The Empire where the Sun never sets

[Dylan]

The Red and Blue Mighty

1st January 1604 AD
Fallace Bay, Perdaé, the Necraties Islands

Months had passed. The ships had been equipped with cannonballs, food, water and other essentials. The wait was not expected, a change of plan had been ordered, but following the same principles.
Admiral Pennisine was at the helm of the invasion. He was the man in charge of everything. He was standing on the flagship of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. HMS Fragmentine, the largest and most destructive ship that sailed the seas.
The sails were set high. The rather obnoxious cluster of white in the bay overpowered everything else that surrounded it. They stuck out like a sore thumb. Pennisine’s smile was enormous. Its coarse complexity unrevealing. Many would question what he was smiling at. To some, it was obvious. His devotion to the King. His devotion to country. His loyalty. His power. He controlled the largest fleet in the world. He was, in some respects, the single most powerful man under the King in the world.
The vessels began to slowly move. Anchors lifted and flags erected. Jeers soared into the air as they departed. Perdaé jeered.

The flags were red, blue and white today.

[Dylan]

The Red and Blue Mighty

2nd January 1604 AD
Caven Sea

It was such a calm, beautiful day. The water laid still, the waves slopping occasionally. In the distance there was clusters of grey clouds; but they had parted to clear a path for the prodigious fleet. Nothing dared get in its way for it assimilated all. Even the clouds were ‘scared’.

As the ships made their elegance known by sailing ever closer to their enemy, a ginormous albatross matched the elegance. It perched at the end of the bowsprit, looking out at the ever shrinking expanse of the blue ocean. The bird shook violently, ridding water from itself. It stretched its wings out. Some may say it was showing off but in reality it was completely obnoxious. One thing was for sure, its wings were massive, almost stretching eleven foot. Several privateers stopped and stared in awe, only to be shouted at.

2nd January 1604 AD
Justel’s Brow, Justelvard

It had been such a long time since the oracle had predicted the attack. The many days of sitting around and waiting had irreversible effects. Many had died from a sweeping plague. The men that were previously bloodthirsty quite literally had blood pouring from their mouths. Pits were dug and mass burials ensued. After separating the livestock from the armies, the deaths slowed down, but were still happening. The result gave way to a mental drought. People were tired of sitting and doing nothing but getting ill and dying. People were depressed and crime was more commonplace.
A lone Jussie was perched on the pebbly beach. The camp was a two minute walk behind him. Everyone was tired and sleepy, even the lookout. Suddenly, over a hundred black lines emerged from the horizon. The Jussie wasn’t suspicious at first, but it was what followed. The ginormous sails. The ocean was once a dark blue, and now it had a line of white. The line kept on going as he looked from one side of the horizon to the other. His jaw dropped. The man ran back with large staggering steps, shouting for the alarms to ring.

Some men were ready but most were afraid. Many men had gotten used to the idea that the invasion was never to be. Now that it had arrived it pushed many off guard. The soldiers flung themselves into position. As the ships got closer, the men readied. They were told what to do, and they were told that the sea people were stupid. Smoke confused them, that’s what they said.
Their boats had been laden with hay. The brittle dry grass had been purposely left to succumb to its present state; ready to be ignited. Ready to confuse.
After the camps were evacuated, they were set on fire. The men were told that the sea people would be confused by the idea of smoke coming from afar, from a place they couldn’t see. They would be scared and make mistakes. That’s what they were told.
They sent their boats to confront the colossus force. The hundreds of shanty contraptions were erected to collide with the sea people and burn them.

Pennisine snarled. The size difference between the Empire and these savages were finally pronounced. You could quite literally stack four of their ridiculous contraptions on top of each other and they still wouldn’t match the size of Pennisine’s ship. Pennisine relayed that twenty vessels would split off from the rest to begin the assault. HMS Fragmentine was one of them. They all made their way forward. As the ships closed their distances apart, the Morsts turned port side.
Suddenly, all of the Justelvardic ships began to burn. It was strange, but Pennisine was quick to understand their strategy, albeit quite idiotic.
“FIRE AT WILL!” he bellowed. The order was relayed from crows nest to crows nest, starting the bombardment. The little vessels were picked off quickly. It wasn’t difficult. They had set themselves on fire too early and the cannon fire only made sinking easier.
“Young fools, only now at the end do you understand.” Pennisine gnarled. Justelvardic soldiers were screaming ablaze, jumping into the water. All of the boats had been destroyed, smoke smeared in malevolent clots on the waters surface.
Screaming soldiers begging for mercy were strewn everywhere. They tried to find refuge with the Morsts, but Pennisine had made it very clear.
There was going to be no prisoners.
Soldiers on deck pointed their new contraptions at the stragglers. Pennisine’s face dropped to an abnormal coldness as he commanded their deaths. The soldiers fired and the crying stopped.
The invasion of Justelvard had begun.

[Dylan]

The Red and Blue Mighty

2nd January 1604 AD
Justel’s Brow, Justelvard

The crying stopped. There was a brief few moments of silence, the ringing of the guns had muffled and the smoke from the muzzles seeped into the air. The moment felt like minutes but were actually seconds. It was so tense, but the tides of war favoured the Morsts. The response the Morsts gave struck very deep into the Justels’ hearts. A brief realisation of what was undoubtedly to come.
Nordin was not phased. He stood over all at the brow of his hill; the brow of his country. He was so convinced that it was just luck that he ordered a full offensive.
“I want ALL of our ships to bombard their back line! We will engage the near cluster with our long range arrows! Get around their sides and aim down the fire spitting lions’ throats.”
Clantin, Nordin’s brother nodded. He ran down the hill with another man.
The message relayed from person to person until it was clearly delivered. Nordin’s entire fleet went to engage the thirty vessels at the back, leaving the docks and preparing for their untimely deaths.

Dorghold knew that this was the opportunity. He was assigned command of over two fifths of the entire defending force, and with a majority of Nordins’ fleet engaging the enemy, he knew he would never get a better chance. He nodded at Jraz, his brother, who had assumed the rank below him. He walked out of his tent to the direction of Nordin. The battle had commanded most of his men, leaving him alone. Nordin was merely a foot from the edge. Dorghold smiled as he embraced the glory of the holy Morstaybishlian Empire. The hatred he had for Nordin flowed through him. The coarse exhaling he produced caught Nordins attention. Nordin smile quickly turned agape with horror. He could not understand what he was doing. He wheezed and stared directly into Dorghold’s eyes.
“Why, brother?” he spluttered.
“Business.”
Dorghold removed the dagger from Nordins’ chest and kicked his limp body down the cliff.
­
Clantin came to a halt. He thought it was an Urthquake but he was wrong. Merely inches from his shoulder his brother passed. The lifeless body contorted down the steep slope, breaking branches, shrubs and itself. Of what was a once recognisable Nordin was now a shattered and crunched scrap. Clantin was in utter disbelief. The other man he ran with was Nordin’s son, and he wept by his side as the body came to a stop. Clantin was filled with hatred. He shielded the young man as an explosion rippled the side of the hill next to him, and with that he looked to where Nordin had fallen.
Dorghold.
The man perched at the ledge on the top of the hill, his right hand rubbing a few blades of grass. The man stood up and grunted. He unsheathed his long sword and raised it above his head. The man screamed and to Clantin’s horror he could just about make out what he said.
For Morstaybishlia!
Clantin swore. A few more explosions ripped apart the longbows that were clamped on the hills, scattering them. The screams of dying men screeched across the sky. Word spread quickly that Nordin had died and several dozen men had surrounded his body. Suddenly, hundreds of soldiers ran down the hill Clantin had come from. They were screaming with ferocity, anger and hatred. Word quickly spread that Dorghold had killed him. The two fronts met in a culling. Men fell to the floor as swords slashed at limbs. People hacked at those they loved, and many had no idea who was who. Clantin killed a man before studying the battlefield. His newly appointed army was at a severe loss.
“Retreat!” he called. What few dozen men were left ran down onto the beach for that was the only place they could run. As Clantin followed he looked out to sea. The dozens of floating islands had tore down their boats once again. Fire, screaming and death was everywhere. Smoke plagued the sky.

Pennisine snarled.
“The rats have entered the trap. Fire.”
The ships opened hell onto the beaches. The explosions obliterated the sand, sending it flying. The final few men surrendered. Pennisine had convincingly won.
“Gather the longboats. We meet with Dorghold.”

A few stragglers had managed to run from the battle. Frightened and disorientated, they headed for Surrot, their last hope. The man was in league with Nordin and commanded several huge armies. Perhaps he was the true protector of Justelvard.

[Dylan]

The Red and Blue Mighty

5th January 1604 AD
Mount Surraine, Justelvard

The few men who had struggled to escape the clutches of their home invaders made their way through the countryside. Day by day they continued, travelling as fast as they can to relay the message. As the days went by, their numbers dwindled.
Three days after their loss, they stumbled to the gates of Surrot’s castle. Being hastily taken inside, they were fed, nurtured and watered. The men were let to rest for the night to regain some strength for the morning summoning.

The morning after, the men, of which there was four out of the twelve that had fled the battle, were taken to the Lords Chamber to inform Surrot of their ultimate failure. The four men bowed under the throne of the lord and his council. One man, obviously their leader, began pleading for the sake of the land, hoping that Surrot would intervene and cast the villains away.
“Your lordship, we beg of you. This land is forsaken by our own men. This is our most desperate hour. Help us your lordship Surrot, you’re our only hope!”
“SILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLENCE!” Surrot thwarted, violently dribbling everywhere. “ANDDDDDDDD WHYYYYYYY SHOULD I HELP YOU?”
“After the invaders take control of the coast, they will come here and take control of you.”
“NO, I don’t think so. They don’t know about us here.”
“You and Nordin’s army form a symbolic circle. What happens to one of you will affect the other. You must understand this!”
“We wish nothing in your things, and we do not care about th…”
Before he could continue, the floor violently shook. Screaming in many pitches broke out. The faces in the chamber looked around each other in a mixture of confusion and horror. Another explosion rippled and tonnes of stones crashed onto the ceiling. Surrot’s most trusted commander wailed, holding his chest as he opened the door. He crumpled to the ground, his hand clasped around a small hole.
“WHAT IN THE DEVIL,” Surrot screamed. “ORDER YOUR MEN TO ATTACK!” He screeched at one of his men. The four men who had escaped the previous battle looked more horrified than ever. The plague that killed their friends had come for them.

Outside, the Morst invaders had followed the men. It took them a while to catch up, hauling heavy artillery through the landscape. They had set up an offensive flanking manoeuvre, and the attack on the fortress was in full swing. The fortress was meant to keep invaders at bay, having defences for soldiers, not cannons. They had no idea how to cope. Soldiers were forced out of the castle to intercept the fire breathing lions. The lions obliterated most of the incoming men, and those who made it relatively close to the cannons were picked off by riflemen and swordsmen. Surrot and his men were not prepared. They thought days, weeks, not hours. Movement in the castle had subsided and the Morsts dispatched of those remaining inside. Surrot had survived and was hiding in his quarters. He was dragged out and forced onto his knee before Pennisine.
Pennisine spat onto the floor in front of him. Surrot went to run but was manhandled back into place.
Pennisine grabbed his chin and stared him in the eyes. The Admiral’s jaw locked.
“The stragglers were running for you? You were their salvation, their last hope?” He paused. “I expected better.”
He let go of the mans chin, letting it drop in defeat. Pennisine walked off.
“Shoot him.” He ordered.
A moment later, a loud gunshot howled through the air.

It was a bellowing defeat that struck deep into the lands. Justelvard was defeated. The message spread quickly to small settlements across the country. The lands were ruled by a different kind now, and it would take a long time to get used to.

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

18th October 1522 AD
Redrugil Royal Palace, Fort Redrugus

A ball was organised for the Kings family and friends. Over fifty people had been invited, and all of them had arrived. Being for the King’s 27th birthday, it was courteous. An assortment of the finest quiches and roasted meats from lands afar were laid on china of the highest grade. An orchestra was situated in a corner of the room playing only the best renaissance music of the time. The band played with a harpsichord and an array of beautifully crafted woodwind instruments. An entire table was dedicated to the Kings wines and champagnes, which he boasted to many akin. In fact, he did so for good reason. He brewed them all himself.
Many faces in the room was those that he remembered from a time long gone. Childhood memories with these people. He remembered a time where he would run miles away from the palace into the great forests with his cousins. Those young boys now were married and had for their own children of that age. Slev the third smiled.
The music changed, signalling the start of the dance. His eyes met his wife’s, who was across the room. They walked across the centre as they embraced each other. Over a dozen other coupled did the same, and the group began a very uniformed ball room dance. When the dance was over, the room cheered. It was mainly the children who were watching, but it was in awe. They clapped as their senior family members returned to their sides. When the music returned to usual, it signalled the start of drinking. Slev and his wife, Rosetta, popped open the first champagne bottle. It was over two decades old, and made by his mother, an equally enthusiastic brewer. He learnt a lot of brewing lessons from her when his father wasn’t home. The respective crowd around the two cheered, and popped their own champagne bottles. Glasses were swigged increasingly more uncannily as the night went on.
The King had a yearning for gold. He constantly ordered expeditions on the hunt for new, untouched deposits. He loved its intense shine once it was refined and polished. He had it everywhere. Chandeliers, chairs, tables, his throne, slabs on the floor, even his candle holders were made out of it. He wanted to be known for the most expensively decorated palace in the lands. One of the people leading the most southerly gold expedition was his younger brother Lambertus.
A well dressed man excused himself as he interrupted a conservation the King was having with his wife and friends.
“Your Majesty. I am sorry to interrupt but I bear news from your brother.”
"Is it of urgency? the King asked.
“It is worth your time, my lord.”
The King smiled. “Well in that case we shall discuss this temporarily in private,” a pause. “My beautiful lady, my honourable friends, I will be back in short due time.”
The man escorted the King out of the chamber. He paused, delving into his pocket to unearth a sealed letter. In silence, he handed it over to the King. Slev took his time in delicately removing the wax seal. He opened up the paper to reveal his brothers handwriting.

Dearest Slev,

I write from you an excellent report I have gathered. My team has been following traces of gold upstream, revealing to a colossal gold deposit. It sits several miles southeast of our border and is under juvenile control by a Kormistazic outpost. We have been scouting them for many months, revealing a continuous trafficking of gold to Fort Montekaan. It would be in our strategic interests to eliminate this outpost. The Kormistazic Empire has no secondary outposts for hundreds of miles. This elimination would tenfold boost our might into the continent and pass the control of gold to us. A report on Fort Montekaan was made a year ago. Their walls and infrastructure are fragile and old. It is an easy advance for us.

I look forward to discussing this with you in the coming weeks.

Lambertus Edrudus

After carefully reading the notes, Slev returned his gaze at the man. He nodded and they returned to their previous endeavours.

Laughter and music soared across the sleeping city all through the night.

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

19th October 1522 AD
Redrugil Royal Palace, Fort Redrugus

The guests had departed at a late evening hour and the palace dwellers had gone to bed. The morning after the ball was tiresome. It was around eleven in the morning. Slev and his wife had finally woken up and gotten dressed, ready for breakfast; something only the rich man got and the peasants dreamed of. It consisted of a roasted swan dressed in hobstiberry juice with sweet peas, Pax Fruites and other garden vegetables. One could only sit and admire the expanse of the royal gardens. Flowers of all imaginable colours were sat in uniformed columns surrounding a grande waterfall monument. It was so serene that it gathered attention from all across the land. Everyone wanted to see the pink and red flowers in June.
The royal family and their associates that had stayed were eagerly tucking into the bird. Amongst them was his younger sisters Agaila and Primessa, and at 21 and 20, they were only just emerging into adults in the eyes of the King.
“Sisters, I want you both to know that I am going to be gone for a while. I embark to rally with your brother Lambertus on our most southerly border. It is merely an unchallenged expedition for gold.”
The sisters courteously nodded.
“When will you return?” Primessa asked.
“Ah. I plan to stay in the country for many months, returning in due time during the early fall of next year. Don’t worry though, it won’t be the last time I see you!” the King joked.
“We shall have an autumn ball for your return, brother!” Agaila exclaimed.
“What an excellent idea from my beautiful sister!” Slev clapped and Agaila smiled. “To that, a toast!”
At the snap of the King’s fingers, a servant emerged from the corner of the room, refilling the four wine glasses with none other than hobsti wine. He quickly scurried away to his post, not making a sound.
Rosetta raised her glass. “For good fortune.”
“For good health.” Primessa raised hers.
Agaila smiled, raising her glass. “For your return, brother!”
Slev was the last to raise his. He took the kind words in, raising his.
“For Gold.”

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

25th October 1522 AD
Redrugil Palace Grounds, Fort Redrugus

After a long week of official work, the country was geared up. A legion of three thousand men had been summoned from the area and awaited their journey on the outskirts of the city. The evening before, Slev had his things packed by his servants. He slowly made his way out of the palace, trying to be subtle. He had said his goodbyes to his family, but he knew that without him, and regardless of his goodbyes, Rosetta would be hit the hardest. She was a beautiful woman and had stuck by his side throughout the years of being together. He made his way out of the grounds, passing through two layers of guarded gates before he got to the road. His horse was standing there, held uniformly by a stable boy. His scruffy hair was rest assured by his somewhat smart dress.
“Thank you, boy.” the King nodded. He climbed onto his horse and nodded. The boy let go of the reins and the horse began a trot.
“Stop!” a voice called. Slev slowed the horse to a stop, patting its neck to keep it calm. He gazed over his shoulder to his wife. He whistled the stable boy, who ran to hold the horse. He dismounted and walked over to her.
“I love you.” she spoke. He comforted her, holding her neck.
“I will be only a year, my love.”
“I am going to miss your company.” she said in sadness.
“I will return a rich man, riches only the most beautiful woman will be entitled to.” He paused and she gave a half smile. “I love you.” he kissed her on the forehead and slowly returned to his horse. He mounted it again, waving to his wife as the horse set off.

Cheers roared the streets the King trotted. As he entered the city and came closer to his legion, he was escorted by a dozen guards. He smiled to the commoners as they waved and tried to shower him in gifts.
A while later, his horse was standing besides many. He had a lengthy conversation about their strength and supplies with his second in command. Afterwards, the legion of two hundred and fifty horses and three thousand men began their trek. Slev’s second in command was a veteran strategic genius, helping Slev’s father Lambertus in his mighty conquest of Caltharus just seven years ago. If it was anyone to trust in the planning and outcome of this battle, it would be him.
“Sire, we head south south east to the village of Harrow to rally and plan with your brother, Lambertus?” the man asked.
“Yes. You are right.” the King said. “And from Harrow, we launch the offensive. Montekaan doesn’t have a scouting network that far up the valley, so we are using it as a measure of surprise.”
“I see. I have been told what you and Lambertus aim to do. We obliterate Montekaan and assume control of the wider area, severing the supply chain to the gold mines, allowing for a clean, easy swoop.” He hesitated, calculating stuff the King wouldn’t understand. “With the element of surprise and the tactical advantage it gives, as well as the timing between cycles, we should assume control of Montekaan with little resistance. The cycles occur every half year. The gold is collected by Montekaan’s troops and taken to the Kormistazic capitol, leaving the fort barely with a leg to stand when they encounter us.”
The two men laughed. It was going to be as easy as that.

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

20th December 1522 AD
Rally Point, Zate Marsh, Harrow

The legion paced onwards. Their armour, more sophisticated than ever before, continued to make an annoying clanking sound. The legion was enormous. Not only did the legion resemble a migrating ant colony, it even had the soldier ant equivalent; trebuchets. Whilst old, these colossus machines were a marvellous creation, that were either admired across the world in the field of battle or hated. Their bulky weight were hauled behind. The trebuchet’s were the wrecking ball - they were going to be the main way into the fortress, and they were being relied on for this attack.
Slev had made the choice for the trebuchet’s in the beginning of the assembly process. It was either those, or cannons. The problem with cannons were their expense. The Empire did not have the time or money to have them assembled, so naturally, trebuchet’s would have to do. The only problem with the trebuchet’s would be their weight and their rate of fire.

It was early in the morning, and the village of Harrow was blistered by the soaring sun. Farm stock that went without shade were agitated and required lots of water. The ground there was strange. It had been raining heavily the past few weeks, and with the soaring sun, gave the squelching ground a sort of hard surface. Stick your foot inside, and your boot is filthy. Rest your foot on top, and the underside of your foot is fine. As a result of this, all of the troops were covered in mud from the ankle down. As they squelched onward, they met the gaze of the villagers. Being so far from the capital, their allegiance with the Morsts were little. The village folk grunted, gormlessly continuing with their days. Usually, this village was rife with noise, but today, it was as if they were disturbed, as if something had disturbed them.
The King, normally accustomed to warm welcomes, received none. Nobody cared whether they were under Morstaybishlian or Kormistazic rule.
After several hours, the legion had set up camp at the designated rally point at Zate Marsh. Tents were erected, horses were tied to their posts and the men were able to relax for the rest of the day and overnight. After all, they had marched from Redrugus to the border, stopping only a few hours a day for rest. It would be tomorrow that they set off to Fort Montekaan, tomorrow where their victory would lie.

[Pagi]

The Golden Crusades

20th December 1522 AD
Harrow Village

After thanking and paying the farmers wife for his room for the night, Kaledus decided to take one look around the Village of Harrow before continuing his trading journey to Soltan. His late arrival the other day meant he couldn’t properly explore the quaint, historic impasse between the two great empires. After purchasing a delicious sweet roll from the bakery and haggling for several bargain antiques that would fetch a small sum in the city, the ground began to rumble with the trudging of heavy footsteps. Passing the village was the unmistakable red and blue of Morstaybishlian infantry, bearing crossbows and hand-cannons, dragging behind them behemoth siege weaponry. Their silvery armour bore evidence of a long trek through the shallow marshes to the north, and the villagefolk stared at them with glum, apathetic awe.

“Thats some army, where might they be going?” Kaledus asked a butcher who was staring at the legion as well.

“It’s a treacherous path,” replied the butcher. “But Fort Montekaan lies about about 50 miles up the marsh valley.”

“Looks like they’re planning some kind of attack.”

“Sure does, and if I’m not mistaken that’s the young new Morst king riding that there stallion.”

“He’s mad, If the marsh doesn’t kill him the emperors men and Montekaans walls will.” said Kaledus. “I’d better get going now though, I have a caravan to lead.”

“Nice talking to you sir, so long.”

Mounting his mules, Kaledus set off with his caravan in tow. However, instead of heading west down toward the coastal road, he veered north and into a tight mountain passage that only traders knew of that led parallel to the horrid marsh. Even with their antiquated siege equipment, a surprise attack would leave Fort Montakaan weakened and perhaps even defeated. It would tire the mules, but he could reach the fort city before sundown and warn them of the coming invasion. Pausing only for short rests and lunch, eventually the valley widened and levelled out, the thick, old walls of Fort Montekaan coming into sight.

[Pagi]

The Golden Crusades

20th December 1522 AD
Montekaan Fortress, Fort Montekaan city, Kormistazic Empire

Muttering verses from the Kairos tome under his breath, Lord Delphus Faithful knelt peacefully in the fortresses Kozam shrine. It was quaint compared to the great cathedral in the city center, but the hand-carved, ornate olive wood trimming combined with the old stone tablets depicting the story of creation brought him a greater calm than the monolithic walls and the imposing figures frozen in the stained-glass windows. He placed several vividly coloured wildflowers he’d picked earlier into a stylised golden vase, filled with earthy water fresh from the bogs. He said his final words of worship, and then turned to leave the shrine. Walking out, he found a soldier patiently waiting for him, clad in the newest shiny plate armour.

“My Lord, I have urgent news.” Said the soldier.

“You may speak,” replied Faithful. “What is it you have to say?”

“A merchant from the north has arrived at the fort bearing warnings of invasion. General Klaus has requested you meet with him and for your input on the situation.”

“Sek above!” he said, shocked. “Take me to him right away!”

Briskly, the soldier led Delphus outside, into the courtyard of the inner Fortress, the city sprawling beyond the recently rebuilt walls and the farmland extending out beyond it. There was a cart drawn by two mules in the center, with a tanned man stood alongside them as well as several soldiers and General Klaus. The mules looked exhausted, and were feasting on hay laid by the soldiers.

“My lord, thank you dearly for coming,” said Klaus as he arrived. “This humble trader arrived not ten minutes ago, and bears grave news.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Faithful. “What is it that you saw merchant? Tell us everything.”

Pausing for a moment to compose himself, the tanned man began talking. “I was in the village of Harrow 50 miles down the north valley this morning, when a Morstaybishlian legion passed through. There were at least several thousand men, carrying hand-cannons and towing old trebuchets behind them. I left as soon as they passed, taking a faster, less travelled route in the narrow valleys, which brought me here.”

“Gods…” replied the Lord, pausing for a second. “You’re a hasty traveller, what’s your name merchant?”

“I go by Kaledus my Lord.”

“Is this the truth you are telling? That the Morsts are coming to invade fort Montekaan?”

“Yes my Lord, I promise whole heartedly.”

“Dusk approaches fast, and my scouts report they are not yet up the valley, so they must have set up camp for the night,” interjected Klaus. “But, Mr Kaledus, did you say the Morsts had trebuchet with them? Did you see any bombards?”

“I did sir general, and I did not see a single bombard, only a few small cannon.”

“Then we need not fear!” Klaus laughed. “The walls of the inner fortress and much of the outer city walls have been recently rebuilt, thick and stout, to defend against cannon and bombards. Our numbers may be low at the moment, but they have already lost with their antiquated siege weapons.”

“Ah, I have just recalled something!” Kaledus perked up in remembrance. “The village locals said they could see the king himself among the soldiers. I do not know what he looks like myself so I cannot say for certain, but that is what they said.”

At this point, Faithful himself burst into booming laughter. “HAH HAH HAH! The King is mad! He has commanded his men to their dooms!”

“They could arrive as early as tomorrow my lord,” said Klaus. “Shall we recall all patrols to defensive positions in the walls?”

“No, don’t,” replied Faithful, smiling. “They do not know that we are aware of their approach. I have something else in mind for them…”

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

21st December 1522 AD
Rally Point, Zate Marsh, Harrow

Dawn was ladened upon the lands. The sun that was barely looming over the lands was a ferocious, piercing malevolent with orange and red beams across all that lived on the surface. The ground almost had this rose tint to it, turning ever so romantically softer as time cast by. It was an early, brisk morning, and the breeze was thin and cold. Faint white dots littered the navy sky so much that, if you were looking horizontally, you’d think they were streetlamps and candlelight in the distance. It was so quiet. The village next door was asleep, and the lines of many dozen tents decorated with red and blue ribbon were too. It was such a peaceful start to the morning.

And then the cockerels woke up. Unbeknownst to the Morsts, the village market the day before saw a trader attempt to sell over three dozen of them. He hadn’t succeeded or left for his hometown, setting up camp only a few yards away. Twenty seven cockerels ran out of their pens and started screaming. They were wild creatures, famished and untamed - running around the camp like they were headless; screeching almost as if it were yawning. They began fighting, flailing around and flying into each other. The horrendous noises were enough to wake anyone up. Disturbed and frustrated, several men whom were barely awake walked out of their tent to shoo them off, but it was too late, everyone inside their tents were groaning. A start even before the knocker-upper was not what they wanted. By the level of Oulne, it was not even five o’ clock in the morning.
Even at this time, the sun had began to warm everything up. The ground was irritating and slushy, preventing any more sleep.

The highest name under the King was one of the men to rid of the cocks. He was responsible for over ninety five percent of the planning for this invasion, and was proud of it. Only a select handful of men could claim such eminence. He was quick to groom himself, tidying up his well maintained facial hair. He strode out of his own tent and to the tent of his Majesty’s. It was guarded, but they knew who the man was, and so they moved to the side.
“Your Majesty,” the man strode in, opening the thick wool flaps at the entrance as he walked into the tent.
“Karin, how nice of those birds to wake us up.”
“Yes, so they did.” He chuckled. “We should decamp and head south as early as possible to get the edge in this fight.”
“We don’t need an edge, Karin. The battle is already won. When we received our scout report, it came back and I almost laughed. Their fortress is weak and lacking. It is old and desolate. The walls look battered and crumbling. Montekaan is a wreck. We will sweep through and it’ll be over all in an instant. Before we know it, we will be back in our homes partying!” He laughed, then they both laughed. “We are unbeatable, Karin, undefeatable!”
“Rightfully so!” He laughed. “The gold will be ours and our strategic gain into the Kormistazic lands will be won. When shall we march?”
“Lets leave in an hour, before the village wakes up. The journey wont take too long, but it will be delayed if we leave our presence unknown for a long as possible. I’ve been informed of a road that almost runs practically onto Montekaan. It’s narrow, and it’ll take a while longer, but once we leave the road we will be within a few hundred meters and that is when we will make ourselves known.”
“Yes Your Majesty! I shall rally the troops. We will leave in an hour!”
Karin bowed, and left without any hesitation. Shortly afterwards, the troops were organised, tents were taken down and packed away and everyone was prepared. It was the time. Montekaan was only two hours away.

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

21st December 1522 AD
Zate Valley, near Fort Montekaan

After leaving the village, the last journey began. As they left the Marshes near Harrow, the landscape quickly changed. It went from a misty moorland bog to a clear, sparse and rocky world. Everything became dry and plant life soon began to fade. The occasional blade of grass or dwarfed bush was seen, but besides that, there was nothing. Looking up and around you would notice the faint horizon lines of the Zycannes on either side, their snowy peaks glinting in the morning sun. Ahead lied a massive canyon, and as you walked closer, it felt as if you were at the valley floor. All of a sudden, you were in it. It practically absorbed you and regardless of if you looked left or right, you would see rock. Bare, dry and dusty rocks.

The journey was treacherous. The road carved at the valley floor was narrow and only just gave enough room for the trebuchets. The occasional rock or two falling in the distance gave the horses scares. At one point, a rock hit a horses foot and the man on its back went flying. Many vantage points high up on the valley walls could leave the entire army vulnerable at any time, but that didn’t stop the King. He knew that his ‘visit’ to Fort Montekaan was not expected, and at roughly seven o’ clock in the morning, nobody there would be ready for it, and certainly nobody would be in the valley in wait.

The men were dreary, but ready. Many of whom had never been in battle, but many were war hardy veterans. Some of the men alongside Slev had fought alongside Lambertus the Great in Caltharus only seven years ago. Their advance was swift and subtle, staying fairly quiet. The closer to Fort Montekaan you got, the more the valley meandered. Karin was on horseback at the front, scouting around each valley corner to make sure there were no obstacles and to make sure they weren’t at the end, where the opening was. From an aerial point of view, the army was like a trail of ants.

Karin stopped very abruptly. He clenched his fist in the air and the entire legion stopped. The King and Karin both dismounted at the same time and the King walked over to where Karin was standing. Slowly, they glanced around the corner. As they did so, there was a little sigh of relief. Luckily, at the valley opening were lots of high tree cover.
“Fort Montekaan. It’s a little better than in our report.” He looked to Karin, a little uneasy. Regardless of how realistic the report seemed, their position was perfect. The tree cover meant they were able to slowly manoeuvre their army around to a full attack position, ready to charge. The siege weapons rustled the leaf canopy, but it went unnoticed to the guards. It probably just looked like squirrels.
Probably.
When everyone was ready, it was all on Slev. He raised his hands and pushed it forward, signalling the start of the army’s advance, emerging from the tree cover.

At the fortress, several minutes earlier

Atop Montekaan’s walls, General Klaus stood watchfully at the distant tree cover at the edge of the irrigated plain. It was irritating that the ground, whilst still fairly soft, was no longer bog after the recent farmland expansion, though as soon as the Morsts broke cover they would be exposed and most vulnerable to attack. He turned and began pacing along the wall, the city on one side, cows on the other. He paused to inspect one of the defensive cannon, the crew resting under a shade and enjoying the calm whilst it lasted. Suddenly, a soldier came running urgently toward him from one of the watchtowers. Klaus sped up, his excitement rising, striding to meet him faster.
“What is it solider?” said Klaus as the man arrived.
“We’ve spotted movement in the woods,” he gasped. “Thousands of men and horses as well as some siege weapons just off the main path, just as you expected sir.”
“So predictable,” he smirked. “Are the forward divisions in position?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good, as soon as the Morsts break cover give them the order to attack them on their flanks, and then the other divisions will follow.”
“Yes sir, right away.” he saluted, returning to the watchtower with his orders.
“You! private,” Klaus shouted. The soldier manning the wall before him turned to attention.
“Yes sir, what are my orders?” he replied.
“I want you to run down to the inner fortress and alert the remaining army of the Morsts approach as fast as possible, tell them to prepare, got it?”
“Affirmative, I’ll be on my way now sir!” he said, before running off.

On the ground

The legion had started running. Soldiers sprinted in tight formations of 50 to 100 separated from one another. Crossbow bolts and iron balls from arquebus’s hailed over them, but was deflected by the Morst shields. A few men wailed in agony as they were hit, and a few formations were overturned by cannon fire, but the formation held tight, and they kept on advancing. The trebuchets and cannons maintained a strong position at the back, continuously bombarding the walls of the Fortress. Bolts from the Morsts picked off a few of the defending troops, but they were quickly replaced and eagerly fought back. The King was protected underneath the furthest advance of troops, who were pacing towards the gate entrance.

As the king led his frontline advance toward the walls, the trebuchet and cannon held the rear, trundling forwards across the farmland to find a better firing line. However, out of the treeline behind and from small farmhouses on both flanks, hundreds of Kormistazic soldiers emerged. The soldiers and crew manning the machines noticed at the last moment, calling out and running after the advancing assault, desperately attempting to warn the king of the ploy. Bewildered and furious, Karin, who was commanding the rear line, gathered his men and ordered the formation of a defensive line to give the weapons more space as they advanced. Morstaybishlian rangers wielding crossbows and hand cannons fired wildly at the enemy assault, the crews of the trebuchet heaving for their lives behind them, but it was too late, and without shields dozens fell as the crossfire from the Kormistazic ambush cut them down. Seeing defeat, Karin ordered his final retreat, moments before a stray shot from an arquebus hit him with a dull clang as it penetrated his plate-mail and into his chest. His eyes fluttered and his body fell limb. Seconds later, and with most if not all of the Morstaybishlian soldiers dead, the large swathes of Kormistazic soldiers roared in triumph.

“FORWARD! RAISE THE GATE!” Slev commanded. Screams of the injured bellowed out as they were cut down and stabbed through the gate holes. They struggled to haul the contraption open, but once inside, they killed the defenders and locked the gate open. They rushed for the second gate, expecting the same outcome. Suddenly, a horde of Kormistazic soldiers gathered at the other end, again jabbing swords through the holes and this time firing bolts in the general direction. Bodies crumpled at the gate as the invaders struggled. Eventually, with massive effort, the second gate was opened, and their entrance to the city was complete. Unbeknownst to the King, Karin and his back line of trebuchets and cannons had been destroyed in an ambush. With swords locked and their advance into the city halting, a rogue soldier from the back line limped in haste towards the king.
“MAJESTY! KARIN AND THE SIEGE WEAPONS ARE GONE! AN AMBUSH…” the man paused, staggering with an arrow in his thigh. “THEY’RE COMING! THEY’RE BEH-” the man’s body was violently broken in half from the torso by a Kormistazic sword. The man was kicked to the ground by a soldier whose eyes glowed with furious glory and radiating sick glee. Almost immediately following, several dozen soldiers emerged from around the corner, surging towards the trapped Morstaybishlians.
“TUUURN AROUND!” Slev beckoned. Half of his men turned and raised their shields, the other half defending their almost completely halted advance into the city. Inside the double portcullis system, the Morstaybishlian invaders were trapped. In front of them lied the city, albeit behind a horde of soldiers, and behind them lied serious trouble; they simply did not have enough shields to cope. Slowly, one by one, the Morstaybishlians were picked off, the fortress defenders finding vulnerabilities and exploiting them.
Slev sensed defeat. When his men hacked down a dozen enemies, two dozen replaced them, and it was not as if his men could be replaced when they died. It was never ending, and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep fighting, for it had been in a losing battle for over forty minutes. Thirty soldiers became twenty. Twenty became a dozen. A dozen became eight, and that became four. They were desperately trying to protect the King, who was defeated. With only three now left, the Kormistazmic soldiers backed off, but encased them in a semi-circle against the wall. They began chanting together, chanting taunts to the three men. Slev and the two other soldiers shared glances of pure terror. They knew they had failed, and they should’ve been killed there and then, but they weren’t. They looked like three hurt animals in a corner. They were dripping in sweat and grit ladened their bodies. One was holding his fighting arm, for it was slashed; one was holding his stomach for it had been pierced and was bleeding, and the king, somehow, was relatively okay, for now.

[Pagi]

The Golden Crusades

22nd December 1522 AD
Montekaan Fortress, Fort Montekaan city, Kormistazic Empire

Dawn broke, and Delphus Faithful was awoken by his servants. Getting out of bed far earlier than he was used to, his eyes were bleary with sleep and he yawned repeatedly, though his mind was soon invigorated by his lingering memories from the day before and anticipation of today’s ceremony. At the same moment as faithful was dressed into his regal attire, ready to address the public, the disgraced king was being kicked out of his troubled rest in the dungeon, as well as the rest of the captured soldiers. The Lord imagined few of the invaders would have managed to sleep after their humiliating defeat, and allowed himself to revel in the glory as he exited his chamber. His soldiers and guardsmen shared his mood, standing taller with brighter faces as they saluted him walking out of the fortress gates and down towards the city center.

By nine o’clock, the main street was packed, save a lane down the center which had been cordoned off by soldiers in ceremonial purple and blue plate mail armour. Atop the city hall, the flag of the empire flew high, and the front of the building had been decorated with vibrant banners of the flag and religious iconography. Delphus Faithful finally walked out into the morning glare of the city hall’s front balcony, followed by Genera Klaus. Faithful’s expertly tailored outfit and his pure white robe shined under the suns rays, Klaus’s polished, armour beaming equally as bright. Their arrival signalled the beginning of the parade, and the bustling crowd became more and more rowdy, itching to see the defamed monarch and his foolish men.

The processions began. First came a division of kormistazic soldiers, marching victoriously down the road to the cheers of the citizenry as a group of musicians played loud, energetic, traditional music. Every soldier in the parade had fought for the defence of the city, and it was thanks to their tactics and the expert leadership of Klaus that only a thankful few brave men had died in the defence. New grim-faced widows could be seen in the crowd, comforting one another, though their sadness was quelled by the knowledge that there were far more wives without husbands back in the morstaybishlian empire. After a while, the soldiers finally past, and the true reason the crowd had gathered came down the road.

Guarded by armed soldiers and pulled by a pair of mules, Slev the third sat tied to a wagon, bound to a mounted post and put on display to the city. It was obvious, as Faithful though, that he hadn’t slept in his dank dungeon cell, his grit-smeared face detracted and emanating deep shame. As a symbol of irony perhaps, he was dressed fully with his crown and royal wear, or perhaps it was so that the rotten produce would hit him harder than with armour. Rancid meat and spoilt fruit pelted the king as he passed, the crowd jeering as he sat defenceless and humiliated on the wagon. The several dozen captured Morst soldiers trailed behind, receiving their fair share of abuse from the onlookers, but the shame weighing down on them was nothing in comparison to what Slev was burdened with. He looked up at the smug, shining lord on the balcony, before a rotten apple impacting his head forced his gaze back to the planked floor of the wagon.

“This is none less than what he deserves,” said Faithful, glaring down at the disgraced king. “Leading an entire legion of men into the jaws of Montekaan. I’ll enjoy hearing his pitiful explanation for his equally pitiful invasion into our land.”

“The young fool has probably never had to think tactically in his life,” Klaus spat. “And he never will.” There was a small pause

“I can’t imagine the Morst’s will be terribly happy about this, but such is the nature of war. It’ll also send the right message to this maggot of a king’s successor, and we should hopefully avoid any further confrontations.”

“Yes, excellent thinking my Lord.”

“If only my uncle Honoluras was here to witness this,” Faithful grinned. “This is a spectacle he would die to attend.”

“Indeed, although speaking of the Emperor, I bear news from him,” Klaus said. “He plans to visit Montekaan City next month, and as always he will be bringing a veritable army of soldiers along with him.”

“An army? He can’t have heard of the invasion yet, surely?”

“No, the messenger from Fort Andelus only just arrived this morning, but we’ve sent another back so he’ll find out soon.”

“I see. The success here should hopefully open his ears to the suggestion of further funds for the upkeep of the fort. Might mean we can station a whole legion here at all times.”

“That would be excellent, I’m sure the emperor will heed your requests if you asked. Anyway, we should return to the fortress now, it’s almost time.”

“I was just about to say the same general, don’t want to keep his royal highness waiting for his big ceremony now do we,” Faithful laughed, leaving the glittering balcony and the dispersing parade below.

Within the courtyard of the main fortress, all preparations were completed by the time Lord Faithful arrived in his full regal attire. Soldiers armed with crossbows and hand cannons had gathered atop the walls to view the spectacle. A raised podium had been erected, the captured soldiers restrained around it, and their now filthy king was slumped upon it, restrained and centered within the view of his men. Another line of soldiers had formed up around the fringes of the captured enemies, and a crowd was now bustling in from the fortress gates filled the area, desperate to get a look. Faithful strutted across the cordoned area of the courtyard to the cheers of many denizens. He wanted to personally speak with the disgraced royal, to spite him one last time. It was something his father had once done, with the enemy as his audience he would demonstrate to them his strength stepped up onto the platform, Slev glanced up at him, face slaked with fury.

“Are you angry your highness?” Delphus asked sarcastically.

The king considered him for a moment. He dug deep into an invisible anger that caused a twitch  before slouching defeated once more, letting off a large sigh.

“No.”

“Are you ashamed then? I would certainly be ashamed if my tactless leadership and foolishness had perhaps…” he took a moment to stare out over the captured men with their silent stares. “Led an entire legion of men to an utterly undignified and undeserved doom.”

The king looked somewhat defensive considering his embarrassing position.

“Save your breath, your torment means nothing to me.”

In one swift motion Faithful stepped forth and kicked the king with the metal reinforced tip of his shoe, knocking him back harshly. “You have no right to talk back to me like that! you deserve nothing more than the hangman’s noose after your failure. It is some divine mercy of the gods that you are even alive before me now!”

Recovering from the kick, he breathed heavily and with an awkward head movement, flicked his hair out of his face.

“Fuck you and your gods.” He spat in the direction of Delphus, triggering a few half smiles from Slev’s men.

“Insolent fool! Men, fire at will!” He shouted. A team of crossbowman on the sidelines promptly took aim and shot, not at the king, but at the soldiers gathered below him. Several died instantly, though more than not yelped and groaned with pain from the hail of bolts. Those that were lucky enough not to be shot struggled to aid their fellow men, but were pulled back and prevented from doing so at bladepoint by their guards.

“Your childish tact has once more sentenced your men to a slow, dishonourable and agonising death,” he continued. “Do you have a wife? If only she was here to witness your glorious invasion onto Fort Montekaan’s chopping block now.”

“My wife will never see the likes of your face after news gets back to the palace.” he groaned in pain from his kidney. “You’ll burn for this.”

“Your wife will never see the light of day again once she finds herself in my dungeons.”

“You’ll never capture such beauty.”

“Try and stop me your highness,” He snapped. “Because when I’m done with her, you’d have wished you never left her side on your folly quest to take this mighty city!”

Slev fell silent, his eyes somewhat meeting the ground in stuttered confusion. He knew that he was powerless, and talking back would only deepen his taunts. He admitted to failure, knowing that he would never see his glory as king, let alone his wife, ever again. The painful groaning of his once men diminished to merely a couple that were fortunate enough to see the last few moments of the ghastly routine.

“I take it from your silence that, self serving as you are, my point has finally hit home,” He said, lording over the miserable royal. “In good time too, I was just beginning to tire of your fruitless chatter. Farewell then.”

It was at this moment that Slev understood the magnitude of failure. It had just cost him and many others a death sentence. As Delpus stepped aside, a figure who’d emerged from the keep arrived at the platform. His face was hidden with a pointed black hood, his eyes and teeth still visible, and they were bared in a broad mask of anger. The eyes were yellowed and bloodshot with anticipation and his mouth twitched into a small smile once he locked eyes with his quarry. To kill the Morstaybishlian royal was the highest honour in the fortress, nay, the empire, and for the king, this was his darkest moment. For a time, Slev made eye contact with the man, trying to show him that he was not broken, but that soon changed. In his darkest hour, he began quietly sobbing, his face a mess of pasty transparent tears. He wept loudly, being met with laughter and jeering from the onlookers. He was once again pummeled with putrid vegetables and vile meats as the crowds roared for his head to be cut off, the soldiers struggling to hold them back.

Slev’s face was a blanket of sweat and tears. “P…p… please, please just let me go an… and… you’ll ]never see my face again!”

Delphus was silent. The executioner thrust his axe in the air as if in victory and the crowd exploded with satisfaction.

“I… I’ll give you silver, gold, ruby’s… Whatever you want I can provide!” the king stuttered, his speech overwhelmed by his increasing fear of death. “I’ll do anything!’” he wept.

“Such a pity,” he replied, turning away from Slev. “But you brought this on yourself, gentlemen, if you may…”
       
“No, no! NO!” Slev shouted, trying to writhe out of his restraints. “Arggh… no no no NO!”

Faithful strode away, and several soldiers swept up after him, holding the king down and loosening his bonds. A squire brought up a broad block of wood with a neck-sized notch in it and the executioner nodded, the crowd’s chanting getting more and more wild by the second.

“Go fuck yourself! Lord Faithful my arse!” he spat one last time in his direction.

Without even looking back, the Lord held up a single finger and the soldiers efficiently tied a thick wad of cloth into the screaming kings mouth, leaving him grunting wordlessly.

“Stay still your highness! It’ll just be a little pinch!” Said the executioner, in Axdan however, so the royal kept writhing ceaselessly.

Faithful had now rejoined Klaus at a safe viewing distance, and turned back to see the living king once more. Taking his cue, the executioner raised his axe high over the chopping block, Slev now being in the perfect position despite his struggle. He glanced over to the lord, who lifted his arm slowly, pausing for a tense few seconds, before letting it drop. The axe dropped too, slamming down onto the neck of the royal with immense speed, before the axe head fell loose from the head mid-chop, to the bewilderment of the crowd and executioner alike. Laughing, Klaus quickly ordered for another axe to finish the job whilst blood poured from the open wound. Falling in and out of consciousness and completely paralysed, Slev’s world was pain, though he quickly grew faint, whispering his final words to noone in particular through his gag. As the replacement axe was procured and the grisly job finished to the cruel enjoyment of the gathered crowd, he had already perished from blood loss, repeating his final phase over and over until his death; “I love you Rosetta, I’m sorry.”

[hr]

Soon after, the crowd was funnelled out of the fortress by the soldiers, patriotic spirit high, and it showed in the conversations. Some, however, took the bodged execution as an awful omen; that the gods had been angered and attempted to save the king from death for some reason. Foreigners and citizens from the far western conclaves shared this opinion to an extent, though most were clever enough to stay put as a brawl began in the city streets between outcast traders and kormistazic nationals, the sky growing unnaturally dark for summer noon.

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

5th January 1523 AD
Redrugil Royal Palace, Fort Redrugus

For the last two and a lengthy weeks, the palace was silent. No news had even breached the country of the whereabouts or status of the King and his legion. In the meanwhile, Lambertus Edrudus was appointed the duty of matters of the throne. He enjoyed the temporary step up and thought of it as little more than being a helping hand to his brother. He had, on more than one occasion, thought how it would be if the role was permanent. Jokingly, he’d told his wife and brother Redrugus that, if he was the first son of Lambertus the Great, he’d be known as Lambertus the fourth. With his father, it had become a novelty. Children were being named after his father all across the lands, including him.

Of course, being a monarch was never for him. He was the second born, and from a really young age was told he’d never inherit the throne. His older brother had told him that him and his wife had been trying for a baby, but with two miscarriages, it didn’t look positive. He was more into politics and the ‘easy life’, as some might say.

Lambertus Edrudus and his siblings; Redrugus, Agaila and Primessa, were eating lunch together. They were accompanied by Lambertus’s wife Cwennet, Redrugus’s wife Etlia and the new fiancé of Agaila,  Kest Gustav. The seven of them were enjoying the game that Redrugus had hunted and killed for dinner; an ilingoceros pronghorn.

“The mighty beast was just sat there!” Redrugus laughed. They all laughed.

“It’s the nicest things that I have tasted in a long time.” Primessa noted.

“Hmm. It’s definitely flavoursome, mother’s wine washes it down like a treat.” Lambertus agreed.

The room somewhat fell silent, even eating came to a stop.

“If only she was here today.” Agaila commented.

“Poor mother.”

As the seven continued squabbling over the dinner table, a loud knock pierced the chamber. Slightly annoyed that they were being interrupted, Lambertus cleaned his mouth with a napkin and excused himself outside. Four men met his gaze, and they didn’t look happy.

“Is, everything alright gentlemen? I’ve been interrupted during my lunch.”

“Your Excellency. It’s your brother.”

“Has he made it back to the Kingdom? I expect he has carriages full of gold!”

“It’s… Not as good as that, my lord.”

“Not as much gold?”

Getting somewhat frustrated by the Princes’ dim wittedness, a new man quickly interrupted, speaking faster and more assertively.

“My lord, your brother was captured in the battle. He was brought before their leader and executed in the fortress over two weeks ago.”

Lambertus was speechless. He stuttered but nothing came out.

“A lone soldier made it back from Fort Montekaan and reported it in less than five minutes ago.”

“Take me to this man, immediately!”

[hr]

The man was recovering. He had a towel hoist around his neck and was gulping down liquid like there was no tomorrow. He looked exhausted, was dirty and his plate armour was broken. His hair was a mess and there was still some visible blood stains from the battle.

“Young man, tell me what happened. We’ve been in the dark for weeks.”

“Th- th- there was an ambush when we attacked the fortress, w- our two flanks were separated and we were culled like dogs!”

“How did they gain intelligence?”

“M- my lord, we have no idea. They knew from day one. Their walls were not as you described, and we were heavily overrun! They destroyed the trebuchets in an ambush when our offensive was split, and we were overrun at the gate. The King surrendered there. T- there was only three of us left and so many of them! W- w…”

“Hmm,” Lambertus thought. He pointed at a maid walking by. “You! Fetch this man some new clothes. Patch him up and wash him. Reunite him with his family when he is ready.”

The maid nodded, and escorted the man away. Lambertus turned around and stared at the men who’d been silent for the meanwhile.

“Your Excellency, you are our King. We’ve planned your coronation for three months today.”

He sighed. “I’ll go and inform the tragedy to my siblings. I hope you have a good explanation for the public.”

[hr]

Lambertus Edrudus returned to his seat in the chamber. His expression was perplexed, and he did not talk on entry. Everyone knew something had disturbed him.

“Brother, what is wrong?” Primessa asked. Lambertus sighed, and summoned up strength to explain.

“Slev won’t be returning home.”

“What do you mean?” Redrugus remarked.

“Slev and his men were either killed in battle or executed in the fortress,” he replied, to the horror of his family and the weeping of his sisters and the two wives. “They sent one man home to bear the news.”

“I’m not even going to ask how…” Redrugus was dismayed. “What matters is what next.”

“I have ascended to the throne. We shall mourn our fallen brethren for the next three months rejoice at my coronation.”

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

6th April 1523 AD
Syllester Abbey, Fort Redrugus

Thunderous patriotism soared high in the maya blue sky. The scene was electrified with the blazing sound of golden trumpets, snare drums and scads of vastly extravagant musical instruments from all over the lands playing nothing but the richest in noble sounds. A crowd of the wealthiest and most senior designated religious epitomes from across the empire had gathered in the Royal Peculiar. Syllester Abbey was at the foremost height of the area - sat on top of a bare marble outcropping that overlooks the entire city and accompanied only by the royal palace. The abbey was at the foremost of Gothic architectural design and stood proudly so. It was ordered by Von Dan during his reign and completed during Vailia’s rule, with her idea it to also become the burial site of the esteemed monarchs before, and after her.

Morstaybishlian flags were hoisted on the many towers of the abbey and draped over many walls. Peasants were behind double lined rows of the new second mark emperor’s guard on either side of the road leading up to the top of the hill, waving triangular pennons of mainly three colours; blue, red and white, but also gold. Their joy as the delicate golden royal chariot was tugged up the hill was reminisce of a time where his grandfather, Lambertus the Great saw streets of cheering Burisayans on his return from Caltharus only 8 years ago. He felt jubilant, but somewhat remorseful for the death of his brother. He felt somewhat responsible for the gaudy execution and hated himself thoroughly for his death, although with rejoice. The public did not know half of how he died, as they were told he was slain in battle and that the battle was a stalemate. Most were mindless and believed it, and some, of course, didn’t. These people made a racket in the streets below. Totally unobservable from the road the king was travelling on and completely inaudible from the distance were violent protests. It was mainly cordoned off far away, but the very presence and knowledge of it made the royal uneasy. They were rampant, and it was clear that it was directly against the king. At least ten dozen were throwing fists, sharp objects and hurling balls of burning cloth at the guards.

As the chariot entered the abbey grounds, it was met by a six by two formation of bishops who walked in front for a while before they paused. Lambertus had recited his role and knew that he was meant to dismount. He did so onto a long, purple and gold carpet - a signature piece of the royal collection, and joined the bishops, in front of three and behind three, both sets in a triangle formation pointing either way. The man at the front was the archbishop, the most reverend, the most senior. He led the pace as they entered the great entrance. It quickly narrowed down to a small corridor decorated intensely with the blue red and white colours and guarded at each pillar. The end of the corridor marked the grand hall, an insanely enormous chamber decorated with monumental pillars and intricate fancy eye decorative religious symbols and royalties. Onlookers were everywhere; to the left, right, and upper chambers as well as at the other end. Lambertus’s wife was stood at the grand hall entrance, wearing the most alluring white and gold long dress. She bowed upon his presence and proceeded to follow the seven as they slowly made their way forward. For the meanwhile, the music had all but stopped besides golden trumpets playing the extended royal anthem from the highest gangways. As they walked closer to the throne, the faces of Lambertus’s family and closest friends were observable in the left and right chambers opposite it. The female family members were all wearing the same white and black dress for the occasion, and the men were all in their military attire. They all welcomed him with their smiles as all other gestures were prohibited at such a time. About fifteen steps from the throne, the bishops all stepped to one side for the king to walk past. His wife followed in his footsteps, and the two walked past the royal regalia and onto to the fur skin carpet towards the throne. The throne was golden with the same colour purple from the carpet extending onto the cushioning and back support. Maintaining absolute silence, they elevated to the same height as the throne. Lambertus stood before it and turned towards the bishops, and Cwennet moved to the right, a meter behind. The bishops of before all walked slowly up to his side and gave him regalia to wear. They attached a velvet coronation robe in deep purple around his shoulders, which extended all the way down to the bottom of the steps. He sat down at this point, before the other regalia was pronounced. The sword of his father, the Hellfire blade, was sheathed and placed on his lap. An early baroque style gold rod with a lemon sized eight sided ruby was placed in his right hand and a solid gold rose in the left. The archbishop slowly made his way towards Lambertus with the golden crown itself, a 315 stone masterpiece made for his father but adjusted ever so slightly to fit his own head. Lambertus was not prepared for how heavy it was. It bore down on him the weight of his newfound responsibilities.

“Sire, is your Excellency willing to take the Oath?”

“I am willing.”

“Are you wholeheartedly devoted to the promise of the governance of the Peoples of the Morstaybishlian Empire and its Caven Sea Territories under and according to their respective customs and laws?”

“I wholeheartedly devote myself to the promise.”

“Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?”

“I will.”

“Will you pledge, to the utmost of your power, the promise to maintain the Laws of God? Will you to your most divine power maintain in the Morstaybishlian Empire the Abrahamism Religion established by law? Will you maintain and preserve inviolably the settlement of the Church of Staynes, and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Staynes? And will you pledge to preserve unto the Bishops and Clergy of Staynes, and to the Churches there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?”
“All this I set my promise to fulfil.”

A bishop removed the blade from his lap and then proceeded to remove the regalia he was holding. Lambertus arose out of his throne and walked towards the altar. He knelt, and placed his left hand in a bowl of holy water. With a wet set of fingers, he drew the vague outline of the Abrahamism symbol on his forehead.

“Guide me, God, for I will keep and perform the things which I have here before promised.”

Lambertus began prayer whilst the room was silent for a minute. He then walked towards the throne. When he sat down, the entire city erupted.

“LONG LIVE THE KING! LONG LIVE THE KING! LONG LIVE THE KING!”

[Jacknotch]

.

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

7th April 1523 AD
Edwards Royal Palace, Laona

(Credits to Xagrurg/Jon/Jacknotch. He can’t seem to get the format right.)

A young, handsome man watches over his courtyard, recently landscaped and both royals and other noblemen were roaming the premises, enjoying the scenery around them on the fine day bestowed on them; the sky clear and the sun bright as ever. Whilst in the city, Laona was bustling as ever in the country of Xagrurg. The economy was prospering from the capital and resources coming from the Assowolf helped commerce boom in both of their respective nations. Whereas the Xagrurgian Empire was prospering, their northern brothers were not.

“My my,” the man said. “This is one hell of a time for their leadership to start falling apart.” He added as another man stood by his desk behind him.

“Indeed my liege. The Morst lost a significant portion of their men in combat recently and the king’s brother was beheaded.” The man behind the desk said to the man looking out of his window. The man continued to look out of the window for a few more seconds and then turned to face him, revealing the young liege to be King Mildew of Xagrurg himself.

“We must do something about this my liege, the balance of power on Aurora could be disrupted if the Kormistazic Empire succeeds in this war against the Morst. The councilmen of the Estates General are worried. They have a lot to lose if the Morst are defeated, as do we, at least regarding our financial assets,” the man says to King Mildew.

After some few minutes of silence, King Mildew answers him after pondering over his concern.

“I will address the Estates General personally as soon as I can, but you are right in the manner that this war has become a serious threat to Xagrurg and its people. Give my condolences to the Morst king of his brother’s death. Also please inform of him of Xagrurg’s concerns of the Morst in their conflict against the Kormistazic. Tell them that the Xagrurgian monarchy will support them in their time of need. Ironically enough, I never thought the Kormistazic would be the ones to become a serious threat. I had originally thought it would be the Ethalrians to our east.”

The king smiled to the man. “Of course your majesty.”

The man simply responded. The king then sighed to the man and then said to him, “You don’t have to converse with me so formerly or patronizingly. I am of the people, for the people, and by the people. There is no need to keep referring to me as ‘your majesty’ or ‘my liege.’ You can refer to me as ‘Darwin’ if you wish.”

The man smiled at his king and then said, “Thank you my lie-I mean Darwin. I will carry out your message as fast as I can.”

“Very well, you are dismissed.” The man then scurries out of the King’s study, running off to somewhere while the king then looks at his set of armor and katana on the pedestal, polished to the point he could see his own reflection in them.
They were a product of his own time serving proudly as a knight and then was bestowed the honor of becoming the next king, the old one a close friend of Darwin. When the old king died, Darwin was crowned and named the King of the Xagrurgian Empire. Though he remained unmarried at the time due to not being able to find the “right” lady for himself, always rebuking political offers by other kingdoms’ offers with their own princesses and deals, thus resulting in Darwin Mildew gaining the title “Incorruptible” to his name. Quite literally “a man of the people,” originating from the middle class of merchants and artisans and worked his way up the social ladder, he has both drawn respect and ridicule from many to his unusual upbringing for a royal. Though as a result of formerly being a commoner and his actions as a former knight, he is admired and respected by many through Xagrurg and even in Assowolf.

[Pagi]

The Golden Crusades

18th February 1523 AD
Montekaan Fortress, Fort Montekaan city, Kormistazic Empire

A clear summer sky hung over Montekaan, bathing the city and its broad walls in golden sunlight. Beams of gold reflected off of the ornamental purple and blue banners which lined the main street, where many had gathered to witness the arrival of the Emperor and his legions to the city. Honoluras was a man of unassuming stature and proportions, though his thick, grey-flecked hair and calm expression cast the aura of someone bearing immense unworldly wisdom and of being utterly in control of the events around them. Many in the crowd chose not to cheer but kneel as he rode by atop his angelic white stallion, believing he was the holy instrument controlled by the gods themselves. Awaiting him within the courtyard of the inner fortress, Delphus too knelt when the emperor rode in, as well as Klaus behind him and the other soldiers present for his arrival. He gracefully dropped from his horse, which was swiftly taken by an attentive stable boy to be fed and watered, and walked up to greet Delphus.

“You may rise,” Honoluras bellowed, the soldiers around the courtyard loyally obeying.

“Welcome, uncle!” Said Delphus, gaining his feet. “I hope you are doing well.”

“I am doing excellent, thank you,” He smiled. “And I’m sure you are still doing grand after the Morstaybishlian’s glorious defeat by your hands.”

“You can say that again,” he chuckled. “Everyone still smiles with the memory of it; morale has never been higher.”

“Great to hear. Come, let us take a walk around the walls. We have a lot that needs discussing.”

“Certainly, follow me.”

Ascending one of the towers embedded within the Walls of the courtyard, the pair emerged atop the glistening stone defensive wall, build thick and angular to reflect bombard shells and itself topped with cannon to provide return fire. It provided them with views across the city and outwards to the mountainous walls of the boggy plateau on which Fort Montekaan city was built.

“…And that’s how the battle went,” Delphus explained. “With Klaus’s masterful coordination we were able to take 5 Morsts for every one of our own overall.”

“An impressive feat, I shall have to congratulate him personally later,” replied Honoluras. “I think the death of their king should hopefully remind the Morsts we’re still not to be trifled with.”

“I’m glad you agree with me there.”

“I do, his death was a mercy. However, the invasion of the city was an act of war, and despite the clear warning I have no doubt there will be an eventual follow-up attack on the city.”

“You certain?”

“Affirmative. Throughout my journey he I’ve been bombarded with messengers and reports concerning the attack. It is now known that their king was after the Gold deposit on the Jaan river west of us, and with Montekaan standing there was no possible way by which he could securely seize control over its natural wealth. It is not like the morsts to let themselves be humiliated, especially after their annexation of Caltharus not too long ago. They’re entering a literal golden age, and they won’t idly sit by whilst our empire is still able to challenge their claims to this continent.”

“I see, they’re still high on pride despite their defeat.”

“Exactly, though what I say is speculation at best. A man needs his head to command his body; how they act ultimately depends on the dispositions of the new Morst king.”

“Slev had no living heirs, so the new king will be his brother Lambertus Eldrudus, can’t say I’ve heard much about him personally though. Nethertheless, whatever Lambertus opinion of us I’ve preemptively ordered the establishment of fortifications up the troublesome regions of Zate valley, since it appears to be their choice route for invasion.”

“Excellent, I’m surprised it wasn’t already defended but no matter. Lambertus was the second son, and seems to take the role of inconspicuous prince in his stride, doing a good job of keeping to himself. I’m tasking you with obtaining intelligence on his intentions as king, whilst I begin plotting the counter invasion of the Morst empire.”

“Counter invasion?”

“If the new king intends to avenge his fallen brother, we too will not back down to ambiguity. If the gods will it, Kormistazic banners will fly over Fort Ejard within the next few years. Speaking of, I intend to remain here in Montakaan until this situation in resolved, I hope that is acceptable.”

“Fantastic uncle! My city is at your command, stay as long as you wish. But what about the capital? Do you not fear it may stray without your presence?”

“Fort Andelus is in safe hands, do not fear, But no man can coordinate an invasion by pen and paper; I must be present if Kormistazm is to challenge the king,” said Honoluras, turning to gaze out at the split in the snow-capped mountains which indicated Zate valley and the distant empire. “And I can’t see any outcome other than our complete and utter victory.”

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

5th September 1523 AD
Redrugil Royal Palace, Fort Redrugus

A crowd of a dozen well regarded military personnel were stood around a table of a well mapped and charted view of the West Auroras. It displayed settlements and topography. For over an hour, they did not stop bickering over what tactic they should employ. Along with several veterans from battles long ago won, there were newer, younger faces, ones with less experience but more feel for power. One of those was Lambertus’s younger brother, he was just considered old and mature enough to participate; but it felt empty without the late Karin. Even though he had overlooked a detail that led to the Morstaybishlian defeat at the hands of Faithful, he was the most revered and intelligent military tactician, and his absence created a hole that was hard to fill. Before the defeat, he had won every single battle he dictated. Because of him, the Empire grew beyond anyone’s imagination. Karin would always configure a solution and be the man to end disputes, but since he was gone these things seemed to take forever to figure out.

There was a lot of kerfuffle around how they would approach Montekaan. They knew they couldn’t take the same approach as it would be defended more than ever, but they knew that going around the mountains would be too time consuming.

“It would work if we had time on our hands.”

“But we don’t. We would be caught out if we went around the left of the Zycannes.”

“If only there was another solution!” Lambertus sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“We’ve been here for ages. It’s just too well placed. It’s an impenetrable fortress. There’s no way.”

The room fell silent and the atmosphere dropped as it became obvious that it was going to be impossible. For a long lasting minute the group were in deep concentration, but there was no talking. Lambertus was idly moving one of the several Morstaybishlian legion figures that were on the map. He moved the legion around the mountain, and then sighed, for it would not work. He then moved the legion through the valley but retraced his steps quickly, for he knew it would be suicide. He lightly moved it back and fourth as if playing with a toy. He slowed down how fast he was moving it as he wasn’t getting anywhere. He then moved the legion figure in a straight line towards Montekaan. His eyes sparked and he did it again. He took a step back, his eyes more awake now. He knew what he just did would be impossible for anyone else, but he knew he could do it. The rest of the room looked at him in bewilderment.

Lambertus laughed in glee. “We march through the Zycannes!”

Someone choked on their drink. Another almost spat his out in disbelief.

“Passing through the Zycannes would be a death trap!”

“Not necessarily. There are the Zymoute people who live in relative isolation. They have no affiliation to either us or the Korms… Meaning we could use their villages as safe points of passage and rest in exchange for food.” Redrugus exclaimed.

“There are few routes in the Zycannes that are less dangerous than most. But there is none that can support our siege weaponry. It will not work, my liege. I do not support this course of action, perh-”

“There is no other way, cousin.” Lambertus paused. “There is in fact one route that is large enough for our new siege weaponry, and also less dangerous than the next. It is still deathly.”

His cousin was quick to snap a reply. “And with a deathly route will come death! You will loose a lot of your troops! I propo-”

“Enough!” Lambertus asserted, getting frustrated. “If we wait, they’ll be prepared. If we don’t attack, they will instead. We must take Montekaan; it’s less about the gold and more about trying to keep our stake as the biggest empire on this continent instead of it being ransacked by a bunch of halfwits over in the west, to hell with the wait, to hell with another loss at Montekaan, for this will be a devastating advantage. The last thing they would expect would be us to come from the Zycannes. It’s their big defence, but they underestimate us - their forces will be too far spread; some in the valley and others out to the northwest. Nobody will be looking up into the mountains. They will not expect our presence, nor our equipment.” He paused. “Raise your hands if you stand with me!”

All but one raised their hand. That man was his cousin.

“I respect you, Amet. If you do not believe in the Empire, then you are dismissed from this meeting.”

The room looked around. Amet was shook.

“My liege?”

“You are dismissed!” he bellowed. “You can find yourself useful elsewhere. Travel to Caltharus and rally my men. I want thousands.”

Amet left the room as the planning continued.

[Dylan]

The Golden Crusades

25th September 1523 AD
Aeternum, Caltharus

The streets of Aeternum was black and gritty. Many disgusting jobs existed in this rancid time. Some were better off than others, living under shelter with food on their plates and a satisfied family. But some were malnourished, dirty and homeless, earning the most brutal and minimal amount, desperate so much so that selling children and their livelihoods were the only way out- sometimes that was themselves.

Raedo was a gong farmer. His skin had turned almost permanently faeces brown and he had spent the entire night removing human excrement out of cesspits and privies. He thought back to a time not so long ago where he was a soldier for the newly formed Caltharusian Republic; but that did not last more than a year. Calth revolutionaries took over the monarchy, killing them all and with heavy resistance. The early parts of the century saw a once thriving empire turn into the slums of the continent. There was little to no wealth here, aside from the one or two individuals who came in from Morstaybishlia and Salovia.

After Lambertus III restored the throne, he spent the remainder of his life trying to redevelop the lands to accommodate the demands of the Morstaybishlian Empire. Any sort of continuation left with his death. Little to no money had entered the Caltharusian economy from the Empire, and without any form of proper governance, the land was left for people to exploit, and so they did, in little ways.

Rumours spread around from town to town that a dozen horses hoisting the colours of the Empire were headed for the city, and after their very recent defeat in Kormistazic lands, it was quite obvious for some what they came for. There was to be a crowd in the centre of the city tomorrow.
[hr]
The next morning, a crowd sure turned up. Hundreds upon hundreds of people from all walks of life gathered around a raised platform that twelve men stood. Some people were peasant women and worn out hags, some were children and teenagers and others were mostly very young adults, for the older were slain in the war. At each corner of the platform stood a flag of the Morstaybishlian Empire, and in the middle stood a man wearing dressed down military attire accompanied by a translator. His job was to repeat everything the other man said in Calth, for some of the older generations did not understand Staynish.

“My fellow citizens!” he bellowed. “It is time for your services in the field of battle! We, at the capital, require the help of the people from these lands, and will be paying each and every volunteer a nice sum of money at the end that will help restore life for you and your family back at home. If you do not wish to volunteer, you will be forced to enlist and given no such reward. At two past noon on this day those who wish to join us will queue at the entrance to the Aeter Chamber and write their name down on a list,” he paused. “This will determine who we will be paying at the end of all this. I will give five days for those men to say their goodbyes to their loved ones and family for on that day more soldiers from the Empire will gather here to lead you towards the future. I hope to see you in Redrugus.”

Amet stood down, satisfied. The thousands gathered noted what was said and communicated to one another. Surely enough, at two past noon that day, thousands of men signed their name off to be used in a war they had no idea about, and in lands they’d never heard about. For the last week, this was routine for Amet, going from city to town to city saying the same speech and gathering thousands more soldiers. He knew that without them, the war may be much tougher.