NationStates Jolt Archive

Southern Regions of the Muslad Steppes


The rider whipped his horse with the extra length of his reins, bent low over its neck, and forcing it to canter at a break-neck speed. Sweat was pouring off both horse and rider, froth gathered at the horse’s chomp. Each hoof-beat ate up more of the sprawling grassland, leaving a small trail of dust behind. But for all the speed and haste, the rider knew that he was out of luck. Just as he crested another hill, he looked back with a quick glance and saw what he feared most.

Six other riders, armed with the infamous curved bow of the Nadir tribesmen, where thundering after him. It galled him to think he was so close to the border of the Empire and yet these barbarians were going to catch him.

The rider crested another hill and practically threw himself off when pulling the reins tight for the horse to come to a halt. Waiting at the bottom of the hill were an even larger group of Nadir riders, at least thirty of them. The rider cursed and drew his saber from its sheathed. Screaming a war cry he kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse and charged straight down, deciding he’d take at least two before Death would claim his soul.

The riders sat impassive as he came charging down the hill. Their leader, wearing better armour than the rest, lazily raised his hand. Another rider brought up his bow and pulled an arrow back. The leader’s arm fell and the arrow sped forth and slammed into the chest and neck of the charging horse, sending its rider spinning and flying out of the saddle. The man rolled, but in a controlled manner, and came up to his feet only slightly shaken and raised his sword in defiance.

“Come and die you dogs!”

The leader and his men all laughed. “It takes a dog to know another, and from my eyes I see but one dog here!” the leader replied, laughing again. The laughter subsided and the leader waved a hand. “Take him prisoner.”

Ten riders came on, cudgels swinging from their hands. They charged him from all directions. The fallen rider jumped inside the swing of the first rider and speared his saber through the man’s chest. As the rider fell and he attempted to get into the empty saddle however, a second man came forward and the wooden club descended onto his head like a thunderbolt. With a solid crack, the man fell unconscious.


When he awoke, the rider found himself in a camp. Nadir tribesmen were sitting around fires drinking, singing, and joking in their crude language. Women walked among them serving food and drink, practically ignored. A few children stood nearby, looking at the man chained to a wagon wheel with curiosity. An old man wearing a shaman’s headdress appeared and shooed the children away. He stepped over to the chained man and smiled.

“You’re a stubborn one, man of the Free Cities,” the shaman said, his voice cracked with age but still vibrant and strong. “My lord wanted you for a reason, but you would not come at his call.”

“Just because I’m a mercenary doesn’t mean I’m willing to sacrifice civilized people to barbarians like you!” he countered. The shaman simply shook his head.

“Our time will come, as each kingdom and empire has had theirs. My lord could not have you running off to warn the southern kingdom though, even if their time is soon to come,” replied the shaman, seemingly amused by the mercenary’s words. “Even as I speak, the tribes under my lord are marching south. Soon, it will begin.”

“I hope I won’t be there to see it. And don’t call me nameless. My name is Rek,” the mercenary declared.

“It is good to know your name,” said a third voice, from the shadows behind the shaman. From the shadows stepped a Nadir. He was tall and dark and dressed in black. By his side hung a long-sword. He moved forward slowly, yet with a confidence that Rek found daunting. Piercing eyes with a deep violet color gazed from slanted eyes that was the mark of a Nadir. He radiated power and confidence, wearing each like a cloak.

“Next time I offer you an invitation, you would be wise to remember it Rek of the Free Cities,” the man said. He bent down and undid the chains that held the mercenary to the wagon wheel.

“Who are you?” Rek asked, hardly keeping a sense of awe from his voice.

“I am Ulric (http://i248.photobucket.com/albums/gg178/reza_/vlcsnap458728ho2.png), leader of the southern tribes of the Nadir people,” the squat, powerful man said. “And I will see the lands south of here burns to the ground, so that Nadir may grow from the ashes.”

Ostwind, Imperial Capital

The Emperor strode through the broad halls of the Palace with a tall man in armor at his side and a trail of aides and advisors behind. "Are you sure, General?"

The man in brilliant armor nodded gravely, keeping pace with the Emperor, "Yes Sire, we are as sure as we can be. The watch towers reported that there has been tribal activity along the northern border. I ordered investigative patrols, but those horsemen can be sneaky when they wish it. Still, the locals are confirming that there seems to be some sort of warlord among the horsemen. Their intent is unknown."

The Emperor frowned, an all-too-common expression on his face in these last few months. "This is most disturbing. Trolls to the west, undead and werewolves to the east and across the Tobias Sea. These uprisings are starting to make me highly suspicious that there may be some common force behind them. I will not see a great manipulator sow the seeds of dissent and attack against this Empire!"

"No Sire."

"How are our watch posts?"

"They are still on double manpower from your previous orders. The sergeants are reporting that morale has not dropped and there have been almost no inccidents among the men."

"Maintain doubled patrols. These tribesmen may not be thinking of attacking us, this warlord may simply be uniting the tribes internally."

OOC: Would the Nadir be likely to ally with my men if a War Host came across them?

*tag* seeing as I'm just north of all this. Will post ICly later.

I love it when war crops up all around me :)

Fortress Fira, Halls of the Western High Command, Office of General Fliir Soban

The halls of the high command along the western front were nestled deep in the mountain fortress at Fira, a sprawling city of more than 350,000. The city was ancient, thousands of years old its streets and homes were all carved from the same piece of stone that expanded deep into the reaches of the mountain where a booming trade sector imported goods from foreign lands and vice versa. This was one of the few cities that allowed foreigners to enter into its gates, and the Gahrodanthi had had every intention of impressing anyone who entered into its hallowed caverns and corridors. If one could forget about the lack of sun and greenery, it looked very much like a great castle inside; streets paved with perfectly aligned matching cobblestones, and a booming center of commerce awaited the eyes at every corner. From simple tented bazaars in the many courtyards and fountains all the way to massive five-story and five-star establishments of the highest quality. If you wanted something in Fira, you had only to look for it...and to afford it.

The city showed its grandeur at every step; massive sets of marble grand staircases with bronze edging lead between levels as artificial rivers and waterfalls carved into the very rock were decorated along their 'shores' with marble carvings and bronze statues detailing the history of the city and battles won, attackers thwarted. The ceiling, supported by a series of mamoth pillars, often stretched so far into the sky that it appeared as if it was in fact a moonless, starless night, and the city would constantly be in darkness if not illuminated by large brazers of eternal flame at major intersections and government buildings, and tall ornate lampposts with ever-burning torches nestled in them that dotted the city floor everywhere in an intricate grid pattern.

Other than the age, greatness, and the supreme craftsmanship that went into making the city, there was one other thing that was imposed upon any visitor instantly: The readiness and superb ability of the Gahrodanthi Military to meet any challenge. The General stationed here had direct control over all the forces west of the Salt River, which was twelve divisions of troops, or 27,480 soldiers, with four divisions in the city at any given time. Moreover, this was the principle military center of Gahrodanth; officers were trained here, and the kiith-sa of the Soban Army lived here. Although at casual glance of the number, 27,480 seemed to be a rather small army to defend the entire western quarter of the nation, the instant anyone gazed upon even the most common soldier in Gahrodanth, it became abundantly clear why only such a small number was ever required.

Time allows two advantages. The first is Craftsmanship. The first thing that anyone would notice immediately, is that every soldier is as well equipped as you might expect to see a warlord or king. Adamantine-Mithral composite armor and weapons, centuries or millenia old, often endowed with magical properties as a soldier gains Sergeantry and even more so with Officership, the forces of Gahrodanth are probably the best equipped soldiers in the entire realm.

And, unlike many other races, the Fire Dwarves of the Cythian Steppes had one more advantage: Time. The average Fire Dwarf lives to be 300, older than even most hill dwarves. And, after a century and a half of combat and service, a soldier is forged who has countless more experience and loyalty than any human soldier could ever hope to attain. Every soldier bears the scars and temperance of battle. Even when not in a state of war, soldiers of Gahrodanth make regular ranging patrols into the Deserts of Khem to hone their skills, and train constantly. Unlike most other militaries, they also make a life-long pledge to live the life of a soldier, forgoing marriage, ownership of land, and many other things to don the armor of their nation.

And no one knows the ability of the Gahrodanthi soldier more than High Command General Fliir Soban. General Fliir Soban, two-hundred-fifty-three, is five foot one inch tall -- rather tall for a dwarf, and two-hundred-seventy pounds of solid muscle and leather-like scarred skin encased in an astonishingly beautiful and powerful artifact known as The Full-Plate Of The Western Lord, which has been dawned by every High Commander of the western front for over two millenia.

The Office he is stationed in, called the Golden Throne Room, after the color of the home Corps and the throne of pure gold that Fliir sits in at his strategy table, is rectangular in shape, and stationed in the center of the city. Two water-fall fountains on either end offer some privacy from the open-ended view of the office that spills out to look over the city east and west. Ten stories up, it is built high into the command structure of the city and has a truly commanding view, nearly reaching half of the way up to the ceiling of the mountain. The walls are covered with paintings, carvings and tapestry of all order, including a great bookshelf housing the names and accomplishments of every soldier under the western command. Mahogany and other fine woods, often with gold leaf trimmings, make up the furniture and end tables. Dominating the inside is a large stone table carved directly from the stone that the room was excavated from. Around the edges a small pool of water sits, like a moat over a large stone carving of the region. Detailed exactly with the mountains, rivers, lakes and hills of the region in precious gem or metal matching the terrain color, it offers an excellent permanent place from which any commander could make war. Dotting the table are finely crafted troop markers in the shape of shields (for the Gahrodanthi) and swords (for any other force), with tablets of various precious metals underneath denoting their strength and number. Recently Fliir had been very concerned with a growing number of troop markers and platinum tablets that had been appearing in the Muslad Steppe Territory. Even more important to him than the number of markers and tablets was the placement of the markers: they were mostly concentrated along the land of three rivers.

Although this put the bulk of the enemy away from his nation, it also placed the bulk of the enemy toward The Empire of The Men of Caen, who had been a stabilizing force in the region for ages, as well as a valuable trading partner via enterprising caravan owners.

There were two chances for redemption for his aching conscience however: There were massing markers along all of the boarders of The Empire. Whether this meant that The Empire was simply suspicious or knew of a massing army was unknown, but it at least told him that they were not foolish. And there was one other chance: All his troop markers were based on scrying. No actual dwarf had seen anything that laid on his table, and although his clerics were very powerful, magic was imperfect. And perhaps much more importantly, he could not offer any assistance military or otherwise unless he knew all of the situation with first-hand knowledge. That meant seeing actual movements and hostile intentions toward The Empire, and then asking The Empire if they required aid. He needed definitive proof of what lay on his table... And that meant sending a scout in to take a look at the Muslad Steppes, and sending an emissary to The Empire.

Fliir slowly walked over to a large bookcase behind the table against the wall that the Golden Throne was seated against and scanned over a series of books with his eyes, his left index finger grazing the cover of each. After a moment, he grabbed a very thick old leather-bound book from the second shelf. The cover read in Ingan: 'Western Command Divisions 1-12: Scouts'. Every scout who had ever been under the western command was detailed in here, including their rank, battle history, accomplishments and exploits. He flipped quickly to the last dozen or so pages and quickly glanced over the names of all the scouts under his command that were in active service (meaning alive), quickly looking at any commendations. After several minutes of reading, he found what he was looking for:

'Karan. Rank: Lieutenant. Merit: Sash of Great Prowess, Ankh of Courage, Ring of Great Loyalty.'

Excellent, Fliir thought as he quickly hustled back over to the table and wrote her name on a piece of parchment with an ink pen he picked up along the way.

Whoever wore the Sash of Great Prowess was known to be the most-skilled combatant in her profession (In this instance Scout), by method of beating any challengers until none were forthcoming. The Ankh of Courage was earned when she led the rescue of three soldiers -- one of which was a Captain -- inside an enemy encampment, and the Ring of Great Loyalty could only mean one thing: She was a remarkable Assassin.

Fliir walked-over to a small chute, lifted the golden latch on it and dropped the piece of parchment into it.

Next, he walked toward the door of his command center, and knocked on the old wooden artifact twice. The door slowly came open, its inscriptions and carvings dancing as the light and shadows changed. Fliir began walking down a long corridor of stone, honor guards saluting him as he passed. After walking thirty yards or so, he passed in front of another door, much like his. The honor guards there saluted and slowly opened the door, groaning against its immense weight. As they pulled it open, it became clear why: the door was at least a foot thick, and mahogany was very dense, especially when it bore adamantine recesses in the bottom and sides from which bolts could be put in to lock it.

The door now opened, Fliir walked inside to a large open court, ten stories up that had an excellent view of Fira, sprawling below in a flurry of activity. The court was in-fact a break room of sorts, complete with musicians and a small artificial pond and waterfall that cascaded down the side of the building. All along the edges were benches of marble and granite, the rock intricately woven together with bronze spacers to form the portraits of great commanders of the ages. Sitting on one of these benches was a young dwarf of average height and weight in green and orange silk robes, talking cheerfully to a very beautiful female violinist who had abandoned her music temporarily to speak with the young dwarf.

Fliir grinned widely as he slowly walked over to the young couple, and about half way across the courtyard the young dwarf's eyes casually glanced in his direction. Immediately, he took his hands off the small of her back, and leaned back into a proper sitting position. He shook her hand, and whispered into her ear, slipping a small piece of paper into her pocket. She quickly looked at General Fliir, jumped out of her seat and scampered back to her fellow minstrels.

"So," Fliir said grinning ear to ear, "Did I interrupt you Pirit?"

"Of course not sir," Pirit said, grinning back as he extended his right hand. "It is a pleasure to see you sir."

Their hands met and shook vigorously as Fliir began, "I figured you'd be out here."

"How so General?" Pirit asked.

"Because I saw her here this morning," Fliir said as his gaze went right to the female violinist. She blushed vigorously as his eyes returned to Pirit.

"Ah. You see, I was just--"

"Getting ready to put the moves on her?" General Fliir interrupted.

"Oh no sir, I was simply questioning her about the music she was playing." Pirit retorted.

"Sure you were. Statesman, Diplomats and even Generals were all young dwarves once you know. In any event, I have rather urgent business to discuss with you today. Please follow me into my office."

The two quickly walked back into The Golden Room without speaking a word. The mention of urgent business left Pirit with a worried look on his face. When General Fliir meant urgent business, he meant matters of grave importance. The door sealed behind them, Fliir motioned to a seat opposite The Golden Throne.

Pirit quickly sat down in the motioned seat, and Fliir slowly walked around the long table to the Golden Throne, letting Pirit gaze upon the table as he sat down.

"So," General Fliir began, "Do you know why I called you here?"

"Well, Pirit started, "If I was forced to venture a guess, I would look upon these markers here as causation for my being here today," he said pointing at the makers and tiles by The Empire.

"Precisely," said Fliir. "I have a growing concern that there may be an invasion by the Hordes of the Muslad Steppes into The Men of Caen. I need you to negotiate the situation, and offer them aid, be it military or otherwise. Unfortunately, if you had plans for your minstrel later this week, you will have to forgo them. I need you ready to leave tommorrow."

Pirit looked dissapointed as he reached into his pocket and crumpled a piece of paper in it, slowly drawing it from his pocket and tossing it idly in a bin beside him.

"How shall I proceed to their capitol, and under what protection or guise sir?" he asked, now fully aware of the gravity of the situation.

"By way of the Salt River. Follow it south, and get off at the first port that looks worthy or by hail of The Empire, and immediately make haste for their capitol. You shall bear the seal of the Diamid, so your travel should not be interrupted while in-nation, and any foreign official should immediately be of help to you," Fliir stated. "That being said, try to avoid any contact with the forces of Nadir."

"Yes sir."

"A guard of one section (12) of my personal choosing shall accompany you. Now make ready your leave."

"Yes sir," Pirit said as he saluted, and immediately made for the door. He knocked twice, and as the hinges creaked open, he looked back at Fliir, who said, "May the Great Maker Sajuuk keep you safe."

Border of the Empire

Dawn's early light was just breaking over the rolling hills, illuminating the stretching plains below it, when they burst over the crest and thundered down the hill towards the still sleeping village. It was a border post more than a village, only a hundred or less people. The fifty raiders swept in sabers drawn and curved bows stretched. Those unfortunate enough to have been up early, doing various chores for the day to begin, were cut down within moments. House doors were kicked down and women of all ages brought out screaming and kicking. Torches were passed around and the thatched roofs set alight. Chains were put on all the captured women and children and then put into wagons. Any men who had not run away during the short attack were slain. Laughing and cheering like daemons of the pit the raiders made off with their booty and back into the hills.

Town of Hatea, Northern border with the Nadir

It has become practice in such remote locations in the Kingdom to be exciting even of bad news and today was no different; a tracking party had come back after a assignment in the Muslad Steppe which had reported a concentration of Nadir warriors on the northern border of the Empire.

Typical of the nature of the Vetian army letters had to be sent to several officials before even being allowed to investigate, they sent a letter to the King explaining what the trackers had found and another to the local villages telling them to prepare for a possible call to arms.
The last was to head towards Ostwind to get more information on what was going on, the letter as read was.

This is from General George of the Vetian Standing Army, recent reports have stated multiple Nadir camps on your northern border and we wish a reply stating to the reason why? The King is worried that it could threaten the security of the Northern frontier. Please send a reply telling us what you know so we can react with haste to create a more powerful defence to the North.

Yours Sincerely,
General George Watson of the Vetian Standing Army

(Sorry for the slow reply. Had an issue.)

Forks Fort
On the morning after the attack, a ragged teenaged boy ran along the river bank, his feet bloody and shredded from running all night shoeless, his skin torn by thorns and falls. He had seen his father shot dead by a raider's arrow and his sisters dragged screaming from their home as he escaped into the woods. He was beyond exhaustion, kept moving only by the knowledge that the fort had to be close.

As he cleared some trees and broke into the open, he saw ahead the fort. Its inward curving walls and stout towers unmistably Empire in design. The flags of the Northern District and the Empire flapped in a light wind from the west.

Spurred on by a last jolt of energy, he stumbled towards the fort. Crossing the trade road and falling among the grassy lawns outside of the fort he gasped for air as watchmen shouted.

Moments later he was being carried inside by a group of soldiers and into the infirmary. His eyes bloodshot and frenzied, he reached blindly to grasp at the arm of a surgeon, "Our village.. my sisters.. Fredwich Village.. gone!" he collapsed back onto the bed.

Fredwich Village
As the sun sank lower into the evening sky, a detachment of mounted soldiers from the Forks Fort arrived at the outpost. Looking down upon the smoldering ruins, they saw the bodies laying in the dirt streets and the other signs of havoc.

Immedietly a rider was dispatched back to the Fort as the rest of the men rode into town to begin the fruitless search for survivors.

Ostwind
In the Imperial Capital city, the government was undertaking business late into this night. It had taken a full day for word to reach the capital from the Northern District via a relay of carrier hawks and now planning was underway on how to respond.

Military advisors discussed and debated how best to deal with the situation as the Emperor himself took a personal interest.

"As I said," one advisor was speaking, "We can find their camps and send in an army to destroy them."

Another man shook his head, "With all due respect, these are horsemen. Most of their settlements will move around as they follow their herds and the seasons change. They're practically nomads. It could take a week or more to march troops far enough to strike at their homelands."

Yet another advisor interrupted, "Those horsemen aren't interested in a battle anyway. They fight from the saddle. Bows 'n manuvers. They'd run right around a shield wall and pepper our men with arrows. And beyond that, they'd probably raid our camps at night and kill half 'em without a fight."

The Emperor leaned forward, his elbows on the table and expression serious, "Gentlemen, I have considered the situation and I have decided upon a course of action. We have cavalry, but they are not born into or wed to the saddle like these northmen are. We need to even the odds. Therefore, I am issuing the construction of a new northern-most outpost. It'll even be somewhat inside of Nadir territory to provoke them. And further..."

Nadir/Empire Border
Ten days since the raid. The Empire had sent a regiment of troops north to protect a group of Imperial Engineers. These men had surveyed the land and choosen the tallest hill in the border region they could find. The troops had then marched in along with a wagon train of equipment and materials and began digging in. By day, they dug holes and put in sharpened stakes to surround the hilltop and by night they had began digging a wide, deep trench lined with stakes all around the base of the hill. They then covered the trench sections with a thin tarp and rolled the sod back into place, effectively making hidden that the traps were there.

On the top of the hill, out of sight the Engineers were building repeating ballistas, and had dug in a handful of cannons. They then took measurements, sighting in on landmarks within sight of the hill, consulting a trajectory chart and accounting for the elevated positions.

All of this of course was meant to draw the attention of the horsemen, make them wonder why the Empire seemed to be setting up shop in their territory.

Nadir
What seemed to be a large caravan had somehow stumbled into Nadir territory. A wagon train of perhaps 50 brightly colored covered wagons were moving roughly north-west and then west towards Vetian lands.

These merchants seemed to be wary and kept close to a carriage marked with the Imperial Seal. This sort of carriage was used to transport important people from the Empire. Perhaps even an ambassador. Following the carriage was a large black wagon with sturdy warchests locked up in the back, guarded by four soldiers. Escorting the carriage was an honor guard of ten Empire Cavalry.

This of course.. was entirely an illusion. Hidden in many of the covered wagons were crossbowmen and handgunners, peering out of thin, hidden slits in the fabric at the surrounding grasslands.

It was all yet another trap, to draw the Nadir into trying to attack what appeared to be a very valuable, but exposed convoy.


Message to Vetia
(This message would have been sent out via carrier hawk several days after the raid)
We are currently looking into the situation. It seems the Nadir have raided one of our northern villages and slaughtered many. They have also carried off women and children. We strongly suggest you look to your borders. We are sending out patrols to protect our people.

We certainly would not object if you decided to strike at the Nadir. Further, any intelligence on the whereabouts of their camps.. especially the one our people have been taken to, would be greatly appreciated.

- Governer Frushik, Northern District Empire of Men

((OOC: Sorry about the wrong nation))

The Outpost at Hatea was full of activity as men report in and weapons are handed out to the Reserves, they had managed to pull together a army of about 23,000 troops who were going to stay in Hatea for the next few months until the threat had gone away, the idea was for .

Lorein had been told a similar story and Lord Jacob has spared who he could to fortified the western river, also a temporary wooden fort with a garrison of 6000 was to be constructed in the middle of these two rivers to stop the Nadir was trying to bypass all the defensive's of the Kingdom.

“Why don’t we invade General? They couldn’t defeat them in open combat”

“You cannot defeat nomads; they are like rabbits you can kill 400 out of 500 but be sure in a few years they will be back in full numbers. Best thing is to simply make sure you kill any rabbits that come on the farm”

“What’s your orders then sir?”

“Keep those dam Barbarians on their dam side of the border and if even one tries to pass by my armies they better be then running headless like a slaughtered turkey”

“Yes sir”
the messenger runs away, it might seem weird but Messengers were actually much respected in the Kingdom and you couldn’t survive without one. They rode day and night to deliver messages around the Kingdom.

Harold walks out of his front door and looks out to the town in front of him, this could be bad times for the Kingdom because the North had for a long time been ignored in priority. The Nadir never really attacked unless it was each other, the Southern Coast was constantly fighting against Orc Raiders and the Western Border under heavy Goblin raids. Hatea was only now being fortified and even now it was not that impressive.

The only advantage was its place on the river that meant safe travel could only be done by the stone bridge that went across it. Hopefully the large army that was now living in the city and around in the camps was enough to defend it against any attack.

Harold then orders for 500 of his best horsemen to ride into Nadir, their job would be to scout just inside the border for Nadir activity. Hopefully they could find the camps that threatened their borders and fast.

Post coming soon.

Post coming soon.

orly

Imperial Caravan, Nadir Territory

Subodai sat on his horse, alone, on a hill looking down at the passing Imperial caravan. It was a large one, and armed well enough from what he could tell just from the outside, but it was the inside that concerned him. If what his lord had told him was true, this was no ordinary merchant train, but rather a fat piece of bait to lure any Nadir tribesmen foolhardy enough to try and grab at it. Ulric however had forbidden his lieutenant from doing anything about it, and so Subodai sat and watched it pass.

But even if Ulric had forbidden him not to touch it, that didn't mean that the crafty warrior couldn't get others to do his dirty work for him. Days before Subodai had ridden, alone, into a camp of Notas, no-tribe peoples who were no longer part of a tribe either because it had been destroyed or simply broken apart by inner strife. The fifty men in the camp had at first viewed Subodai as a potential victim, to kill and steal his horse and nicely made armour, but once Subodai had told them of the caravan (withholding of course any important details about it other than that it carried vast amounts of gold and booty) and set their greed alight.

"Fools," he murmured into the wind.

Even as he spoke he watched as two groups of horsemen, the fifty Notas tribesmen, came whooping and hollering from two hills on either side of the caravan as it came between two marginal hills. Subodai sat back in his saddle and watched, a smile on his face.


New Imperial Outpost

Ulric watched, as he had since the round-eyed southerners had first arrived, from a hill not far from the taller one that the new fort now possessed. More than any other Nadir Ulric possessed a massive amount of patience, for he knew that with patience came opportunity, and with both came victory. And so he watched. He had noted how the Empire soldiers had dug holes and filled them with spikes and, even though they thought themselves silent and well hid, the devious trench that ringed the hill. Ulric had many skilled spies and men of the shadows, not to mention his many shaman to aide in his investigations.

Overall he was impressed. The southerners had not reacted as he thought they might at first, sending an army out to punish any tribes they came across. And Ulric had been prepared for that eventuality, but for others also. When he had learned of the caravan from his spy in Ostwind he had smiled and laughed aloud much to the surprise of his generals. How crafty they were! A challenge worth accepting in Ulric's eyes.

"My lord," a voice called over Ulric's shoulder. He turned to see one of his closest lieutenants, Ingis, walking forward with his helmet in hand. The general dropped to one knee and bowed his head to Ulric. "We've made preparations as you instructed."

"Good," smiled Ulric, "Then we will be able to give these men of the Empire a greeting they will soon not forget."

Imperial Caravan

As the bands of Notas came pouring down from the hillsides, the caravan seemed to convulse. The front carriage halted while the heavy covered wagons spread out slightly. Men on horseback disguised as traders tore their cloaks away to reveal shining the shining steel armor of the Empire. They drew their sabers even as all around, the canvas coverings on the covered wagons were pulled down to reveal teams of archers and handgunners.

With a crackling all up and down the line, smoke poured from the guns into the enemies charging headon. Archers stood, pulling their bows to full draw and then releasing them as crossbowmen volleyed off their own shots.

Soldiers armed with spears and halberds lept down from the wagons even as the heavy wagon with the chests came to a full halt. The men of that wagon pulled hard on cranks, and the false chests collapsed as an experimental new weapon pivoted into view. It looked like a cannon, but rather than one big barrel it had dozens of smaller ones.

Even as the crew pivoted the weapon on its mounting and put brands to the breeches, the volley gun opened fire. Pouring devestating, golf-ball sized copper shot into the enemy horsemen, timed to fire a shot every half second. They raked the muzzle of this weapon left and right, spraying.

Cavalry spurred forward, drawing pistols and opening fire before going to work with their sabers.

"For the Emperor!"

Vetian heavy Patrol, just north of the Vetian border

Most of the armed horsemen were Humans with about 150 Elven archers, these were typical western style light knights. Their chain mail Armour with a tunic protecting their bodies.

They wanted to do a move that would force the Barbarians of the north to fight on Vetian terms. Hopefully armed with their Crossbows and Bows they had a chance to take down quite a few of the bastards before they made a move.

Then they would run back to the border, where if they followed would be mowed down by a mix of Human and Orc infantry.