Perisnoan
Recruit
The first chapter of my AAR- more a prologue to introduce characters than a proper entry. The action is yet to come. Please feel free to comment and critique: It helps to have the communities opinion when writing. Here's hoping you enjoy.
Game Settings:
Prologue:
Chapter 1:
The army reached Maccan after only a day, and there they joined the rest of Maccavia assembling on the tundra outside the city. The lords, their ladies, and others with influence had been summoned to feast by the charitable Agathor Krex. Sinva snorted softly, tore down the poster and ground it into the mud with her heel. She would kill that man one day. She knew that already, she knew she was capable. Before the Icerunner, she’d done her share of killing. More than her share perhaps. The streets where she had grown up had been dangerous- killing had been a way to mark your territory, to make a point. As far as Sinva could see, the army was no different. Most were from the very dregs of society, dragged from the cities into uniform, then into battle, and finally into their graves. When she got the chance, she would show Krex his own grave.
Sinva spent her first city leave in the tavern. She recognised several faces around the crowded room from the army. One group of beckoned to her, laughing and joking between them. Sinva shrugged, and stayed where she was- sat alone, clutching her drink. She checked her gold pouch, untying it from her belt and dropping it on the table with a clink of coin. Her first salary was small- only 60 denars- but supplemented by the drunk’s at the table beside her, it came to a little under 300. A wrinkled man dropped into the spare seat. Sinva raised an eyebrow. Normally it would deflect anyone who wanted a friend for the night, but apparently not this time.
The man pointed to the gold.
“Going to spend that darling?”
Sinva snatched it off the table. “It’s no business of yours.”
“Ah but you see,” the man leant close, too close for Sinva’s liking. She could smell the ale on his hoarse breaths. “I might be selling.”
“Selling what?” Sinva leant back slightly.
“You see girl, they call me the mystic merchant.” He hiccoughed slightly, “Funny right? But I got stuff to sell you, although under my conditions.”
Sinva smelt the con, but played along regardless. Drunk as he was, the man would be no problem to corner outside if he double-crossed her.
“Yeah? What stuff?”
“I got some swords, some knives, armour, hell, I got myself an armoured wolf.” He hiccoughed again. Sinva rolled her eyes, but she felt lucky. Dropping her money back on the table, she asked,
“How much for the knives?”
“250 coins,”
“What condition are they in?”
The man chuckled and waggled a finger at Sinva,
“Have to wait and see. Just have to wait, and see.”
Sinva considered for a moment, before pushing her coin pouch towards the merchant. Grinning, he reached under his coat, and a moment later placed a bundle of thirteen throwing knives on the table. He stood, swiped the money back off the table, and with a comic bow, vanished into the throng. Sinva tried to spot him again, but the man was nowhere to be seen. With a heavy feeling, she studied the knives. They looked normal. Just knives. She snatched at one and held it by the point, then her frown faded. Their balance was perfect- resting on her thumb by the point, the blade scarcely wobbled. She slipped the knife back into the bundle, and made her way back towards the camp.
===================================================================================================================
The feast ended, the lords scattered to all four points of Maccavia, and Sinva was still trapped in Maccan. Krex occasionally led the party on patrols around the city, but Sinva thought he was insane if he thought he could catch bandits with a host 350 strong. The weeks dragged past, and Sinva remained as reclusive and individual as she had been on her first day. The soldiers eventually gave up on asking her over in the tavern, or wandering over to her campfire in the camp. A part of her regretted that, but she could have no distractions, and no sentimental ties to the party. When the time came, she would kill Krex, and would have to run. She couldn’t take baggage with her.
When she promoted, Sinva only looked on it with cynicism. It wasn’t a promotion for her skill, not really. Krex would need skilled warriors when he marched on the Reich, and Maccavian freedmen wouldn’t cut it. She took the weapons, the armour, and the pay rise, but was under no illusions as to her place. As for Krex himself, she had hardly seen him since the feast. Sinva wasn’t exactly surprised- it wasn’t rare for a leader to never meet the men who assured his power. Sinva imagined that he had put the shipwrecked sailor well out mind. Suited her- out of mind and out of sight would be a perfect place to strike from. Then came the rumours. This march was longer than their routine patrol. Sinva heard murmurings that Lord Olaf had laid siege to Reichburg, the rumour went that Krex was marching them to fight on the frontlines of the siege. The rumours were true. They arrived in the camp just as the first flakes of snow were falling. The party gathered around the king's banner as the man himself dismounted from his charger and went to meet the other commanders. There they waited for an hour- slumped on their packs, exhausted from the march. When Krex returned and beckoned to his men, Sinva knew that this was going to be a massacre.
The siege tower rolled forwards before the rest of the army, who stood back, out of range of the Reich’s crossbows. Sinva gripped her axe and shield tightly- her arms already feeling the strain of their weight. She was used to the cramped melee of a siege: she imaged it to be similar to the boarding actions run on the Icerunner. Back then though, she had been someone important. As First Mate, she could hold back in the rigging with javelin or crossbow, picking off combatants from a distance. Here, she would be in the thick of it. As the ramp of the tower dropped, the host charged, led by the braver lords and daredevil soldiers, all chasing the honour to be the first man on the walls.
Sinva tried to hang back, let the others do the dying under the rain of bolts and arrows, but a rough shove from an officer propelled her into a stumbling run, running into the heart of the storm. As she raised her shield to cover her head, she felt a bolt bore into the wood. A second and third followed, and then she was on the siege tower. There were men in front, men behind. She could barely move. A man beside her screamed as a bolt plunged through the visor of his helmet and he toppled off the edge of the tower. The moment he was clear, another man took his place. Sinva could hear the ring of weapons ahead, see the crossbowmen on the battlements picking their shots, smell the stench of death. The snow started to fall harder, turning rapidly into a blizzard. Sinva was lost in the confusion. She tried to fall back but was blocked. Two men ahead of her she could see the enemy, hacking Maccavians down the moment they reached the breach. She glanced to her left, and saw a crossbowman lining up his shot. On her. She wrenched her shield up to face the man, but before he could fire he sprouted a bolt from his chest and he crumpled out of sight. Sinva felt a moment of huge affection for her comrades, a moment that ended instantly when the other bolt thudded into the back of her helmet, and her vision went dark.
Game Settings:
Enable Battle Continuation: Yes
Lords Returning from Exile: Enabled
Diplomacy AI changes: Medium
Diplomacy Economic changes: Medium
Anti-Woman prejudice levels: High
Lords Returning from Exile: Enabled
Diplomacy AI changes: Medium
Diplomacy Economic changes: Medium
Anti-Woman prejudice levels: High
Prologue:
The wind drove the Icerunner into the rocks, its bow crumpling against the unforgiving stone with hardly a moment’s resistance. The storm howled around the ship, the sails roared as the rain pounded them and the deck glistened with the water that washed them. A flash of lightning illuminated the Windrunner's flounder as the crew swarmed the decks. Captain Morven Liccara stood at the wheel and watched as the lights from their Reich quarry glistened in the distance, faded, and finally were swallowed by the murky night. The Windrunner would go to the bottom. Morven knew that. He only hoped Sinva knew that too. His First-Mate rallied the crew around her, directing them even as the rogue wave bore down on ship, blotting out the stars one by one. With a sweep of her arm and a shout that was carried away with the storm she sent two deckhands scurrying to the bailing buckets. She turned and looked at Morven, shouted something. In the light of the lamps her slim face still looked calm, framed by her dark hair. Morven pointed, and she turned. Afterwards he would imagine that she still looked calm as the huge wave swept her across the deck and over the side, dragging her down in a vortex of bubbles to join her Old Gods.
The sea tried to drag Sinva down, but they breed Maccavians strong. She kicked out towards where she hoped was air, she dragged her leaden arms through the water but the surface remained stubbornly out of reach, She reckoned she only manage a few more strokes in her. Once, twice, Sinva could feel herself fading, her chest felt as though it would explode. She made one, final stroke, just registered her fingers breaking through the surface of the water, before darkness clouded her vision and she started to sink into the gloomy depths.
The first thing Sinva felt was warm. She opened her eyes to see the ceiling of a tent rustling gently. The second thing was pain. Her limbs burnt and ached with overexertion. She could lie in this bed forever, if she wasn’t already hunting for her knife. They had left her clothed in her lamellar and oilskin: mistake. She found the whalebone handle and drew it, the blade glinted in the light that seeped through the flap of the tent. Sinva winced as she got up and crept to the entrance, her every move near agony. She couldn’t fight like this, but if she could get the drop on her captors…
The tent flaps flew open, Sinva sprung forwards, and stumbled she redirected her thrust. Agathor Krex, noble of Maccavia, stood in front of her. He raised an eyebrow at the dagger, which Sinva hurriedly tossed to the ground, hands raised.
“I didn’t- I wasn’t-“
“Leave it, sailor, I only want to ask a question.”
He looked at her a moment, Sinva nodded, and relaxed.
“How did you get washed up on that beach?”
Sinva told her story in short, brisk sentences- she was no bard or fabulist. She told Krex how they had been in pursuit of a Reich raiding ship. How they had chased it too close to the cliffs, too close to the storm, and had been entangled in both while the smaller ship had slipped the net.
“My lord,” Sinva began, tentatively. It wouldn’t do to insult her saviour by stumbling on formality. “Did you find any-“
“Anyone else from your crew?” Krex cut across her with ease. “No. Otherwise I would be talking with your Captain, or another man, rather than you. You know as well as I that it is bad luck to have a woman at sea. It really was… unfortunate, that the Icerunner sunk, don’t you think?”
Sinva grittered her teeth and held her retort.
“Fortunately, scum of the sea such as yourself are often passable brawlers, and distasteful as it may be, Maccavia needs all the soldiers it can muster if we are to defeat the Drache. I expect you to report to the quartermaster immediately. And I thank you for the story- it warms my heart to know that there’s one less rogue ship in those waters. The Valahir are enough.
“My lord.” Sinva glared at Krex, and bowed a little too stiffly, never breaking eye contact. Krex turned and made to leave, pausing at the entrance,
“Do you know what the penalty for desertion is, soldier?” Krex looked disdainfully at Sinva. “I do believe its death. Best bear that in mind.”
The sea tried to drag Sinva down, but they breed Maccavians strong. She kicked out towards where she hoped was air, she dragged her leaden arms through the water but the surface remained stubbornly out of reach, She reckoned she only manage a few more strokes in her. Once, twice, Sinva could feel herself fading, her chest felt as though it would explode. She made one, final stroke, just registered her fingers breaking through the surface of the water, before darkness clouded her vision and she started to sink into the gloomy depths.
The first thing Sinva felt was warm. She opened her eyes to see the ceiling of a tent rustling gently. The second thing was pain. Her limbs burnt and ached with overexertion. She could lie in this bed forever, if she wasn’t already hunting for her knife. They had left her clothed in her lamellar and oilskin: mistake. She found the whalebone handle and drew it, the blade glinted in the light that seeped through the flap of the tent. Sinva winced as she got up and crept to the entrance, her every move near agony. She couldn’t fight like this, but if she could get the drop on her captors…
The tent flaps flew open, Sinva sprung forwards, and stumbled she redirected her thrust. Agathor Krex, noble of Maccavia, stood in front of her. He raised an eyebrow at the dagger, which Sinva hurriedly tossed to the ground, hands raised.
“I didn’t- I wasn’t-“
“Leave it, sailor, I only want to ask a question.”
He looked at her a moment, Sinva nodded, and relaxed.
“How did you get washed up on that beach?”
Sinva told her story in short, brisk sentences- she was no bard or fabulist. She told Krex how they had been in pursuit of a Reich raiding ship. How they had chased it too close to the cliffs, too close to the storm, and had been entangled in both while the smaller ship had slipped the net.
“My lord,” Sinva began, tentatively. It wouldn’t do to insult her saviour by stumbling on formality. “Did you find any-“
“Anyone else from your crew?” Krex cut across her with ease. “No. Otherwise I would be talking with your Captain, or another man, rather than you. You know as well as I that it is bad luck to have a woman at sea. It really was… unfortunate, that the Icerunner sunk, don’t you think?”
Sinva grittered her teeth and held her retort.
“Fortunately, scum of the sea such as yourself are often passable brawlers, and distasteful as it may be, Maccavia needs all the soldiers it can muster if we are to defeat the Drache. I expect you to report to the quartermaster immediately. And I thank you for the story- it warms my heart to know that there’s one less rogue ship in those waters. The Valahir are enough.
“My lord.” Sinva glared at Krex, and bowed a little too stiffly, never breaking eye contact. Krex turned and made to leave, pausing at the entrance,
“Do you know what the penalty for desertion is, soldier?” Krex looked disdainfully at Sinva. “I do believe its death. Best bear that in mind.”
Chapter 1:
The army reached Maccan after only a day, and there they joined the rest of Maccavia assembling on the tundra outside the city. The lords, their ladies, and others with influence had been summoned to feast by the charitable Agathor Krex. Sinva snorted softly, tore down the poster and ground it into the mud with her heel. She would kill that man one day. She knew that already, she knew she was capable. Before the Icerunner, she’d done her share of killing. More than her share perhaps. The streets where she had grown up had been dangerous- killing had been a way to mark your territory, to make a point. As far as Sinva could see, the army was no different. Most were from the very dregs of society, dragged from the cities into uniform, then into battle, and finally into their graves. When she got the chance, she would show Krex his own grave.
Sinva spent her first city leave in the tavern. She recognised several faces around the crowded room from the army. One group of beckoned to her, laughing and joking between them. Sinva shrugged, and stayed where she was- sat alone, clutching her drink. She checked her gold pouch, untying it from her belt and dropping it on the table with a clink of coin. Her first salary was small- only 60 denars- but supplemented by the drunk’s at the table beside her, it came to a little under 300. A wrinkled man dropped into the spare seat. Sinva raised an eyebrow. Normally it would deflect anyone who wanted a friend for the night, but apparently not this time.
The man pointed to the gold.
“Going to spend that darling?”
Sinva snatched it off the table. “It’s no business of yours.”
“Ah but you see,” the man leant close, too close for Sinva’s liking. She could smell the ale on his hoarse breaths. “I might be selling.”
“Selling what?” Sinva leant back slightly.
“You see girl, they call me the mystic merchant.” He hiccoughed slightly, “Funny right? But I got stuff to sell you, although under my conditions.”
Sinva smelt the con, but played along regardless. Drunk as he was, the man would be no problem to corner outside if he double-crossed her.
“Yeah? What stuff?”
“I got some swords, some knives, armour, hell, I got myself an armoured wolf.” He hiccoughed again. Sinva rolled her eyes, but she felt lucky. Dropping her money back on the table, she asked,
“How much for the knives?”
“250 coins,”
“What condition are they in?”
The man chuckled and waggled a finger at Sinva,
“Have to wait and see. Just have to wait, and see.”
Sinva considered for a moment, before pushing her coin pouch towards the merchant. Grinning, he reached under his coat, and a moment later placed a bundle of thirteen throwing knives on the table. He stood, swiped the money back off the table, and with a comic bow, vanished into the throng. Sinva tried to spot him again, but the man was nowhere to be seen. With a heavy feeling, she studied the knives. They looked normal. Just knives. She snatched at one and held it by the point, then her frown faded. Their balance was perfect- resting on her thumb by the point, the blade scarcely wobbled. She slipped the knife back into the bundle, and made her way back towards the camp.
===================================================================================================================
The feast ended, the lords scattered to all four points of Maccavia, and Sinva was still trapped in Maccan. Krex occasionally led the party on patrols around the city, but Sinva thought he was insane if he thought he could catch bandits with a host 350 strong. The weeks dragged past, and Sinva remained as reclusive and individual as she had been on her first day. The soldiers eventually gave up on asking her over in the tavern, or wandering over to her campfire in the camp. A part of her regretted that, but she could have no distractions, and no sentimental ties to the party. When the time came, she would kill Krex, and would have to run. She couldn’t take baggage with her.
When she promoted, Sinva only looked on it with cynicism. It wasn’t a promotion for her skill, not really. Krex would need skilled warriors when he marched on the Reich, and Maccavian freedmen wouldn’t cut it. She took the weapons, the armour, and the pay rise, but was under no illusions as to her place. As for Krex himself, she had hardly seen him since the feast. Sinva wasn’t exactly surprised- it wasn’t rare for a leader to never meet the men who assured his power. Sinva imagined that he had put the shipwrecked sailor well out mind. Suited her- out of mind and out of sight would be a perfect place to strike from. Then came the rumours. This march was longer than their routine patrol. Sinva heard murmurings that Lord Olaf had laid siege to Reichburg, the rumour went that Krex was marching them to fight on the frontlines of the siege. The rumours were true. They arrived in the camp just as the first flakes of snow were falling. The party gathered around the king's banner as the man himself dismounted from his charger and went to meet the other commanders. There they waited for an hour- slumped on their packs, exhausted from the march. When Krex returned and beckoned to his men, Sinva knew that this was going to be a massacre.
The siege tower rolled forwards before the rest of the army, who stood back, out of range of the Reich’s crossbows. Sinva gripped her axe and shield tightly- her arms already feeling the strain of their weight. She was used to the cramped melee of a siege: she imaged it to be similar to the boarding actions run on the Icerunner. Back then though, she had been someone important. As First Mate, she could hold back in the rigging with javelin or crossbow, picking off combatants from a distance. Here, she would be in the thick of it. As the ramp of the tower dropped, the host charged, led by the braver lords and daredevil soldiers, all chasing the honour to be the first man on the walls.
Sinva tried to hang back, let the others do the dying under the rain of bolts and arrows, but a rough shove from an officer propelled her into a stumbling run, running into the heart of the storm. As she raised her shield to cover her head, she felt a bolt bore into the wood. A second and third followed, and then she was on the siege tower. There were men in front, men behind. She could barely move. A man beside her screamed as a bolt plunged through the visor of his helmet and he toppled off the edge of the tower. The moment he was clear, another man took his place. Sinva could hear the ring of weapons ahead, see the crossbowmen on the battlements picking their shots, smell the stench of death. The snow started to fall harder, turning rapidly into a blizzard. Sinva was lost in the confusion. She tried to fall back but was blocked. Two men ahead of her she could see the enemy, hacking Maccavians down the moment they reached the breach. She glanced to her left, and saw a crossbowman lining up his shot. On her. She wrenched her shield up to face the man, but before he could fire he sprouted a bolt from his chest and he crumpled out of sight. Sinva felt a moment of huge affection for her comrades, a moment that ended instantly when the other bolt thudded into the back of her helmet, and her vision went dark.
