NationStates Jolt Archive

-SNW Hub Thread- (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=11690289#post11690289)


Calimshan, City of Calimport, Pasha’s Imperial Palace
Syl-Pasha Ralen el Pesarkhal was unhappy. Over thousands of years his Empire had been declining, starting the second the last Shoon Emperor fell. His borders were creeping inward, lands previously dominated by his Imperium had fallen into their own self-rule. It simply sickened the Pasha to think of the lands of the so-called ‘Men of the Night’, or the people of Arcadia to his north, or any of the un-occupied desert surrounding him. He still technically held sovereignty over a pair of cities now even beyond his reach, those of bourgeoisie of Suldophor and the military garrison city of Memnon, both on the far edges of this southern coastline. Something needed to be done…

And something was being done. From every city in the nation, as well as from his own cadre of advisors, the some of the most important people in Calimshan were being summoned even as the Pasha thought, into his otherwise private study. The room was set for his guests. It was a large room, walls lined with books, machines, and alchemical contraptions. For all of the Pasha’s obvious wealth, there were no chairs, not a couch, not a stool. The Pasha enjoyed forcing his guests into subservient positions, it was good for their moods.

The first to arrive was his own kin, a cousin by the name of Merkhal. He was the Pasha’s governor in Almariven and the head of the Pasha’s secret police. He was a thin, wiry man who stood nearly six feet tall, extremely large for his time. Following him was Maleek, a short, stout man who was the military governor of Memnon and the highest authority in the Pasha’s armies. Third to arrive was Gassim, the Pasha’s personal advisor and the right hand man of the throne. A capable servant, in more ways than one. Many a dissatisfying employee of the Pasha has gone missing for his well-trained hand.

Following these men were another nearly half-dozen men, but none could matter as much as these three did. Once all were assembled the Pasha began his speech, his deep basso voice tumbling throughout the room, impacting all present, “My brothers, subjects, do you know the reason behind mine gathering you here today.?”

There was a silence for a few minutes, filled again quickly with the Pasha’s tones, “Men, I have brought you here today to address a problem besieging our great land. Have you not noticed the shrinking of our borders, the failing of our influence, the shorter and shorter reach of the Imperial arm?”

The gathered again remained silent, and so the Pasha continued, “Already you must have noticed the absence of our brother from Suldophor. I am afraid he has fallen beyond our influence, but I assure you, my own arm is still quite capable of impacting this man, this traitor…”

The silence now was different, a sort of dense silence, an important silence. Again it was filled by the Pasha’s continued words, “I believe it is high time this nation, these people, our people, were restored to their former glory. I propose that we give them this glory.”

The silence now was too much to bear, and someone had to speak. The first to respond was the Pasha’s advisor, Gassim. “Sir, how is it you do intend to establish this ‘new empire’. I remind you, there is a reason our length is shortening…”

The Pasha leaned forward onto his large oaken desk, his knuckles cracking as he levied his substantial weight upon them, “Gassim, our decline was due to a lack of our own resources, resources we brought in through our former colonies. Nationalism and the revolutionary idea brought an end to our nearby districts, thus forcing us to abandon our more far flung territories.”

The next to speak was Maleek, his highest general, “I will assure the crown that our military stands ready to aid the Pasha in whatever endeavor he would so direct us too. We are not limited by ancient pessimism.” His large chest huffing with frustration as he did direct his last statement towards Gassim, who stood only feet before him, but at least one above him.

The Pasha spoke again, “Sir, I believe now is the time, we will throw back these bonds of our own weakness, we will re-claim these lands which were once ours.”

There was a short silence, again, filled by the Pasha’s own voice, “Our armies will march tomorrow, Maleek, you will lead them. Bring us first to the city of Suldophor on the coast, bring it back to the throne. Move then to the west, reclaim those lands north of your own fine city for our Imperium. Once this is done, we can begin the next phase of our return…”



Across the Calishite Empire, Mobilization of troops, the reclamation of the Empire
General Maleek rode upon a white camel, staring at the expanses before him. His army, one of nearly two-hundred thousand soldiers would cross this great desert as soon as the sun fell below the horizon. They would move along the sea coast, advancing many hundreds of miles, once again the length of the nation itself, to lay claim to the old Imperial city of Suldophor, and thus, one of the largest naval bases in the Empire.

On the opposite end of the reduced Empire stood another force, nearly eighty thousand strong, prepared to move out of the western border. Venturing into the vast agricultural fields and rocky plains of the western coast, this is inhabited by a large number of local tribesmen and farmers, many of whom may not have even noticed the absence of Calishite rule. They would bring these rouge elements back into the fold of the new Calimshan, into the new Empire. Leading this force of cavalry and motorized infantry would be one of the Pasha's favorite new generals, a young desert-man, Jarrabel ad Sureek. He was born here, he knew these lands, and the Pasha new he did. This was his chance to prove himself worthy of his rank... Surely these new folds would aid in the further expansion of the Imperial fist.

The final element of this first phase of expansion would be the gathering of the Imperial Calishite Fleet, over five hundred ships, including one of the largest in the nation, the Memnon. It was a super-capital ship, weighing more than nineteen thousand tons and mounting six guns larger than twenty-five inches in diameter. This fleet would be accompanied by a landing force of seventy-three thousand soldiers. They were destined for the islands off the coast of southern Calimshan, each of which used to be a unique portion of the Emperor’s overseas domain. Each of the seven large southern islands would be a garrison for ten thousand troops, while the three minor formations would be guarded by only a thousand souls.

The Empire was coming together again, nothing could stand in the way of a united Calimshan, and Syl-Pasha Ralen would soon see his Empire that way…

(Is this open to SNW members?)

(Is this open to SNW members?)
OOC: Aye aye.

Calimshan, City of Suldophor, Occupation
The night before, Maleek's grand army had arrived in the ancient trading city, Suldophor. It had met with little resistance, the five-hundred thousand men marching into the city proper in a quite orderly and controlled fashion.

It was because, only days before the great army arrived the lord of Suldophor, a grossly wealthy noble by the name of Jarakeen, had died quietly in his sleep. Or so the populace was led to believe. The Noble's entire guard and service staff had been subdued and chained in a small basement room, and the lord himself was found with his neck sliced, ear to ear, in his sleep. The remaining noble class of the supposed independent city was in a panic, and did their best to cover up the death of their ruler. The arrival of the Pasha's leading general and his five-hundred thousand man army only served to increase the pressure on them...

Leading his army from the front, Maleek rode atop his pure white camel through the city streets. The army had spent the night outside the city limits, and was just now entering the settled region. After an hour of marching through the crowded slums and industrial districts, the general’s column came to the central promenade that was the staple of all Calishite cities. Upon arriving here, the general and his horde had created quite a shock, and many thousands of people had already fled the city. Millions more cowered in closets and peered fearfully out dingy windows. From the center of the ancient town square, General Maleek addressed his army,

"Men, we have marched many dry miles and spent many cold nights in the great desert known to man. Why? This is why! We have taken this city from the hands of the rebellious bourgeoisie and placed it back in the rightful hands of the Pasha!"

The assembled army cheered, the general waited for it to die down before continuing, "You are soldiers of the Pasha, this is your city! The enemy knows this, you know this! The enemy fears you, he cowers in his home!"

Another wave of cheering and threats to the rebels was heard, deafening those observing the scene in the promenade... "Go and let him welcome us!"

With that order the entire congregated mass broke ranks and swarmed down thin and poorly-planned city streets, tearing open doors and making themselves known to the populace. A full six hours of pillage, rape, and murder followed those six defining words, and there was nobody to stop them.

In the time allowed him, the general took up a residence in a large, opulent home bordering the center of the city. From here he established his base, using his six hours to establish some light defenses and attempt to organize his rabble. Eventually he made contact with his commanders back in Calimport, the Emperor's officer, Almariven. He reported an uneventful and peaceful transition of power. He did his best to subdue the screams and gunshots from the surrounding areas while he spoke...

Eventually order was brought back over the majority of the soldiers, and they were again assembled in the town’s center. Also assembled here were two-hundred of the richest remaining citizens. It was assumed that these men were somehow related to the older revolutionary leadership, however unlikely or small that connection may have been.

General Maleek appeared again at the head of his mob, and this time he addressed his speech to the captives, "Do you, assembled of your own will, know what you have been accused of?"

A couple of the captive nobles began to speak, but were silenced quickly by a pair of rifle butts to the back of their heads, Maleek continued as if nothing had happened, "Gentlemen, you have been accused of treachery against the Pasha and conspiracy to overthrow the government! How do you plead?"

This time, none of the men spoke, "Guilty, eh? You have been convicted of treason and conspiracy and for that the penalty is death. It is unfortunate what the law forces us to do..."

Maleek turned his back on the crowd and laughed slightly to himself as he walked back into his own quarters. As soon as the general closed the door, he noticed from behind him the immediate noise of roughly two-hundred gunshots.

Maleek chuckled again, this city was his...

News of events in the south were in great supply to Warchief Rannosvik from his Cult Eshin spies. There was, in fact, so much information that processing it all entirely would take more time than the furry dictator had. One bit of caught the grey seer's eye however. Not too far away in the southwestern deserts the declining Calishite Empire military expansion was in overdrive. Two great armies and a massive fleet were expanding their empire west, south and east. The Grey Seer, with tensions high amongst his mountinous neighbors saw within the Pasha a valuble ally against the agressive Underempire or the highly advanced New Armenicans. The Skaven's plot began to ravel together, somehow the almighty Ratlord would use these people to his advantage...

((TAG for further plotting ;) ))

News of events in the south were in great supply to Warchief Rannosvik from his Cult Eshin spies. There was, in fact, so much information that processing it all entirely would take more time than the furry dictator had. One bit of caught the grey seer's eye however. Not too far away in the southwestern deserts the declining Calishite Empire military expansion was in overdrive. Two great armies and a massive fleet were expanding their empire west, south and east. The Grey Seer, with tensions high amongst his mountinous neighbors saw within the Pasha a valuble ally against the agressive Underempire or the highly advanced New Armenicans. The Skaven's plot began to ravel together, somehow the almighty Ratlord would use these people to his advantage...

((TAG for further plotting ;) ))

OOC: Good, becuase there's not much I can do now until people notice the expansion. (disguised bump...)

The council, mostly elves with a sprinkling of humans, was becoming increasingly worried by Calimshan's recent actions. Discussion had been heated and tempers were flaring. "You don't understand!" yelled one of the human representatives, "We cannot adopt a 'wait-and-see' policy with these desertmen."

"Calm yourself." an elf responded, "Such a policy has served us well thus far. Far longer than you humans have been here."

"Served you well? I can see just how well it served you in holding this forest. Oh, wait. It didn't, did it?" he countered, drawing grumbles from many elves, for it was a sore subject.

Another elf stood. "His point is valid. We stood by and watched the human empire conquer and subsume others and we paid for it by losing a large portiion of our forest. Since that time, however, they have left us alone. Yet as they once again give in to expansionist tendencies who is to say how long it will be before they set their sights on us."

As he sat a truly ancient elf was helped to his feet. Definately the oldest in the forest, possibly among the oldest in the world, he was the closest thing Arcadia had to a national leader. He looked over at one of the humans, a big man named Iorek. There were many rumours surrounding the man, ranging from a disgraced military leader of a faraway nation to being an escaped convict guilty of truly horrific things. Either way, he was the defacto leader of the militia's human component. "Iorek, how many militiamen can be spared from their current toils?"

"At most? Maybe ten thousand, though I urge the council not to ask for more than a third of that number. The more people pulled from their farms and homesteads the longer it will take to take in harvests or complete whatever other work is needed."

The old elf nodded, "Then you will take three thousand human and one thousand elven militiamen and protect our southern border until such a time as this human empire's expansion has spent itself."

Iorek was incredulous. "You want me to safeguard the ENTIRE southern border with four thousand militiamen? It's not humanly possible!"

"Then I guess it is well that you have elves with you."

"That's not the point, the distance is too great."

"Is our faith in you mislaced then? Perhaps your people erred when they chose you to lead."

Iorek was slowly turning scarlet an a vein in his temple was pulsing. "I'll do it." he said through clenched teeth before he spun on his heel and stormed out.

After the other humans left, the old elf spoke again. "It seems they left before I told them that the elven contingent would be headed by Tharivol." A few gave the elder a sharp look but most noded approvingly. Tharivol was Iorek's nemesis and in theory shared comandership of the militia with the human. In reality, nothing would get done unless Tharivol felt it was in the best interest of the elves regardless of its impact on the humans. While the elves felt they were exerting a controlling influence, all they were doing was turning a possibly tense situation into a potential powder keg.

Crystal. Spices, oil, exotic fruits. Such were the treasures of the desert. The desert did not yield such foods as the land of Tya'noria did, but it was great, nonetheless.

The 'passage' to the south was unclaimed - through the eastern lands of the elves, which were all but uninhabited, and would not resist Tya'norian armies, a division was sent. The Eighth Hive was powerful, and, when Gantae came from every hive, the call for mercenaries were sent.

A mere ten thousand were brought. In an empire where such a number could be bred within weeks, the Gantae, the beetlelike warriors, were scant indeed. But mercenaries would be offered. For the wealth of the desert, the bodies of the hive-servants were worth little indeed.

And, it began. Ten thousand, with a few interpreters, and the hovering acid-spitting flyers escorting the army, began their progress south. Eating, and moving, and moving, and eating. They literally ate the ground bare, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Grass, trees, animals.. a strip of death was all that remained behind the mercenary army.

They had been sent to take the lands to the south - with the empire of Calimshan expanding, they had no choice but to do likewise. The eastern lands of the elves, and the 'passage' of unclaimed land to the south.. once the Gantae had rent it of life, they would begin the construction of smaller Hives, Hives with which they would rule all the way south, leaving a passage for trade between the Realm, and the desert Empire...

OOC: Finally! A response! I'll post some reactions later.

Calimshan, Western Plains, Occupation
General Jarrabel ad Sureek was riding at the head of his column, sitting atop a massive white horse, trotting ahead of fifty-thousand similar horses, most similarly mounted by armed men.

Quite aggravated armed men, actually. They had been riding through the endless scrub for the past week, passing small nomadic villages and roving families. The third fixation of the plains, the bandits, had not yet manifested themselves to the army, most probably because of the surprising size of the force, although safety was not guaranteed...

Even more so because of a series of recent reports the general had gathered from the locals. Apparently a community of people to the north, the Arcadians, had dispatched a miniscule force of militia men and what appeared to be elves, to the border, although nobody got a good look at the latter. Also reported was a great tide, a rolling wave of parasites and insects crashing across the plains to the north.

This wave was moving south, and with great speed. It had been driving nomads and settled peoples alike south, into the newest reaches of Calimshan...

Glancing down at a rough-drawn map he was given before he left Calimport, General Jarrabel ad Sureek was trying to decide where along here he was supposed to actually stop and set up his fortifications...

Riding alongside the general was his second in command, a Colonel by the name of Zayed al Khani, shadowed by a larger man, a middle-aged, bald, well-built man by called Hamad Salaam. He was leading the Pasha's Immortals battalion assigned to the operation, and he did not appreciate it.

General Jarrabel turned to Zayed, "Colonel, I've decided to stop our main force here, we're going to entrench tonight and begin construction tomorrow."

Zayed nodded, "Good spot sir, there's the ridge all along there and that tree-grove up there will make good strong timber, I'll go and infor-"

Jarrabel cut him off, "No, I am entrenching here. You have a different assignment..."

Zayed nodded again, while behind him Hamad coerced his horse to speed up a bit, catching up to the other commanders. Zayed spoke, "Alright, what am I to do?"

Jarrabel handed his Colonel the map, as he did, pointing at the forest of Mir, the wood on the Arcadian border with their nation. "You have heard what the peasants have been saying, haven't you?"

Zayed continued his nodding, it becoming a reflexive thing as he bobbed up and down on the horse... His commander continued, "Good. I need you to address that... I'm giving you a brigade of some of my best cavalry. You will take your five-thousand men to the edge of the wood. Dismount there, make a camp, and continue in as you see fit. You'll have discretion there... alright?"

Zayed again continued to nod...



Four hours later there were seventy-five thousand Calishite soldiers dug into small personal slit trenches and fighting holes, all busy setting up tents behind their fortified line, cooking dinner, and gathering what wood was available to combat the cold night air brought on by the open skies. Surrounding each battalions section of line was a circle of heavy trucks and tied horses, forming what seemed to be reminiscent of the circled wagons of the frontiers of the past...

This line of trenches, sandbags, wooden fences, and circled trucks went on for about fifteen miles through a wide open grassy plain, stretching from a series of ridges in the west, to a great dusty sea in the east. There, nothing grew, it was as hot as the desert in the day, and as cold as the sea floor in the night. That flank was secure...

This force would remain here, and when the sun rose on the next day they would begin more advanced construction. They would set up small bunkhouses using the wood and steel that they either brought or scavenged from their surroundings. Their intelligence would come mostly from the reports brought in by the nomads. When it was vital, a nomad horseman may be hired on to do their scouting for them. The army itself had little in the way of trained light infantry...


Meanwhile, about one-hundred and fifty miles east, there were the five-thousand men of the Calishite 4th Brigade, 1st Division Cavalry. They had traveled, by truck, the entire distance, using the long dirt and gravel road constructed years ago by previous governments and eager natives. They had just come into sight of the forest, and were preparing to make their own camp.

By now it was almost eleven at night, and the trucks needed refueling. For both they would have to stop, and so they did. The five battalions of the formation split off, each controlling their own section of the forest border or roadway. Much like at the main camp at the border to the east the trucks and horses they transported were circled, and the men dug their holes.

They would wait here for the sun to rise, then they would begin their patrols...

Weaponry. The Gantae had never found any use for it. As they moved south, people fled before them. Those who did not, were eaten. Their mission, as it stood, was simple. Claim land for the Realm, and remove those who might oppose such a thing.

It was in this simplicity that they intended to attack. The forest of the Arcadians would prove valuable indeed, however, an attack on the forest was not feasible. The return for such a thing was minimal, once guerilla attacks were factorered in.

But it was not Arcadia they intended to attack. An assault on the expanding Empire would prove to the Calimshan Empire one thing - that their soldiers could fight well indeed. And when one intended to sell your to the highest bidder, proving your worth was vital indeed.

It would begin within hours. However, it was not the massive, deadly beetles, the Gantae, who would attack. No, they had learnt the value of fortifications from many, and, once fortifications existed.. you might as well be charging them with a horse. In open ground, those men would've been mere meat, to be consumed. Against a well-fortified camp, such an attack would be foolhardy at best.

No, there were more than one way to defeat an enemy. The Tya'norians were insects - and, although the vast majority of them were far larger than an average insect, there were.. smaller insects. And those were the ones that would be sent in.

Tiny, buzzing mosquitoes. Deadly poison in their sting. A swarm rose up near the desert, and floated gently into it, nearly invisible, so small they were. Of course, their poisons were not always fatal - it would sicken, and weaken a strong man, and make him empty the contents of his stomach. A weaker man, or a man who was already sick, however... it would prove to be fatal.

They did not suck blood, as normal mosquitoes did. Perhaps a thousand would succeed in biting the men, perhaps five hundred. But, as they could see, the fortification had been accomplished too well to allow for any direct assault. To win such a battle..

The enemy must be weakened, first. And, so it was. Tiny mosquito-like poison-insects, flying towards the camps, alighting on arms, on necks, on legs.. on any patch of bare skin they could find....

Calimshan, Western Plains, The Fortification
Fallah stood, casually, resting up against a small wooden palisade his company had just established. He rifle was leaning next to him, as were the other three of the team he was a member of.

"Damn nomads, haven't even seen one for a good day and a half..."

One of his companion spoke, "Yeah... without 'em we don't know what's going on out there..."

Another replied, "Sure, more importantly, they won't be bringing in any fresh food for awhile either... Damn these tiny biscuit things they stuck us with taste like camel spit!"

Fallah reached into his belt pouch, returning with a small paper-wrapped
rectangle, unwrapping it, he took a bite of the pasty white cookie. His mouth was full when he spoke, "Better than nothing, and that's what we'd have if it weren’t for these little bastards."

He tossed the little ration across the group, one of the soldiers reached out to grab it, "Damn! What the hell was that!", Jalak missed the biscuit, which promptly fell onto the wooden beam floor and snapped into two pieces.

Jalak, however, was not paying attention. He was busy slapping his arm with a black-gloved hand, cursing, "Stupid... little... Damn!" Finally he appeared to get what he was flailing after, much to the amusement of everyone else around him.

"Hey, what was that all about?"

He replied, panting, "A little bug, bit me is all. Only thing is, it's usually too cold here for these beasts..."

There was some staring and nodding at his comment, "Maybe we should tell somebo-"

He was interrupted as Fallah let out a surprised scream and fell into the same series of flailing slaps as his compatriot. In seconds the entire team was overcome with the spasms as a swarm of the little creatures rose up over the wall and engulfed the four soldiers.

Abandoning their posts and their weapons they leapt the eight feet to the ground, rolled through some churned up earth and climbed to their feet, running.

In minutes the camp was awake, at first men just dealt with the one or two that had found their way into the tent, but after a few more... The entire battalion was affected, brushing tiny corpses of flattened insects off their arms and necks.

The epidemic lasted only about half an hour before the swarm disappeared again, but that was a tortuous half hour...

Almost immediately after the insects left, the sickness arrived. Nearly half of the men in the battalion were overcome, anywhere from minutes to hours after being bit, by cold sweats, spasms, and uncontrollable vomiting.

There were medical officers and healers criss-crossing the campsite, doling out water and quick enchantments to those in need. Both were soon in short supply as the affected men lost their bodies water faster and faster...

A notable exception to the suffering of the men around them was the one-thousand man battalion of Immortals, commanded by Hamad Salaam. As he saw around him the common soldiers abandoning their posts and leaving their weapons, he ordered his own men into action.

Of course the Immortals were bitten, although it appeared to have no effect on the men. Many Calishites were tough, their calloused skin and desert-hardened minds were extremely resilient, but these men were more. Every one of these 'Immortals' were drawn from the desert tribes. Having grown up in one of the most hostile environments in the world, these men were tougher even than their countrymen. Not one showed any effects of the insect's bombardment.

Also not affected were roughly half of the 3rd Battalion, who had taken the brunt of the bug's attack, and they were quickly set to defensive preparations. Of the remaining five-hundred or so men here that were fit for duty, nearly one-fifth of that was busy moving the sick, gathering weapons, and carrying water through the tent-rows. The remaining men were tasked with preparing for the fight.

From what the nomads had said, the great rolling wave approaching them, it was insectoid. Floating above the horde were great beetle-like things, similar to the horse-sized bugs that stalked below. This could be a problem...

These men, as well as the fit-for-service men of every other battalion, were ordered to prepare the artillery and lay out the first of the landing strips. 155mm and 220mm howitzers were dragged into position, smaller 55mm guns were positioned in the trenches and wooden fortifications on the front lines. Ammunition was dragged about in tiny hand-carts or horse-drawn wagons.

The insects had taken their toll, and many men were dying or incapacitated, but many more were simply alerted to the presence of an enemy, and now the camp was making ready. The sun would rise in two and a half hours, and when that happened, General Sureek would dispatch the first of his riders to go and find out what was actually going on out there...

The malicious Seer-Lord Rannosvik was quickly seeing the potential this war would give his rapidly growing nation. Spies amongst the southern desert villages and interrogated nomads had given the Grey Seer all the information he needed.

The rat decided it was time to act. It was time to show this pathetic Overworld the power of the United Skaven Horde of Clan Wark.
The non-interventionist nation of Arcadia seemed the best of proving grounds. Its forest might also be of great worth in the building of Cult Skyre's machines.

With these reasons, Grey Seer Rannosvik ordered the mustering of a ten thousand strong expedition force. The commander was hard to choose, but not for lack of skilled generals, but for lack of a skilled, pollitically stupid general. It is Skaven policy to never send out an army that might come back to send you out.

Eventually, Rannosvik decided upon General Yesrik Dag, a nearly unknown stormvermin of great military poweress but little political know-how. He was not to be underestimated, however. He had been recognized more than once for his loyalty to the Clan and his skillful defeat of a few well armed rebellious hordes. For a Stormvermin, however, he was small and meek, which likely lead to his neutral stance towards politics. As long as he commanded a host he was prefectly willing not to be bogged down with politics and drama.

Thus the brilliantly lead but hastely assembled Skaven Expeditionary Horde began to file out from Rannosgrad. The army was more than a quarter slaves and atleast half filled with mere Clanrats, but most Skaven armies consisted of such. For good or illl, this great Skaven Horde headed towards Arcadia's border's with General Yesrik Dag hoping to arrive within a week.

(The horde will probably arrive and make camp when the Tya'norian crisis ends. Having two seperate conflicts between four nations in one thread would be far too confusing.)

Iorek had been nonplussed by the appearance of Tharivol; at the very least, he could expect his decesions to be opposed. At worst, the elf might just stab him in the back: Tharivol had always been xenophobic. After a heated argument during which Iorek screamed the basic tenants of defensive fighting at Tharivol, they finally hammered out a deployment plan. A compromise of the worst sort, it was too concentrated for Tharivol and spread too thin for Iorek. The plan called for the militia to be emplaced along the border in small groups of ten to twenty individuals. Each group was given a roughly five to ten mile section of border to protect, a ridiculous proposition under nearly any circumstances. While Tharivol worried about Calashite forces slipping through the cracks, Iorek was more worried about the militia being overrun if they sighted the Calshites and things went south. The two Arcadians did agree on one thing, though: while they thought most of the border more or less easily watched, both were worried about the stretch of border that ran through the forest itself. It would be simplicity in itself for the Calashites to waltz through the forest unnoticed, if they were careful. The vast majority of the elven contingent would be deployed here, traversing the boughs and branches of the massive trees high above their human counterparts. It was hoped that with the higher ground and better senses they might be able to find any interlopers before it was too late.

The elves not deployed in that group were to be used as scouts and were sent out at midafternoon to see what was to be seen. They crept through flatlands or ghosted through the Calashite portion of the forest, each hoping that nothing would be sighted and that Arcadia remained overlooked by the Pasha's forces. The Calashite force near Arcadia was eventually stumbeled upon and most scouts reported back while others remained hidden to observe. One of these elves was a youngster (by elven standards) named Coravel. A thinker, he liked to mentally look things over from every angle to see if he could anticipate the decisions of those in charge. In the past it had only been for his personal amusement, now it troubled him.

From what he and others had observed, he thought they were in trouble. It seemed the Calashites outnumbered the Arcadian force by a lot, maybe even fifteen hundred more. These men were professional soldiers, trained killers who could work well as a unit, not to mention most likely being well disciplined. The Arcadian militiamen were most definately not trained by any measure, there was no need for a military in Arcadia as it was essentially isolationist. Also, they were not disciplined in the military sense of the word. Most were fiercely independant, often antagonistic only coming together if there was a common threat. Their discipline was of a more individual nature: forcing themselves to remain still and silent for long periods of time, otherwise they might scare of their prey. A possible advantage for Arcadia lay in it's shooting ability. While the Arcadians might not have the greatest rifles in the world, they relied on them to put food on the table. So the average Arcadian might have better accuracy than the average Calashite. It was an interesting theory, but he hoped it was never put to the test, because he would hate to be proven wrong. All in all, things did not look good for the Arcadians.

Then again...they had brought horses. Cavalry would be next to useless in the forest. The very nature of the terrain eliminated the biggest advantage cavalry had over infantry, its speed. Coravel turned and padded back to his own lines. The near future could become exceedingly interesting. Exceedingly interesting, indeed.