TEATRC tribute & universe expansion

Le Capitan - Yes

Cheers Boomie.
Disclaimer for Venitius: The following post involves violence. 

A man sat on a rock in the forest, staring at the floor. Another man stood, also looking downwards.
"I saw it, Ishmael. I saw him die," said the man sitting. "And it was my fault, too. I saved Feodor from those men. I shot them in the back. To save his life. As he fell, the last man looked at me. I saw the sadness in his eyes, and in his face I saw the face of my son. I know now what that meant, that I had caused the death of him, of so many of our people." The man began to sob, quietly, and as the other stepped forward to comfort him raised an  arm to stop him.
"We can still save our people Ibrahim, you have to believe that. We must all believe that. Remember we fight for the Duchy now, not for Leiss. Leiss is dead," said Ishmael bitterly, "he died, with his guards, so we could lead what remained of our people's warriors away from that accursed land."
"He would not have let this happen Ishmael! He would have fought Feodor and my wife and son would still live!" yelled Ibrahim, rising and marching into the trees, Ishmael hurrying after him. "Ibrahim, be careful, there may still be Vaegirs in these woods. The Hussars that went ahead of us couldn't be all that thorough, the trees were too thick."
"Let them try and kill me, Ishmael, let them try," he spat, taking his bow from his shoulder and nocking an arrow. They continued along an old woodsman's track. The two men stopped suddenly, as they rounded a bend in the track to see, through the dense trees, a stone cottage.
"There could be, Vaegirs, inside," snarled Ibrahim with an evil smile.
"Ibrahim, they'd just be civilians!" exclaimed Ishmael.
"So was my son." Ibrahim marched resolutely towards the Vaegir cottage, yelling "come and get me, Vaegir scum!"
"Ibrahim, stop!" screamed Ishmael as a middle aged woodsman bearing a woodcutting axe walked out of the front door, followed by a frightened woman and two children.

I'll do some more in a bit, watching comic relief at the minute. 
Edit: and here it is.

Ibrahim threw his bow across the floor, drawing his sabre as he bore down on the four Vaegirs. Ishmael ran to him, pulling him back. Speaking quickly, he said:
"Ibrahim, listen to me, you must listen!"
"Ishmael, let me go!"
"Ibrahim, I know you feel guilty for the death of your son, but how does killing the children of others, even Vaegirs, absolve your guilt? It doesn't, it  just makes you as bad as the worst of the Vaegirs. Look at these people, do you think they have it in them to kill someone?" The sabre dropped from Ibrahim's grasp with a dull thud.
"I-I'm sorry Ishmael. It's just..."
"I know Ibrahim, I know."
"No you don't," screamed Ibrahim, knocking Ishmael to the floor "your family didn't die on Vaegir spearpoints! They still live in the towns of the Duchy!" He picked up his sabre and sprinted towards the cowering family. Cutting the woodsman's axe into with a two handed downward stroke, he reversed his stroke and sliced open the Vaegir's stomach, then beheaded him. Letting the body fall, he turned to regard the frightened woman and her children with a baleful stare. Noticing out of the corner of his eye Ishmael running up behind him, the vengeful Nirdamese punched him in the stomach, then kicked his legs out from under him before running the Vaegir woman through on the point of his sabre. He then cut one child, a boy, almost in half and beheaded the other in a single movement.
Ibrahim spat on their bodies, then turned and stalked off into the trees.

Bit cliched, I know, but it ain't the last you've seen of Ibrahim.

Edit: Fixed. Damn late night writing. There's still other Vaegirs D'Sparil. He might not have his friend with him next time.
Edit again: I'm in a nastier mood today so I changed it. I blame comic relief.

Bah, so he's all goody-doody? he should have impaled the whole family.

I like all these posts about the Nirdamese, I think I'm gonna like the Duchy. One thing though, the next to the last line, he says yalk instead of talk.
I'd like to finish the thread I started about the Highlands but I have yet to get the writing bug again...

In recent times, it seems those who have a lust for unrighteous advancement in rank have been desperately seeking every chance they have to overthrow more noble men and thus usurp the place which by right should not be theirs. One of them, though he has every merit for the position he currently holds, has found an apparently worthwhile people on which we Swadians can make war. Under the guise of defending ourselves, he has penned his work in quite a subtle way, starting from a defensive situation and going from that to an all-out invasion of the lands of said people, the Ormeli. This crafty method of writing serves the purpose of not making the author appear like a warmonger and it has, for the most part, succeeded in its purpose for these has been no overbearing backlash against the essay. Rather, some nobles have actually come to greatly agree with it and I find this a worrying fact for the essay contains several grave mistakes, both in strategy and tactics.

The essay begins with an accurate enough description of the Ormeli and their martial hierarchy, though there seems to be some bias regarding certain elements of the Ormeli soldiery. The Janissaries are portrayed in quite a unique way, for example, and the author fails to stress the fact that these men are some of the best trained elements of an Ormeli host and thus pose a great threat both at range and at close quarters.

The author also fails to mention the fact that we know nothing of Ormeli tactics for, as the author mentioned himself, no battle greater than a skirmish was fought against these Southerners thus far. In said skirmishes, mainly fought against small groups of riders, I have come to the conclusion that, in small scale battles, the Ormeli will shadow their enemy with lightly armed horse-archers mounted on swift horses forming a screen for the more heavily armed Spahi cavalrymen, the Ormeli equivalent of knights. These Spahi, however, are arrayed unlike our own knights. Their armour is heavier than the armour of many of their comrades, yes, but their main weapon is the bow and then the lance. They will begin a battle by peppering their foe with arrows then they will break off from the rest of the conventional horse-archers, which will remain on the eaves of an enemy formation to harass any stragglers and keep the foe under pressure, and charge the enemy with their lances. This tactic has been applied brilliantly in all skirmishes we have fought against them until now. Besides one battle which was something of a costly victory for us, the Ormeli have scattered our troops every time we have met them, unhorsing our cavalry with either arrows or their lances at close range and demoralizing our footmen to so great an extent with their arrows and war-cries that merely a bluff-charge by the Spahi was enough to scatter them.

We have also been able to notice the fact that an Ormeli charge, though it comes last in their battles unlike our own charges, has the function of decisively breaking an enemy. They will bide their time, putting their foe under a hail of arrows, thrown spears and shot, until finally they rally the Spahis and the Janissaries and charge. These charges are accompanied by so great a racket, come from both war-drums and the beastly shouts of the men participating in them, that some have been noted to rout inexperienced troops before the charge even makes contact. Such is the demoralizing effect the Ormeli can have on our men.

One other thing I noticed in my valorous comrade's work was the fact that he was proposing our Chivalry and then our Landsknechts advance on the Ormeli ranks without any screening from the ranged elements of our host, which he deems "negligible". This is suicide in tactical terms for an army without a ranged element put to good use is like a soldier fighting without his arms. For that is what our crossbowmen and arquebusiers are, arms to the body of our host, with which we must strike out against the enemy before the actual body, the pikemen corps, make contact. Meanwhile, our cavalry becomes our legs, with which to bear us across the field and then to victory. If either one of these elements is ignored, it will be to the detriment of the entire mechanism.

Besides the fact that our good Captain is ignoring the advantages in using our ranged soldiery, he is also proposing that our pikemen just march towards Ormeli ranks, since they will be too occupied fighting our knights and men-at-arms to pay any attention to the coming Landsknechts. This is a mistake and a very grievous one, if ever it happens in a real battle. As a one-armed veteran of the pikemen once told me, after having his left arm torn almost to pieces by a close-range arquebus shot, "Powdered shot is murderous on us pikemen." and he spoke the truth. Pikemen, by essence of their nature, throw away any defence a shield might lend them so that they can better use the reach of their long pikes and thus they become an excellent target for enemy archers and gunners. Simply marching towards the Ormeli while thinking that our cavalry will prevent them from using their ranged weapons is a dangerous notion for a commander of troops.

My notion of how one should fight a battle against the Ormeli would be to have the pikemen form into a solid square with pikes bristling and have the crossbowmen and arquebusiers accompany them closely so as to keep the Ormeli horse-archers at a distance. Our cavalry should guard the flanks of our ranged soldiery, so as to prevent the Ormely heavy-horsemen from charging and scattering them, giving their horse-archers an opportunity to strike at our pikemen freely.

While our ranged soldiers and cavalry are keeping the Ormeli horsed warriors at bay, the pikemen should consider whether to march towards the Ormeli foot or await their arrival. The latter case would be better since marching is always tiring for our Landsknechts and the case is especially so in the case of broken ground, such as can be noticed in both our Southern lands and the Ormeli "wastes" as my comrade likes to call them. Once the Ormeli foot arrives and prepares its barrage against our men, the Landsknechts should begin an advance. Meanwhile, our ranged element should have weakened the Ormeli horsemen enough to allow our own cavalry to split into two halves, one half to accompany and support the pikemen on their advance and the other half to continue guarding the crossbowmen and arquebus-wielders from Ormeli horse.

With the cavalry making the Ormeli archers and gunners unsure of what target to aim at our pikemen should be able to march to the Ormeli foot-formation relatively unimpeded. If the Ormeli start retreating so they can continue fighting our men at range, the cavalry should ride around them so as to force them to hold their ground, lest they face the impetuous charge of the Swadian knights. Thus, the Ormeli footmen would be caught in-between the pikes of our Landsknechts and the lances of our knights. Our men, however, should take care not to surround the Ormeli for a man facing certain death with no way to escape it becomes a very dangerous one. Thus, we should prevent the Ormeli from fighting to the death and inflicting unnecessary casualties on our men.

If the Ormeli cavalry deems it necessary to turn back and support their infantry by charging our pikemen in the undefended rear then the second half of our cavalry, left to guard the crossbowmen and arquebusiers can ride to counter-charge them and keep them in place until such a time as when the first half of our cavalry can come to their aid and thus rout the Ormeli cavalry.

This is how a pitched battle against the Ormeli should be fought, though this is not necessarily the way one should go about defeating them. A pitched battle fought in such a manner would entail a considerable number of casualties among both our Landsknechts and our cavalry, which is something we must try to otherwise avoid. A much wiser approach to a war against the Ormeli would be a campaign of attrition. Though this may be described as cowardly by some of my brothers-in-arms it is the best way for us to realistically defeat the Ormeli and inflict upon them a great number of casualties.

First of all, we should begin by burning our border villages and relocating our peasantry to nearby cities, which are much easier to hold against the enemy. This move will serve to frustrate the attempts of the Ormeli to forage our countryside and live off the land. With nothing to forage, they will be forced to rely on their own supply-trains and logistics, which will be strained ever more as they advance deeper into our territory. Once the supply-trains are spread thin enough, we can begin ambushing and destroying them in lightning fast raids employing our effective Demi-Lances. With their supplies dwindling, Ormeli morale will surely plummet as well with numbers of deserters increasing. With our troops constantly harrying their outriders and shadowing their movements, the Ormeli will soon be forced to retreat from our lands. During their retreat we will also be able, if we so wish, to attack them in force, destroying large parts of their already demoralized and fatigued host.

The only costs to us that this campaign might bring would be the degradation of our Southern lands and villages, which would decrease the income of the Southern border-lords. This, however, is but a small price to pay for the safeguarding of our lands.

All in all, I believe that some commanders are meant to remain provincial commanders for the rest of their lives while only a few will ever rise to a position of true power.

As written by Conrad, Constable of Vienna

Author's Note: Campitori are Finnish-like, call them a run-off from the regular Scandinavians. They are tough, and can be heavily armoured. Problem is, only the Vaegir cavalry are supplied heavy armour. So their armour would be old, but still durable and heavy.

"Maikel!"I heard Ishmael shout, knocking another arrow, "we're running low!"

"Send five men to get them, you included! Give your ammo to some of the men!" I shouted at him.

The Nirdams were allowed to fire at will, as the Laurians got closer to the ramparts. We had moved up to towers, the Vaegirs, Perussi, Campitori, and other mercenaries had manned the ramparts, as the ladders had risen to strike the walls.

"And find the Polkovnik!" I shouted at Ishmael, before he ran down, "tell him the men are getting tired!" With that, he ran toward the streets with four Nirdams following. The battle was raging on below, some of the Laurians were heading into the towers, so the doors into them were closed, blocking us off from aid unless it is blown down, or opened from the inside.

"Leytenant!" shouted one of the Nirdams, "I'm out!" I told him to scavenge from the dead, but he refused. His beliefs overruled my orders. I told him to go down to the doors, helping the others block them from the Laurians.

Then I was shocked, the Laurians were bringing small ladders to get at the towers, bastards! I took out my pistol, wheellock, and shot the sapper carrying the ladder. The wheellock belonged to my grandfather when he was a marine above our many galleys. It was useful and expensive, by far the only thing that I have which is worth more than the armour given to me.

I unhooked my hammer, and when the first Laurian climbed onto the ladder, I smashed his skull. Svoloch! That's what you get when you try to fight a Perussi on the wrong battlefield! More of them came up, and more of them died. Then, another ladder came. I shouted for one of the Nirdams to man the other ladder, but he was shot from below. The first Laurian that came up on that side got his cheek smashed by my hammer. I highly doubt if he survived that, if he did then he didn't survive the fall from the tower, to the ramparts and to the soil of Wercheg. Each of the bastard sons of Lauria come to me and my troop, and all of them die before me and my troop.

"Where the hell is Ishmael?" I kept shouting, I looked over to one side of the tower as I reloaded my pistol. I saw five Nirdams running, supported by two heavily armoured Campitori carrying four sacks each of the Khergit arrows. Flanking them were a couple of Streltsy who made sure they didn't get attacked. "Nirdam!" I shouted to the soldiers below, "prepare to open the door on my command! Your arrows are here!" I saw them run up to the ramparts, I shot my pistol at one Laurian about to strike the Campitori, he fell dead on the ramparts and his body pushed aside by the Campitori as though it were just a ragdoll.

Horns sounded from the Laurian camps. The Laurians were ordered to retreat. "They're retreating!" I shouted as loud as I could, the men on the walls shouted in delight. But the siege is not over, they are bringing in the artillery, the artillery we are supposed to shoot down. "Get some food and medical supplies in, Ishmael," I ordered as the doors opened. "Bring those two with you, they can be useful. Get some more arrows! And a couple of volunteers who'll want to help the towers!"

The first assault is over, but the siege continues.

"Where is the Emperor-King when we need him," I said to myself solemnly, looking out the walls as the Laurian Queen is distinctly seen from the edge of the forest. "Load!" I shouted.

I like these stories detailing a desperate defence against unbeatable odds. Well, I like tragic stories in general or stories of a small force vying against a seemingly unbeatable power.

But these stories about the Nirdam, though, while heart-warming, have gone a little over the top I think. I mean, one story, two stories, three, maybe four are okay but don't we have too much stuff on the Nirdam already? I mean, it's not like anyone can impose himself over the others when it comes to writing but I think we've pushed the Nirdam subject to its limits. Yes, they are cool archers, and yes they are persecuted but I think we should show, not tell. Leave a bit of mystery about them that makes them more interesting.

I'll start killing them more in-game when they're on the side of the Duchy.

K. I'm pretty much done writing about Nirdam now anyways. I have a plan for something more northern.  

Edit: and I've changed the ending of my story further up the page, for those who haven't noticed.

Added most, if not all of the lore from pages 12 & 13.

Le Capitan, your post about Ibrahim, Ishmael and the Vaegirs was rather violent.

I also think that we've pushed the Nirdam subject to its limits.

Anyone willing to do a larger text to fill most of a topic's page? Long time since one of those (IE 1-2 weeks or more?), and the last one I remember seeing died. What I really mean is a separate topic on a single subject with the OP filling over a third of the first page

Le Capitan said:

I've changed the ending of my story further up the page, for those who haven't noticed.

Click to expand...

Wow, my felling toward the Nirdams now has changed from, "Yes, run to the Duchy where you can then get your revenge," to now, "Damn, why didn't the Veagirs just kill all the bastards." But, then again, I guess I'm kind of a hypocrite because I really like the Lion Throne yet they did some crazy stuff to the one lords son. Oh well.

Also, I wanna add that an eye for an eye has one problem, everyone ends up blind in the end. 

Venitius said:

Le Capitan, your post about Ibrahim, Ishmael and the Vaegirs was rather violent.

Click to expand...

And that's why I like the new ending. The old one (before he edited in the current one) was the typical "oh noes! I shall be goody-doody, I'm the hero!". The guy lost all of his family to the vaegirs, so, an eye for an eye.

1x1General1x1 said:

Le Capitan said:

I've changed the ending of my story further up the page, for those who haven't noticed.

Click to expand...

Wow, my felling toward the Nirdams now has changed from, "Yes, run to the Duchy where you can then get your revenge," to now, "Damn, why didn't the Veagirs just kill all the bastards." But, then again, I guess I'm kind of a hypocrite because I really like the Lion Throne yet they did some crazy stuff to the one lords son. Oh well.

Also, I wanna add that an eye for an eye has one problem, everyone ends up blind in the end. 

Click to expand...

Bah, everyone may end up blind, but I'll skirt the line and keep my head done, and, with care, only get one eye poked out. So, to counter your quote "In the land of the blind, the man with one eye is King" 

Also, nice work Le Capitan! That was quite a read you made there!

I need to end the story with Maikel, with one more post I'll put up in a while. So after that, I'm heading for the Duchy. 

Darn it my upcoming story is taking too much time even tough it won't be a too long one.
It's like I add two lines every time I work on it and I only work on it once in three days or something.
Got a good concept, but lacking adventurous thoughts/inspiration.
Maybe it will never be finished cuz I got exams coming up.

I did add a new couplet to the Jannissary War Song, though, so.. a cookie for the first one to find out what I added 

jan_boruta said:

Swadius said:

Is it possible to change the roads into rails?

Click to expand...

Sounds like steampunk

Another proof that school is boring. I'm proud to present a brand new (Holy) Swadian battle wagon! (during the siege of castle Grunwalder)

and a close-up:

Click to expand...

one cannon ball to the back wheel and thats comin down

Chances are that the Swadians made the structure out of steel and then covered it with wood, then reinforced the wood with iron or steel. They could have also reinforced it when it was deployed with beer casks.

The Hackapells streamed through the edges of the sparsely wooded valley, carefully skirting any ribbons of silver mountain-water streaming into the larger stream that cleft the middle of the valley in two. The foreigners rode fast, wary of being sighted by any keen-eyed Vaegir rangers and border-wardens who might have been lurking among the century-old trees embracing the rocky edges of the valley. Even though the frost made even the smallest breath steam like the nostril of a dragon, the Hackapells made no effort in hiding either their own breath or the breaths of their steeds and indeed it would have been a vain effort for the mere effort of galloping made it impossible for their horses not to flare their nostrils incessantly, a grey-white steam bursting from their mouth and nostrils with each passing leap.

Besides the fatigued breaths of their horses, the riders had one additional disadvantage that made them easy to hear, namely the constant banging of the severed heads they carried as trophies against their saddles. All of the heads were decomposing more or less, with some still retaining some of the original flesh while others had come down to mere bone after weeks of precarious hanging from the saddle of their slayer. The Hackapells were all grim men who were set on their purpose, whatever the odds and whatever the conditions and enemies placed before them. Their horses were small, shaggy beasts accustomed to both the wind-swept plain and the broken landscape of foothills and with a strength exceptional enough to carry their heavily adorned riders.

Wearing the effects of slain enemies alongside their own garish attire, the Hackapells could strike fear into the heart of any man who was unlucky enough to come across them in the wilderness. Indeed, they often attacked even those who hailed from the Halmar Union, despite the fact that nominally they served the same master, Prince Iohann Eirik of the Union. In truth, however, the Hackapells were often something of their own masters, with no one to lord over them but themselves while they were in the wilderness. Thus, the leader of a band of Hackapells accustomed with long months in the wilds was often a man to be feared with little understanding of the word mercy or compassion, either for the enemy or his own men.

This very band was being watched from the eaves of the trees by a small group of Vaegir border-wardens. They were unkempt and unwashed, with beards hanging down close to their chests from all the months they had spent watching the borders for any signs of Hackapell raids. And now their worst fears were made true. Before their very eyes, a horde of the Halmar demons streamed from the Eastern edge of the valley, the place through which they usually crossed into the territory of the Tsardom. There were roughly thirty of them, enough to pose serious problems to the small eighteen-strong group. Mainly hunters and peasants who lived near the border, they more militia than true soldiery with only five of them being men for whom the trade of arms was their means of winning their daily bread.

Only one of them, Vladimir, was a true soldier. A strelets who was far from his home, Vladimir was the leader of the entire band and fought to keep as many a Hackapell out of his lord's lands as he could. Spurred on by his hatred for the Union raiders and their atrocities along with the love he had for his fellow Vaegirs and their Tsar, Feodor the Great. Some of his men thought him as strange for his strong beliefs in the future of the Vaegirs under their new ruler but none dared voice their concerns in his presence, lest they be heavily scolded, punished or even slain on the spot for treason against the Tsar. Their band had once had twenty members but due to the zealous nature of Vladimir their numbers had dwindled. In return, however, none now dared say anything contrary to the beliefs of the Tsar and, in extension, Vladimir.

Besides Vladimir, the only men of the company who could say they were men who fought for their bread were Sviatoslav, the marksman, Mikhail, the Cossack, Boris, the mercenary and the two retainers of Vladimir, Igor and Ivan. The two retainers were nothing more than Vaegir rank-and-file, nothing better than the cannon fodder the Vaegir soldiery would throw at an enemy to weaken them, but the long days and nights they had spent in the mountains and fields of the Vaegir border-lands had hardened them, made them lean and terrible in their wrath and wise in the ways of the wild. They knew how to live off the land without leaving much trace of their passing and they knew what herbs to use in order to cure an injury. The whole company had come to know these things, in time, and each could boast a knowledge greater than the one some trackers possessed. Besides the men of the company who could call themselves soldiers, most of the others were peasants taken to serve the Tsar. All of them were, however, enviable trackers and hunters, skilled with both bow and spear. They were used to hunting in order to sustain their families but now a greater threat loomed over them all. The threat of the merciless Hackapells.

Mikhail the Cossack edged nervously around his horse. He, along with Vladimir, were the only members of the small band to possess such beasts and for that were they were looked up to by the peasants. With his two pistols safely held in his waist band and with his hands tucked near them he looked as imposing as any who could call himself a Cossack of the Tsardom. His horse was on edge as well, pawing the ground much like its master was beating it with his boot in an irksome motion. Mikhail was clearly eager to move.

"What do we do, Captain?" Mikhail asked, unceremoniously.

"We must move against those Halmar bastards and quick. They pose a threat to any honourable Vaegir who calls the Eastern Marches his home and we cannot allow any harm to come upon the subjects of His Majesty Tsar Feodor." Vladimir said, bent on destroying the party of Hackapells. The men looked upon him with doubting glances, though all tried to hide it.

"But my Captain," one of the peasant-trackers said, humbly, "Surely we cannot quicken our pace enough so that we can pursue the riders. They will overtake us and continue on their way, regardless of our actions."

"Nonsense. I will not allow such talk in our company of Vaegirs-at-arms. We will hold these borders against any foe, be they a Halmar host or a band of these...these Hackapells." Vladimir said with particular disgust added to the word 'Hackapell'. Some of the men nodded reluctantly. "Yes, they are all mounted and yes, this is an advantage for them but when has this ever stopped us? We, and we alone, are the only ones who can defend our loved-ones further West. We are the shield of the Tsardom and it is us that can act against any foe before even our great Tsar hears word of them. And we cannot fail and will not fail either our people or the Tsar!"

His ragged band seemed to gain heart from his words. Despite the fact that Vladimir had his moments of cruelty and ruthlessness, he lead by example and nothing he urged his men to do he did not do himself, quite often tenfold. Sviatoslav the marksman seemed particularly emboldened by Vladimir's words.

"Indeed, as our Captain says, it falls to us to defend our lands and if even we, the first line of defence the Tsardom has against these marauders, are too craven to fulfil our duty then whom? Who will defend our families and our people and most important of all, our country? Who will be there when these marauders come to sack and pillage and murder? Will we leave our countrymen pray to torment and death at their hands? I will not! And neither will our Captain! Come now men, to arms!" Sviatoslav said in a most heart-warming way. By the end of his small speech nearly all of the men were smiling. Only the Cossack, Mikhail, seemed to be just as glum. All of them, however, prepared to move against the raiders.

"A fine speech my friend." Vladimir said as he embraced Sviatoslav. "It is an honour to have you by my side in this perpetual battle. If only the war were to end and peace were to come. But that is not my choice or yours. For as long as the Tsar's word is to fight, we fight and there is no middle-ground. Let us go now. The faster we move the sooner we can defeat this threat."

And the company prepared to move, yet again. They had done this a hundred times before, moving from frost-bitten place to frost-bitten place along the valley for a better position against any that might dare ride in the lands of the Tsardom. This time, however, things were different. The smell of death hung in the air.

I think I just killed the Tribute thread with this story.

Yeah, maybe you should have split it into two parts or something. Sooooo long... 

Well, in essence it is a short-story but I guess stories as long as this are better suited to fan fiction forums. I will see about splitting it in half and making it more user-friendly.

~~~

Preparing to pursue the Hackapells, Vladimir mounted his stallion alongside the Cossack, who did the same. With his arquebus given to Yuri, one of his retainers, Vladimir was free to ride. With a quick hand gesture the order was given and the entire company was off. Moving along foot-paths they knew well, the border-wardens soon reached the edge of the woods, the place from which the scrubby plain running along the middle of the valley began. The horses slowed the company down, however, so as soon as they reached a place they deemed safe Vladimir and Mikhail dismounted, hobbling the horses down so they wouldn't flee. They couldn't just leave the horses behind so they also left one of the hunters behind in order to watch over the beasts and care for them in the cold of night.

With everything slowing them down now left behind, the group moved even faster, covering almost as much ground as the riders did considering the broken ground and craggy earth. The terrain favoured irregular footmen more than it did horsemen yet it was proof of the skill and endurance of the Hackapells that they could move as well as they did on such turf. With the wind howling wildly and biting into the thick clothes worn by Vladimir and his men it seemed that the coming night would be quite cold. That favoured neither side in particular since both were used with the near freezing temperatures of the Eastern nights.

As twilight came and gloom engulfed the land, Vladimir saw that his chance had come. The Hackapells could not move during the night unless they were willing to risk their fragile horses which could so easily sprain a leg in an unseen crag. That was an advantage for the Vaegir border-wardens since they could also move at night almost as well as they could during the day. With this in mind and with his finer trackers in front of the group, looking for sign of the Hackapells and also keeping watch for any ambushes Vladimir was able to find the Hackapells close to midnight. Camped in a meadow somewhat sheltered from the savage winds of the valley, all of the Hackapells save for one or two left as sentries. The men of the Halmar Union were cautious. They lit no fire and left no torches that could signal their presence, the only sign of their passing being the tracks left by the hooves of their steeds and the infrequent sound the animals themselves sometimes made.

As soon as his scouts had deemed what resistance the Hackapells could offer and how strong their position was, Vladimir decided to make his move. Under the cover of darkness, he ordered his woodsmen to start cutting the base of the trees surrounding the meadow. With axes in hand the Vaegir woodsmen started chopping away, careful not to make too great a noise enough so the Hackapell sentries could hear. The trees were not overly thick in the trunk, but their boughs were great enough to cause quite some damage. As soon as enough of the trees were weakened enough so that a strong push could send them falling, Vladimir ordered for his arquebus to be presented to him and he also ordered his hunters to loose their arrows in the direction of the Hackapell camp.

In perfect silence the Vaegirs prepared their attack, with Sviatoslav the marksman trying to strike through the gloom with his gaze. The moon was out but even with the light it gave he could barely see movement in the Hackapell camp. After a few tense moments which seemed to last an eternity, Vladimir finally gave the order for his men to release their arrows with a loud shout of "Loose!". The arrows flew, more or less in the direction of the camp, and Vladimir also fired his arquebus causing a crash much like that of thunder and a wall of smoke to envelop his position. The cries of at least one of the Hackapell sentries was music to his ears. The order to fire at will was soon given as Vladimir started trying to reload his arquebus for one final shot. Sviatoslav prepared another arrow and fired once more. The audible cry of a Hackapell struck by his arrow made him grit his teeth and draw another arrow from his quiver.

After several more volleys from the Vaegirs, the Hackapells finally came out of their initial confusion and started charging the forest at random seeing as they did not know from whence their enemy was striking them down. That was what the Vaegirs were expecting, however. As soon as the first Hackapell came within range of the forest the trees surrounding the meadow started falling. With terrible screams the Hackapells tried to run back to the middle of the meadow, where they were safe, but many were caught screaming under the trees, crushed beneath their great weight.

"Now my brothers, let us crush these Halmar dogs one more time!" Vladimir said as he ran towards the Hackapell camp with a blood-chilling cry of "Feodor". His men, emboldened by his selfless courage, quickly followed suit, releasing one more volley of arrows into any Hackapells that were still standing.

To their credit, what Hackapells remained faced their unseen foe with great dignity and courage. As the Vaegirs charged the surviving Hackapells made no effort of organizing themselves into anything resembling a shield-wall or some such formation. They charged, howling wildly, into the midst of the Vaegir. Vladimir met the first of the Hackapells with a blaze of his arquebus from nearly point-blank range. The lead shot sent the Hackapell rolling on his back, his last breaths given amid the smoke of a freshly fired gun. Moving fast, Vladimir turned his arquebus around then used the butt to strike the following Hackapell over the helmet. The impact of the wooden butt was hard enough to send the Hackapell reeling back, disoriented. Vladimir then threw his arquebus to the ground, drawing his sword and shouting "Feodor" once more as he struck the confused Hackapell over the neck, his blood spraying all over Vladimir's beard.

With the example of their leader in front of them, the Vaegir border-wardens gave their best, fighting for their own lives more than for the lives of their families and countrymen, as Vladimir liked to say. Mikhail the Cossack led closely from behind Vladimir with both pistols in his hands, firing first one then the other into two different Hackapells, sending them both to the ground in pain. The blazes of the two pistols and the smoke was enough to make Mikhail hard to look upon and the crafty Cossack only used this to his advantage, attacking an unwary Hackapell who was trying to strike Vladimir from behind from the cover of his smoke. Grabbing the Hackapell from behind, Mikhail proceeded to saw with his dagger across the unarmoured neck of the Halmar soldier, slitting the unsuspecting man's throat.

Despite the courage and cunning of their leaders, however, the Hackapells charged into the wardens like wolves into a flock of unwary sheep. One of the wild Hackapells already held the severed head of Boris the mercenary in one hand while franticly wielding his blade with the other, shouting like a beast all the while. The Vaegir militiamen were frightened even to approach the crazed Hackapell, let alone fight him. One true arrow from Sviatoslav, who had stayed behind, was enough to bring the warrior to his knees. It was not enough to slay him or stop him, however, since the man still had power in his arms and was not ready to go down without taking at least one more Vaegir with him.

Soon enough, only three of the Hackapells were left yet they had all gathered together near one of their tents, prepared for a bloody last stand against their dreaded Vaegir foe. With their heads held high and their swords at the ready, the three soldiers of the Union awaited their fates. One of them was the leader of the Hackapells, a tall man fell in his appearance and with a stare that could kill by itself. Vladimir looked upon the leader of the Hackapells with some admiration, ordering his men to stop the gruelling and bloody advance.

"What is your name, warrior?" Vladimir asked solemnly in the language used by the men of the Halmar Union, gesturing towards the Hackapell leader with the tip of his sword. The man took one step forward and looked Vladimir in the eye with respect since he had proven himself to be a good warrior and also knew the language used by other subjects of the Prince.

"Valdemar." The Hackapell said between his teeth, as if the mere word was costly to him.

"Valdemar. You have earned a clean death for you and your men. A good death. You need only to leave aside your weapons." Vladimir said with a mock-smile. The Hackapell said nothing and pondered on Vladimir's words.

"Death in battle brings more honour to the Union than our surrender." Valdemar said with an absent tone. He stood a few more moments, contemplating his choices, then charged the Vaegirs along with his remaining two men.

The attack was sudden and it took the Vaegirs by surprise. In the ferocity of their charge the Hackapells managed to take three Vaegir wardens with them before finally being surrounded and put to the sword by the remaining Vaegirs. Vladimir himself slew Valdemar with a fell blow of his sword, almost decapitating the Hackapell leader. Covered in blood, gunpowder and sweat, Vladimir was one of the thirteen Vaegir border-wardens left alive after the brutal clash with the Hackapells. He looked upon the field of battle with a mixture of pride and dread. A wise man once said that the only thing more terrible than a battle won was a battle lost and he was right. No words could describe the carnage left behind by even a minor skirmish such as this. Of his men, five were lying dead in the snow while the Hackapells had lost almost their entire band. Several were left alive, beneath the trees, but their bodies were so crushed that they could barely move and posed no threat to the surviving Vaegirs. The wardens passed besides the trees, giving the mercy of a quick death to any Hackapell they found still drawing breath. Mikhail emptied his pistols once more in two of the crushed Hackapells, delivering them from their existence with a stone-look on his face. He drew no pleasure from his deeds yet it had to be done and he understood the importance of what he was doing and the honour he was doing the Hackapells of giving them a quick death they had earned due to their valour in battle.

Some of the other Vaegirs, however, were not so kind. Some had lost kin to previous Hackapell raids so they were eager to repay the marauders in kind. With crooked knives used for carving and skinning the peasants savagely dispatched the fallen Hackapells, making sure that their death was a rather more painful experience than a delivering one as Mikhail intended. Some of the Vaegirs stood on their knees or backs on the bloody field, pondering on the things they had done. For some it had been the first time they had slain another man and it was hard for everyone to get accustomed to such an accursed feeling as the regret you feel after slaying another man and realizing the finality of your deed. While the others were doing their duty as they saw fit, Yuri and Igor, Vladimir's two retainers and arquebus-bearers, were busy stripping Boris' headless body of armour and valuables. The warrior was dead so in their opinions he would not need all his accoutrement in the after-life. They would soon start fighting over his belongings such as who would have his sword and who would receive his boots.

Vladimir raised his hand to call his company to him and once more prepare to move off.

Life went on in the Eastern Marches.