This roleplay contains graphic violence, depictions of gore and bloodshed, uses of tobacco and alcohol, profanity and mature-related content.
Chapter 1: The War In The North
The siege of Latia
Latia, the richest city in the northern regions of Arno'or, rivalled only by the wealth that has been mustered by the great city of Camelot itself. Named as the Northern Pearl, Latia became the economic center of the United Province of Grecca but there is one slight problem - it was at the edge of the kingdom itself. Located near the borders between the warring kingdoms of Camelot and Grecca, the armies who served Arthur's cause with an undying devotion saw an opportunity to cripple the nation's economy by seizing it. Thus, they marched from their capital with a force of 5 legions strong. Hundreds of banners flutter in the wind, lead by two of the Inquisitors of the Crown - Marius and Arhanion.
It was quite unusual for them to command an army for Inquisitors are typically seen as bodyguards to the king. Though these two knights have proved their worth upon the battlefield as they could do more than just enforcing the law upon the traitors of the realm. For weeks they marched closer to Latia, engaging in several skirmishes along the way before reaching the Northern Pearl itself. Upon arrival, the legions of Camelot stand ready. Marius had heard of Lord Jachaerys' absence in Latia as he was away on a campaign against Camelot, taking much of their forces away from the city to bolster his own army's strength. The Inquisitor knew that this is a perfect chance to strike a deadly blow at the moment.
And so, he laid siege upon Latia. The legions of Camelot then began their assault upon the walls of the city, sending several towers while their trebuchets and catapults hurled massive balls engulfed in flames to weaken the defending army. Spies have reported that only 3000 men were present to defend the walls. Marius knew that the Greccans would fight to the death to preserve their freedom and he respected them for their undying resolve. "Three thousand men would perish instantly," said Arhanion as he rode beside Marius, clad in his usual armor. His ornate bastard sword hanging on his hip, strapped with a leather belt. "Archers! Forward!" He ordered. In an instant, the horns were blown to send the orders to the rest of the army. Hundreds of footsteps stomp upon the ground as they marched, bow in hand.
"I won't be so sure, Arhanion. Greccan are fine warriors," Marius complimented. Even they were enemies the soldiers of Grecca were trained for years for the sole purpose of preparing for war. He remembered of the lessons taught during his earlier years in the Inquisition, If one wishes for peace, it is for war they must prepare. Those words echoed in his mind as if it was uttered just a few moments ago. "Infantry, advance!" His order was responded with a collective 'Aye!' as they begin to march closer upon the walls.
"Indeed," Arhanion agreed to his words. Even he knew that the skill of a Greccan is unmatched by the soldiers of Camelot. "But you can't deny that Grecca has the best wine, ale and women don't you think?" He said as he laughed, patting the back of his comrade. "It's quite a shame that they stood against our cause,"
"For the crown, Arhanion. We did everything for the crown," Marius replied.
The 42nd Army of Grecca
Little did the two Inquisitors know that the city has sent an envoy eight days prior to the assault to request for reinforcements from the main Greccan force that are said to be marching towards the Red Fields. The envoy rode through the day and into the night upon his chestnut mare, riding as fast as the wind in hopes of reaching the commanders of Grecca in time to aid them.
Marching upon the hills near the capital city of Aratos, otherwise known as the Keep of Scales were the great army of Grecca with a force of ten thousand strong. Armed with the unwavering resolve to defend Greccan freedom from the hands of Camelot. Arthur is annoyed by the notion of their freedom, sending an army to Kaldir to bring them to hell prompted the damnable war that brought many of the nation's finest men to the Halls of Novogarde, a place where the warriors who fought honorably and died for a noble cause should go.
From sacred Aratos they marched. From dear Aratos to the Red Fields, the ten thousand battle hardened soldiers of Grecca marched as their banners flutter against the cold winds of the north. Many are more than eager to let their steel taste Camelot blood, for many years they desired vengeance for what they did upon the village of Kaldir. Slaughtering innocents and burning their homes to the ground is considered an unforgivable act. King Gaiseric shall never forget the atrocities done upon his countrymen and he shall let his armies became an instrument of his wrath.
As they marched upon the hills, the spearmen were at the front, holding their iron tipped spears high as they marched in unison with their black armor, carrying the standards of their kingdom - a silhouette of a knight holding a greatsword in his hands upon a field of green - Gaiseric's own sigil. Equipped with a segmented plate armor, it provided much needed protection without hindering their movement and a short sword strapped with a leather belt, acting as a secondary weapon should their spears break or lost in the heat of battle. Behind them were the archers, though not as heavily armored as the spearmen, the archers were equipped with a strong bow and a quiver of forty steel tipped black arrows while wearing mail armor for protection.
Flanking the archers were several cavalry units though most of them were knights clad in plate armor, carrying weapons of their own while proudly wearing the sigils of their own noble houses. Marcus Ironshield was one of the few who commanded a small band of knights carrying the sigil of his father - a crimson dragon circling a silver sword upon a black field. He rode beside his companions on the right flank where he could observe the entire army in its magnificence. Marching infront of the knights were mercenaries hired from parts of the continent, Marcus observed their behavior ever since they have left the city. Many of whom bickered and acted less than a soldier and more of a heavily armed drunken fighter. Their lack of discipline somehow irritated him as it was the core of their entire army.
Yet, even he knew the worth of hired blades. Despite their inconsistent prices, many of the Greccan lords hired them not for their numbers but for their exceptional skills with weapons. Gunbearers or not, Marcus wished them to carry out their duty just as the rest of the army as sometimes they garnered a reputation for breaking their oaths during battle, to run away when they are in desperate need of assistance. It was one of the reasons Marcus disliked them.
The entire army is under the command of a renowned military commander, Lord Rha'az of Dragonspear who carries his own sigil - a black dragon circling a spear upon a crimson field. Marcus was once lead by him during his earlier years serving as a part of the auxiliary force against Camelot. He made note of his bravery and confidence in battle, his skill of using the field to his advantage is unparalelled by any commander in the nation. Marcus respected him, just as much as the other nobles do.
As he continued to march, Marcus spotted a messenger with a red ribbon strapped around his forearm - an urgent message. He rode past the infantry line and towards Commander Rha'az's own unit.
"My lord!" The messenger said to Rha'az as he arrived at his side. The signs of exhaustion are apparent in his eyes, he rode through the night and without rest. "Latia is in need for reinforcements, Commander Rha'az. The forces of Camelot is upon us and Lord Jachaerys is expected to be away for the next few weeks. You are the closest force to our city, we request for your aid." He spoke in an urgent tone, handing over a rolled parchment tied with a red thread.
"How many men are there in your garrison? How many of the enemy's forces? Who led them?" Rha'az asked, looking at the young bald man in the eye as his army continued to march.
"Twenty thousand strong my lord. We only have a small portion of our garrison left to defend the walls whenever the assault begins. They were however, under the command of two Inquisitors." The messenger replied.
Rha'az remained silent, his mind begins to think of a solution. Losing Latia would certainly strike a devastating blow to Grecca and Camelot would gain a significant advantage from seizing the Northern Pearl. He turned to one his knights, "Get me Ironshield," he said. "And also Godfrey's daughter. We have much to discuss,"
His knight nodded and rode into the ranks of the army immediately after he was ordered.
The castle of Irongaunt
Irongaunt, a magnificent castle built by Lord Cromwell, the founder of the noble House of Rhoyse after the end of the Dakoric War which ended in the death of Prince Maqar who led the invading forces. It was the castle where the famous Red Axe was kept, the legendary weapon of Lord Cromwell himself and it was passed down from generation to generation as an heirloom. Now the castle belongs to Lord Eli Rhoyse who commands the 32nd Army of Camelot in the war against the Greccans. Within its ranks were the infamous Ironhearts, a group of soldiers that possesses some rather..."unique" traits that helped to excel on the battlefield.
Among the hundreds of soldiers that were stationed at Irongaunt was Cassius Raco, the Sword of the Night and stood out from the rest of the army for possessing a jet black skin with a white mane which flows down his back like a stream of water. He sat inside the smithy's tent, sharpening his throwing knives with the whetstone as the rest of the soldiers have decided to drink, train or even sleep with the ladies of Irongaunt.
"You sure you don't want to join the rest of the soldiers feasting like they just won a battle, Cassius?" An old man asked, despite his old age he seemed muscular. He stands quite shorter than Cassius but possessing just as much strength as he is or even stronger than the young man. His copper tanned skin sweats as he works on a piece of armor that is needed to be repaired, "You should get out there and release some of your tension, Cassius. Sharpening your weapons all day isn't fun you know." The old smith continued, hammering upon a piece of armor on his anvil. Sparks flew across the floor as he struck his hammer down upon the hot steel.
Cassius smirked, "The same can be said about you, Old Ben. Hammering that damned thing all day isn't fun. You're the one who should go out and sleep with the maidens," he slipped his knife into his pocket before pulling out another. His black sword, Sorrow remained on his side, leaning against a rack of swords. Cassius laid his eyes upon it and remembered the days where he would tore a bloody path through enemy lines to get to their commander.
"I'm too old to fuck with them. But drinking wine and ale? Eating all the damned pork? That's the life. Although I'd rather a couple maidens at my bed," Old Ben bursts into laughter as he said those words, seizing a bottle of wine from the table beside him and took a gulp of it. "I'm too goddamned old to be in the front lines just like you Cassius, though a part of me feels glad that I'm no longer holding a sword to take another's life."
"Even for the king's cause?" Cassius turned and asked as he stopped sharpening the blade of his knife.
Old Ben nodded. "I've been fighting my whole life, young lad. I'm tired of continuing that old life of mine. All things must have an end, they said. I guess involving myself in the midst of bloodshed has ended a long time ago,"