Forty Thousand soldiers clambered into positions as scouts shouted orders and information back to the horseback riding officials in Field General Markus Delmotte’s army on Bhoszaal. The drums of war were beaten with furious intent, sounding the approach of countless Sendrassian War Vessels which beelined for the shores in which Markus had prepared his force to repel any invasion. It was obvious to all, the Field General included, that the soldiers were frightened. Scared of what was to come. More and more ships appeared on the horizon, sails cutting through the oncoming twilight as evening turned to dusk. Almost in unison, the lanterns aboard these hulking wooden beasts lit up in a wave across the ocean. Horror filled Markus as he counted at least 14 transport vessels and a half dozen warships making straight for them. Despite Delmotte’s troops receiving a significant boon from the evening Regalian Transports in the east, many of Markus’ crucial retinues had returned home with the returning vessels, leaving Delmotte with only two significant members of his army: Lazarus Lupenzi and Lyonel Deceres, two field commanders of significant repute in the Sendrassian War thus far. Both galloped on over to where Markus was ordering a multitude of subordinates to prepare. “General, what’s the plan?” Deceres inquired atop his ‘Lotte’, one hand firmly on the reigns of the mount while the other kept a harsh grip on his longsword, casting a sidelong glance to the ships that were gauged to be roughly an hour away from arriving. After a few moments of pacing, Markus raised a hand and rubbed at his tired eyes. He gave a simple command. “Retreat behind the treeline and obscure our numbers. Once they land, we’ll catch them off guard. We have to give them everything we have.” Lazarus silently nodded, whistling to garner the attention of the men-at-arms in his retinue to begin spreading the news. In a quick rush, scrambling and with little time, they backed themselves behind the jungle foliage in nervous anticipation. The issue with the Generals plan was that troop momentum would be severely slowed down by the underbrush, and there was no real guarantee that the Sendrassians wouldn't be able to peg the tactic from afar and plan accordingly beforehand. The success of this battle was truly left to the Imperial Spirit, the Gods, and whatever other deity these poor sons and daughters believed in. The first cannonballs were shot twenty minutes after the Sendrassian transports were spotted. The cannons bombarded the beachhead and tore through defences, what little there was left on account of Delmotte’s lead fortification expert being decidingly absent for this crucial battle. Sand and debris launched into the air with each successful volley, each shot getting closer and closer to the treeline as the Sendrassian force ripped up the soon to be battlefield to their advantage. Delmotte held a closed fist up, steadying his men; watching as the landing boats chock full of Maz-Allar made the shore and began unloading. “For the Empire!” the Delmotte bellowed, causing both Lazarus and Lyonel to raise their weapons and initiate the charge. Hordes of soldiers garbed in Imperial colours sprinted forwards into the fray. Battlecries mixed with reptilian roars from the Sendrassian force as steel met claw and armor. Lupenzi and his personal retinue made up half the vanguard alongside Deceres’ men, valiantly pushing the beachhead whilst also tactically keeping the bulk of the Sendrassian force alive. This was a plan of Markus’, as he knew that even with greater numbers, the Sendrassians could not risk a full bombard on their own troops and risk losing their landing opportunity at the South, especially with other Regalian Warships patrolling the waters nearby on other Islands. By now, they would have heard the cannonfire and this assault had to be quick. Delmotte’s plan was simple. Survive. However, his troops also were aware of this. Seeing their lives in danger, and with the disparity between high command and the traditional levy still tense, some of the soldiers initiated a retreat, or at least tried to. Watching as the line wavered, there was only one thing Markus could think of to inspire the loyalty of his men. Against the wishes of his cabinet, Markus grabbed the spear that hung next to his horse. He placed his helmet atop his head, racing into the conflict to join the men on the frontlines. “The General!” some of the men shouted. “Protect the General!” which Markus protested against. “Hold the fucking line. Don’t let these shit heeled Void harlots take this shore. We have this.” Seeing the bravery of their blonde haired General, the troops hardened, those wishing to retreat returning to the fray and fighting off wave after wave of Sendrassian footsoldiers. Lazarus tackled one of the Sendrassian’s officers, holding ground against its two-clawed raptor mount before routing it to retreat after the rider was stabbed through its torso. Deceres additionally prevented any attempt of an encirclement by ensuring that both sides of the beachhead were encircled by Regalian soldiers who valiantly stood against the adversity of these void aligned monsters. Alongside Markus, two female soldiers fought. One scared across the face from what looked like a blade of sorts, the other in terrible fear. If it hadn't been a battlefield, it would have made a perfect metaphor for the very disparity between war time veterans and the rookies serving their Empire by tossing down their lives. However, the afraid soldier was barely able to parry the oncoming attacks but the soldiers to her side managed to carry her through each wave. “Come on” Markus spoke, reaching out to lift her from where she had fallen. Nodding, she was hoisted back to her feet, fighting alongside Markus for the remainder of the battle. Half an hour passed and the vanguard was barely holding on. Tired, it was time for a change of the guard and Markus called for a change of the guard. He turned, calling a mock retreat so that the troops at the back moved to the front. In the hastened retreat however, the soldier fell. Trampled in the stampede. In an act of pure selflessness, Markus ran back, barraged and battered by the armor the other soldiers were wearing to defy the soldiers death by striking down her assailant yet taking a wound to his soldier. Bleeding, he dragged her behind the lines, his free hand clutching his wound as he meandered through the blood stained sands until the sounds of an airship could be heard overhead. The cannons fired off, smashing through some of the Sendrassian transport ships and causing the few remaining to make their way back. Just as soon as the Airship made clean work of a quarter of the vessels did Regalian Warships arrive, chasing the Sendrassian force off and leaving the remaining Maz-Allar to a massacre aboard the beachhead. Despite taking an injury, Markus had held out and had done his job. What's more, he was heralded for his bravery despite his position. “Thank you General. Spirit thank you” the soldier blurted, helping him with his injury. “Markus” he spoke. “My name is Markus.” Any remaining conversation was outshadowed as the sound of Regalian troops and warships boomed, securing Bhoszaal and a victory for the Regalian side. ---- 15 state vessels and a personal warship from House Black soared out from Dregux near dawn, heading for the strait located between Dregux and Bhoszzaal. Their objective was not a wholly complicated one; blockade the strait and prepare for whatever reactions may arise from the Mai-Allar within the area. Edrick Black stood on his own ship as the blockade was almost immediately put into formation; the ships arrayed in a strict row down the strait. Things were not quiet on the waters though; in the distance, almost as soon as they arrived, a fog settled in, and the waters began to get unnaturally rowdy for the early morning. He squinted his eyes to get a better look down the strait, before a flash of red flew in front of his vision. The Black barely had enough time to reach for his sidearm when a Mai-Allar yanked its spear out of Edrick’s left-tenant. In short order, a small regiment of Mai-Allar saboteurs were causing chaos on the 16 vessels, having swamed to the ships and scaled them without being noticed. To Edrick Black’s good fortune, the Mai-Allar did not seem intent on a prolonged battle. The spear-wielding saboteur in front of him took a small cut on its arm, before scampering off the side of the ship, diving down into the water below. Shortly thereafter, Edrick hears the cannon fire on Bhoszaal and sends ships to help Delmotte’s position, sending 8 of his vessels to the Delmotte. Within a few moments of this order, the remaining Mai-Allar broke ranks, and dove back into the water, avoiding crossbow fire from the decks. The point of the hit-and-run attack seemed vague, until Edrick turned back towards the strait. A signal flare rose high into the sky, in the direction of the southern coast of Dregux. “Avalorn.” Eldrick muttered, before immediately roaring a command to his remaining men.”All ships, to the south of the strait! With haste!” Only half an hour earlier, it had been quiet as quiet could be. Wing Admiral Tehrathel Avalorn overlooked 16 ships, all set up perfectly in a blockade formation. The southern coast of Dregux lay by their side. Around the corner of that island could come a sudden attack, but that almost seemed preferable than being a guard dog armed with a canon. That brief thought flew from the Avalorn’s mind as quickly as it came. He turned, the Altalar’s attention drawn to some noise a few ships down the line. “If the men are brawling again, I swear to Tal’sieth I’ll-” The Avalorn didn’t get any farther than that though. His pointed ears twitched slightly, the sound of a clinking chain being picked out amongst the slosh of sea-foam. He turned, just as a Mai-Allar Saboteur threw himself at the Wing Admiral, tackling the Altalar and sending them both over the lip of the ship, crashing into the water below. Almost in slow-motion, as Tehrathel fell, he saw canons being dismantled and thrown overboard by Mai-Allar insurgents. The gun crews were being slaughtered. That thought came to him as his head hit the water, and he thrashed desperately away from the Mai-Allar still holding onto him. The Avalorn saw the Mai-Allar reach for a short dagger as they thrashed in the water, and reacted on instinct. A suddenly webbed hand of the Avalorn broke free of the Mai-Allar’s grasp, and as quickly as one of the saboteurs Allar themselves, he swam away and back to the ship, his hands quickly returning to their normal state as he scaled the chain. A few sailors on deck held their crossbow fire as he climbed, and in short order, the Avalorn was back aboard his ship, albeit dripping wet and nearly out of breath. Before his men could usher him to safety though, the Wing Admiral had eyed the strait to their left, and began sprinting through the brawling sailors and Mai-Allar saboteurs, shouting out encouragement as he grabbed for a signal flare near the base of the ship, and shot it into the sky. For a brief moment, he stood atop a turned over shipping bin, the flare firing off above and lighting the drenched Wing Admiral. Four Mai-Allar surrounded him on all sides, spears in hand. This would seem the most damning source of danger, were it not for the overwhelming amount of Sendrassian ships that were bearing down on the worn out crew. The four Mai-Allar suddenly stopped dead, as a group of sailors from below deck rushed up to save the Wing Admiral. A chaotic, ugly brawl followed. Many Regalian sailors lost their lives in the early moments of the conflict, especially those manning the guns, but in short order, a small band of sailors formed around the Avalorn, and his own ship was quickly free of Mai-Allar invaders. The Avalorn quickly reformed the blockade, before sending runners down the ship line with the same message. “Hold fast. Help is on the way.” And hold they did, the gun crews that survived quickly reforming, the Avalorn himself manning a cannon on his own ship as the Sendrassian Fleet bared down on them. As the Sendrassians rounded the corner of Dregux Island, the Avalorn ordered an early round of cannon fire, which proved effective in stalling the fleet for a few moments, downing 7 of the 37 Sendrassian ships. In short order though, the Fleet had descended on their blockade, but that monetary hesitation cost the Sendrassians. From behind the Avalorn’s fleet roared the remaining Black ships, Eldrick himself at the helm of the vanguard. So quick was their advance Eldrick’s personal ship scraped off the edge of a Sendrassian vessel, nearly damning both to a watery grave, but Tal’sieth was watching over both the Wing Admiral’s today. The Avalorn’s quick and decisive command, the Black’s swift order to race along the strait, and plain luck ensured only four state ships were lost by the end of the battle, and 12 Sendrassian whips lay at the bottom of the sea. The surviving Sendrassian whips fled back to open waters. The celebration aboard the Avalorn and Black vessels was somewhat muted; the fighting had come so quickly and so intensely, but both Wing Admirals had reacted on instinct, and won the day as a result. A few bloodied soldiers pat the Avalorn on the shoulder, as he sat drying his hair out. The very smallest hint of a smile appeared on the Avalorn’s expression, before it was gone. Amongst Ailor, he felt suddenly… comfortable, in all the chaos. Tehrathel wasn’t so sure whether he liked that feeling, but looking over the felled enemy ships before him, he felt a sense of contentment in his victory, at the very least. ---- Admiral Latimer stood proudly at the helm of his flagship, watching the green spot of land on the horizon growing ever larger as his fleet drew nearer. Fortunate winds had followed him since setting sail, sending his fleet off with rapid speed. A petty officer was found hunched over the side of the ship, hoisting up a long rope. “Nine! Nine knots!” The officer laughed whilst declaring the information to his Admiral. “With such speed we could turn around to have supper in Regalia and make it back here by noon!” He kept joking, managing to get a couple of chuckles and grins from the crew. Oh how they wished it were so. Months away from home, far off in foreign waters filled with the most dreadful beasts and even more fearsome enemy warriors. There were some days that they would whisper their doubts below deck, questioning if the wages are truly worth all the danger. Nights spent sleepless as the anxiety had been left to brew far too long. Nobody talked about it openly, but they all knew everyone had thought about it. Veterans would sneak away a portion of their rations for the newly enlisted still struggling with nerves, offering them quiet words of reassurance. It wasn’t much that could be done, but the little that was provided helped them sail from coast to coast. The treacherous Sendrassian ocean might be against them, but on each of Latimer’s ships there were a small piece of home, and a reminder of the true strength of the Empire in unity. Morale might be a shaky subject on a weary day, but it would take a lot more than ‘Knight’s Syndrome’ to break the spirit of an imperial sailor. Abelhard and his captains had set their sights on Driskaan once more, and so the focus of the brave men and women was wrangled away entirely from memories of home and instead put to use in rolling the old chariots along the endless carpet of blue swells. The wind sat firmly in the sails as they went, flags and banners fluttering and clapping against themselves as the ocean seemed to throw them towards the island. It wasn’t long before the lookouts would spot Sendrassian sails off the coast of Driskaan. A sturdy blockade held sway over what’d either enter or leave the island, consisting of an optimistic number of warships. While militarily a relatively insignificant target it had gained the attention of the imperial high command as an important trading center for the local warlords and digmaans. Some estimates from the Lords of the Black suggest that so much as a fourth of the theater gets most of their supplies from this economic hotspot. Breaking the blockade and seizing the island wasn’t an opportunity, it is a necessity. With all this in mind, surely no pressure intended, the Admiral lofted a fist to his officers. “Formation!” He hollered out to them, dropping his fist back down behind his back, returning to showcase the discipline of a Regalian admiral, striking a confident composure in the face of a coming battle. Riggings shifted, wheels turned and ammunition was carried off to the cannons. Six ships split off from the line, Captains Susan Burch and Muzhu Al-Vyzal leading them down a different route just as according to plan. Commander Eigoth Latimer’s men, spread across the six vessels, hoisted up crates filled to the brim with the Lord of Etosia’s secret weapon. Athos Munitions. A terrifying, and in some circles dishonorable, new naval innovation that dared to put the tried and tested grapeshot on the shelf. Few had witnessed the awesome power of the new Latimer guns, and these Sendrassian foes have room for more nightmares in their sleep. The gunners damn near eager for this battle, chuckling devilishly among themselves as they loaded up the cannons with the nasty shredders. Meanwhile back at the Admiral’s line the ships were ready as ever, charging across the waves to face the amassing Sendrassian fleet. The die has been cast and there was no turning back. An unnerved Jasper Cassim in the crow’s nest sat down his spyglass, taking in a deep breath before bringing his concerning update down below. “Thirty four to fourty one! Fourty one ships, at most!” His voice slammed down on Abelhard’s ears with. Since the last engagement they had called for reinforcements. Snuck past Regalian patrols in small increments to avoid rousing suspicion. The admiral nodded in admiration at the Sendrassian admiral’s clever play, but he was not so easily deterred. An abrupt series of volleys from the flanking line started off the battle, sending hundreds of thousands of pieces of burning hot shrapnel across the side of the Sendrassian fleet. The great canvas sails tore apart like pieces of paper after the visit of the Athosian Munitions. The flying serpents of the Sendrassian fell to the water in gross heaps of mutilated flesh. Soon the mainline would enter the symphony of cannonfire. Hundreds, maybe thousands of guns fired upon eachother. The Regalian fleet, with the help of the wind, slowly began to corral the enemy vessels into a huddled mass, stealing away their numerical advantage with the threat of friendly fire. The unwilling, but repentant Ayas Yelfina stood at the bow of Latimer’s flagship, his weapon in hand and a generous quiver sitting by his feet. His work made it difficult for the enemy captains to coordinate, yet somehow, perhaps as though the Regalian luck had slipped over to the foe, two Regalian ships sunk after a powerful barrage went through them. Sendrassian vessels spewed forth from the opening, and threatened the imperial ships with a split attention. The hulls grew lighter with each volley, almost all of their ammunition being found on sunken ships or lodged in Sendrassian masts. Abelhard watched on with a weakening composure as defeat slipped out of his hands within minutes. As all hope began to leave him he noticed something his men fortunately had not. The sea had grown a disturbing black. A massive beast swam towards the immeasurable amount of torn serpent flesh in the water. Gracefully it grazed on the easy meal as the mortal races above it fought between their little boats. For a moment the admiral thought he had gone mad, the idea forming in his head far too foolish to attempt. Or.. Was it? He stepped away from the wheel towards a swivel gun by the stairs, commandeering it away from a common sailor. One shot. He aimed with his heart, and fired for the safety of all of his men. “Dance, you son of a--” He mumbled through gritted teeth as he fired. A lone cast iron ball whirred through the battle. Past burning ships and wreckages. Into the dead center of the Sendrassian fleet and down on the head of the beast. With a nightmarish howl it arose. A leviathan of an ancient ocean with teeth half the size of masts and skin oily and black. Furiously it savaged the allar, ripping away at the ships like a child in a tantrum. In mere minutes it had done the damage of three times Latimer’s fleet before sinking away to the depths with its belly full. The flanking Sendrassians, reasonably, fled in terror and stories to tell of the ‘Demon Beastmaster’, but the Regalians would know him as Abelhard Allar-bane for his valiant victory and his retinue’s brilliance in tactics. ---- When Field Marshal Rodrigo Peirgarten returned to the Mozzatozzalorataal Island Chain, he knew it was make or break for the Regalian Standard flying there. With an attack imminent, Rodrigo called all available officers and fortification experts into his command tent to begin planning out where the most suitable area of defence lay. Acting on information previously garnered from the Island Chain’s heartland Imperial Encampment, the 40,000 Regalian army trudged south through the harsh jungle muck and debris. The last few weeks had seen the island battered by rainy weather which Rodrigo and his men had to account for when arduously trekking toward the weak point that Digmaan Raazkyit had pointed out when Rodrigo met with his delegation. For this, Rodrigo split the army into two armies of 20,000 -- both at the beck and call of the Field Marshal but with Rodrigo taking point and letting the other 20,000 lag behind to prevent any attack from the rear. Both Field Commanders Boromar Gyahara and Florian Peirgarten shadowed their General, eyeing each clearing the army came into with intrigued uncertainty, unclear on what to expect around each and every turn or on any narrow road. “How far?” the Field Marshal asked, turning to Cro-Maarx and Eilaria. “About 2 miles from here we’ll hit the Southern coastline.” Eilaria explained before being cut off by Cro-Maarx. “The elevation here gives us a significant advantage if we can spread the troops to prevent any upward mobility of the Maz-Allar shock troops.” Eilaria opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. The plan wasn’t half bad, it definitely gave their army the advantage. She nodded her approval. Rodrigo then halted the army, signalling to his officers to begin organising a defence. Both Field Commanders organised the vanguard, stationing the two columns lengthwise along the top of the clearings hill. Hours passed and makeshift barricades were made behind the second line of Rodrigo’s men. As the sun began to set over the treeline, the armies horses began to buck and struggle. In an attempt to calm them, Noelle seized some of the reigns of one of the supply convoy horses to no avail. A spear rushed past her shoulder, just narrowly missing her neck and embedding into the beast. Both sides of the clearing erupted into cries of war as the Sendrassian vanguard burst through the treelines and stormed toward the Regalian force. The two armies clashed rapidly and violently, cutting and slashing through flesh as they desperately fought their ground. Rodrigo pulled back out of the conflict, personally manning one of the mortars on the backline, blasting right through the Maz-Allar clusters far back on the field of battle. Clambering atop a horse, Florian held the line, commanding with a bellowing voice -- so well that the inspiration was enough to have the personal regiments heave ho and collapse the attempt at a route. By now, Boromar Gyahara relayed word that the main force was under attack to the backline army which rushed to reinforce Rodrigo and the men at the front. In a scene of pure heroism, the 20,000 at the back stormed both sides of the enemy and blocked them in. Seeing this, the Cro-Allar General for the Sendrassians, eager to cut losses, initiated a retreat, leaving 10,000 Sendrassians to the mercy of Rodrigo Peirgarten as the combined 40,000 Regalian force encircled the Maz-Allar and began cutting them down relentlessly. “Marshal! Should we set to capture?” one of the officers called out. Rodrigo thought about those words for a few moments, scenes from the Massacre of the Mumungaan. He lifted a hand, signalling to a decorated Allar atop a two-claw raptor. “Take the officer. Slaughter the rest.” With the orders given, the hordes of Regalian men-at-arms cut and hacked through Sendrassians like butter, and true to orders, captured only that Maz-Allar. With the attack repelled, the Island Chain was safe again for now and Regalia had not only had its revenge for the massacre months before on their own kind, but also seized a senior officer in the opposing army.
