Spoiler: Music Start the two songs together for maximum ambience. [A quiet evening in the Siwat district town hall, after many rounds of Songaskian drinks. By the fire sat Sakara, reclined on a couch. The mood eventually turned somber as the Songaskia continued her tale of the great wars fought.] - = o O o = - I stood horn-to-horn with my fellows, all in a wall of bronze and steel awaiting what was to come. We formed up soon after morning prayers in drenching rain, the sun obscured behind a curtain of clouds. The day only got worse every moment; the weather was one thing, then we learned the inbound ailor army was outnumbering us, and that they were all prepared to expel our beachhead. There was heavy breathing when we spotted the glint of their armors in the distance. There wasn’t a choice on this field; we’d make a stand here to the death. The beachhead had to be safe-kept, else the invasion might have drawn to an abrupt close. I had three platoons of Songaskia under my wings on the right flank, but a battle of this kind wasn’t the way I imagined would begin my journey as a commander proper. Not going to lie, that moment we each considered it might be our last battle; that we might have scaled a gargantuan stoneback believing it to be a mere dune like any other. A strange feeling, to be ready to die - but it always hits you way after, never in the moment. There, all we concentrated on was victory through any means available. Their cavalry riding ahead drew a series of wedges across to us; the whole imperial army strewn in three great columns. I felt the shoulder-scales of my lieutenant scraping against my own, our shields interlocked ahead. The rain sprinkled down the leafed tip of my spear raised ahead and crept down the shaft to my gauntleted hand holding onto it. We hadn’t any of our disposable levies left; it was all the core. All those that volunteered to spearhead our invasion, all those who have been fighting side-by-side for decades spanning beyond the average career of the enemies we faced. Trumpets and horns sounded across the riverbed, and the enemy war machine entered motion. The moment opened the stage for a great speech to rouse the morale of my companions, but all’s different on the fields of glory. We all faced ahead, silent and steeled, much unlike the tales you are told. There is no extravagance, no heroism: all that escaped my lips was a call to hold, repeating the words of fellow commanders along the line and my general’s instructions. Hooves stampeded across the plains in a rhythmic beat, one that soon started to lose traction and tempo. The memories of Steinberg gleamed vivid ahead of us; none of us knew what to expect other than a bloodshed to surpass any days prior, including our great war of vengeance against the brass heathens. We fought a foe more rabid than any before, more inclined to defend themselves, more inclined to pour masses against our lines. But their tempo slowed ever more and I saw their horse-mounts whinnying, kicking up mud in the riverbank below and ahead. Some of them got coated in dirt up to the shoulders, their riders striking at them with whips and lashes in a desperate attempt to restore the charge that was foiled by the rain overhead. Most of all, I spotted neither a commander nor a general that led them, the disorganized troops advancing without guidance or charge. And there it occurred to me that we might just yet achieve our greatest triumph that day. I settled my spear on the ground and retrieved my shofar to give it a long bellow; a motion repeated by other commanders who had the same exact idea. Our ranks loosened behind the frontal wall of shields and soon a storm of javelins rained overhead and down below upon the enemy who were entangled within the mud. A few moments of whirring winds followed as our javelins rained from the sky at our foes who were far too pre-occupied with continuing their failed charge. Then, the silence was broken by a loud scream muffled into guttural howls, joined by the cacophony of dozens more. Men and beasts burst their blood to overflow the bog ahead and the columns of infantry wading knee-deep in the mud were halted by the trashing horses and their mangled riders. I side-glanced left and saw the Masaya on the move, shields and spears advancing with unbroken devotion and discipline. Thus I gave two more bellows to my horn before letting it hang on my side and pushed my own platoons into a counter-attack. While the heavily armored Regalian troops sank knee deep into the bog or worse, the draconic regiments stepped lightly to maintain footing, dashing towards our enemy just as we sail our dunes of sand. What followed shattered our prior perception of the imperial army and laid the foundation of our self-destructive arrogance. Men screamed for mercy as we speared them down, wading through their ranks just as the morning sun’s rays scattered clouds and mist. The enemy found footing to escape only when the muddied riverbank was so overflowing with bodies of their fallen that they could climb and crawl over them. I saw only one escape for every three dozen slain, so merciless and efficient was our charge. Their very leader routed - desperate to escape capture he left his companions behind and for a fellow commander to take as prize. Those that could flee cast their weapons aside and ran to the central column of our enemies - to their misfortune, our left flank managed the exact same and a battle that initially looked to be overpowering us with numbers was beginning to turn into the nightmare of all generals - a double envelopment with walls of our shields and spears. Our weapons and eyes blazing and our ranks unmatched and nigh untouched, we began our push. From the enemy lines appeared their own commander, dressed with furs and greens on a horse carrying the banner of their eagle and gold. He raised a saber and called for a rousing rally much like the battle prior, but his words fell on deaf ears. Some of the Ailor steeled their hearts and resisted our envelopment, but were swiftly speared down. The rest broke and made it running to the rear, warded over by their commander who had resorted to ensuring their retreat was as orderly as a rout can be. We gave pursuit and slaughtered many more before their cavalry organized to screen their retreat and slow us. The sun cast its light on the battlefield for the first time since the morning and we were left with the masses of men slaughtered. I stood alone to gaze backwards at the riverbed. Had we mistaken our foes? Our defense of the settlement days before would have painted them an even match, but in this battle they weren’t a foe proper, they weren’t even putting up the resistance of animals or Qadir. In the midst of our looting the fallen I pulled a body out of the mud and retrieved a golden eye of the union strewn on a chain from his neck, an item I took little note of at the time; in hindsight, it was my first encounter with the Ailor faith, as horrible an encounter it was. There was no skirmish to follow that day, neither was there resistance. The crushing defeat forced the enemy to abandon the whole of the lordship, which now fell to our hands. We ground through the villages of the islands one-by-one, stripping them of loot and supplies. My platoons and I found a nest in a coastal fort we were tasked with dismantling. I spent most nights in the tallest tower, gazing at the horizon. Naught was visible but the sea, yet there was a golden glow in the night sky that emanated from the north east. I saw occasional skirmishes between our ships and the imperial navy, always undecided and unable to mount any push that’d allow us passage to the heartlands of our enemy for now. The discrepancy between our first battle and this … slaughter left me confused with a somber thought, one that would haunt me up until the civil war. The weight of history might eventually turn tides. Just as they fought triumphant and powerful one day and were slaughtered the next, so could it be our fate as well. And there I could think only of my daughter and the world I could leave to her. If we grind Regalia into dust and conquer their cities, what then? Another conquest until the world bends to Shambala. But the nagging feeling was there. The rallying cry of the first Ailor commander I saw; that devotion and dedication; the thought we'd face ten thousand, if not a million more. - = o O o = - - = o O o = - [The Songaskia exhaled a long sigh at the end of her story. The sun had set in the meantime and the city’s evening lights and fires illuminated the sky with the very golden hue spied on the horizon from Rivellia.] We all know that exact haunting thought came to realization once we saw Massoilagui burn, once we turned spears on one another and the crater towers crumbled. Rivellia’s images showed something different than the crumbling towers of the clockwork heathens - a wing stretched too far, ambition driven beyond what we could sustain. And we suffered for it greatly. In our arrogance we largely neglected our captives taken, who made a heroic and daring escape a few days after - no point in dulling their achievement, only respect for their defiance in defeat. I only recently learned - from Regalian documents about the battle - that one of the captives were the current Imperial Marshal. Twist of fate, that is. At the time we held the battle of Rivergrand our greatest triumph. It’s only recently I have explored the other side’s story, their details. The commander I never saw in the enemy lines was imprisoned days before the battle; the tacticians that sent the cavalry dashing into the mud were both uneducated and inexperienced appointees. A surprising disappointment that the battle which lead to our overconfidence in our conquest was decided by so many coincidences. - = o O o = - Based on the original world progression, from the Songaskian perspective! Previous lore story here.
