[M] IC Wars of Succession

[Tolvo]

Pietra de Orscilani
Their march had come to a stop for the moment. Pietra did not wish for his troops to get too tired before the upcoming siege. If they were lucky they could perhaps do a swift strike and take the fort assigned to them, but luck could always be on the side of the enemy. The militia with him were wielding spears and clubs, within their camp he had ordered the men-at-arms to drill with them as much as possible to get the two ready but more specifically the militia. Peasants forced to fight were not always trained in the formations and tactics he needed, so his hope was the mercenaries could take care of that. The mercenaries he had brought mainly had great swords and long swords, exactly what he wanted. This coming battle could be long and hard, Pietra wanted his troops to be able to endure without growing tired. Much to his chagrin the enemy would have the range advantage against their forces. Archers, though the Orscilani man trusted these crossbowmen it would have been pleasant if he didn't have to worry about the enemy using terrain like that. Of course the knights he had brought would even some of the playing field, but only by so much with their lances and long swords.

Pietra navigated their camp, while he wanted to go over the battle tactics with those who would be giving commands he wanted to first stop by another group. After a bit of searching the noble found them. The gunners and engineers. Often they were overlooked, especially whenever nobility were present. However he wished to stop by them. He entered their camp area with his arms folded behind his back flanked by two mercenaries resting great swords against their shoulders. "Siege crafters, I hhope you are prepared for the battle to come. Your roles to play in this upcoming battle will be sung about, painted in tapestries, will be carried by the lips of your grandchildren to even their grandchildren. Do not feel fear or dread, you will have the backing of our entire force behind each and every one of you. I will personally do everything in my power to protect you, so that you can take down those walls, dig out that moat, and bring glory and victory to all." I hope you all know how important you really are to me. After their reaction he would excuse himself so that he could head to the tent with the officers within.

Upon his entrance Pietra would quickly make his way over to their map of the fort. His hopes were that it was as up to date as possible and that their scouts' reports were accurate. He leaned over the map motioning towards the North-Western walls. "Just to go over the basic idea to ensure everyone is on the same page, we'll be focusing our attention here. A ballista isn't really much of a threat for our bombards especially with hoarding around them. We'll keep some of the milita back to surround it using square spear formations in case of any sort of reinforcements from the North, or West. With that in mind we'll also leave a contingent of knights as a rear guard for the bombard while the rest will be riding alongside the troops to help keep formation and mask their movement. Their fort will fall if they leave us out there to lay siege, so they'll have to send infantry out. For this we will be keeping the Men-At-Arms on the frontline to deal with the pikemen they have. Around the time of engagement the knights should collect along our left flanks to prepare for a charge into their flanks. Make there be two prongs, with the knights charging in wedge formations to separate the enemies and cause the most chaos possible while allowing them a rear escape. Remember our goal is to take the fort, not to slaughter as many enemies as possible." His finger tapped just outside of the outer walls.

"This moat is an issue, we're going to have to dig it up since it is unlikely we'll have a chance to get through their bridge but it may be possible to clear it with crossbowmen. In either case we want the crossbowmen to march along the left flank, close to the main body of infantry. They will open fire when in range and provide any cover they can be firing upon the ballista or anything on the walls, provided they do not have protection. We want the Men-At-Arms with longswords mixed with militia on the front right flanks to cover those and possibly wrap around the enemy lines and formations. Alongside them should be wheel mantlets to provide some protection against the archers and crossbowmen who will be to the South of our front lines, while soldiers work on digging up that moat so we can close in. Our engineers will try to build causeways but draining a part of the moat or using dirt to cross may end up our best option. With the mercenaries on the right flank they'll be the first to have a chance to cross it, while the crossbowmen will again support them as they make their way either to the front gate or to the hole in the wall our Bombard has blown open. From there we'll take the walls first, clearing them of archers and crossbowmen, take out the ballista crews, then work our ways towards the center and completely take it." Pietra made a fist and lightly pounded the table to signify he was done with the plan. "Are there any questions?"

[Imperial1917]

Artanius pulled his horse to a stop with a sharp jerk of the reins and looked out over the rolling hills. Around him a guard of horse archers pulled in close, eyes searching the horizon for threats, the soft crinkle of their sun-beaten leather armor and close-woven cloth raiments flapping in the cool wind. He did not have to look around to see the squinting eyes at it. In the desert, any wind in the day was hot and dusty; any wind in the night icy. To have the sun high in the sky, but not burning, and the currents in the air, but not stirring dust was anathema to them. Still, this plump, moist, lush land was theirs to take and that was more than worth a little discomfort.

An exiled noble of such lands, this should have felt like a homecoming to Artanius, yet it didn't. Long years in the desert had seared any fond dreams of rich earth and regular rains from his sleep. Being a pursuer of arcane lore, he also was not fond of the damage that damp weather such as this land had could do to manuscripts of knowledge. Then again, the dryness of the desert was little better.

Squinting across the land, he took in the green grasses that covered the hills, far more than most desert tribesmen saw in their lives, though they searched for it constantly for their beloved horses. Trees with trunks twice or three times what grew in the deserts crowded the hills in the distance, even finding root in the basin floors next to fat, fast-flowing rivers larger than the little streams over which blood was spilled and feuds made of in the dusty lands behind him.

One of the tribesmen grunted and pointed a finger out towards that lush land. Artanius noted that he made no motion to draw closer to better point out his finding. It was partly out of respectful deference to Artanius' stature. That was what the man, what most of the men under his command, would say if they were asked. The reality was that they were afraid of his power. Only rumors swirled about what he could do when they had left the desert, but for the sand-men it was enough to make them wary. Men who were not wary in the desert often found quick deaths.

Pushing aside the thought, Artanius followed the man's pointed finger and saw figures in the distance. For most men, it would have been impossible to make out many details. Yet Artanius was not most men. He had been taught war by the horse-archers of the desert whose only advantage in such desolate, open land was surprise and spoiling surprise. Any closer and a composite bow would put an end to anyone who did not see the enemy before they crested a sand dune. His arcane gifts were also a great help, giving him clarity that even the desertmen did not share.

Even without these, the exiled noble would not have been amiss. It was a simple matter of reasoning the truth out. They rode too steadily to be peasants, their formation too tight; a purpose too evident in their actions to be peasants fleeing violence. The gentle movement around their bodies meant armor, but it did not glow either with the dull sheen of buffed metal, nor the shine of polished plate. Their mounts were sturdy, but thin and hard like rods, without the fat of easy life. They moved too fast to be heavily armored knights and held no battle standards besides. These were no knights. They were horse archers, their bows held at the ready, and they were his.

They flowed out in a short mass like the tip of a spear thrust into the soft belly of the riverlands, heading for a fording point on the river. There were fifteen in the group overall, their numbers masked by the loose formation. Across the Count's land, other groups of similar numbers thundered across the river basins, exploring this vast, but cluttered land. They searched for anything, feeling the land out as they rode, discovering what there was to know. Mainly they sought to find out what armsmen still occupied this land as rumors of the Count taking his army to the north-eastern border flared among the populous.

A fast, lightly-equipped force meant for scouting on the move, these men were all horse-archers under Artanius' command. Their objective was scouting and making noise. To that end, the tightly-knit groups of fifteen to twenty. They sought out the enemy wherever he hid, not to engage him in battle, but to bring back his whereabouts. The exiled noble shared with them this task, probing the lands of the river basin. Battle was to be avoided, but the horse archers were to do what damage that they could. Fire was their primary tool. In the dead of nights or during the day as opportunity afforded, they would put to torch the villages of the land. Fire arrows would rain on the kindling that the peasants used for roofs and torches would make short work of hard-tilled fields. Then the men would away, leaving the more heavily armed, but slower men-at-arms of the Count to trail behind them, cursing the Sultan who the Count would think they served. With this speed and mobility, they could not be caught. They would live off the land and steal from the people where they could. Taking anything that slowed them down was forbidden. In no more time than three moons, the force would withdraw and return to the Warlord in triumph.

The thought of this simple, but effective plan did not make Artanius smile even as he rode out with his bodyguard. In the view of pursuing arcane knowledge, this was a waste of time.

[Emperor Tiberiu]

John's Party
As the soldiers prepared their camps a group of knights carrying the Prince's war standard approached. A fat man, who seemed to be the leader of the knights dismounted his horse very clumsily. "John...Umm..John" the man fumbled about before finally finding John Marshal. "Ohh there you are good, The prince request you return to the Capital immediately..Something about A nordic Warband coming down the mountains...say wheres the girl?" He asked after floundering through Johns briefing.

Pietra de Orscilani
Battle lines had been drawn and commands issued, the commander Pietra de Orscilani had gone through great lengths to make the siege run smoothly as possible. Their was no doubt that he was a brilliant tactician, but he could not foresee the moments of Tiberiu Augustus' Army. For Tiberiu is a untrained and undisciplined man. He revived word of a imminent attack and acted. Bringing with him 30 pike men, 50 riflemen, and 100 mercenaries armed with claymores. He rode ahead of his column with his lieutenant. "Did you bring the barrels of powder?" Tiberiu asked " Si Commander" the man replied. "Good..How far away is it now?" He asked again leaning towards the lieutenant " A few hours" the man replied backing up unable to meet Tiberius level of intensity. "Good" Tiberiu finally added, he could see the fortress now, and the enemy camp. "Good" he continued.

Artanius
Near the boarder of The counts land and the warlords, their stands a small shrine. About the size of a normal village shack , but not as ordinary. No this shrine was special, left here from a time when the elves still roamed the land of Emain it was a trove of secrets. Magical secrets. Secrets the Count couldn't allow to fall into the wrong hands. He dispatched 10 men at arms to destroy the shrine, lead by the priest Amnor. The group rode along the river basin, when a soldier spotted dust being kicked up. "Father Amnor it looks like riders" the man said. "I think your right boy, We must reach the shrine before anyone learns of our involvement" The priest said hushed as he returned to his horse. " Its the Sultanate Father" another man yelled. "The Heretics" The priest spat at the thought. "Hurry we must reach the shrine" He yelled. The men rode recklessly towards the shrine, but by doing so gave away their location/

[Dire Hoef]

To Feed And Recluse

En Route to Haus Klingen from the South - Is to report to Count Frond - A Company (200 Strong) of Knights Travels by Horseback

A banner held high to signify that this company belonged to the Count. The banner was held by a barer who only held the pole by one hand - using the other to corral his horse from straying away from the formation that Donato Giancola, a Marshal by this time, had made. The formation was simple: all the men were condensed into a rectangular form and then were to move forward in a rhythmic fashion. This sort of formation was to make sure Donato could keep an eye on his men and the formation he wanted to keep up. But ever since he left the patrol camp near the southern border, the formation has been fracturing slowly. Though Donato, himself, had not worried about the fracturing of the formation. He only cared if the men would keep up with him and their platoon officers. Respectively there were only seven officers - each officer commands about twenty-six men. These seven officers were as followed: Yvain, Wichard, Jeronimus, Gerolt, Ysembert, Moyse, and Guernon.

Yvain, being Donato's most favored platoon officer, rode to Donato's close left while Gerolt rode to his close right - with the rest following in as suit.

Jeronimus, a more refined platoon officer, glanced at his fellow commander with a look that was hid behind the helm's face-guard. Jeronimus then spoke as though he were alone, "Why must the Count remove us from the battlefield? We were fine patrolling the southern border... They were no outlaw movement down there as far as I am concerned."

Before Donato could even raise a finger at the platoon officer, Moyse stepped in and claimed bullshit. "We should all be thankful for the Count's duty. For it if weren't for him, we wouldn't be here and the Kingdom of Adiliwyr would have taken this land. Do not mistake your privileges with rights Jeronimus."

Jeronimus grumbled underneath his breath as he only shook his head.

Donato only gave a helpful smile towards Moyse as he seemed to be the type of man to remain loyal to his bitter end. Donato was pleased with the loyalty Moyse showed and continued to think nothing of Jeronimus' comments.

Yvain, after hearing the comments, glanced towards Donato who kept his eyes forward. The march of two hundred horses drowned out any unavailable chatter that would rise from the constant worriment that is their company.

The seven platoon leaders, who were fanciful nicknamed the "Seven Horsemen of the Golden One" by their respective platoons, remained silent for a good majority of the ride - as did Donato since both the Marshal and the platoon officers feared the worse for the Count. They couldn't possibly believe that the territory, that the Count tried so hard to control, is slowly being stripped from them. Donato wished he could take him and his men to the mouth of the Kingdom of Adiliwyr and strike down the king right then and there. But Donato had to think strategically, and having learned a thing or two from the Count only made things much less tiresome.

[Emperor Tiberiu]

Donato Giancola
As Haus Klingen loomed into sight the spirits of the company were slightly elevated. Haus Klingen was a sight to be seen indeed it had a huge outter wall constructed of stone and gilded with a thick layer of bronze giving it the appearance of gold. It had high towers from which cannons pertuded,facing every angle. It's gate made of a special black iron only found in the counts kingdom, had the crest of the dragon etched into it with marvelous pearl inlays. But more importantly a massive barracks, filled with the soldiers of the counts army. It was like a small city. It had stores, taverns, anything you would need. A line group of men ride up towards Donato and his officers. It was the counts war council, general Montegro, commader Sabastian, and the arch Bishop Reismond a untrustworthy man. "Ahhh finally the prodigal son returns" Sabastian teased. "How good to see you again, Marshal" the arch Bishop added with a hint smile on his face. "Enough greetings the Count expects us in his war champer" Montegro said roughly. "Important business to discuss" he added. "Will they be doing us Marshal?" The arch Bishop pointed a crooked finger at the seven officers

[Rha'az]

Leonhardt Ragnar
"No." Said Leonhardt as he looked at the field. "Capture all enemies who are alive, I have a plan," the son of Ragnar sheathes his sword and turned to Hogarth, "Ready our men, we march into the foreign lands," he looked at his troops, none were killed. Mostly were mortally injured, he searched for the nervous face he hated, they had no expressions. Leonhardt raised his arm, "For the Nord Republic! For Odin!"

"FOR THE NORD REPUBLIC! FOR ODIN!"

[Tolvo]

Pietra de Orscilani

After a bit of clarifying some aspects to his officers the noble left the tent. He motioned over his squires, the two were strapping young lads with boyish looks though they were on their way to adulthood and with that knighthood. "I wish to train in my armor with the militia. They'll need to deal with the sight of me and others like me on the battlefield, I best get them acclimated." At his command the two rushed to his side and entered his tent to aid him with affixing the many plates and pieces of mail to him. They weren't pressed for time and weren't rushing causing there to be no issue with straps getting lost inside of the armor. Everything was anchored well. When they were finished Pietra made sure nothing was out of place by jumping a few times then performing a cartwheel. While it was impressive at first he accidentally hit the edge of his tent and tore a hole right through it. Those outside were puzzled at first then did their best to stifle their laughter in the presence of nobility. With his visor raised he waved a hand to the men. "Oh go ahead and laugh I blundered I have to pay the price in shame!" Both squires rushed to his side to ensure that he was alright prompting Pietra to roll his eyes at them. "You're supposed to be squires not wet nurses. Go in an get your armor on you'll be helping me with the training exercise."

When he arrived at the area they were training in Pietra could see the men-at-arms were simply dealing with the militia. They didn't seem too bothered, as they were likely just used to having to fight and train alongside so many different groups. Atop his horse Pietra rode alongside his squires and joined in the exercises riding in between the troops. One female mercenary had to grab a man at the last second to keep him from being hit by the Dancing Mallow's horse as he had run the wrong way. To try and help them adjust to being around cavalry as well he asked them to stand with poles to simulate holding a spear as the squires and himself rode nearby and at them before breaking off. They were tasked with standing still, and while many shook there were no was no instance of trampling. The ways I entertain myself before a battle, this time is always so boring. I wonder if our scouts have found anything extra, I wonder if the enemy has gotten any reinforcements to the fort. Perhaps I was wrong to have the militia and mercenaries train so they'd be armed for confrontation. Maybe our camp won't be attacked.

[Death of Korzan]

Northern Jormungandr Lands

The air was cold, the northern snow streaking through the wind to settle upon the ground and in the trees; coating fallen leaves and burrows of Rabbits and other animals. Fires lit up throughout the forest as men of House Jormungandr - a mixture of Horsemen armed with long metal Lances, Longbow men who had been legally obliged to learn how to use a bow since the age of 5 (a law well enforced by Lord Lachlan) and unmounted infantry, wielding a mixture of Longswords and Shortswords, whilst being accompanied usually by a standard Buckler (though the occasional man held a Kite Shield, and the strongest few - numbering at around 30 - wielded Tower Shields along with one-handed Warhammers).

Each man sat around the fire, their cloaks wrapped around them and their horses resting within a makeshift stable composed of a tent and a few logs strung together so as the Horses could be tied down adequately. The soldiers did not grumble or moan, as House Jormungandr lay close to the Northern reaches and the land of the Nordic Republic and they were used to the snows that the wind brought down from the mountainous reaches - though they were also, unhappily used to the icy relations between the Republic and the Kingdom.

The breakdown of relations was easily due to the beginning of the wars between both political entities. During the years of conquest the men of Adiliwyr - including those of House Jormungandr - had gone to war with the Nords over their land, with both the Kingsmen and 'Odin's favoured' holding some form of claim over the land. The Nords had been brave fighters, but were no match for the Iron and Steel that the Northern Houses brought, pushing back the Heretics into the mountains, where they had lingered since: brooding and unruly. The men of House Jormungandr were used to the North. Many of them had lost fathers and - in harder hit areas - mothers, brothers and sisters. The toll was taken by both opposing armies, with many a man slain and many an orphan subsequently formed.

"Commander." A voice called out towards a seemingly concentrating man, belonging to one of the many voices around one of the many fires. His Commander lifted his hand, with two fingers curled upwards calling for a moment as he studied a waxy piece of parchment, studying the lines upon it as he attempted to work out exactly where his force were, and exactly where the Nords were coming from. 'These Nords are a rather brave bunch,' the Commander thought to himself, lips curling upwards as he pushed his fiery red hair behind one of his ears - squinting as the cold wind blew into his face and continued to ruffle his pseudo-mane. 'Though you'd think that they'd give up the Ghost by now...

The young man stood up, lifting up his muscular arms and yawning as he rubbed at his shoulder, keeping the muscle warm underneath the leather and fur that he wore when without his armour - his Short-Sword however still at his waist, ready to be drawn and utilised if need be. Taking a step over to the men by the fire, the young redhead took a seat down by the soldiers, who all looked at him with complete silence, daunted by the prospect. Leaning over and picking at a piece of oily, greasy venison that sat within a clay bowl, the man looked up at his men; he blinked twice, his eyelids sliding over his gloriously red-brown eyes before settling gently. Surveying the entire circle of men, he drummed upon the leg that had been stripped of bark and branches to form a seat before opening his mouth to speak. "You know, you can talk if you would like?" The handsome commander muttered, his voice seemingly high class and lathered in vocabulary not to be expected of a mere bodyguard to the Lord.

One of the men around the circle looked up from the leg of chicken - the poultry having sat in another bowl across from the venison, most of its bones picked clean already by the hungry men - and sucked upon his fingers, staring at the King with his brown eyes. "What's the situation? Do we have any word from the scouts?"

"Not as of yet, no." Drakus muttered, looking up from another strip of greasy meat to smile at the men. "They have yet to return, though I'm sure they'll be back by the morning."

"Unless there's more of them than we thought?" One of the other men perked up, his face having been exposed to some form of crude blade, judging by the gash that seemed to run through his entire face before settling as the centre-right of his jawline. "And we're just running into one big Odin-loving fuckfest?"

"There's two hundred and fifty of us." Drakus confidently spoke, running his eyes along the parchment once more before folding it up again.

"And there could be three hundred of them!" One of the younger men - a volunteer, who judging by the look in his eyes had wished that he hadn't volunteered - cried out slightly, inciting yelling from the men who had managed to barely drift off to sleep.

"A Nordic raiding party larger than one hundred and fifty?" The Commander laughed to himself, shaking his head before smiling back at the men, placing his hands upon one of their shoulders before picking up the bowl of Venison and pushing himself up. "It's not the years of Conquest any more boys - just because the Realm is in trauma doesn't mean that the Republic is going to start throwing the bulk of its entire army at us." Turning around and taking a step out of the circle, the man drummed his fingers onto the pommel of his Short-Sword before turning to the men once more.

With his mouth open and ready to speak, the redhead thought on his words, but promptly closed his mouth once more and walked away to the tents, following a long trail of men who were - likewise - also doing so.

[Dire Hoef]

With No War Comes No Succession

Arrived At Haus Klingen - Is to report to Count Frond - A Single Man Now Travels With The Count's War Party

"Ahhh finally the prodigal son returns" Sabastian teased.

Donato disembarked his horse - his cladded footwear colliding with the soiled ground of Haus Kligen. A fanciful place it was. Donato remembered coming here time and time again after every mission to see the Count's face filled with - often time - pleasure and - some time - anguish.

"How is it good to see you again, Marshal." The Archbishop added with a hint of a smile on his face.

"Enough greetings, the Count expects us in his War Chamber." Montegro said roughly. "Important business is to be discussed" he added.

"Will they be joining us Marshal?" The Archbishop pointed a crooked finger at the seven officers.

Donato turned his head to meet Yvain's who gestured his right - cladded - hand to follow the members of the Count's War Party. Donato gave a sure nod before turning his back to the seven officers. "They'll not be joining us." Donato's eyes strayed from man to man as he could see faint traces of worriment and other emotions he couldn't make trade of. "As you said Montegro, we have important matters that are in need of being discussed." Donato, however, turned towards his seven officers and gestured towards the company of knights that waited for their orders - since they were still atop their horses. "Bring them to the barracks. Have the medical staff tend to whom ever is sick or in need of care. I want every man in their sharpness. Understand?"

Yvain gave a nod, "Yes commander. We'll get right on it."

Donato turned his back to the officers once more lightly shoving the "councilmen" abroad to the destined War Chamber. Donato wanted to have this meeting over with as soon as possible - since the more time they wasted here chattering up a storm, would mean more time for the enemy to gather their forces for an assault. And Donato was no fan of such a sortie.

[Emperor Tiberiu]

Leonhardt Ragnar
After rounding up all the surviving enemies, Hogarth returned to Leonhardt. "We have all the survivors" He said, then moved closer to Leonhardt. "Leonhardt where are you taking the war party?" He whispered. "You know i would follow you to the gates of Helheim and back for you..but " Hogarth didn't finish. He stopped then stood up straight again. "Forgive me, i sound like a worried old woman...For Odin" He saluted Leonhardth then left. It was apperant that Hogarth was very worried of something, something very dark and old...

Pietra de Orscilani
"Load the barrles onto the walls of the fort!" Tiberiu yelled at some men. They obediently listened carrying the unmarked barrels up towards the fort. Tiberiu had made camp south of the fort, Tiberiu's lieutenant Leon was very confused about his superiors plans. "Sir, I know you have a plan..but im afraid i cant decipher it" He said "All in due time, boy" Tiberiu replied looking at the enemy camp just past the plains that separated the two. Tiberiu hurried into a tent containing a crude table with a map of the fort on it. "This fort is outdated, they lack modern anti-personnel weapons. So the two northern towers will be the obvious target. I don't want to waste any troops on the defense of them. Just enough men to operate the bastilas." He tapped the map "here just outside the gates the enemy will have to cross the moat, I want every single pikemen we have in a phalanx formation defending that moat, Have the Claymore mercenaries at the rear as reserves. I want my riflemen in two lines on each flank of the pikemen" He moved back and let Leon see the map. "And what about the remaining troops sir?" Leon replied "have the crossbowmen and archers man the Eastern and Western walls, put the militia in a tight shield wall just behind the Northern wall. and for the swordsmen...assemble them here i have a special assignment for them."

Drakus
In the cold snow peaked mountains, Trouble was brewing. A Nordic war band was invading sovereign soil. Not the first time this had happened and certainly not the last. This warband was about 120 strong, and armed to the teeth. Guided by Odin, and blessed by the republic the warband was coming for the blood of anyone who stood in their path. Leonhardth Ragnar and his men were headed on a crash course with Drakus party of soldiers, and nothing can stop it.

Donato's party
The group of men entered the war chamber, it was a lavish room filled with animal pelts and many weapons. A table sat in the rooms center, it had a map of Emains geographical features carved into the center and was surrounded with 5 seats, At the head sat Count Frond. A ageing man in his 60s the count sat in full battle garb, his plate armor. "Gentlemen" He said "Sit we have much to discuss". The men sat in the seats around the table. The Count stood. "Our enemies are plentiful, and our allies few...These are dark times indeed gentlemen. I have sent a army south east to run the war dogs out of the land. However I have much larger ambitions...I realize now that in order to win this war we require great wealth to finance our endevours." He sat back down "Which is why i suggest we sail around the warlords territory and launch an invasion of the Sultans land." He finished