
> Optio (of Cavalry) | Roger Bailey (Halfostad)
>
> Decurion Ville Hunt (Halfostad)
>
> -50 Heavy Cavalry & 200 mounted Karls under
>
> Sir (later Baron) Norman Gatrell (Moniker ‘Whitebark Knight’. Known Gatrell family from Yepehir. An excellent cavalry officer, knight and nobleman. Was mentioned in the Dailies despite not being in the Legion’s roster. A rare praise.)
>
> The famed Yepehir nobleman served as Lady (later Duchess) Martha Redmond’s honor guard initially afore given complete command of a large cavalry contingent in the field. Probably another political appointment. An outstanding equestrian, his valor and skill highly regarded even by those not favoring the substantial Sovya presence within the ranks of the Fourth.
>
>
>
> -
>
> Legio Engineers
>
> (Isaak’s Aprons)
>
> 220 engineers (The IV’s engineer unit was built from scratch and was given plenty of resources in the Fourth Legion)
>
> Prefect (of engineers) Isaak Boston (Lesia – transferred from the Third. Former First Legion engineer.)
>
> Centurion (of engineers) Reb Cable (Lesia)
>
> Sergeant (of engineers) Jack Harbor (Unknown)
>
>
>
>
>
> Legio Medics
>
> Centurion surgeon | Dottore ‘Cleaver’ Borealis (credentials disputed, out of the medical academy of Novesium? An inexplicably very rich man later in life.)
>
> Medic Dorothea
>
> + 30 other nurses and medics
>
>
>
>
>
> *Around two thousand five hundred civilians, merchants, medics, carpenters and smiths, following in the supply train. Thirty-five Scorpios (the Sula family historically favored the deployment of war machines in large numbers), six Catapults plus a prototype ‘Deliverer’. The classified weapon probably a copy of the archaic pre-Reinut Issir design. The IV Legio had almost five hundred horses and various mounts, due to its larger than usual cavalry element, mostly drawn from Duke Redmond’s troops. The IV Legio spent most of 193 involved in Maiden’s War aftermath and Duke Dolf Van Calcar’s campaign against ‘the Crabs.’ The latter part of 193 it stayed in Asturia until the first month of 194.
>
> ** Numbers at the start of the Battle of the Lorian Plains. The final iteration of the Fourth Legion came later by Sula himself.
>
> *** Famously during the Islandport’s struggle back and forth ninety-five Scorpios, sixteen catapults and two trebuchets duked it out in the biggest artillery engagement ever. Especially if one considers the twenty war-machines deployed kilometers away by Lord Holt (not counted here) or the fifty horse-drawn machines of Celsus in Holt’s Stables + Lucius’ twenty seven (Twenty scorpios, six catapults and a trebuchet) which raises the overall number of war-machines used to the mind-numbing number of two hundred and ten overall for the campaign.
-
-
-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Legatus Nonus Sula
‘Solid Nonus’
Lorian Plains | Ol’ Scrawny (3/3)
-Scylla’s gambit & the fields of Islandport-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Officer! Sojourn right here!” Lady Lucrecia Mercator ordered hunched outside the window of the carriage to tap at the driver’s seat with her umbrella. A content Martha run a finger over Nonu’s shaven cheek to ease a crease that had formed there. The Baron’s wife had flashed her minimally covered bosom at the crowds gathered near the market stands of Central Square’s Market. Despite the cloudy sky and yesterday’s chilly rain the city was out to catch any glimpse of sun peeking out of the ethereal curtains above.
But they also welcomed the opportunity to guise for no expense at the swell of the Baron’s wife’s breasts. Most are out just to shop of course, Sula reasoned as the carriage stopped and a flushed Lucrecia returned to her seat, patting a half-asleep Dima’s knee twice with that umbrella.
“This is a great opportunity dear Martha to visit Bamballio’s Emporium and check on Trailus’ daring dresses,” the Islandport noblewoman explained to the now frowning again Nonus’ smiling wife. Martha had the boys covered in blankets, Virgo and Jakub’s tiny blond and red heads sprouting out curious in the maid’s arms. Both keeping quiet during the ride.
Sula suspected the tiny rascals had fouled themselves again and looked to escape further scrutiny but he could be wrong. He didn’t have a lot of reps as a father, as a matter of fact he was severely lacking in training on that front.
Damn it.
“What does the Legatus think?” Martha asked him and Virgo made a small sound hearing his mother’s voice. No foul smell emanating. Sula relaxed and went to pat the baby’s head stopping in fear his rough calloused fingers will hurt it. His wife carefully guided the hand and Virgo burped looking at it afore giving it a good smell as if to taunt his father that quickly turned into a thunderous sneeze.
“Eh,” Martha said wiping the boy’s face.
“What does Bamballio sell?” Nonus asked trying to be polite with Lucrecia.
“Supplies, household stuff and furniture.”
“We have sufficient supplies and produce our own furniture,” Sula retorted, the frown returning.
“It will be nice to see normal people outside the camp, walk the market. Janet could hold on to the boys inside the carriage,” Martha said. “Plus I really want to buy a summer dress given the prices I hear and the nicely warm winter.”
Nobody was as enthusiastic with the unstable and generally agreed upon ‘bad weather’ of the past couple of months as her. In all fairness this was in reality summer time for the Sovya noblewoman.
“Hmm,” Nonus grimaced feeling painted into a corner out of the blue even more. Ambushed even. “The prices I heard weren’t that decent given the amount of garb on sale,” he grunted despite efforts to remain civil.
He wasn’t a prude, but Asturia had Aegium’s love of low cut fronts in women’s dresses and Sula didn’t really want those bug-eyed lecherous locals ogling at the mature comely redhead sitting next to him, which happened to be his wife.
“These are winter dresses our dear Martha is lusting after,” Lucrecia chuckled and Sula eyed her not liking all the endearments thrown in, teeth clenched so tight he could hear the crackling.
“Nonsense,” Martha intervened rubbing at the Legatus’ firm thigh with her palm to relieve some of the tension. “Given the lovely temperature that be garment enough and I hanker to wear something diverse whilst I still can, me cherished Nonus.”
Sula cleared his throat. Martha was a bit apprehensive after the pregnancy as she was five years older than him. She’d taken on a bit of weight living in the camp, which wasn’t as easy to shed as before. Nonus thought the whole matter totally ridiculous and didn’t have any problems with her looks. The thought of his wife’s body turned his frustration to lust in a moment’s notice.
“You need not worry,” Nonus finally said and kissed the knuckles of her left hand. “I’ll ask the guards to stay with the carriage and you can have as much time as you wish to shop.”
“You’ll not come with me?” Martha teased him with her eyes. “You are not again worrying about the Duke Nonus. Escort yer wife, she’s about to unclothe herself.”
“I’m not worried,” Sula replied although he was. The Legatus pursed his mouth. “The temptation would be too much to resist dear Lady and potentially fatal for the tailor.”
“The Legatus has learned to work his tongue on me,” Martha whispered and landed a daring kiss on his mouth. Lady Lucrecia chuckled at the open display of affection and the loaded meaning of Martha’s words. “Where will you go?” His wife asked.
“I’ll drag Dumont out of the other carriage and force him to walk on that leg. Warm up the muscles afore they rot away,” Sula replied, touching his index finger on Jakub’s tiny nose. The boy chuckled trying to grab it and Sula breathed out allowing himself to relax. He cast a glance outside the open carriage window. “See Tyeus’ Tower or just catch a bit of sun,” he added.
The gigantic statue of Ebenezer Framtond dominating Asturia’s central square casted its massive shadow over them, so the latter was probably impossible even on a summer day.
----------------------------------------
“When you’re issued a carriage to move about a city,” Dumont commented pausing to rub his hurt leg with the wood cane afore continuing. “You don’t ditch it to walk on a bad foot.”
“We’re not walking. This is a casual stroll. Pretend yer a tourist,” Sula argued, his eyes searching the citizens, merchants and real tourists moving around the giant sandaled feet of the statue. A young girl sitting on the statue’s foundation’s nicely cut stone stairs, posing for a painter to have her portrait made, with Ebenezer’s large exposed toes and the grand Naossis’ Temple visible in the background.
The stairs reached two meters high, the raised platform guarded by Asturia’s City Guard that didn’t allow visitors too close to the statue. People of all ages and professions kept chipping away pieces of the stone as memento or for luck (the adventurer’s guild headquarters building occupying the east corner of the expansive square sold ‘pieces’ of the statue turned into pendants) until the Duke had finally put an end to the practice some years back.
Sula started after the still murmuring Dumont, waving the legionnaires detail escorting them after Martha and Lucrecia with Prefect Jacobred staying with the carriages. His aide was heading for the stairs (the other side of the one the young woman occupied) and Sula easily caught up with him.
“Look at them going about their businesses while a war is going on,” Pete Dumont griped and paused to stare at the painter’s subject.
The young woman pretending to ignore him.
“Asturia is too big a city to bother,” Sula murmured returning the posted guard’s nod and letting his eyes roam higher on the platform, a familiar voice bothering his ears.
“OL’ SCRAWNY… Give me a darn C in it Nard!” Jan-Bert yelled at his shifty half-breed companion somewhere to Sula’s right, over ten meters away from the platform.
“A shit?” Nard replied unsure.
“That too, cuz this is important!”
“Welp, I ain’t paying ye for that hogwash half-a-song kid,” an Asturian gentleman admonished Luffy. “Why, that’s even less words than that!”
“This bard is a crook Tom. Look! He has only two strings on his lute and his friend smells like Fish-folk to me!” Another added accusingly.
“Probably has an accomplish looting our rooms whilst they distract us!” A bandit-faced bearded male ‘tourist’ yelled with a toothy leer.
Sula had spotted Leirda on the platform in the meantime. She was sitting on Ebenezer’s huge right foot toe, back resting at the stone knuckle and seemingly talking to herself.
“What she’s doing there?” An alarmed Sula barked at the guard no longer paying attention to Dumont or Jan-Bert’s and Nard’s words.
The soldier blinked slowly in shock at the uniformed Legatus blasting at him in public.
“Sir?”
“The half-breed!” Sula grunted ogling his eyes, well into the guard’s personal space. The second guard intervening to save his colleague.
“He mean’s the fortune teller,” the other soldier explained reasonably, a young lad of about twenty adding with the conviction of a drunk buffoon. “She has permission general.” Sula snapped his head the guard’s way. “Legatus,” the second guard corrected himself after clearing his throat nervously.
“Who told you that?” Sula grunted irate.
“She did sir,” the first guard replied and Sula groaned in frustration, Dumont guffawing at his friend’s angry grimaces. A moment later his aide’s face turned serious and stared at the two guards austerely.
“I’ll report this fuck up to your commander in the bleakest of words,” he told them, while Sula rushed up the stairs to reach the top of the platform. “Ask for no clemency for you’ll receive none.”
Damn you, Sula cursed inwardly as he walked briskly towards the humming disguised witch. Even knowing what she was, the illusion still held and he didn’t have that candle with him to truly test its potency or even usefulness.
‘Leirda-Lag’ had laid a choice of nicely-smelling gladioli across the phalanges and the table sized midfoot. The Asturia natives called the white with pink veins flower ‘painted lady’. The witch pretending to be a simple girl, set her changing colors eyes on the approaching Legatus of the Fourth.
“The sun will come up,” Leirda stated and the sun peeked out of the clouds at that very moment to turn the gray stone of the statue a classy white.
Sula stopped with a grimace.
“I could have guessed that,” he spat, even angrier now instead of impressed.
“Yet, you didn’t.”
“Why are you outside the camp?” Sula hissed through his teeth.
“No one wants to stay inside your ugly camp,” Leirda replied tenderly caressing the dead stone with a hand which was nigh disturbing. “Sardined one next to the other outside the city’s walls. Listen to the city’s alluring songs each night and each day, is a torture. Your soldiers jumped the fence, so I followed them.”
Sula blinked, jaw clenched so tight, his ears started hurting and he had to take a step back very close to an aneurism.
“You have names?” He growled barely getting the words out and she chuckled at his furious demeanor. The next moment her face turned sad.
“That’s right, it isn’t funny,” Sula said and crossed both arms on his chest. Jan-Bert started singing again below them in the square, an evident attempt to finish the unfinished song on the fly and avoid being arrested or having his ribs kicked in. While not a masterpiece of music, the attempt was hilarious at the very least and got the crowd rolling with laughter.
“You misread me. This practice shall hurt you,” Leirda replied and got up. Ever rising until she stood a bit taller than Sula. Goodness sake! She pushed her hair back, elongated alien ears appearing briefly under her palms and then disappearing inside her mane.
Seemingly.
“In what way?” Sula asked and stood back out of caution.
“It doesn’t look like him but the gesture fulfils his childhood dream. To stay in Asturia,” Leirda replied and for a moment Sula couldn’t understand what she was talking about. Then he glanced at the freakishly grinning adventurer looming large above them and shook his head surprised. “So I can forgive the sculptor’s lack of talent. The moment I saw his stupid head appear out of the mist, I knew it was him deep in my heart.”
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“The adventurer?” Sula grunted unsure.
“Ebhe,” Leirda said softly. “Ever felt that tang in your heart Sula? Like part of you is missing? Yeah,” she decided after a moment. “You shall.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sula snarled not liking all this delusory seer talk.
“Why isn’t Lucius here?” Leirda asked cutting him off.
“I’m not going to reveal sensitive—”
“Ole Scrawny blocked him. Heard it in the market.”
Sula grinded his teeth. “He didn’t.”
“The old man doesn’t fear you.”
“Never ends well for those that are thus inclined!” Sula spat giving her a history lesson.
“Uhm.”
“Speak… witch.” He warned her. “What do you see?”
“I told you.”
“Tell me again,” Sula grunted warningly.
“I find your wrath arousing Sula of Demames,” the witch purred shivering visibly. “Also scary.”
Sula had a vein throbbing in the middle of his forehead and he could feel it growing with each pulse.
“The old man always loses if you seek your triumph, for the win he’ll find inside it, shall turn poisonous and kill him. A cold-skinned woman’s hand shall be his downfall,” Leirda reached with a hand to touch the spot throbbing on his forehead but Sula snatched it in the air and stopped her. The witch’s ‘dark skin’ definitely warm. Pleasing to the touch. She isn’t making a lick of god darn sense. Sula released her arm immediately.
“You’re speaking in riddles,” he said hoarsely. “Has Ligur loaded up his south flank?” Sula asked to clarify what he couldn’t glean out of the reports. This was what her visions of future were good for in his mind. Nothing else.
While Sula didn’t want to be affected by her words though, in reality he was.
Leirda turned her eyes on the crowd visiting the square for a moment and then looked at his frowned face again.
“All you have to do to know the future Sula,” she replied calmly. “Is to listen to what the present tells you and remember the past.”
Oh, just swallow a mule’s turd and drown in shit! Sula cursed irate. He had enough of her vague insights.
“Dumont!” Sula roared abruptly and she yelped jerking away scared. “Put her in the carriage and return her to the camp.”
“What about the bard Nonus?” A bored Dumont asked from the bottom of the stone stairs.
“Leave those two behind,” Sula decided and the sun hid behind the clouds again. Out of the heavy shade the adventurer’s immense statue cast over the square, a colorful palace messenger appeared dressed in his gold and blue lined uniform.
“A message from the king,” he told them and given they had one of those already not a day prior, Sula sensed something was afoot.
----------------------------------------
The Fair Lady was distracting. The bare-breasted Goddess’ statue looming large above the Duke’s throne. In a city packed with statuses of all kinds and sizes one would be inclined to believe Sula would have gotten used to them after months of living there, but he hadn’t.
Lord Mercator, Lucrecia’s husband, had narrowed his eyes so much trying to get more meaning out of the brief missive, he started looking like a port rat wrestling with a difficult to come out turd. The venerable Lord Holt just stared at his son, Sir Rupert and then Bernard. Lord Draco of Whitetiger was traveling to Asturia but hadn’t arrived yet. Sir Batas grabbed the scroll from the herald’s hands to bring it to the old Duke but Rupert intervened a little exasperated.
“It’s two lines father,” he said. “No room for hidden truths in it.”
Lord Holt scrunched his wrinkled face adding even more cracks and lines around the mouth and eyes.
“Good number of artillery present near Brushwood but the 2nd had enemy’s east flank pushed back. The center retreated for the day,” Sula repeated the decoded parsimonious message from Tribune Veturius, whilst standing up to approach one of the two large maps open in stands near the throne, each depicting a different portion of the Green Plains. One centered around Holt’s Stable, the large town now half empty and occupied, the other the road to Islandport from the south coast of Canlita Sea up to Mercator’s Inn. “The center was about to push into the town yesterday given the enemy numbers, with Merenda flanking from the east,” Sula started and Duke Holt snorted impatiently.
“We don’t need a reminder of the king’s report son. We’re old not deaf.”
Nonus paused sucking at his front teeth, Dumont gesturing for him to smile politely and move on, which Sula failed to do. “It is nonsensical to turn an attack back when you’re advancing in the flanks. This makes both Merenda’s work and morrow’s attempt from the center cost double. Why?”
“Ligur sent a lot of war-machines down there,” Bernard offered. Sula had spotted him talking with a couple of priestesses earlier but whatever they had asked, his demeanor gave the impression he wasn’t eager to be accommodating. “If Durio was late then—”
“Durio had a day to reach the front,” Sula cut him off. “There’s no way he was that late or Lucius wouldn’t have given the attack order. Something catastrophic happened here for the army to turn back.”
“This is preposterous,” Duke Holt admonished him. “I understand the Legatus imagines himself a military genius but you’re jumping to conclusions here. Throwing lives away may be the Sula way but the rest of us would retreat if stuck in an unfavorable position and avoid a catastrophe. Pushing forward is not an answer always.”
Had he called him ‘son’ or the like one more time Sula would have walked up to the old Shield and punched him in the face.
Lord Holt’s eyes stared at him knowingly.
“Legatus,” Dumont intervened. “Perhaps attempting to probe Ligur’s forces beyond the bridge is an idea worthy of being revisited?”
“Eh,” Lord Holt grunted knocking a goblet he held down unwittingly. A servant rushed to pick it up while the Duke glared at his grinning son. Sir Rupert assumed a fake serious expression immediately. “The King gave explicit orders not to move against Ligur without him.”
For crying out loud! Sula thought angrily. The old Duke’s reluctance to consider an alternative legendary.
“Orders are subject to changes in the field Lord Holt,” he grunted. “Ligur is obviously strong enough there to push Lucius back!”
“I don’t appreciate being yelled at inside my own hall Legatus,” Holt warned him taking offence. “Or any Hall.”
Sula’s mouth split into a snarl, the skin of his face turning a deep red.
“Lucius isn’t here. There’s no enemy across the gods darn bridge,” he hissed and Rupert blinked sensing the hostility inside the room. “Pike has secured the woods on both sides of the road, up to half a kilometer in,” Sula continued in the same tone. “I can march over the bridge with four Cohorts in a day.”
“There’s no way you get everyone across, you’ll get bogged down. One accident and the bridge is closed for everyone. What about the supply train? The double wagons for the war-machines must go over one by one,” Holt retorted grasping at the armrests with both hands. “Then I’ll need time to get my own soldiers after you, even more wagons, supplies and animals.”
“There is no enemy across the bridge Lord Holt,” Sula insisted, the reports were clear on that fact. Few scouts perhaps but nothing else. “Ligur pulled back. Sent everything he has against Lucius.”
“Ligur has army in Islandport,” the Duke insisted and turned to the silent up until now Lord Mercator. “Tell him.”
“Your grace,” Mercator started. “All spies report the presence of Regulars from Vinterfort or Sabretooth. Few ships from Tenor. No First Legion.”
“How many?” Sula asked.
“You actually think Ligur doesn’t know, we know?” Holt snapped glaring at the Baron. “The First Legion is in Mercator’s Inn! They’ll march as fast as your boys Sula!”
“Still that’s half a day away or more given the weather,” Sula cut in. “How many regulars?” He repeated his previous query to the Baron.
“I think Lord Scylla brought everything he has, mayhap recruited from other cities,” Mercator replied nervously. “But they can’t stand against a legion.”
“Mercator!” Holt growled and stood up frustrated.
“My Lord this is an opportunity,” Sula insisted. “Why not strike at them now? Even if he has kept something back, it is not enough.”
“What are you implying Legatus?” The Duke asked ominously.
Sula stood back, his face grim. “To not take the opening goes against my core values Lord Holt. This is a crucial moment. We are giving Ligur the initiative. Let’s wrestle it back. True courage needs no incentives.”
“Nonus!” Dumont barked from his side and Duke Holt signed for Sir Batas to stand back. The scowling knight had moved against the Legatus of the Fourth.
“No one has ever questioned my character Sula,” the Duke said hoarsely. “I stood firm when others cowered or looked for excuses. I didn’t move an inch then against overwhelming pressure from loftier lords than you! But you’re not a lord really aren’t ye?”
“You are risking the king’s life right at this moment,” an insulted Sula spat, his blood boiling. “With all the respect to your station my lord, standing firm means absolutely nothing right now!”
The Duke stared at his hall in silence. “Find out more,” he told Bernard and his younger son nodded. “Give me an assessment of Ligur’s true positions in the plains.”
“We don’t have time to waste,” Sula said but Lord Holt raised his arm to cut him off afore he could finish.
“I’ll make the decisions in my hall Sula. This meeting is over,” the Lord of Asturia told him.
----------------------------------------
“Blasted old goat!” Sula cursed landing a punch at the stable’s entrance rattling it. They had walked there to get their horses, already two hours later, but the long nicely maintained road inside the Duke’s palace’s grounds hadn’t calmed the Legatus down at all.
The old man loses always if you seek your triumph, the witch had said. Sure, she wasn’t always right but Nonus felt they were allowing the Legatus of the First dictate the terms of this conflict. He had them all dance to his music like flushed maidens at a wedding.
The previous wedding he’d been privy to ended in a massacre.
“We could theoretically break camp tonight,” Dumont said while they rode towards the drawbridge. “Get a cohort across or two.”
“Umm,” a sullen Sula murmured looking at his horse’s ears.
There was a horse galloping fast behind them. It roused the guards at the drawbridge and Sula stopped his mount and turned around.
Lord Bernard Holt reached them a moment later.
----------------------------------------
“It’s a rumor Nonus,” Dumont warned but Sula hadn’t yet recovered from the shock. Rumors tent to minimize stuff also, he thought. In this case making less of what may be fatal.
“An iron bolt,” he murmured and Bernard nodded. The young scion seemed really nervous about it. “You’ve told your father?”
“The merchant is his friend. He learned it first,” Bernard replied. “It appears you were right Legatus.”
Sula didn’t want to be right, he wanted to win the war and protect his family. Secure their future.
“Did anyone even see the King after the event?” Dumont asked looking to learn more.
“No sight of him. Of course the camp is far from the front but the Dottore left and didn’t return near the other wounded. Presumably he stayed at the king’s side.”
“They would have brought Lucius back,” Dumont thought out loud while Sula worked the news in his head.
This was a plaguing disaster.
“How did we miss this Dumont?” He finally asked hoarsely.
“The Legion can’t travel unseen Nonus. Not that far. It’s a strategic suicide. Would the old general risk it all to take out the King? Ligur would never decide this on his own.”
“If he did this is over,” Sula grunted and checked if the guards had come within hearing distance again.
“We could rally around the Queens, if the worst came to pass,” Dumont offered in a half-hearted manner. “We’ve enough power to put the kid on the throne.”
“Macrinus would have to agree. He controls the Northern routes and all the iron,” Sula said, his head hurting. “Damn it Pete, we can’t be thinking of this right now!” He growled and glared at the younger of the Holt boys. “Would your father agree to move now?”
“The news shook him to his core. Monica is the Queen of Regia and his daughter still. I think he will.”
“Even if Lucius is gone?” Sula queried his mouth turning bitter. He had to ask the question.
“I would,” Bernard replied coldly. “For my sister.”
We need an honest to allgods fallback plan, Sula thought. Martha always preached the need to have their future secured and while Sovya was there for him, Sula couldn’t just admit defeat without a fight and abandon Regia to a bunch of murdering traitors.
“Find Sir Gatrell. I want all able cavalry across the bridge tonight. The weather might turn worse,” Sula ordered his aide. “They need to find Pike’s rangers in the field and penetrate together as far down the road as they can reach.”
“What about the rest of the Legion?” Dumont asked although he had understood that Sula’s mind was made up.
“We’re going to march fast Pete,” Sula had told him. “Reach Ligur and kick his teeth in afore he realizes we’re on the move. One day for the news to break, another for his men to react. Say three in worst case. But it may be a week afore he realizes it, we could be heading anywhere. Can we do it in three days?”
“The train can’t keep up in that case Nonus,” Dumont grimaced.
“I just want the machines. Slot them first in line after the cohorts. Them Boston’s boys better be moving fast or I’ll have their skin peeled off! This is a rich land and the men got fat holidaying on the King’s coin for months. Plenty of that lard around to burn.”
“I’ll get them going,” his friend agreed and pursed his lips unhappy. “I’ll never get that knee healed after this,” Dumont murmured.
“Quite the opposite. Walking on it will build up the muscles,” Sula assured him.
If ‘build up’ was a metaphor for swelling then it worked famously.
>
>
> Two hours after midnight bells had rang over the sleeping city of Asturia, on the 9th day of Primus, the first month of the year 194NC, the Legatus of the Fourth Legion Nonus Sula, ordered the leading mobile units of the ‘Brazen Fourth’ to cross the flooded Framtond River. 400 hundred horsemen split in two elements (150 medium legion cavalry led by Optio Roger Bailey and Decurion Ville Hunt from Halfostad plus 50 heavy lancer cavalry and 200 mounted Karls under Sir Norman Gatrell, the ‘whitebark knight’ from Yepehir) went over the bridge and joined with the scouts of Centurion Gerald ‘Half Ear’ Pike (80 armoured rangers + 50 ranged scouts) and the 70 northern warriors of Marlene Lake. Pike had been scouring the woods and the coastal road for weeks but hadn’t made any meaningful contact with Ligur’s elusive scouts.
>
> The strong reconnaissance force fanned out and jumped ten kilometers ahead of the infantry moving fast but still didn’t encounter any danger waiting to contest the crossing. Pike messaged Sula that afternoon but the impatient Legatus was already across the river riding with the 200 strong mounted Slingers of Centurion Joe Fallon and Decanus Drusus Thrasea and the message reached Prefect Rufius Valens who was still on the other side of the bridge with Centurion Didicus’ 1st Cohort and Signifer Duc Gratian.
>
> Didicus was the second cohort to cross Framtond as Centurion Opiter Carbo’s 2nd was marching hard after the Legatus. Centurion Whitt’s 3rd with the fresh Optio Sigma Mercator trotting along went next an hour later and finally Centurion Gratian’s 4th (the Signifer’s 2nd cousin) with First Prefect Harrison Jacobred the Legion’s scribe, LID officer Hugh Bolton and his aide Rob Zerou.
>
>
>
> On the Asturia side of the bridge a huge number of wagons, carriages and pack animals had been gathering all day coming from the disassembled Castrum (which they carried with them), but also parts of Duke Holt’s massive supply train for his own men.
>
> The Asturia soldiers couldn’t be ready on the 9th or even the 10th. They did manage to assemble late that day but the bridge approach had been bogged down (under heavy rain) in the meantime with so many animal-drawn vehicles that two days after Sula’s cohorts had marched down the coastal road uncontested, barely half had crossed.
>
> The large IV Legio’s supply train and war-machines had created (or initiated) the bigger problem as Prefect of engineers Isaak Boston and his officers Cable and Harbor had insisted the heavy scorpios, catapults and trebuchet to go first. They did that and got at the front of the line but in the meantime the other side of the bridge had been flooded with wagons rushing to cross before the river covered the surface of the bridge and officers all but quarreled as tempers flared with the horrible weather not helping.
>
> With the waters rising the bridge submerged under a foot of water, so it was agreed the rest of Quartermaster Scrofa’s wagons to cross first, followed by Sir Rupert Holt and a detail of infantry (around a hundred guards and five hundred of Asturia’s regulars) to safeguard the opposite site as by that time (late on the 11th) the cohorts were kilometers away.
>
> Duke Holt had amassed 4500 infantry (4000 regulars + 500 of the city’s guards –a two thousand strong force stayed behind) and 500 very-heavy cavalry (professional men-at-arms + Knights) from Asturia under Sir Rupert Holt. An additional 1000 infantry (800 regulars from Whitetiger + 200 from Ruinal and Foxville) under Lord Draco the Duke’s shield and 500 hundred infantry from Croton and Islandport under Lord Mercator himself. The six thousand strong force added another 350 wagons to the Fourth’s 200 and another 3000 followers to the 2500 Sula’s Legion dragged after him. With eleven thousand people and 550 wagons attempting to go over the dangerous flooded bridge and its roads chaos ensued.
image [https://i.postimg.cc/T1GCP9QK/10-12-isles-port.jpg]
> Boston moved his machines and half the Legio’s wagons a kilometer away from the bridge (or three according to the Duchy’s sources) and the hundred Asturia guards followed after them in the confusion. Scrofa came up next with the rest (the majority) of the supplies and civilians, but had to pause not far from the bridge to repair damages and attempt to navigate the flooded road that had turned unsuitable for heavily laden caravans. Sir Holt went over next with his Asturia Regulars detachment and kept most of his force north of the road to allow for his father’s wagons to make it across.
>
> While this was going on at the bridge, Legatus Sula and his fast moving Cohorts moved west on the coastal road making excellent progress despite the downpour. The march was grueling but with the officers giving example and its fame on the line the Cohorts covered forty kilometers each day. Sula wanted to catch Ligur unprepared and even in the event that the old general had kept enough force back to defend his flank, the Legatus of the IV wouldn’t give him the time to react timely. In his calculations Ligur needed at least four days to bring whatever he had at Mercator’s Inn to Islandport (after word reached him). With his scouts shadowing the First Legion’s scouts not an hour ahead of them and the foul weather, Sula believed Ol’ Scrawny had been caught sleeping.
>
> Unfortunately for him Ligur didn’t have to move at all and it was a badly kept secret within the ranks of the First that the stubborn Legatus slept for only two hours per day (an hour per twelve) and if that.
image [https://i.postimg.cc/k71qHZB0/12th-islesport.jpg]
> On the 12th Sir Gatrell ambushed Ligur’s scouting force and routed them south, deep into the plains towards Worm Lake. The action kept them far enough from the road and as the last report they had was of the Fourth Legion stopping to rest from the arduous march and the worsening weather, still over a day away from Islandport, the determined Legatus leaped at the chance. He ordered the cohorts to quick march after an hour’s rest towards East Coast Woods. When a worn out Sula guised at the treeline marking the start of the flooded wooded area hours later he commented to his hobbling loyal adjutant Prefect Dumont.
>
> ‘By the Allgods Pete, there’s no one here! We got that old prick by them nuts!’
>
> Baron Scylla who had been tasked by Ligur to ambush the advancing lead units of the Fourth (that would be Marlene’s and Pike’s men) but retreat to safety decided to attack and destroy the weary force completely. The First Legion’s rangers (around 300 but with at least another light infantry unit of mercenaries and many slingers) surprised Pike jumping on his forward squads on the late afternoon of the 12th.
>
> Pike retreated looking for cover north of the road but the enemy followed him killing many horses and causing casualties. Marlene’s northmen beat back the attack on the south side of the road but got mauled by volley after volley of lead shot and had to retreat. The same fate had befallen Scylla’s rangers and infantry though as Fallon’s mounted slingers arrived at the scene and unleashed their lethal projectiles against them, some without jumping from their horses.
>
> Ligur who had to dispatch Sir Sylvan Scylla with the rest of his cavalry to save his scouts from Sir Gatrell, sent Prefect Memon at the Baron’s headquarters to berate him for steering away from the plan and order him to stop the attack immediately before they lost any more valuable men. It was a minor variation, but Scylla’s gambit warned Sula of enemies ahead of him that ‘somehow’ expected his arrival and forced the Legatus to halt the march of 2nd Cohort briefly. After discussing it with his officers Sula decided to wait for all the Cohorts to arrive. The 4th for example was still four hours away.
>
> With darkness falling, men slept where they stood under the rain that thankfully stopped on the morning of the 13th after four days of hellish deluge.
>
>
-
Eighteen Months Offensive
13th of Primus 194,
Code named -18 plus 14-
Campaign Day 403
Winter
Battle of Islandport’s outer fortifications
(aka Battle of the fences)
4th Legion’s center
Three kilometers from the city’s wheat fields dominating its east side
The front extending inside the trees on the north flank
Five hundred meters from the East Coast Woods,
Four kilometers from the road junction leading towards the main south gates, south to Mercator’s Inn and west towards the town of Tenor
Morning
-
A sleepless, thoroughly soaked Sula scratched the mud off of his worn out boots with a dirty stick while listening to the field reports read quickly to a scowling Dumont over the sound of the legionnaires forming up. That would be the 2nd Cohort’s men under Opiter Carbo.
“Where is the First Legion?” Sula interrupted LID officer Bolton. His aide Zerou had nailed a field map on the crude tent’s support (in reality just a square cotton canvas, secured on four two-meter long wooden poles) and kept it open standing behind it. They had to cut down trees during the night to construct rudimentary accommodations as their supplies were still on the road.
“No Legion infantry observed in the field. These are Sabretooth regulars behind the fences sir,” Bolton replied, a week’s growth of hair on his face. Almost everyone was unshaven by this point and it made them look a bit rougher than they were but not by much. “Only faced auxiliary units up until now.”
“Gatrell?”
“He’s still pursuing cavalry. Jacobred queries whether to bring the field headquarters nearer. The fourth cohort is keeping back to anchor the rear.”
“We expect Boston’s engineers to appear soon,” Dumont explained. “The spot we picked is fine for them to make camp and assemble their machines. Scrofa shall pretty up the place later.”
“Prefect Valens asked for Pike’s men to probe the east coast of the city. He wants to penetrate through the woods,” Hugh Bolton reported. “The peninsula turns west there at the edges and the beach extends all the way to the port. We could bypass what they have blocking the road sir.”
“That fence ain’t even two meters high. More fancy I would say with all the clay lathered over it, than impregnable,” Dumont noted with a grimace.
“Carbo thinks we could run over it if we use Scutums to step on,” Bolton added and Sula got up with a grunt, straightening his protesting back, his broad neck cracking when he turned it left and right.
“The 2nd Cohort will attack the Baron to test his center with the 3rd Cohort in support,” Scylla’s banners were visible over the barricades. “This will allow Valens the opportunity to circle around through the woods and reach the beaches across the port. If it’s heavily defended, he’s to secure the approach, mark it down and we’ll send the 4th after him. I would like to keep the Cohort in reserve though.”
“The terrain is flooded there,” Dumont said. “Not as much as at the Bogs but plenty for sure.” That was the other peninsula forming the cup-like shaped gulf with Islandport at its bottom.
“Didicus shall protect our south flank with the first. Push ahead after we lock Scylla’s center to take over the road coming from Mercator’s Inn. With the mud and the blasted weather we face right now, that flat cobblestone your father installed comes at a premium lad.” The latter he’d addressed to Lord Mercator’s son Optio Sigma. The educated noble was a legitimized bastard but he’d been taken care for by his father.
“What is Ligur doing?” Dumont grunted and hobbled in the attempt to stand. He managed it with the help of the cane. That knee had taken a heavy punishment even on the saddle.
“You think he sent everything against Lucius?” Sula asked as he had an eye south expecting the old general’s reinforcements to appear at any moment.
“Well, no machines behind the fences still, the fortifications are not much given that the city has no walls and Scylla has only his infantry there.”
Dumont had no idea, was the long and short of it.
“All killed rangers we searched are from the First Legion sir,” Bolton reported. “Fully equipped but carrying no supplies.”
“They have the city packed for sure,” Dumont griped as they were rationing for days now.
“Send Bailey to help Gatrell,” Sula ordered. “I want the fields clear on our rear as deep south as they can make it and then scout ahead towards Mercator’s inn. Not all of them though, I want Bailey back here in case Ligur has more cavalry west of Islandport.”
A runner approached from the front, the young man covered in drying mire.
“Centurion Carbo reports ‘Testudo’ formed per maniple Legatus!” The soldier boomed with youthful enthusiasm. “Ehm… requests permission to advance on the enemy afore it rains again sir!”
“Is that what Carbo said?” Dumont asked him with a tired smile. He and the Centurion of the 2nd Cohort were born just a house apart in Demames.
“I slightly prettied it up for the Legatus’ ears sir!” The soldier boomed smartly.
Sula reached for his wet legion helm and slotted it over his head. Tied the leather bindings on it under Dumont’s worried scrutiny and then fixed the gladius’ sheath.
“Tell Carbo to attack,” Sula ordered simply and glanced at his aide. “I’m heading to Whitt’s 3rd Cohort Pete. I ain’t getting involved but I want to know what is going on.”
“We have field-glasses for that Nonus,” Dumont grunted cleaning his armour from some of the mud the trotting away soldier had hurled at him.
“True,” Sula retorted and stooped to exit from under the tent. “The closer you are, the better you see with them.”
> On the morning of the 13th of Primus, Centurion Opiter Carbo’s 2nd Cohort took over in the center from Pike’s rangers that redeployed east inside the woods (3/4 quarters of them) with Prefect Valens. The 3rd Cohort under Centurion Luke Whitt of Halfostad, moved four hundred meters behind Carbo formed up in squares (sources mention a testudo formation used for the final approach.) The 1st Cohort under Didicus moved a kilometer to the south, aiming to flank Scylla’s line of fortifications and guard the Legion’s flank.
>
> Sula was probably nervous about his supply train being late not in the sense of having not arrived yet (as Boston was due at any point during the day or the next anyway) but the absence of missive riders reaching them with an update. Sula needed Scrofa’s birds to communicate with the trailing (supposedly) Duke and without the Quartermaster news of the rear didn’t reach the Fourth for a crucial half a week.
>
> While three or four days aren’t that much of a time gap, in this instance the absence of it was catastrophic.
>
> Kilometers to their rear on the 12th, at the massive but thoroughly flooded Framtond Bridge Regulus’ 2nd Cohort of the First Legion came out of the thick Lourmar Forest and attacked Sir Holt’s guarding force. They brushed the south flank aside and moved against the supply trains that were now separate but very near. Sir Rupert sounded the alarm and ordered the soldiers camping on the north side of the road to attack the legionnaires but they got overwhelmed amidst the wagons and the panicked civilians running for their lives.
>
> Further to the west a detachment of rangers (around two hundred with light troops mixed in) ambushed Scrofa’s separate supply train causing great casualties in trained rear guard personnel. (The Quartermaster was either two kilometers behind Boston’s machines or twenty depending on sources, but elements of the marching west engineering column along the Asturia’s guard detachment shielding it, were alerted and turned back.) Scrofa despite lacking in soldiers managed to defend the spread out wagons for four hours and the Asturia guards arrived to help him save some of the caught in the action civilians.
>
> Sir Rupert’s force had to retreat north towards the woods and away from the bridge and this allowed Regulus to keep a century blocking elements of the Duke’s cavalry that charged over the bridge pushing the gathered crowd aside or in the cold waters, killing twenty civilians. It was a desperate attempt to break out and assist the cut off in the mud Sir Rupert. (Rupert was the Duke’s heir.)
>
> Regulus sent a century to push Sir Rupert further into the flooded woods (all of Canlita’s south shores had flooded due to heavy downpours the previous days, a detail that would plague Sula’s plans at Islandport the next day) and half of the 1st (around three hundred legionnaires) to assist his struggling rangers.
>
> Despite Scrofa’s efforts and the valiant defense by the Asturia cut off guards fighting alongside them, the First Legion’s men overwhelmed them killing nine out of ten present, Scrofa and the captain leading the detachment sharing this cruel fate. With the wagons and supplies captured or destroyed the survivors fled after the engineering column’s wagons or scattered in the plains. Sir Rupert defended the woods north of the road for the whole day but morale plummeted during the night as fatigue and cold set in, while Regulus was able to rotate his men with those guarding the bridge.
>
> After the initial failed cavalry attempt to break through, the alerted of the unfolding events Duke Holt, rode to the front himself and ordered Sir Battas to use infantry piecemeal across the flooded bridge to keep Regulus on his toes. The practice would cost Asturia almost two hundred soldiers killed or drowned in three days, but kept Regulus occupied at the other end of the bridge and forced him to abandon his plan of pursuing Boston’s machines immediately. He needed his rangers as he lacked in ranged weapons and mobile troops.
>
> The Duke wanted to evacuate the trapped men from the woods using the ships at his disposal and attempt to find a crossing over the Framtond to flank the enemy blocking the road. A strong force of 500 hundred soldiers guarding the docks near the city of Croton south of Asturia on the east banks of Framtond (across from it really, a place called Nymph’s Shame where the river was deeper but narrower) were alerted that night to march following the Hunter Routes towards the Lourmar Crossroads deep inside the gargantuan forest. A long and arduous journey in the middle of winter season. Duke Holt had realized within a day that Ligur had taken Lourmar and used the trails to surprise them.
>
> While Asturia marines embarked on the ships did reach the south banks of Canlita crossing the Framtond delta and penetrated the woods there, even managing to evacuate some of the regulars that had survived two days in the mud, Sir Rupert wasn’t amongst them. The Duke’s heir had been wounded during the initial assault and succumbed to his wounds during the first night. His body was never recovered despite frantic searches of the area after the war.
image [https://i.postimg.cc/PhsKgQvJ/13-14-asturia-Lourmar.jpg]
> Unbeknownst to the tragedy unfolding to his rear Sula watched with growing satisfaction Carbo’s assault on Lord Scylla’s entrenched forces. In a bitter struggle the determined 2nd Cohort climbed the first fence and fought its way fifty meters deep to take over the second barricade despite heavy resistance. The Slingers supporting both groups had cancelled each other out, dueling behind decent or not as good cover, with a young man from Vinterfort having half his head blown off when a lead shot went through a thin plank of wood that had a been part of a destroyed chicken house.
>
> Carbo gained a meter every two minutes of savage fighting and progressed steadily taking over the second line of fences near the afternoon. With the legionnaires over the barricades, the regulars were pushed back and angled towards the fields of Islandport with the 3rd Century (standing at the edge of the line) pushing them inside the quagmire as the whole 2nd Cohort started pivoting north slowly.
>
> The Brazen Fourth despite being worn out from the long march had smashed Scylla’s center and was about to break through into the city. A surely elated but worried Sula watched with clenched teeth the events, witnessing the birth of a monumental triumph before his very eyes and perhaps the end of the campaign itself.
>
> The alert –and hands on- Legatus following after the slowly advancing on the jam-packed with butchered corpses first fence 3rd Cohort, managed to spot movement coming towards the now protruding south flank of the 2nd Cohort (the 1st Cohort covering it had stayed three hundred meters back where the junction was) and ordered a search of the uninhabited southwest portion of the front beyond the junction.
>
> While scouts scrambled to identify the peculiar gathering of wagons there, Vinterfort’s regulars attacked Carbo and stopped him momentarily from advancing further through the fields and enter the city. Sula ordered Whitt’s 3rd Cohort forward and over the second line of barricades but a terrible barrage of artillery started falling across the whole narrow breakthrough point.
>
> Iron bolts and catapult shots rained ever closer on the exposed Carbo and the Centurion ordered the 2nd to retreat towards the barricade immediately. It must be noted that almost a half of Scylla’s force had been killed or seriously maimed by that point. Sula stopped the 3rd Cohort from advancing as he’d figured out what Ligur had there without input from the scouts. Carbo marched back towards the fences but Ligur’s war machines had pre-measured and marked the spots ahead of time. When the first boulders, shrapnel and at least forty two-meter long iron bolts per volley started falling in the space between the two barricades, the Fourth Legion’s number of dead and wounded spiked up abruptly.
“SON O’ BLOATED BITCH!” A legionnaire cursed, holding his friend’s bloody head in his hands. The body had been separated from it and was nailed on the fence twenty meters away from him.
“Legatus!” Whitt roared as a gnarly Sula had stood up over the second fence to count the machines firing at them. “DAMNIT! SOMEONE SHOVE HIM BEHIND COVER!”
“Belay that!” Sula barked and trotted across the field with the ground exploding all around him at regular intervals. The missing bolts sinking half a meter in the soft ground and the heavy rocks digging out craters with a diameter of at least a meter. No burning oil though, thank the fucking weather, Sula thought sprinting behind cover, boots sliding in the sludge when he stopped near a scowling Dumont.
“Are ye plaguing serious Nonus?” His aide grunted. “At least get a shield.”
“No shield is stopping that shit,” Sula retorted fixing the helm on his head. “Where’s Bailey?”
“We sent for him. Jacobred wanted to dispatch a rider towards Asturia to locate Boston.”
“Later. Right now I want him to charge on those gods darn machines,” Sula spat irate. “Shove his lances in them motherfuckers’ hairy sphincters and work at them until they beg for more!”
Ligur had a lot more machines built than they had originally thought. The lackluster fortifications and short fences thus explained. The old general wasn’t going to defend passively behind walls.
“The fuck is his infantry?” Sula spat, his mouth dry despite the humidity of the coastal road. Dumont signed for LID officer Bolton to approach.
“Make it brief,” Sula grunted as he was working on a plan to use Didicus to surround the war-machines and finish them off with a cavalry charge. The first of Bailey’s riders stated arriving near the frontline.
“Valens reached the west edge of the East Coast Woods,” Bolton reported. “Scylla has regulars there and rangers defending the beaches but their barricades are under water. The fight is at the edge of the woods and the villas across the port.”
“Can he break through from there?” Dumont asked perking up.
“The men are exhausted sir. The terrain is under a foot of water and mud, he needs reinforcements.”
“Can he break through into the blasted port?” Sula barked hoarsely and a spasm marred Bolton’s face before the officer regained his composure.
“If they brush them aside yes. But not with rangers against infantry,” Bolton replied stiffly.
“Ugh!” Sula grunted and gestured angry in his frustration. “Get Gratian moving,” he ordered Dumont after he calmed down some. “Bucket of turds!” The Legatus cursed the next moment as he didn’t want to commit his reserve there.
“If Valens and Pike enter the port, they can swing around and cut Scylla away from the city,” Dumont reminded him and Sula swung around to stare at the battlefield. The whooshing and rattling of the constant bombardment on the desperately seeking cover legionnaires grating to his nerves.
“Scylla is regrouping, but the fields are not defensible,” he started working the problem in his head. “Even with Vinterfort’s soldiers.”
“A prisoner mentioned they are under Seneca,” Bolton elucidated. It made sense. They were close friends with cities at the Regia’s frontier with Kaltha.
“What does Ligur have defending the machines?” Sula asked.
“We’ll know soon,” Dumont replied. “Bailey can scout fast and no machine will fire at a single horse. Usually.”
Yeah.
“Sir Gatrell has encountered legion Cavalry, along lancer units near Worm’s Lake’s thickets. Almost forty kilometers south from the road.” Bolton added.
What?
Sula turned to look at him unsure. “What are you talking about? Why place lancer units so far south?”
“You mean the rest of his cavalry was there?” Dumont asked frowning and then he stared at Sula.
“Get me a map,” the Legatus grunted and climbed over a part of the first fence to observe the troop movements. He knew the maps from heart anyway. Dumont brought him a pair of field-glasses to help him out. To his south the 1st Cohort under Didicus had left the junction and marched near the main army’s body while keeping an angled heading aimed at the still firing war-machines. Two hours into their initial barrage the volume had slowed down some, but it was mostly due the absence of targets as everyone had found somewhere to hide by now and those that haven’t were dead or bled out already.
Bailey’s riders had gathered beyond the machines range, further to Didicus’ north flank not even ten meters away from Sula. Beyond the second line of barricades, the Sabretooth and Vinterfort regulars had reappeared at the edge of the wheat fields but they didn’t look eager to challenge the two dug in battered cohorts.
Scylla’s force seemed even more battered and Sula had two ‘fresh’ Cohorts still in hand. Well, one was marching to the north side of the road inside the woods heading for Valens, but still the numbers were firmly in his favor.
Eager or not, Seneca trumpeted his men forward as if pushed by an invisible hand.
“Seneca is going to attack Carbo. That’s weird. The men will break,” Dumont said standing under the fence. Sula had the field-glasses turned beyond the junction, the matter of mixed cavalry guarding a meaningless copse in the middle of the plains bothering him immensely. Why waste it there? Why not attack our rear, or better yet give it to Scylla to help him defend the city?
Where are you Ol’ Scrawny?
A cavalry was of course a deterring force also and could act as scouts if you knew where to look.
“Nonus?” Dumont asked and Sula spotted a fast runner coming from Didicus’ approaching 1st Cohort. The Centurion had an eye on the war-machines to his west and Seneca’s now exiting the wheat field infantry to his northwest. “He can hit Seneca’s flank, roll it up proper,” Dumont added nervously because the win was staring them in the face even with the nasty surprise of the machines. “Or we could retreat, wait for the Duke.”
All needed is a final push.
The Vinterfort regulars formed, their north flank reinforced with Sabretooth’s troops and started marching against the fence. The war-machines had stopped firing as friendly and enemy soldiers were now etching closer. Carbo urged his weary men to their feet. The sun slowly retreating beyond the horizon and elongating shades from the woods reaching the bombarded, corpse littered battlefield.
There’s barely any light left, Sula thought, hearing Seneca’s men marching in step towards the legionnaires protecting the fence but standing two meters away from it. Carbo will move the first lines back and forth to kill the soldiers going over in small bunches. Rotate with Whitt to rest those about to collapse. Boots thundering on the hardening mud as the temperature dropped some more, sounding like a heavy hammer hitting stone inside a massively deep cave, the boom reverberating on the underground walls.
The sound coming from the North and the clad in studded armour men from Vinterfort approaching the second fence and Didicus 1st Cohort that marched fifty meters from Seneca’s exposed flank and stopped facing the flank of his line. Eight hundred and fifty men coming to a stop in a second.
Seneca’s desperate attempt at counter-attacking was doomed.
And yet the sound of many approaching hob-nailed boots didn’t end there. It persisted. Sula kept hearing it well after the Primus Pilus’ well-trained men halted behind their Scutums, at an ever rising, ever pulsing and unhurried tempo.
The army’s heart, the soldiers called it.
Is its infantry, Sula thought with a shiver and turned the field glasses towards the source of the strange phenomenon. To the south beyond Didicus’ banners of the 1st Cohort, under the laconic ‘Triumph’ and his personal red and black Demames square banner embroidered in gold, another set of banners had appeared. They had risen not a kilometer away, behind the tall grass covering the east side of the road.
Ever coming closer.
Familiar crimson red and likewise square. Not lacking in gold. The Lorian number ‘one’ (-I-) sewn on the smaller banners, the solemn head of an Alden Blacktiger carved on the larger. Every polished legion helm (a Galea) of the leading the massive in size centuries officers, encased in silver and gold, with thick plumes the color of blood.
The 1st Cohort of the I Legio is here, a numb Sula thought gravely, Didicus ordering ¾ quarters of his men to pivot about-face against the new danger in the background, just as Seneca attacked over the fence not fifty meters away and Lord Scylla advanced on Valens a couple of kilometers away near the shores of the angry sea-size lake.
The old man always loses if you seek your triumph, for the win he’ll find inside it, shall turn poisonous and kill him, the witch had said never one to shy away from saying the simplest things in the most complicated of manners.
> In reality the Legatus of the First Lorian Legion had been there all along. The Legion’s camp build ten kilometers away from Mercator’s Inn at the edge of the forest hugging Peaceful Lake (its sister body of water called Worm’s Lake not much further to its east) and before the flats of the plains, half-a-day’s march from Islandport. The quick march Ligur had performed on the night of the 10th partially and the night of the 11th fully, when word of Lucius attack at Holt’s Stables reached him.
image [https://i.postimg.cc/Dvm57xd4/13-14-islesport.jpg]
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>
> Interlude
>
>
>
> Ah, Baron Darvot thought stretching himself on the saddle, the bright snow covering the ground bothering his eyes. He rubbed both gloved hands together, his aide sipping at a bronze flask of black whiskey with his eyes closed. The humidity of the lake cutting through their heavy leather coats and armour. The horse’s warmth pleasant under him but unfortunately the only heat source available for kilometers. Might as well get back to Brownfort, he decided. It’s too fucking cold for smart animals to wander about.
>
> They had ventured near the forest between Picker’s River and the muddy road to Pascor, right under the turn south heading for the river port across Bisonville, because game was better there and animals came to this part of the Canlita Sea to spend the winter was the tall tale.
>
> Well, they don’t, the Baron decided sourly. The thought of returning to his wife depressing but the cold was too much to endure for no reason.
>
> “What the actual frozen fuck?” Brugge grunted almost spiting the drink out. The Baron turned his head to look at his right hand man and he pointed with his flask at a spot near the freezing lake’s shores.
>
> Darvot blinked, his breath coming out in vapors not helping. Then a naked man came out of the water. Skin black and shredded from neck to dangling cock, the muscles so well defined you could study anatomy on him. Not bulky as much as wiry. Body covered in stitches for healed cuts and gouging wounds. Missing fingers on his left hand and braided hair the color of fire.
>
> A half-breed.
>
> “Is that one of them Crull bastards?” Brugge wondered aloud at the casually walking on the snow covered beach to get his frozen clothes man. “Hey, naked dude!” He barked hoarsely and kicked his horse forward.
>
> The stranger stopped to glance their way and then proceeded to wear his trousers unbothered.
>
> Darvot felt a shiver running through him at the stare and it wasn’t only from the cold breeze coming over the surface of the water.
>
> “Are you deaf?” Brugge grunted and stopped his horse, a gloved hand on the pommel of his sword. “We don’t like strangers or weirdos roaming into our lands without proper permits,” he warned him. The half-breed sucked at his front teeth audibly, mouth splitting into some kind of grimace next. Darvot noticed he’d gotten a battleaxe out of the pile of clothes and armour at his naked feet. The blades on it had seen plenty of use but looked razor sharp and the shaft was covered in strips of black leather. “You better put that thing down now,” Brugge added tensely and that grimace appeared again on the stranger’s face.
>
> Disconcerting, wolf-like, murderous.
>
> Darvot realized that while it was a failed attempt at a smile, it made for a convincing snarl.
>
> Witch’s sagging tits!
>
> “We are not lookin’ fer trouble,” the half-breed said gutturally still sort of ‘grinning’, the plural forcing Darvot to fumble for his own blade. “Came to the coast, for the road is better here in winter. Plenty warmer too.”
>
> “The water is plaguing freezing ye crazy son of a snow skunk,” Brugge spat in disbelief and Darvot guised another figure rising out of the shallow coastal water. The man equally, actually way more muscular with a wild set of red hair flowing down his shoulders. His barreling torso naked. Head big as a water bucket.
>
> “Ye get used to it,” the half-breed assured him. “It’s good to travel wit friends.”
>
> A scared Darvot glanced the other way where the snowed upon trees stood and saw more armoured figures coming out. A lot of them. Some wore similar armour, fine chainmail under leather coats and pants. Others were clad in a mixture of plate and hides. They carried swords and axes. Spears and shields. All shields had a black squid painted on them.
>
> “We are looking fer passage. Over the big lake,” the half-breed said raspingly and despite his effort to appear friendly there was a whole lot of threatening in his tone directed at them. “Be willing to pay for it. In real coin,” he added and the man that had come out of the water after him laughed from his belly thunderously.
>
> A roar really, since the mountain of a ‘man’ was a giant standing near eight feet tall.
>
> “Ye can point us Pascor’s way for a fee ‘n we’ll part on kindly terms,” the ‘friendly’ half-breed continued and stooped to pick up a shirt to put on. “Or we’ll find it ourselves. It’ll be healthier not to entertain other notions,” he added with an executioner’s stare at Brugge. “Been a long six months on the icy road, not enough killing for some of the lads.”
>
> “Milord?” Brugge asked him and Darvot ogled his way frustrated.
>
> They had been ambushed by over five hundred cutthroats or whatever the blasted fuck they were, in the middle of fucking nowhere.
>
> What do you expect me to do here?
>
> Send them back where they came from?
>
> How?
>
> “Pascor is lovely this time of year,” Darvot croaked his mouth dry and sweating from armpits to arsecrack despite the cold breeze blasting him in the face.
>
> It wasn’t really. Lovely. Matter of fact Pascor was a shitty city during all seasons and twice that on winter.
>
> Let Dolf deal with them, he decided.
>
> I did all I could.
>