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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
Duath Erin I Menel
The Wine Wars | Meat grinder
Part II
-Unfortunately II-
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/fWL3sNb8/Mussel-195-NC.jpg]
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> Early evening of the 10th of Primus (Imperial Enna) 195 NC
>
> Mussel-Taras road
>
> D’Orsi is informed of Vardar’s and the Band of Silver’s fate
>
>
>
> Adriano Monte looked sick but Primo D’Orsi wasn’t worried about him. Monte can take a hit or a couple and remain loyal. He stared at the tired sergeant Calla who’d brought some of Scaevola’s engineers back and then at Turbot, late Scaevola’s unit's second in command.
>
> “What about Vardar? Grimani?” He asked hoarsely.
>
> “Vardar was cut down by Zilan in the chaos that followed the army center’s collapse commandant,” the survivor of the Band of Silver replied. “Grimani might still be alive somewhere in the jungle.”
>
> “Vardar was at the frontline?”
>
> “Zilan had infiltrated our rear,” Calla explained. “There is a wyvern sir.”
>
> “I’ve seen it,” D’Orsi replied. “And its handiwork.”
>
> “The wyvern wasn’t involved in the battle at all milord,” Turbot informed him.
>
> “But these Zilan hoplites were?”
>
> “The Phalanx sir,” Calla said.
>
> D’Orsi glanced at Monte. “If we’re lucky milord, half of the pre-battle intel might pan out,” the experienced mercenary officer and trainer replied crooking his mouth.
>
> “You think they are a small force?” D’Orsi probed and Monte shrugged his shoulders.
>
> “If we’re lucky,” he said simply.
>
> “Could it be the wyvern is injured or I don’t know…?” D’Orsi stared at the engineer.
>
> “Spent sire?” The man offered. “As in out of ammo?”
>
> “I’m not familiar with its intimate mechanisms Turbot,” D’Orsi retorted. “You think it carries fire in a bag?”
>
> “Whatever the case may be milord,” Monte intervened. “We need to act now with the night ahead of us.”
>
> “The unit shall retreat towards Mussel,” D’Orsi ordered his captains Gravina and Binda. “Cerra, Cactus and Saxer’s Issir rangers will create a rearguard and follow the main body for the time being.”
>
> “Milord,” Bo Saxer, the Owl company’s sergeant had caught up with them during the march, interrupted respectfully. “Sardone is incapacitated or dead and Keitel can barely field over a hundred men. We have as many injured. The Fleet is gone sire.”
>
> “We can’t have this spreading sergeant!” D’Orsi snapped at the Issir who grimaced in frustration.
>
> “We all respect milord the word is out,” he replied raspingly. “The port is still burning.”
>
> D’Orsi got up from his field chair and went to stand at the entrance to his tent. He peeked outside thinking of the developments and trying to keep a clear mind not to miss a potential solution. If there was one.
>
> “You talked to that sailor sergeant,” he finally started without looking at the table. “Yes?”
>
> “I did milord,” Saxer replied. “A couple of days ago.”
>
> “But he was aboard the brig Sundew?”
>
> “That’s what he said.”
>
> “You doubt his words?” D’Orsi asked and turned around.
>
> “Sir, the man claims he saw the wyvern attack the Barque Decibel. Made fire out of its mouth,” Saxer elucidated. “Got hit by two bolts and part of its wing almost came off.”
>
> “You don’t believe it?”
>
> “I saw it fly around as have you commandant,” Saxer replied tensely. “It’s difficult to miss in the sky.”
>
> “But you didn’t see it attack again,” D’Orsi insisted and pursed his mouth. “We’ll retreat to Mussel. Barricade the port but setup in the surrounding wilderness as well.”
>
> “You reach the port,” Monte noted. “The men will want to hop on the ships and go. If it becomes apparent that this ain’t an option we might have trouble in our hands milord.”
>
> “We’ll hold for the Fleet to return and offer us assistance,” D’Orsi repeated hoarsely but in a commanding tone. “This is the way gentlemen,” he added trying to motivate them and lift their spirits. “Else we’ll be at the mercy of the Wyvern lord.”
>
> “Milord the fleet…” Saxer tried to protest but D’Orsi cut him off with a curt gesture.
>
> “The Valkyrie left the port for sure sergeant! I have talked with other survivors!” D’Orsi breathed out and lowered his voice. “Other ships might have done the same. They will come back to assist us. But we need to keep the port until they do.”
>
> “You expect the men to stand and fight a flying beast that breathes fire out of its mouth?” Saxer argued still unconvinced with the whole plan.
>
> “The beast might not be able to do it again,” D’Orsi snapped at him angrily. “I expect the men to fight, neutralize threats and yes, deal with exotic things also Saxer. Be it wyverns or witches.”
>
> “I rather face witches sire,” Saxer retorted with a grimace of disgust.
>
> “You’re dismissed sergeant,” D’Orsi ordered stiffly. “Everyone get back to your posts. We are moving back.”
>
> He watched them depart for moment and then turned to the frowned Monte. “What? I have to keep them focused Adriano.”
>
> “My lad I get that,” Monte replied calmly. “Why did you have to bring up witches though? We are in enough trouble as it is.”
>
> “How are witches any worse than a plaguing wyvern mister Monte?” Primo grunted at his old friend and Monte shook his head right and left afore replying.
>
> “I’d rather not to find that out D’Orsi.”
>
>
-
Morning of the 11th, the month Enna of the imperial year 3401.
The 3rd Othrim waited for reinforcements to arrive during the night. During that time it finished setting up a camp near the site of the battle to keep the prisoners and house the injured.
There it was again in his deepest stupor. Her feverish dream spilling into his. The dagger acting as medium because it was ordered to do so by its interloper ancient resident. But what was it that she had said in that now more-familiar tongue?
Her voice still somewhat indecipherable, the hushed words muffled behind the mummer’s chuckle. More a warning than the suggestion he’d originally believed.
The first word still inaudible.
…wake the wyvern.
The dream fading once again and turning into fragments.
RRRRRREEEEE
“Gaah! Gargle…grr,” Glen gasped and growled coming about abruptly. He immediately slipped from the wyvern’s scaly back but managed to land on his shaky legs still half-awake.
The Cofol warrior prostrated on the ground twenty meters away under Uvrycres’ menacing glare. The wyvern turned its long neck sensing Glen moving and winked at him conspiratorially.
“Triumphant Monarch!” The Cofol cried out from his uncomfortable position.
“Just… stand upright damn it,” Glen grunted hoarsely looking for a flask of water and blinked hard to get his eyes working properly.
“I rather remain respectful Exulted Monarch!”
“Stand the fuck up!” Glen growled and the warrior sprang to his feet with a worried glance at the smirking smugly wyvern hovering over the Monarch. The latter glugging down water to wash his throat and mouth.
“Reveled Monarch, Ran-Sahor invites you to a morning banquet!” The Cofol informed him.
“What’s wrong wit a breakfast?” Glen murmured thinking about it.
“Sire?” The warrior asked unsure on the difference.
“When did you arrive?” Glen asked and then yawned whilst stretching his arms out.
“Early last evening Monarch,” the man replied quickly.
“Anyone else came with you?”
“Only hours after. Fane arrived just now, the adventurers and the sorcerers,” the Cofol caravan guard replied.
“What sorcerers?” Glen queried with a grimace.
“Eh… I don’t know the name… Betas?”
“Close enough. It’s Berthas,” Glen corrected him with a smirk that matched Uvrycres’. The standing behind the Monarch wyvern burped gutturally and it reeked of something rotten. Fuck’s sake! “He’s half-a-wizard,” Glen murmured and stared at the approaching at a steady trot Lyceron. He was followed by Saevelos.
“Hardir is awake at last,” Lyceron said upon arriving then cursed himself and grinned fiercely to save it.
“You can’t,” Glen grunted.
“Apologies Hardir,” Lyceron deadpanned. “I have report to give.”
“Who called Berthas?” Glen snapped.
“Lord Fikumin? He’s a sorcerer running a school of magic with pupils of his own,” Lyceron explained. “How better to test his skill than in the field Hardir?”
Alright something happened back in Taras but it is of no importance now, Glen decided with a grimace. “Report.”
“The enemy retreated during the night Hardir,” Lyceron said and Glen glanced at Saevelos. He trusted the by the book officer more.
“They are heading for Mussel Monarch,” Saevelos added.
“Make a stand there ye think?” Glen asked and walked in a small circle to think about it. “What’s to gain? Stall for time? Hmm,” he stopped and pursed his mouth. Sleeping in the field involves little actual rest, severe back pain and no morning lewdness. Glen breathed out then rubbed at his stomach. “Lyceron you’ll march after them. We all shall. Let’s do the dance. Ah and friend,” he added looking at the still waiting Cofol rider. “Walk me to your leader. I’ll have a desert banquet and then we will all head after the Othrim. Ah, and someone get me Captain Fane and Berthas. I want to talk with them.”
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“Dried up sweet plum. Prunes is a general term great Caliph,” Ran-Sahor, a wiry and tanned Cofol of about forty years told him and Glen dug some out of the ceramic bowl to taste them. “Dates in syrup and Kofi or black tea.”
“Lon-Iv has any news from our friend Phon?” Glen asked in between chomps. “Um. You should get some of dis nice shit to the wyvern.”
“Of course Caliph,” Ran-Sahor replied without batting a painted eyelash and gestured for one of the slaves to approach. “How much… is appropriate?”
“A large sack of the stuff, just keep the mule… or the slave away not to confuse Uvry they are part of the offering,” Glen replied indifferently and washed his mouth with some tea. “Phon?”
“Lord Phon-Iv is recovering,” Ran-Sahor informed him. “He’s considering sending Don-Iv to Rain-Minas.”
“No.” Glen said. “He can concentrate on helping out Metu in Ani Ta-Ne though. Can we use your men against the mercenaries? They might dig in, the ground there is a bit rough.”
“A man can fire an arrow without riding Caliph, if the target is near enough.”
“Yeah,” Glen murmured and turned to watch the white-haired Berthas approach followed by a simply dressed in green-robes Zilan female with blue hair cut short.
Keya is cute with a touch of nasty in her. What that nasty translated to, Glen didn’t know.
Mayhap it’s a witch thing.
“My lord Monarch,” Berthas greeted them and stopped near their picnic sheet. “Master Sahor. This is my pupil Keya of Taras.”
Another stray from the woods looking to clutch her way up the social ladder, Glen decided looking at the young hopeful witch.
“How is the school going Berthas?” He asked.
“Eh, the school isn’t finished yet Hardir. I have seven pupils picked but we sleep outside, at the ruins behind the bank’s building. It’s near the forest,” Berthas informed him.
“Hah, the rarely mentioned allure of resting under the stars. I do that as well despite owning a palace. I have to. But it does help you get attuned wit nature. Create a commune or Coven I believe the term is?” Glen retorted half-jesting half-serious.
“It’s more difficult in winter,” Berthas argued respectfully.
“In a year you’ll have a roof over yer heads and the winter is almost over,” Glen assured them and then grimaced. “Berthas… why are you here?”
“I’m here to assist the war effort Hardir.”
“Is she… here to assist as well?” Glen probed.
“Keya has excellent instincts.”
“One can take this quite a number of ways mage,” Glen grunted and glared at them. “Some of a randier nature.”
“Great Hardir,” Keya said in passable Taras jargon, a mixture of the Human Common Tongue and Imperial, “All instincts are useful and seduction has its own skill-tree.”
Her voice was annoying to him. Had he been her teacher on the matter she’d have gotten the boot out of his class.
“Thank you Keya,” Glen retorted staring at her gleaming eyes frostily. “Now have some prunes and close yer fucking mouth.”
“Hardir,” Berthas protested but swallowed nervously when Glen returned his amber-colored eyes on him. “I offer my apologies for her bluntness my Lord.”
“I don’t care about the bluntness,” Glen replied. “But when I need my words embellished I’ll simply ask for it. To color my words without permission is just rude Berthas. Teach yer student some manners for pity’s sake. I know slaves more polished than her!”
“Absolutely my Lord,” Berthas agreed eagerly. “I shall be very firm on her.”
“I’m sure you’ll be hard as ironwood,” Glen replied mockingly. He lately held a bit of animosity for the young mage who Glen happened to like in general, because he’d played with Phina’s heart. Or the Zilan equivalent of plowing the field then ditching. Phina he liked more than Berthas. “We might need a spell or two. The wyvern is worn out from all the heavy-lifting we had to do.”
“I heard about the casualties.”
Not where Glen was going with this and it soured him to the sorcerer even more.
“Despite our better efforts…” Glen paused to clear his throat. “Can you cast a fireball?” He asked to steer the conversation away from the sour topic.
“Of course Hardir.”
Glen blinked in shock not expecting it.
“You can? Well… Ehem. How in Luthos’ hairy balls… pardon my Imperial. Didn’t ye almost die trying to check on my wife a couple of years back?”
“Hardir… eh, the Lady Sovereign was suffering from an intricate high-level spell that was tied to a material medium or trinket.” Berthas replied a little offended. “A fire spell is the first thing… or amongst the first a mage asks to learn.”
“And does he? Learn them?” Glen asked curious.
“To a degree. I haven’t mastered greater spells yet.”
“Hmm. What do you need to perform?”
“A small demonstration Hardir?” Berthas asked. “Keya can channel and help me with that.”
Glen eyed him like one stares a drunken rat that had just interrupted his breakfast wandering inside his hall. “I need no demonstration inside the camp. I want you to bombard D’Orsi’s defenses. Can you do that my friend?” He asked icily after a brief explanation.
Berthas stood back a determined look in his aged but youthful face, a touch of panic in his eyes. “Absolutely your highness,” the young mage assured the glowering Monarch.
Right then. Glen thought his mind on a phrase Berthas had used.
“What could this medium be?”
“Anything of personal nature, owned or in some way connected to the target of the spell. It binds with the spell or creates a phylactery if you’re looking to attempt something more elaborate than casting a high-level curse. Any object can play that role,” Berthas replied readily.
“Like a pendant?” Glen asked narrowing his eyes thinking of Sen’s. He still carried it on him.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Aye Hardir. But also it could be something simpler. Even a utensil or a dagger,” Berthas replied with a small bow of his head.
-
> Little is known of the battle of Mussel. It happened in early winter of 195, mostly in the month Primus of the New Calendar. The Jelin mercenary forces under the control of Commandant D’Orsi consisted of the relatively intact 333 company, the retreating few survivors of the Band of Silver (mainly under sergeant Calla) and the half-strength Owls (under Keitel and the Issir Saxer). A potent force that barricaded itself near or around Mussel and probably fought doggedly for its survival.
>
> According to witnesses and the second hand memoirs of Captain Col Fark (of the galleass Crying Valkyrie that attempted to evacuate survivors) D’Orsi utilized whatever he had available to outmaneuver the Zilan forces that slowly coalesced at the tip of the peninsula but of the actual strategies involved we only have the abridged Imperial version and Ferrero’s writings.
>
> The 3rd Othrim, the brief report available for the public reads, marched through the pyroclastic clouds and entered the Port.
>
> Make of that what you wish.
-
21st of Primus 195 NC
Mussel
“Monarch!” The runner from Captain Fane’s front yelled saluting sharply. “We have pushed them back into the forest sir!”
“Eh,” Glen murmured and walked out the shaded portion of his field tent to stand under the heavy rain. He glanced at the dark sky for a moment knowing the rain wouldn’t last for long and then returned to his tent not wanting to get wet again.
“The map is all wrong! The letters messed up!” Troy griped and Sir Kirk reached to get it off his hands. Then he turned it upside down. Or the right way up.
“God damn it mate,” Troy gasped standing back to eye the knight impressed. “You figured it out! Now fix them letters will you?”
Fuck’s sake.
“Fane needs to concentrate on reaching the plateau from the east and not chase around those pesky rangers,” Glen murmured and stared at the Cofol officer waiting to speak. “Yes… Batum?”
“It is Batau great Caliph,” Batau corrected him in a respectful manner speaking with a heavy Cofol accent.
“It’s close in meaning though? Yes?”
“It is erudite leader,” Batau agreed although it probably wasn’t. “Master Ran-Sahor has also pushed the dark-skinned heathen on the west flank back into the woods.”
“This could take forever to resolve,” Glen griped. “Lyceron wants to attack the barricades again. Climb over them.”
“They could do it,” Kirk suggested.
“I could do it better! Big fucking deal!” Troy bellowed still stooped over the correct map with interest. What the gladiator was looking for a mystery.
“They’ll take casualties,” Glen grunted with a grimace of anger, pulling his lips back to bare his teeth. “They have concealed Scorpios on the roofs but they move them at night, so it’s a new story each fucking morning!” Glen had scouted the enemy from above with Uvrycres but despite the wyvern’s inclination to dive into the occupied half-ruined town, Glen had decided to keep them safe and avoid another crazy scene like the one on the Barque. He’d almost drown there but for the Matriarch’s help, not to mention getting shot in the plaguing head!
“Lyceron could advance and draw their fire,” Kirk insisted and Glen thought of Hobor’s File and the half-giant, the scenes of deep mourning that had followed had affected the Monarch deeply.
“I’m not in a hurry,” Glen snapped cutting him off. He was in a sense as another fleet could appear but this was a hypothetical scenario. Glen dealt with the present.
“You saw the ship lurking outside the port,” Troy said finishing whatever he was doing.
“Ayup, it’s the one that escaped,” Glen grunted. “There’s nothing they can do.”
While tempting, he didn’t want to risk another close call with them also.
He puffed out hearing the rain stopping over the thick leather roof of the tent. “Send Berthas.”
“Milord?” Kirk gasped. “What will the lad do?”
“I want a distraction,” Glen replied thoughtfully bringing in his mind the poorly constructed barricades that had ‘repaired’ part of the ruined ancient outer walls and blocked the main road leading to the docks or towards the east heights. “Sahor and Fane should keep the cretins D’Orsi left in our flanks checked and Lyceron will use the distraction to advance. I’ll take care of the rest,” he added resigned to the fact that it was unavoidable. Glen knew how to break the mercenaries. He just needed to minimize the risk. D’Orsi wanted to draw him into the town. His defenses more in depth and not near the frontline or the walls.
“Slay the cretin heathen! Let us gorge ourselves on their blood and tears!” The Cofol mercenary bellowed with fanatical fervor and some eloquence going as far as to raise a fist as if mimicking the Horselords of the steppe. Even so, no one supported his enthusiasm given that Kirk had relatives in Lesia and Troy was of course a Lorian from Novesium.
“How about ye suck on me heathen phallus Batau? Here,” the gladiator taunted the caravan guard and part-time slaver grabbing at his cock with a hand over a short tunic he had on.
Glen left them to solve it amongst themselves, his mind trying to decipher their opponent’s plan.
It is as if they want to lure the wyvern in, provoke it, have it use its magic from up close to dig out the defenders and kill us both in the ensuing confusion with shots coming from unexpected concealed positions. D’Orsi was either being vindictive here or his primary orders were all along to take Glen out. Which made the whole affair taste and feel even more personal for the irate Monarch who had managed to work himself into a frenzy just thinking about it.
So ye bastards want to entrap me? Made a fool alike the village idiot? Ye sneaky rotten cocksucker! A furious Glen thought with a scowl of annoyance. I’m going to fuck you all up. You’ll never step foot in Wetull again!
-
> Primo D’Orsi was about to climb down the small roof when he felt the humid -after the rainfall- winter air drying up. A fiery breeze blowing suitable for the heart of summer. The temperature rising abruptly and static crackling under the dispersing clouds, but no thunder coming.
>
> “Damnation,” Monte cursed behind his back, stopping himself when D’Orsi did the same to turn around and return to his previous spot. Monte offered the spyglass and Primo took it again just as the first strange muffled popping sound was heard beyond their fortifications.
>
> PFOOM!
>
> Primo caught sight of the explosion and the flames engulfing part of the center wall, the gaps filled with rubble and cut wood. Another explosion following three hundred meters away from that spot.
>
> “The Wyvern?” Monte asked as D’Orsi scanned beyond Captain Gravina’s group’s lines at the unseen enemy. He could hear Sergeant Fulvous Cactus ordering his posted behind fortifications archers to get ready.
>
> “Report!” D’Orsi barked instead of replying to Monte looking at the sergeant operating the Scorpio at the fortified rooftop across the road from their scouting post.
>
> Another explosion rattled the defenders forward lines, this time blowing up part of the barricades they had setup the previous week.
>
> “Everything seems aimed at the frontline sir!” The sergeant bellowed, two of his men looking at the sky for any sign of the wyvern.
>
> “Message Cerra and Saxer on the flanks,” D’Orsi ordered Adriano Monte. “I want word whether the wyvern has joined the Phalanx’s center!”
>
> “Might be difficult to approach sire,” Monte said rigidly.
>
> “We have to know if Garth is using the wyvern again mister Monte,” D’Orsi grunted trying to spot the next fire attack coming from the enemy lines or the large beast itself elevating over them. The next attack that arrived had followed a straight line parallel to the ground and at a height of about four meters, a zig-zagging lighting that struck a shield-protected wooden tower splitting it down the middle and set it on fire.
>
> “What in Uher’s name…?” Monte grunted behind D’Orsi’s back and then a grouping of smaller fireballs –about two meters apart from each other in a parallel line- bombarded Gravina’s entrenched positions blocking the main road behind the ruined gates.
>
> It must be the wyvern, D’Orsi thought anxiously trying to see the beast behind the billowing enemy banners. The black, gold encased, flags depicting a horned wyvern’s head in red carried by Taras’ guards as the Phalanx had no banners but for the markings each Hoplite had carved on the exotic black shields. Variations of wyvern’s claws, dragon heads, ancient trees, staring eyes or whole faces and of course the three major well-known old gods.
>
> Nesande, the mother of magic arts. Her large blue moon watching over the smaller Oras’ Moon on the night sky.
>
> The Kraken that ruled the ocean depths.
>
> And the Wyvern god that protected Wetull.
>
> “Find it!” Monte yelled an order to the improvised firing positions set up on the tallest still standing buildings. The order relayed from the nearest Scorpio crew to the next.
>
>
>
> Mussel would have succumbed for a second time in a month to a firestorm of epic proportions but for the time of year and the rain that had inundated its streets and alleys. The rainwater had soaked the buildings and the cracked walls. Still the fires burned bright at many spots and thick black clouds of smoke had engulfed the majority of the front facing the enemy making it difficult to stay for long. Gravina started rotating the men out and Binda who acted as a reserve directed fresh troops to man their positions or help douse the fires.
>
> An hour into the bombardment the fireballs and rarer electrical discharges –like guided lightings- stopped and an eerie silence fell upon the blinded by smoke defenders. D’Orsi was being briefed across the street, right under the rooftop Scorpio post by runners or missives sent by Saxer and Cerra. The ailing Sardone’s adjutant Keitel of Owls present, as was sergeant Calla of the Band of Silver, D’Orsi’s own adjutant Adriano Monte and the 333’s second in rank engineer Turbot.
>
> Scaevola had been killed.
>
> The number of dead officers and men staggering.
>
> “Saxer run into Cofols,” Keitel informed them. “Bow-carrying riders. Turbaned and armoured fucks. It’s a shootout inside the woods milord.”
>
> “Um. What about Cerra?”
>
> “They managed to get out of the jungle when the guards retreated to reinforce Garth’s center but got ambushed by fighters and Zilan rangers. Cerra also reported heavy cavalry roaming the flats.”
>
> “How many?”
>
> “A score perhaps. Heavily armoured, multi-weapon specialists. Masked freaks like the Cataphracts.”
>
> “Is the Khan assisting Garth? Is that it?” Monte probed with a grimace of disgust. “Didn’t they fight like last year? Is any of the info accurate gods damn it!”
>
> “You said they are reinforcing the center,” D’Orsi intervened changing the subject. “Are they going to attack?”
>
> “It seems that way with the bombardment slowing down.” Keitel replied.
>
> “You think the wyvern got tired? Is there a… limit to its use of magic?” D’Orsi queried.
>
> “I’ve seen it happen afore,” Keitel replied. “But it came up close after that. Equally nasty to deal with.”
>
> “We want that mister Keitel!” D’Orsi scolded him seeing that his words had negatively affected the others listening in. “We want to see our enemy and shoot him in the plaguing face!”
>
> “I’ll get word to the crews,” Turbot assured him. “They are not to fire against the Phalanx.”
>
> “Maybe it’s what they want,” Monte growled as he wasn’t onboard with D’Orsi’s idea from the beginning. The veteran trainer and officer didn’t believe they had enough information to definitely reach a conclusion on the beast’s capabilities.
>
> “Everything we learn today,” an emotional D’Orsi said raising his voice. “Shall be used by us or someone else on the morrow. Make no mistake gents, the word shall reach Lesia and our brethren shall make use of our sacrifices. Never has a group of mercenaries fought for a noblest cause! We came here to right the wrongs done unto the Wine Barons but today we fight for every Lorian back home, every citizen on Jelin that deserves to be spared facing these abominations! Their goods and wine were the lure and what we face here today is what was to follow had we not taken action!”
>
> “The Phalanx is advancing!” A scout yelled from atop an elevated position on the walls. The words carried from mouth to mouth across their lines and deep into the rear where D’Orsi was holding council.
>
> “Want to reconsider that?” Monte grunted eyeing Turbot that was looking at D’Orsi nervously. “Now is the time to fire sir! Their lines are packed and we have the range marked down!”
>
> D’Orsi gulped down staring at the thick smokes billowing over the fortifications and beyond them at the clad in steel panoplies mass Hoplite formations that had started approaching.
>
> Ah.
>
> A couple of young runners came at them from different directions. One from the rock-infected, Ticu-roaming west gates and the other from the docks that were three kilometers away behind them and to the south.
>
> “Milord D’Orsi. Sir!” The teenage messenger stationed with the rear area personnel at the docks reported with a sharp salute.
>
> “Get it out of yer chest son,” Monte grunted impatiently.
>
> “Sirs, Captain Fark entered the port and is asking for a plan of action. Lord Mclean is with him sir!”
>
> “The Valkyrie grew a pair?” Keitel commented sourly.
>
> “Can they evacuate the injured?” D’Orsi asked.
>
> “What for? Where?” Monte grunted.
>
> “We could get some of the company out Adriano,” D’Orsi snapped.
>
> “If we’re to save the company we need to push them back here and we can’t get more than a quarter of the men aboard the Valkyrie anyway. Assuming the wyvern misses it again. Order the machines to fire on the Phalanx milord. Do it whilst there’s still time.”
>
> D’Orsi licked his dry lips, found the taste bitter and tasting of burned wood.
>
> “Tell Fark to moor at the west beach. Where we made our initial landings,” D’Orsi decided to buy himself some time. “Avoid the port facilities to not be a target.”
>
> “The wyvern has stopped firing sire,” Keitel reminded him and Monte glared his way irate. “Maybe we can lure it inside the town again.”
>
> “Not if it means we lose the ship mister Keitel,” D’Orsi replied tensely. “Has Fark mentioned anything else?”
>
> “They found land beyond the reefs milord,” the messenger replied.
>
> “THE PHALANX IS IN RANGE! TWO HUNDRED METERS FROM THE WALLS!” A spotter for the engineering crews roared from his post. D’Orsi glanced at the frowned Turbot, the engineer’s face ravaged by strain not that anyone present was faring any better.
>
> “ONE NINETY FIVE!”
>
> “Milord D’Orsi,” Turbot pleaded nervously as the veteran sergeant in charge of the weapon had stooped over the edge of his barricaded roof to look for instructions from his commanders.
>
> Loud calls for action ringing up and down the streets and buildings adjoined to the outer walls.
>
> “GRAVINA ASKS FOR ALTILERY SUPPORT!”
>
> “ONE EIGHTY!”
>
> A knot had formed in D’Orsi’s stomach and he walked anxiously a couple of meters away from the building, stopped in the open street and raised the spyglass to look through a burning gap in the barricades –about fifty meters away- at the approaching enemy formations.
>
> “ONE SIXTY!”
>
> “For pity’s sake Turbot fire at your targets!” Monte growled behind him and D’Orsi grimaced, the left side of his bearded face contorting violently as tension overcame him.
>
> “Cactus started lobbing arrows,” Keitel informed them and walked briskly to enter the building in order to reach the elevated position next to the weapon’s crew.
>
> “Fire once mister Garrote!” Turbot ordered and D’Orsi turned angrily to stop him. The twang of the machine firing covering his voice.
>
> “Belay that order sergeant else I’ll have you whipped!” He growled at the reloading nearby crew but the sound of several more Scorpios releasing their heavy steel bolts was heard over the rumbling sound of boots marching towards their front.
>
> “ONE FORTY!”
>
> D’Orsi raised the spyglass again as Turbot issued orders of cease fire to all his crews. The sun coming out of the dispersing clouds warming up his skin as he brought the edge of the instrument near his right eye, the sinister Hoplite helms now clearly visible, arrows dropping amidst their packed lines and then D’Orsi realized his clothes were actually on fire.
>
> In that split second everything becoming clearer.
>
> But not clear enough.
>
> You cunning son of a bitch, a deeply befuddled Primo thought. How did you do that?
>
> The damage caused by the huge fireball was devastating. It hit the Scorpio-mounted rooftop and blew it up along the first floor of the building. Then it went through it still relatively intact, traveled across the street screaming over the ducking in panic D’Orsi’s head and leveled the three-story building they had used earlier in order to survey the battlefield. The massive explosion discharging beams, rocks, bricks, nails and debris of all kinds that teared through the commandant’s body.
>
> D’Orsi was hurled back towards the burning, half-destroyed Scorpio post and crashed like a ragdoll on the still standing wall.
>
>
-
“Berthas has fainted chief,” Hagen informed the seated on Uvrycres’ back Glen. The Monarch glanced at the hastily built small wooden tower that could barely support one grown man. They had erected it during the night just behind the last of the Hoplite formations.
“What about the girl? She had some nice… ehem, skills.”
“Unresponsive… the word comatose has been thrown about as well from the medics,” Hagen said and jumped away from the smirking wyvern’s swinging stinger that tried to skewer him.
“Cut it out,” Glen growled.
It was a jest ha-hah! Uvrycres guffawed. Look at him turning white as a wall! Isn’t it funny as all fucks?
Fer crying out loud!
“Not for him,” Glen retorted and pursed his mouth behind the mask. “Someone needs to remember to climb up there and get that fool Berthas down,” he advised and reached for the reins.
How about a reflex test? The wyvern probed. Your man is turning fat. He can barely close the guards of the helm around his cheeks!
“No.” Glen replied sternly and eyed critically the flabby cheeks of Hagen spilling out of his helm.
“Eh… the wizard tumbled over chief. Hit the ground like a sack of rocks,” Hagen said with a tensed grimace taking a couple of more steps back from the sneakily approaching him stinger. “He’s pretty unresponsive as well. Might need to fix an arm or a leg… at least.”
“Bah, nonsense. He’ll be fine! The medics have healing potions and he’s strong as a bull,” Glen grunted. “By the way you might want to move a bit more to the side Hagen.” He advised his bodyguard.
“Right away milord chief,” Hagen replied and eagerly retreated to leave room for the wyvern to take off.
On to Mussel? The bored to death from waiting for the events to play out Uvrycres asked.
“Discreetly.” Glen cautioned.
Fuck does that mean? Sounds sneakily ambiguous. Yes?
“Naught is ambiguous about it! You don’t approach unless the place is leveled and our guys are inside!” Glen barked gruffly for having to repeat himself again.
What are we cowards? Uvrycres roared deeply affronted and then started running in the open field to gather momentum whilst turning its horned head left and right energetically to glare at the watching soldiers. A smug smile on his face. Uvrycres could also jump and use magic to make it quicker to take off but the wyvern liked to run fast since it was young and Glen had just drilled into its head the need to economize energy to use it for spells.
He guessed they had about half an hour afore the wyvern started doing its own thing again.
Unfortunately for their enemies Glen now knew that he only needed less than twenty minutes to blast through whatever defenses D’Orsi had installed.
Maybe less than that.
-
> Crying Valkyrie
>
> Captain’s log
>
> (Supplemental)
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> 21st of month Primus, year of the New Calendar 195. Expedition day 109.
>
> The ship moored in Oyster Anchorage’s west leg under the slopes late in the afternoon. The crew watched the town burning for a second time. Sullen mood all around. Several officers stepped forward to give rousing speeches. It didn't work. There were over three thousand people missing or dead and we all knew it.
>
>
> Early evening.
>
> Survivors boarded the ship. The watch officer counted a hundred and eighty five souls. Thirty lightly injured included. Four seriously hurt we had to leave ashore. Since Ticu were watching us I suggested someone deliver the coup de grace and mister Arone took it upon himself to perform the nasty deed. Disagreement whether to put senior Commandant D’Orsi and officer Sardone out of their misery. They are both badly injured. Saxer who managed to get out of the jungle with a group of ten Issir rangers suggested we bring the company’s leadership along. The number of survivors rises to one ninety seven.
>
> Late evening. The Ship departs from Oyster Anchorage. We are heading straight south for the straits between the isles Ilithar and Lyari. A man died from internal blood loss. His lungs flooded and he drown in his stupor. Number of survivors dropped to 196.
>
> Of the ship’s original complement eighty sailors are still breathing plus Lord Mclean and Phidias Arone.
>
>
>
> 22nd of month Primus. Expedition day 110.
>
> Late afternoon. The ship sailed through the straits with no problems. Two of the injured succumbed to high fever. Number of survivors dropped to 194. A crew member went drunk on watch and probably fell overboard. We didn’t find him. Crew strength 79.
>
>
>
> 23rd of month Primus. Expedition day 111.
>
> We approach the reef infested shallows of Calamer. Massive tower visible through the morning mist. The island is twice the size of Ilithar and Lyari combined at least. Birds fly over the ship’s mast. We follow the dangerous route just as the previous time. Measuring depth constantly.
>
>
>
> 24th of month Primus. Expedition day 112.
>
> First boats reach ashore to our old camp. We find no signs of the six man crew we had left behind. Two search parties are created. Debate over what happened is held in the captain’s quarters. Good rapport. Morale seems to improve despite the catastrophe. Birds have been sent to Cediorum but we don’t expect reply yet. A man walked out in the middle of the night and disappeared. He wasn’t injured. Number of survivors dropped to 193.
>
> Crew strength 79 plus the six that are still missing.
>
>
>
> 29th of Month Primus. Expedition day 116.
>
> Captain Sardone made small progress. He’s blinded in the right eye and most of his skin has fallen off or burned to some degree. D’Orsi has missed a lot of blood and we had to amputate his right arm due to a case of early rot. He has multiple fractures at the shoulder joint and elbow. Four fingers were de-fleshed. He’s missing the right ear but it is the least of his concerns. The two search parties returned with no sign of the lost crew. Morale drops and arguments erupt over their report of structures hidden in the wilderness.
>
> Bo Saxer suggested to form a new party with his rangers to venture deeper in the woods and try to find a fresh-water lake called Aebron in the old map. Mclean insisted on us securing the tower or nearby structures first. Almost sixty-percent of Calamer, one of the two bigger Islands of what was called Six Peaks island chain is under varying foots of water. The depth keeps rising but still most of the cities are unreachable.
>
>
>
> 5th of Month Secundus. Expedition day 122.
>
> D’Orsi’s fever dropped last night and later this morning the commandant came about and learned of the fate of his friends. Bo Saxer informed us that they had found a native living near an ancient village. The semi-wild Zilan had attacked them killing one of them and the Issirs had killed her brutally as retaliation after hours of heavy torture. While not much could be gleamed from the demon’s rumblings, Saxer was convinced that more natives might lurking about and asked another party to be formed in order to reinforce him and bring up supplies from the ship.
>
> His report of a Lorian Barque moored near the river’s delta is questionable.
>
> Mclean hadn’t returned with his group from their trip to the tower so the decision fell on the two ailing officers, Sardone and D’Orsi. With the ship moored and still under repair I agreed to lead the thirty man strong group following the route Saxer’s rangers have taken to bring back a more accurate account to the two still-recovering officers. I calculate this to be a week-long return trip. No more than ten days.
>
>
>
> ----------------------------------------
>
> Unaltered parts (along the final entry) of Captain Col Fark’s official diaries from his time on the Crying Valkyrie that give a different account on the fate of the survivors of D’Orsi’s expedition. While not absolving the Throne of Wetull, it does provide some more context at the atrocious casualties and somewhat strengthens the Imperial apologists’ arguments. It is provided here to preserve this text’s integrity in the spirit of fairness.
>
> Preserved and gathered in a tome along several other diaries of officers, then published by 2nd lieutenant Flavio Dynan around 202 in Cediorum under the general name ‘Expedition’. The around a hundred original copies were ceased with an official decree from Lesia’s throne but for some copies that found their way into private collectors hands initially. Some of them rumored to be quite prominent if not outright impressive in stature. The Bank of Trust had one and so did the Throne of Regia. A copy had reached the hands of Prince Atpa in Rin An-Pur and another the dwarf stronghold of Glorfalc. The first was stolen from the Bank’s vault and found its way into the hands of Wetull’s Treasurer Caius Cinna or according to another report that of his old boss the exiled Doris Alden. I had the privilege to read parts of the one secured in a private wing of Cartagen’s Di Cresta new Library.
>
> It should be noted here that Flavio Dynan, who served on the Valkyrie was among the nine people found alive aboard the fallen in disrepair warship four years later when the first of the Lorian warships arrived at the island completely by chance during the war for the Sinking Isles.*
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Lord Sirio Veturius
>
> Circa 206 NC
>
> The Fall of Heroes
>
> Chapter L
>
> Addendum
>
> -Volume IV-
>
> The Onyx Wyvern’s rule
>
> Fifth Year (195 NC)
>
> -D’Orsi’s ill-fated Expedition-
>
> Based on Saul Ferrero’s notes, recollections from our discussions and his upcoming manuscript of the era and his seven years as a slave-prisoner in Wetull (195-202). Based on a copy of Flavio Dynan’s ‘Expedition’ I recounted from notes and memory.