NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: I usually play FT, but I've always been obsessed with swords and such, however not many people play that as well. Hopefully, HOPEFULLY, I can get some others interested in it so we can have some good 'ol fashioned RPs.)

IC:

The skies were grey and black, illuminated every so often by a flash of lightning, a booming thunder following shortly thereafter. A flood of rain fell, as if the stories of the Hebrew were coming true, Noah's flood playing on the stage that was the earth.

The river was swelling, its banks being overcome by the multitude of extra water, the current not transporting it fast enough towards the sea. The houses, shops, and various other buildings that played the streets near the riverside now feeling the effects that come with the prime location as water drenched their floors. Men stationed near the river on the high stone walls hugged their wool blankets and hid within the towers, praying to Neptune to stop his innondation before it encompassed them as well. Much exaggeration, it was true, for the river flooded every spring when the ice in the nearby mountains would melt sending even more of the clear clean fresh water towards the city, added to the constant rains that came during the season.

"The Gods, how is anyone suppose to get things done when the heavens let fall so much?"

A man braved the wet streets, running from the alcove of the previous building he was under to reach the cover of the triumphal arch that stood at that particular streets entrance to the forum. Much to his dismay he found that the wind moved the blast of rain sideways as well, making the arch not much good for keeping him dry. And so he ran through the puddles in the great open space, towards the steps of the Curia Taledona, the guards stationed at the buildings doors laughing at him from beneath their shelter, dry as can be. Their revelry was short lived, however, as a sharp glance as the man climbed the last of the stone steps made them stand upright at attention, their eyes immeadiatly darting forward at the rest of the city before them.

"Lousy guards!" He shook his toga, attempting to make the soaked up liquid depart from the rich rags in futility. Finishing his trek through the marble hall he entered the archway that bid him welcome to the Senate chamber. "Is the rain not enough to convince you of the Gods desire for us not to meet today?"

The 300 other Senators were standing about in groups throughout the chamber, each wearing a white tunic underneath a toga of white. Those that held offices enjoyed having red embroidery on the edges of theirs. They stopped in mid conversation briefly to see who had arrived, some laughing at how their comrade was soaked. It was common knowledge that his wife had become angry when she found out about his mistress and had broken their litters so he would have to walk everywhere he went.

"It's been raining for the past week, Polino, even if it is not the Gods desire we must get to business. The river wont divert its own course, nor will the various treaties and trade arrangements offered to us be decided if we are not here to discuss them."

The amicable reply came from Galerius, the current Aedile of the city. Resounding thuds began to grab everyones attention as the men at each doorway tapped their sticks on the ground, calling everyone to order. As everyone moved to a spot on the uncomfortable benches of stone that ascended the further back you went and fell silent, the meeting was called to commence.

"The Senate recognises Decimus Calun Regulus." The feable and horse voice of the ancient man that was the master of debate barely made it to the ears of everyone in the room, but the point was clear.

Two chairs of whicker sat behind the stood on which the master was perched. Upon these chairs sat the two current Consuls in their own right. Decimus Calun Regulus and Gaius Valerianus Postumus. The man in the right chair stayed seated, while his counterpart lifted himself from his seat and looked around at all in attendance.

"Honorable Conscript Fathers, it is with sad reluctance that I bring this information before you, it is as foul as this weather. The town of Veii was brutally sacked by marauding barbarian tribes from the north. All of you know that Veii was a client to us, and acted as a first defence for our peninsuala from the savages of the north." He paused as angry shouts of outrage emerged from scattered areas of the Senate, however when he tilted his head and pretended with his hands that he was lowering the volume himself, they fell quiet. "I move that an army be raised to march to the defence of the recovering town, and to ensure that these unwashed cretans do not even have the chance to see our high walls!"

More noise emerged from the crowd, some Senators even standing and making menacing gestures before being brought to silence once more by the tapping of sticks.

The master of debate took a deep wheezing breath, summoning the strenght to say what he must. "All those in favor, make it known." He waited, observing the patricians rise from their seats in silence, some taunts being shouted to those that at first hesitated in rising. The rhaspy voice picked up again, "The motion is carried with unanimous support."

Calun smiled as he thought of the joy leading legions would bring him, it had been ages since he was able, and with that he sat back down in his special chair contented. Valerian shot a knowing smile at his friend and clasped him on the shoulder briefly. The two then turned back to the mob of noblemen and listened intently to the next issue at hand.

The skies emptied their tears upon the earth as Orvin stepped into one of the mess tents of the Himmelsk encampment. The warmth, and smell of smoke mixed with roasting meats and boiling stews greeted his unware nostrils, and he grinned in satisfaction. It had been a good day, contrary to what the current weather patterns would imply. The day's battle being done, Orvin sat his Muscular, Six-foot-five frame onto a simple log crafted into a temporary bench. The atmosphere of the tent, as well as the rest of the camp was one of celebration and and triumph. The Village was being taken at a very reasonable rate with little losses to the Himmelsk troops.

Taking a slab of pork impaled onto javline, Orvin began roasting his own meal as he shared jokes and recieved many slaps of the back and admiring look from the younger warriors. Out of all the Himmelsk warriors, Orvin had slain more enemies and captured more areas of interest (Such intrests being gold, silver, weapons, food, and women) than any other, and tonight was his night. All toasts would be made in his name, excepting the midnight mourning song of the dead, sang for all war-brothers slain in combat.

----

*At the encampment's south watch-point*

Falljar nodded his silver-bearded head at Bjorntrom, coming to take his place at the south watch-hole. The older man lifted up the roof of the hole-a mesh of branches as twigs desguised as a patch of grass-to allow the taller, lanky young man into the small, underground space.

"Hail, weathered warrior." Greeted Bjorntrom, Raising his right fist in the traditional greeting to an elder fighter. Falljar raised his own fist in return.

"Hail to you, brother. How goes the celebration?" Grunted Falljar. "Please tell me that I'll still have time to enjoy a few spoils when I make it back to the tent."

Bjorntrom chuckled, and patted the older man's shoulder. "Don't worry sir, there's more than enough for everyone. Even the mighty Orvin couldn't eat more than his own share of the feast tonight! How is the night, besides wet, of course?" Falljar closed and opened his eyes slowly before replying. "Quiet. Cold. I just want food, drink, and rest. And it pains me to know that I may be the only other one worried in this entire company."

Bjorntrom raised a skeptical eyebrow at this statement, and leaned in. "ANd what, pray tell, are you worried about?"

"When you get to be my age," Falljar began, pausing to cough loudly a few times, "sometimes you get a little wiser. We may be winning the gbattle and taking the city just as planned, but what worries me are the orderly men in their towering spires. This attack isn't too far from their own cities, and I fear that unless we move quickly, we will be apprehended by their own battle force. They are many and mighty. We should get what we came for and leave for our homelands immediately, where we can fortify our own defenses if need be."

Bjorntrom leaned back against the wall of branches separating the mud and dirt from the air of the hidden watch hole. "You've clearly though this through, sir. Have you brought this up to the Einherjer?"

"Bah, Ergiegn? He's young, and full of bluster. He wouldn't listen to a 'tired old soul' like me. Take my advice lad, and stay sharp. Warn everyone you can, and then when we have a case and we're not far away from this forsaken land yet, then we'll talk to our mighty Einherjer. Anyways, I shall leave you for my dinner. GOod evening to you, lad."

ANd with that, Falljar lifted the roof of the shelter and jumped the 5-foot wall in one fluid motion, an act of great strength and agility despite his age. Bjorntrom was left to ponder the immediate future of the war-company as the Sky wept on.

As morning came, rosy dawn stretched its golden fingers across the lands, a light fog attempting to beat back the light, but its reinforcements did not come as the dark clouds moved apart and left, blue sky showing through at last.

Calun looked up at the noon sky, the hot sun at it's peak, baking the wet terrain, bringing it back to normal. An eagle had circled the city earlier, so it could be seen as no greater sign that the Gods were with them on that day. The torrenting rain had ceased and the sun had revealed itself, and the messenger of Jupiter himself had been seen. A perfect day for a march to war.

Adorned in a hardened leather cuirass that boasted two lions in gold plate on the chest, this sat upon the tunic of red. Clasped in the silver broches at his shoulders, a cloak of scarlet hung behind him, fluttering lighty in the springtime breeze. Bracers of hardened leather around his wrists, and shin guards of iron protecting his legs. On his feet, the common sandals of any ordinary soldier, layers of baked leather with hobnails on the bottom for traction. Held under the crook of his right arm was an open-faced helmet, a crest of horsehair dyed blood red on its roof.

He mounted his muscular white war charger, it's stirrups and saddle as elegant and exquisite as its rider. Before him, a host of 6000. 5000 heavy infantry, 500 light cavalry, and another 500 skirmishers and archers; an entire legion. The pennants and standards of the legion and each cohort fluttering high above the heads of the men. A truly magnificent sight. Calun placed the helmet atop his head and strapped it against his chin. A bodyguard of twenty heavy cavalry rooted up and fell into rank behind him. Holding his arm up high, he made a quick chopping movement and spurred his horse fowards, a thick cloud of smoke rising behind him as the legion was set in motion.

A day's march would see them at the ruins of Veii. A day's march would see them in battle.

(OOC: Hey Tale, unsure of how to get into this but TAG for when I find a way, looks good by the way.)

(OOC: It's Tal, by the way, and I thought I left it rather open for people to come in, assuming you read the first post. I said many nations had proposed various diplomatic affairs, incase you wanted to jump right into the action. Or you could be another barbarian tribe up north, or another civilised power somewhere who hears of the raids going on and finds it a perfect opportunity to strike at Taledon. Who knows, use your imagination, but you're more than welcome to join.)

(OOC: My bad dude, got a way in now, the backstory of my nation is a little complex so this could get terribly confusing)

Lexin let the water from the skies dribble down the filtrum into his mouth, he bathed his head in the shower and got back onto his feet, he stared at the Brigands who had him cornered down this thin alley, a barrage of assorted weaponary smashed the water from every recess of his armour as he took the brutal punishment.

"My liege?"

A voace came from the far ends of the dirty alley and twenty men stood staring at the laughing drunk King, Lexin, hearing damaged from the adrenenline, saw the brigands mouth several cursewords before they were easily slaughtered by the Royal Bodyguard.

They dragged the limp form of Lexin back to the Palace building in the center of the town, he choked on some blood as the Bodyguards rested him on the 4 post bed, Smorrgian apothecaries rushed in with their medical kits and the Bodyguard took the Governer of the town aside.

"What is this? We were assured that none of our people would come to any harm!"

The governer was taken aback by the brutal snappy argument, he searched his mind for an answer, hoping that this situation would not get worse but also assured that the bodyguards would not dare do anything to a Smorrgian governer in a Smorggian town.

"I-I..." He thought back to what the Smorrgian King told him, "Ah yes, it is the pagan celebrations, they bring northern barbarians from all over to these parts, we don't have the military resources to spare to fight them off."

"Fine!" The Guard sergeant defiently said, "Then we will commit our own military resources, we trust that in compensation that Toopoxican forces will be allowed to use Smorrg ports." He did not wait for a response and instead marched back to the King, "Do not worry father, we will make them pay thrice the blood they have shed!"

(OOC: what's the era of this)

(OOC: Anywhere from Early Egyptian to Early Roman Empire.)

OOC: Bah. Fine. I'll join. Just don't expect anything resembling regular activity more than once a week, mmkay?

IC: "It stands, my lord. The city still stands."

He looked down on the burning ruin. Hah! No-one would believe such a pathetic lie. But then, it had been centuries since the ageing Empire had sen the zenith of its power - it had been crumbling ever since. It was still one of the pre-eminent powers in the world, but it was old. The furious men of the peninsula to the south fought the barbarians, and it had been long since they had interfered. But this time, a tribe had gone too far.

The city had been sacked, a charnel-house, corpses alight on the streets, houses smashed into oblivion. The southernmost city of the Empire, Arilliar had been mighty, once. But, much like the rest of the southern provinces, it was no longer protected as well as it could've. The power was concentrated in the west, now. There was talk of cutting off the weaker provinces as indepedent kingdoms - and that.. that was intolerable. He had brought fifteen thousand men, enough to annihilate any force arrayed against them.

But without Arillar, there was no point in holding the worthless south. The east was disloyal, unpopulated, and poor, the west was well-populated, loyal, and powerful. He turned his horse around - they would go home.

"Ride!"



It was a month later, when they reached the capitol. The great city of Varnin, presiding over the west like an ancient, yet still noble king. The vast force of cavalry had swept across the land quickly, but supplies, and provisioning, took time. They were the elites, nonetheless. The last force that served the glory of the Emperor, not the petty, self-serving burueacrats who proclaimed their own glory in his name.

They galloped into the city, the majority waiting outside. It was not long before he reached the Concilium - where democracy reigned, a system adopted from one of their southern neighbours, only recently. It was a system that had not served them well.

"Magistrate-General Tyanor. How do you return?"

The question rang out across the courtyard. He dismounted, gesturing for his men to follow him.

"I return in sorrow, Senator. I return in shame. Arillar was taken before I could arrive, though I went in the utmost haste."

"You do? Well, then. That is ill."

"Indeed. Sir, I must make a request. You must petition the Senate to give me more men - an army, one that has the power to smash those barbarians in the south. Should the few remaining cities of the south-east fall, we will lose our sway over that area."

"I will not, Magistrate-General. You have failed. Arillar is gone. What use is the south-east now? How shall we keep the mines of jewels open without towns to protect them?"

"You will not?"

"No, Magistrate-General. You may be the commander of the Emperor's Immortals, but you are not the Emperor!"

"No, I am not."

"Good. I'm glad we can ag-"

"Not yet."

The line of thought had followed through to the end. He drew his blade. "I am not the Emperor, Senator. But you and your.. ilk have reduced the power of the Emperor to that of a gibbering child, and made our Empire less than dust in the eyes of others. I will not tolerate it! Never! Our Emperor.. I doubt he even exists. He has done nothing but sign the decrees you and your bootlickers have put before him. No more will you sully our Empire's name with your filth."

He advanced. The Senator had seemed entranced by his speech, but the steely rasp of a hundred blades drawn from their scabbards shook him from his reverie.

"Treason! TREASON! I demand that you put down the blade! Traito-"

His last cry was cut off by a brief gurgle, and then the sound of Tyanor wiping his blade on the Senator's clothes, his foppish dress jingling as he did so.

They advanced inside, into the panicking Senate within...


"I am Emperor. Will you deny me this? Will you gainsay me?"

"NO!"

"Who is Emperor?"

"TYANOR!"

The crowd cheered outside. The Senate had never been one for aggression, nor for the marshalling of armies. Too long had they been forced to accept insults to their honour, and to the honour of the Thyrillian Empire. Now, they would strike.

Five thousand infantrymen, two thousand cavalrymen. Twice as many again prepared to drive wagons, and to supply the men on their way to the border.

"The barbarians will pay for their insolence. "

Emperor Tyanor the First looked out over the army assembled there. Perhaps they were a bit ragged around the edges, and perhaps their uniforms had not been sewn the day before. But they were fine men - and they were led by a fine general. Magistrate-General Illusio, his former second-in-command.

They marched out, their swords and spears at the ready - bows and javelins, all carried by his soldiers. Yes, there would be no more burning of Thyrillian cities. That was over, now. As was the short-lived age of democracy.

"Every man, every woman, will serve. You will learn to make weapons - or you will learn to wield them. We will not go without our honour any longer!"

A great roar rose from the crowd, echoing after the troops, who faithfully filed out of the city.. south, to attack the barbarians...

Bjornstrom leaned casually in the shadows outside the Einherjer's tent as the sun's ray began to glint over the horizon. He listened intently to the voices from within the shelter. Two voices could be heard, despite their speaking in low undertones. Bjorn recognized them both. One was the deep, yet smooth voice of the mighty Orvin, and the other, the gruff yet young vocals of the Einherjer, Ylfer. Assigned leader of the battle company. Ylfer's voice was the first to speak.

"Orvin, you are indeed a fine asset to any battle force. I can see why the Moon King trusts you so, you weild weapons like extensions of your limbs. No one could teach that."

"Your flattery is wasted, Ylfer. You know why he had me attend this raid." Rumbled Orvin in reply.

"You're lord will have his payment, Orvin. We've gathered more than enough riches to pay off what I owe him. Our business is finished here, and I plan to return north today within the next few hours.

"The King will be pleased, though I need not remind you that he will be expecting interest for your lateness."

"Yes, yes, I know. He will get what he wants. I'm going to rouse the men from their slumber. Help yourself to anything from my own collection of spoils. My gift to you."

Orvin made no reply, and Einherjer Ylfer emerged from the tent. Bjornstrom stepped in behind Ylfer without as much as a sound, and drew his longsword from it's scabbard. The hiss my metal caught Ylfer's attention, and he turned to face the older warrior.
"What is this, Jarl Bjorn? Why would you bear steel against me?"

"You know perfectly well what this is, and so do I. You had us engage a village, slaughter hundreds of women, children and warriors who would not harm us otherwise just to pay a debt to the Moon King? You bloody daft mongrel!" Bjornstrom spat the ground in front of Ylfer, and raised the point of his blade to line up between his leader's eyes. "We lost many good men today, and those amongst the living don't even know the true reason! We will return to our homes empty-handed, because of Ylfer the greedy, Ylfer the Stupid, The Ones who wagers with the kings of other tribes! I will not stand by and let you send any more to their deaths, you foul scum!"

Ylfer blinked slowly, and his face made no indication that the insults had been heard. A crowd of Himmelsk Soldiers, Including Orvin and young Falljar.
"So, you will kill me, and take the spoils that are 'rightfully claimed'"-Ylfer spat these words-" and return to the mountains, only to have your homes ransacked by the Moon King and his clan? You have grown foolish in your old age, Bjornstrom."

"The Moon King has grown fat, and hated amongst the remaining Himmelsk clans, Ylfer. The combined might of the Forest, Wolf and Mountain kings could destory them all. We would live without the tyranny of the Moon hanging over us."

"You'd only bring more suffering to the people, You senile fool."

"It'd be worth it to free our people. Don't you agree, boys?" The last Sentence was directed at the ever-growing crowd of people. A deafening roar shook the campground. It was clear that the majority agreed with Bjornstrom, and many cries and shouts of contest were rising from around the camp. Those who would side with Bjorn numbered more than Ylfer's supporters, but if a full battle broke out, the winning side would be horribly crippled.

"We'll settle this the old fashioned way, my Einherjer." Grunted Bjornstrom. "To the death, winner decides what to do with this miserable rabble."

"As you will, old man. You couldn't stand up to me in one-on-one combat in your dreams. The contested leader drew his own blade, a thick broadsword that glinted in the new sunlight.

The two combatants stared at one another for a few long minutes that felt like an eternity to all those present. After those long moments had passed, Ylfer's sword arm twitched to his side, and Bjornstrom closed the gap in a split second. The clash of blades rang for miles, and the duel of the moutain warrios began.

The only warrior not present for the battle was Orvin, who had slipped back into the tent. He had filled a sack with his own spoil of the battle, and was preparing to make haste toward the Moon city to inform his lord of what was to come.

Calun observed the devastation before him. The fires had been extinguished long ago in the heavy storms, but the charred remains of buildings and people alike still littered the rubble of Veii. The small farming village of 6 000 inhabitants had been reduced to a few lucky cottages and some ruff looking peasants who had hid during the raid.

"Mindless barbarians, what possible gain could come of commiting such a crime? What would possess these beasts to attack a people who have done them no harm, furthermore who are under the protection of Taledon! The tenacity of these northern peoples."

Atop a horse brown in color, a soldier came riding up. Fine chainmail across his chest, the short red sleeves of his tunic protruding from the armor. On his head sat the helmet of a standard legionary, open faced and with a rim on the back, bearing no crest on the top, telling that this man was no officer. Hanging by the legs that flapped loosely as the horse galloped was a gladius in its sheath. Stopping a meter away from Calun, the man saluted stiffly.

"Consul, sir. The barbarian camp is just beyond those hills opposite us. It appears they are all awake and gathered, but me and my men couldn't make out why, though it appeared as if two men were having a dispute."

He nodded and looked behind him at one of his officers. "Give the signal to set up camp."

"We aren't going to attack?" questioned the officer.

"We've just had a full day's march, the men are fatigued. Let them sleep safe and sound within their tents for the night, tomorrow we can kill these animals, the panic of an entire legion showing up suddenly will make them afraid. Then, they will either dig in and attempt to fortify themselves, rally to attack our camp, or attempt to flee and be cut down by our cavalry. Today I have time on my side, I shall not throw away that advantage."

And so within a short period of 3 hours the camp was built. High walls of wood, harvested from the nearby forest. A deep trench, 3 meters wide and layden with sharpened stakes sat before the barricade. A grace zone of 30 meters left between the walls and the first rows of tents, making sure that no missiles would be able to penetrate within the camp. Within the center of this giant square sat the command tent, around it those of the high ranking officers, then were stationed all the wagons of the supply train, safely secured and under watchful eyes. Atop the parapets, guards roamed around, keeping their eyes peeled for anything that might approach the camp. These men would change every 3 hours according to the water clock to ensure good rotation, for if they fell asleep while on patrol it would mean the whip. It would be a fools errand to attack such a formidable castle.

A man on a dull white stead galloped towards the city-state of Zarathoft, an agricultural metropolis of 15,000 also rich with skilled craftsmen, his black cloak and long blonde hair blowing behind him as his mount left a small column of dust suspended in the air behind it. As he neared the gates of the city, the doors opened slowly but fully by the time he reached them. The guards did not stop him knowing who he was while he rode through them still at a gallop. He rushed through the streets displeasing the citizens as they shouted at him whilst they rushed out of this path. Still he rode on into the heart of the city-state past the Temple of Zarat and towards the palace. He reached the stairway of the palace before his path was blocked by a wall of guards. He dismounted swiftly before being confronted by a guard.

“What is your business?” demanded the guard.

“I am Taphlin.” He said as he wiped the sweat from his bloodshot eyes. He didn’t realize how dry his throat was until he had spoken. “I come with urgent news for Zarath.”

The guard gave him a hard look, his blue eyes probing Taphlin with excruciating intensity. His eyes locked onto the Seal of the Goddess tattooed on the bottom of the man’s forearm, a look of impressment on his face. He nodded to the guards and they broke formation and made a path. Taphlin smiled smugly at the guard and rushed through into the palace. The entrance hallway was filled with luxurious furniture as magnificent paintings lined the walls. Beautiful vases and realistic statues stood frozen in time with glory and wealth radiating from them. Taphlin was not here to gawk at the beauty and power possessed by the Zarathoft, instead he was here to speak with Zarath, the ruler of Zarathoft. His lineage could be traced back to the founders of Zarathoft who it said in legend were ‘Blessed by the God and the Goddess to found a city dedicated to Lady and The Lord’. Taphlin wasted no time traversing the many hallways of the palace but instead hastily went directly to Zarath’s private chambers. He burst through the doors to find Zareth only in the lower half of his clothing. The look of surprise on Zarath’s handsome visage quickly turned to concern knowing he wouldn’t be disturbed so if it wasn’t critical information. He made no notion to attempt to cover his muscled chest and abdomen.

“What is it my Taphlin, that is so important that I am allowed to be graced by the finest scout in Zarathoft?” asked Zarath kindly but not without the demand of an explanation.

“Patriarch, Veii, which I'm sure you are already aware of is only a days march from our beautiful city, has been destroyed by barbarians. Everyone, was slaughtered.” Taphlin said with faked remorse.

Zarath was silent for a moment, pondering the statement. “You have seen this?”

“Yes, however I am unsure of the size of the force that took Veii. I do not know if they are to continue their onslaught or return to Northlands but it appears they plan to relocate soon.”

“I understand. I feel we must use caution either way. Locate Murcius for me and tell him I want extra hippeis to patrol the country side. Also, locate more hoplites towards are agricultural lands and where our craftsmen retrieve their precious ingredients. Lastly, prepare the city’s defenses as a precaution. If there are any signs of conflict escalation, have me informed immediately.”

“Yes, Zarath.” Taphlin said as he bowed before retreating from the chambers to prepare the city’s defenses.

The only sounds from the Himmelsk camp were the swish, and clashing of the swordblades as the two warriors dueled. No one could cheer, jeer, or even breathe loudly, in fear of distracting one of the combatants, and ending the battle. Even the hardiest of the Himmelsk warriors were amazed by the swordsmanship that their leader, Einherjer Ylfer and war-verteran, Jarl Bjornstrom were displaying.
Their iron blades moved so fast that they appeared as fighting snakes, performing a dance of death in the air. The bodies of the two fighters twisted and dodged and lunged in each and every direction, each man trying to find an opening that could disappear in less than a second. Ylfer was younger and definately appeared stronger and to have more energy than his elder foe, though Bjornstrom moved with the power and agility of a warrior half his age, weaving his thin, yet muscular frame in a variety of complex moves. No blood had been shed, and the battle had lasted for nearly 7 minutes thus far.

Elsewhere, A young scout named Farsnord positioned at one of the underground watch-posts awoke. He had fallen asleep, the cost of the night's merriment from before. He stretched, and wiped the crumbling sleep from his eyes , and peered into the morning sun, rising over the misty hills, past the smoldering village.

Something was blocking the sun. And Farsnord peered into the distance, wondering if the stolen spirits were still affecting his mind. In his hung-state, and stumbled from this underground fort, and went off to get a better view of the obstruction. When he realized that were there had been nothing the night before, there was now a wooden fortress, prepared for battle, He immediately became very sober. He ran into to Himmelsk campground, not even stopping to wonder where his fellow warrios were, and why everything was so quiet.

Falljar was so entranced by duel that it took a few moments for him to realize that someone had grabbed his shoulder and shaken him gently, though with an undying sense of urgency. He turned and saw his friend Farsnord standing before him, eyes wide, and looking like he had seen the ghost of the Holy Daughter. Farsnord's eyes of green looked past Falljar, and to the two battling men.

"Wha... What? What's happening?" Panted Farsnord.

"We were decieved by Einherjer Ylfer, on our mission, and Jarl Bjornstrom is battling for leadership." Said Falljar in a farway voice. His eyes trailed back to the battle.

"Oh dear blood of the daughter!" Swore Farsnord. "We've been apprehended! There's a force of Troops from the near southland empire, and they look as if they're ready to do battle with us!"

The effect of these words had more impact on the assembled Himmelsk warriors than an avalanche would have. All eyes and heads snapped to the pair of younger warriors, and the two combatants stopped mid-attack, their faces both a mask of alarm. Ylfer was the first to speak.

"You there, young one!" called the Einherjer and he strod from the battle-ring of warriors to the terrified Farsnord, "What did you just say? And so help me if you do mock me with jokes and lies, I shall cut you down where you now stand! Now answer me, what lies beyond our emcampment?" Bjornstrom had also moved himself to where the two young Himmelsk warriors were standing.

"Sir Einherjer, I awoke at my south watch-post, only to see that an army has set up an emcampment beyond the ruins of Veii! I cannot say who it is, but they look ready to do battle, sir!"

Ylfer closed his eyes, and spat a string of curse words in the Ancient Himm language. A number of other warrios in the camp began shouting, and arguments and panic was stirred up in the morning sun.
Bjornstrom climbed to a higher vantage point of a large fire-pit made of stacked bricks and stones.

"Be quiet everyone! We must keep in controll and find a proper course of action! Everyone! Get organised! Form your ranks with your groups!"

As the assembled Himmelsks fell into their places somewhat hesitantly, Bjornstrom jumped down from his perch, and ran back to Ylfer, who still had his eyes clenched shut, as if undergoing extreme torture.

"What do we do, Einherjer?" Grunted Bjornstrom. Falljar blinked in surprise at these words. They contained neither bitterness nor anger, they were just a question. Even when coming from an unfinished duel, Bjornstrom still resepcted leadership in a time of crisis.

"Let me... Let me think a moment..." Said Ylfer "How did they get here so fast? We were here for less than three days, and there's already an enemy force upon us! How did they learn so fast, and how did they find us so quickly!"

"That doesn't matter now, sir," Cut in Jarl Bjornstrom. "We must find a solution."

"What could we do? If they attack now, we'd be in no shape to fight!" Roared a large warrior from one of the centre ranks. Bjornstrom silenced him with an icey stare.

"He's right" Said Ylfer, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "Even if they waited a day, could we win? We've lost some of our numbers during our battle, and we are probably facing a force of our original size maybe even larger, and these empire men from the south have many strong horses bred for battle, and we have few that a fit for fighting. If we run..." Ylfer let that notion hang in the air. Retreat was an option most officers of Himmelsk would never even consider unless in dire circumstances.

"We'd be cut down by their cavalry!" Cried another voice. "They'd see us running from miles away, and they'd waste no time!"

Ylfer nodded sullenly. Falljar and Farsnord both looked from their Einherjer, sitting on the ground in defeat, to the elder Jarl Bjornstrom, who also sat, but in deep thought.

"We could use the eastern forests." Blurted Falljar. "They're not far. If we take just what we need, and run as fast as we can, we could make it into the woods, where we'd have a better chance of hiding, fighting, or finding help."

"Suicide" said Ylfer. "The Eastern woods are under the realm of the River Clan. The Forest Clan has been on shakey ground with them for as long as I can remember. They'd cut us down as soon as we made our entrance there, a large group like us. They're not part of the old Four clans."

"Yes, but if we sent only a small number of warriors there in just a small amount of time beforehand..." Carried on Bjornstrom, suddenly struck by an idea. "If those men could talk to people from the River clan's wood's and let them know of our coming, and ensure that we mean them no harm, perhaps they would allow us to hide in their woods. Maybe they'd even help us."

"I highly doubt it, I can't see the River Clan being particularily pleased about us just moving a force as large as our into their homeland, and asking for battle aid." Said Ylfer, a look of growing discontent on his face.

"What else could we do?" pleaded Farsnord. This question was greeted with silence, as all heads and eyes turned to their Einherjer, the mighty Ylfer. Who hung his defeated head. "Fine, the River clan it is, then." He said softly.

Bjornstrom immediately took charge. "Okay you lot! Grab provisions and weapons, but don't weigh yourselves down! And above all else, Don't make a damn bloody racket! We've got to move fast, and silently. We'll leave our tents, and some of the riches. Move!'

As Falljar and Farsnord moved to help with mobilization, Bjornstrom laid two heavy hands on their shoulders, and put his head between theirs.

"You two will be our messengers. Take our strongest horses, and ride with a message, and a fair amount of payment in gold and silver to the people of the River clan. You must leave now, and never look back. The two of you won't be noticed. I'll tell you how to make peaceful contact with the people of the River....."

"How can you drink that goat piss?" spat Titus as he looked at one of his riders drinking a yellowish liquid from his flask of goat bladder. "It tastes like shit."

The rider merely shrugged as he put the bottle back onto his belt and replaced his hemlet onto his head. "If I close my eyes I can pretend it's your mother's juice as I lick her cunny."

Titus glared at the man, who emmited a playful smile in response. "If it weren't for your sister threatening to close her legs to me then I'd put my knife in your throat."

The six other scouts laughed at the exchange of insults, and sleepily ate their rations of hardtack. They were light cavalry, elite horsemen no less. Small detachements had been sent out on both sides of the barbarian encampment to observe them, make sure they didn't try anything dodgy. And it just so happened that at that moment they did infact try. Two lone riders left the camp, obviously scouts who could move swiftly.

"Where you think they're off to in such a hurry?"

"Maybe they forgot to extinguish the fire in their shit huts, don't want the places to burn down while they're away."

Titus enjoyed the jests, but he had his orders. "Well just incase they're messengers going for reinforcements because our boys scared them so, we'd better intercept them." He made a cutting motion, signalling his troop of horsemen to begin riding off on a tagent, keeping them a safe distance away so as not to be noticed. The plan would be to reach the edge of the nearby forest before they did, then ride hard to where they would enter the dark wood, cut them down, and be back to their post in time to be relieved by the next watch.

Falljar and Farsnord ran light and qiuckly towards the ever-rising tree line marking the River clan's territory. They were but five-minute's ride from the edge of the great, vast forest when Falljar raised his left arm behind him, calling to slow down so they could speak. As the two riders closed the gap between one another, Falljar leaned in to speak to his companion.

"Here we go, are you ready?"

Farsnord nodded hurriedly before replying.

"Yes, I am. Have you got the payment?" Falljar nodded in response. "You remember the call too, right?" Again, Falljar nodded. Both men had been enlightened as to the special call for aid that the River Clan would respond to.

The riders sped up their pace again, and reached the outskirt of the forest. The men slowed again to a brisk trot, and they entered the forest. The woods were dark, and already the great pines were blocking out the sun's rays.

"Stay sharp, friend. We have to make haste deeper into the woods, lest we were followed, and we dont want to be ambushed by our own allies." This came from Farsnord, who had dropped low onto the back of his horse to avoid low-hanging branches. The response from his battle-brother was a quiet "Mmm" as they continued on.

They had progessed about 20 metres into the deep woods.

A whailing blast filled the woods, sending the morning birds flying into the upper parts of the trees to avoid the danger that was coming. The horn blew again, and a sound as if coconuts being banged together followed it and grew in intensity, horsemen suddenly appearing from the dark shroud inhabiting the forest, swords pointed towards their foes. They rode swiftly and with intensity. With ferocity they smashed into the two barbarian riders, thrusting their armaments fiercely and in intricate ways to attempt to best their enemies who were outnumbered.

Farsnord started at the blast of the horns and the rapid beat of hooves upon the earth. Falljar called out to him, and the two men reached for their arms as the group of marauders closed in on them. Both Himmelsk men found their swords and sheilds mere seconds before their foes were upon them. Their mounts and weapons alike smashed into the two Himmelsk, the rattle and clash of metal and the yells and cries of men.

Falljar took the tip of a blade in his left thigh, which he returned with a bash across another man's face with his sheild. The next rider tumbled into his mount, causing him to almost be torn from his horse. Farsnord had recieved two shallow thrust wounds to a forearm and shoulder, and had just narrowly escaped from having his neck torn by an oncoming sword slash by rolling back his head and raised his wooden sheild to deflect the attack.

Falljar heard Farsnord yelling something to him, but the words did not register in the chaos. He did the only thing that made sense, and reached for an ornately carved horn in a pouch on is horses' flank. He raised it to his lips, and blew in the pattern than Bjornstrom had taught him.

The long, curved instrument let loose a gust of smooth, reedy sound that penetrated the atmosphere of the woods and the battle as Falljar increased the pitch of the intrument. All around him as he blew the horn, the battle slowed and came to a halt as the men's attention was turned east, deeper into the woods. The sound of the answered, and after half of a very still minute, dark humaniod shapes appeared from the misty darkness of the forest. A group of River Clan Himmelsk warriors came into full view, most mounted on their own black horses. The one in the middle, garbed in a robe with intricate dragon designs chattered a few orders in the River Dialect. The score of warriors looked at the newcomers quickly before charging them. Falljar cried out in the rough Himmelsk Language, using as much of the River Dialect as possible as the menacing warriors loomed over them almost immediately.

"Please! My comrade and I mean you no harm! We are of the forest clan, and come to you in peace!"

Their pleas were not unheard as the River warrior swung their great axes at the Taledonian troops. Farsnord and Falljar were knocked from their mounts and pinned by River warriors who hadn't began attacking the other foreign soldiers.

Titus swung once more in futility, his steel blade striking the sturdy shield of that who he tormented. Two of his riders had been slain, but not by the Himmelsk riders they had engaged. He looked around, and saw his men being slaughtered by more barbarian cavalry that had come seemingly out of nowhere, emerging from the dark of the trees and then blending back in as swiftly as they had come. His eyes filled with horror as he felt hands grab him and pull him from his horse. He squirmed in their grip, and managed to shake them off but not without loosing his sword. Laying on the cold forest floor, his cloak of crimson making his attempts at standing impossible as he pushed on it, causing himself to pin his neck back to the ground. A rather large man stood over him, his face painted black like the rest of the area, dark eyes peering down at him.

"Gods...." was the last thing he muttered before an axe seperated his head from the rest of his body, sending it rolling oddly, the helmet keeping it from being round.

It was all over in but a minute after the River clan entered the fray. The bodies of the slain Taledonians were piled, their mounts rounded up, and any possessions of value looted and made into another pile. Falljar and Farsnord, under restrained by two huge River Clan Himmelsk warriors each were deathly silent as the leader of the group looked them over, and mumbled a few unintelligible words to his companions. After a few moments of thought, the leader of the River clan fighters, his face painted black as the surrounding forest addressed them, stumbling slightly over the differences in their dialects.

"You two are warriors of the Forest clan, yes?" The two prisoners hastily nodded. "Then how did you come to obtain a River clan horn? I woudl say that it was stolen or looted from a body of one of our warriors, but you also knew how to play the melody of Aid. Who are you, and why have you entered the sacred domain?"

There was a second of silence before Falljar spoke.

"My lord, my comrad and I are warriors from a Forest battle group of roughly 6,000. We were sent to ask you for your help. We are being faced with the slaughter of all our men at the Taledonians, who are equipped for all-out war, and most likely outnumber us. We request permission to use the outskirts of te forest as shelter where we can regroup and stand a fighting chance against these warriors."

The tall leader was taken aback by these words.

"What? How can you suggest such a thing? To use our woods as a shelter to defend yourself from enemies that you have made? Are the Forest clan's finest not strong enough to battle their own enemies? This is ridiculous, and it is an insult. We have no reason to aid you, and the actions of your people to our own in the past gives us enough reason to kill you where you now lie. Now, you will explain to me exactly why I have not done so yet."

"We can make payment" blurted out a shaking Fasrnord. "We have brought riches with us to present to you in exchange for your aid. Also, our battle group has gathered much in the way of spoils which we will gladly share for your help. We would also be willing to make a pact of peace with your people, if you would do this."

The River leader spat on the ground, and snarled at the Forest men.
"Payment in Taledonian riches? And a pact of peace? This doesn't fit together. You're obviously not telling me all the truth. Who is your leader?"

Farsnord was about to answer, when Falljarcut him off.

"Our leader is Jarl Bjornstrom. He sent us on this mission. We were decieved by our leader into foolishly attacking a trading town near Taledon, just so he could steal their gold to pay off a debt! Bjornstrom begs that you will save us from our doom, My lord!"

Their captor's eyes widened at the sound of Bjornstrom's name.

"Jarl Bjornstrom sent you? Why did you not say this before?"

Falljar blinked in surprise at the River man's reaction, and attempted a reply, but was cut by the now benevolent face of the River warrior.

"Never mind that, we will aid the men of Bjornstrom no matter the cost! Take two of our horses, and ride back to meet him. Tell him that we will accept, and that he is to enter the forest at this location as soon as possible. I will rally my men to meet him and help him face the Taledonians. Tell him that Luktus Lindroos eagrely waits to battle alongside him once again!"

With that, Falljar and Farsnord were thrust onto two hulking horses bred for sprinting, and were out riding towards the Forest Himmelsk campsite. They were so shocked at Luktus's reaction that they didn't speak a word on the way back.

A legionary lifted the tent flap and entered, stopping a meter distant from the table on which maps and documents had been strewn. He stood up straight and saluted in the Taledonian fashion, hitting his clenched right fist against his left breast, causing his armor to thud and chink. The soldier looked straight ahead as if into space, military discipline ruling his life in the face of his superiors. The Consul looked up from the dispatch he was reading and eyed the rigid man who stood silently waiting. He tossed the letter back onto the table infront of him.

"What do you want, soldier?"

"Sir, scouts have reported that the enemy camp is being packed up. Food, weapons, armor, and small amounts of plunder only, the rest is being left."

"Then they plan to flee. Most likely to the woods, where they can enlist the aid of the river people." He turned to an officer who was lounging in a chair against the right wall of the command tent. "Captain, signal the cornicerns to sound the call to assembly. We shall move out and position our forces between them and the forests. We must move quickly."

The centurion stood swiftly and saluted before moving off to relay the directives. Calun looked back down at the table, observing the distance between the forest, the enemy camp, and his own camp. They had twice the distance to cover, and the camp was just waking up with the rising sun, whereas the enemy had been packing for almost an hour. He looked back up, a hint of annoyance in his face and tone.

"Dismissed." He said harshly to the soldier who had remained at full attention before him. The legionary wasted no time, saluting once again, and then exiting the tent to rejoin his cohort.

It took little more than an hour, but the legion had adorned it's armor, the steel plates that overlapped each other shone in the morning sun, the helmets reflecting the rays just as well. The light but sturdy tower shields were slung over their shoulders, and they carried with them two pilum in their right hands, their gladius' at their belt. Calun rode to the front of the marching column, his personal guard of heavy cavalry following closely behind him. He looked back at his army, then galloped out the gates and headed at a swift pace towards the forest line, hoping the enemy hadn't already began to make their way as well. The rest of the cavalry, his personal guard of heavy and the divisions of light cavalry charging after him. If the cavalry at least could reach the forests before the barbarians, then they could stand a chance to keep them from entering the dark woods before the legion arrived as support. The infantry in it's turn began out the wooden gates that were flung open, not marching, but trotting as to move swiftly towards their target, moving at the steady pace that could carry a legionary twenty-five miles in a day without break.

The priests back at the camp finished going over the organs of the disected cow, and looked up at the departing legion. "Father Mars is with us today."

(OOC: Stupid jolt and it's non-resitering of my post. You'r move, Himm.)