TEATRC tribute & universe expansion

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If it's more a piece of lore than an AAR (if it is an AAR) then I suppose this might be the right place. There are diaries, battle plans, dialog/scripts, articles, stories and retellings in this thread/the EATRC Lore Compilation.
 
well I've got it in journal style atm, like "Day blah the battle for Rivcheg" and then written my characters description of the battle from his POV still need to finish it off course so might be a day or two before I actually post anything, just wondering if its worth putting here
 
A quickie:


Mondo scratched the scar on his left cheek. He was looking at a map of the Holy Swadian Empire, it's cities and routes. It was quite ironic, the Swadian Empire biggest weakness had become the biggest problem for the Throne. Since the ascension of Emperor Sigismund Augustus years ago the leadership had been so weak that constant internal trouble had forced the people to fortify the cities and even the villages. They were not afraid of Pope Saldian or Filaharn, they were afraid of their own kin.

That scar. His body was covered in them after 30 years serving the Pope. Yet that one was the one that made him most proud. It had been caused by a royal guard of the King of Fura, during the first campaign of the Radiant Cross, on the southern fringe, south of Aurora, where the mountains pierce the sky, and the fog covers the land all the year. There he led his brigadiers on an assault to the royal battalion of Fura, destroying it. The King was taken to Galius were he was put on a cage, feeding on mice until he starved to death.
The Pope rewarded him with the sword Brunhild, the holiest of the relics.
He was now the First Deva, the Eyes of Filaharn himself.

The Pope was getting restless, the conquest of Calradia had stalled and problems had arisen on the eastern frontier again. If it was needed, he wrote in one of his letters, he would send the Fifth Deva to the north. Mondo hated that red-headed *****. Dealing with Zalera was enough trouble, having Elhaym here would be even worse.
He scratched his scar once again and stood up. He unsheathed Brunhild and took a deep look at it. It was flawless. With it he would end the chaos in the north and he would bring order, peace and faith. They don't know yet, but Filaharn is what Calradia needs. Order, Duty, Courage.
Faith.
 
Okay here goes... hope you enjoy it.

Journal of Vladd the Traitor


My name is Vladd... I have lived through the reign of this so called 'tsar' I have seen the horrific acts he has commited against the Nimonease and others... it is so... monstrous, so wrong, he may make my people the vaegirs great, but at what cost. What will we loose in his xenophobic actions? Will the histories ever be able to look upon our nation kindly again? I believe that this man has destroyed our nation... ruined what was great about the Duel monarchy, and created a monster, one that I seek to slay. I have thrown my lot in with Prince Yarih, who I found at Oslep, Today, the Vaegir civil war begins.

Day 2 of the revolution.

We decided to head for the frozen wastes... we contacted Ismirala first, and we gained a castle and village to our cause gladly, the Boyer alseki did not take much convincing, this may be easier than i first believed...

Day 4 of the revolution

By the gods! these Boyers are either short sighted fools, or the Tsar has truly blinded them with some dark magic, they all make up excuses to remain, none are willing to help fight the cause... in 3 days of petitioning no Lord has joined!

Day 5 of the revolution


Today the first great battle between the newly formed small rebel army, and the Tsar's dogs was fought, the sides were evenly matched, with around 90 on ours and just over 100 on theirs. The battle was viscous, neither side holding back, we used our archers primarily, keeping them upon the high ground with a wall of infantry protecting them, while the horses harried their formation and broke it apart, it was a glorious victory! their forces were utterly crushed with minimal casualties on our side. After the battle i surveyed the sigh, the snow glistened red with the blood of our foes, and the areas where our archers had been firing at the enemy looked almost black with the arrows, save for the corpses of our foes. If all battles go this well victory shall be assured!

Day 7

The tsar has moved faster than I expected, he has already assaulted Ismirala, A desperate runner on the edge of death approached us today, begging that we save the town for if the Tsar was to take it, surely the entire populous would be slaughtered for their defiance

Day 8

We have finally arrived... The tsar himself is here, his foul emblem plastered across the shields of his soldiers, the entirety of the rebellion is here today, and there are 6 of the Tsar's armies positioning themselves out in front of us, we our outnumbered greatly, but we have resolve, and the gods are on our side! This may well be my last entry, but for better or for worse, the gods die is cast, this is our fates...


battle of ismirala from Vladd's perspective

He stood astride his mighty hunter, the horse had seen him through many battles, surveying the huge force in front of him and then turning to his men, his hand resting lightly upon the flintlock pistol that had helped him turn the tide of so many battles. He remained quiet as he watched his soldiers shift with unease as the vast armies of the Tsar moved in position behind him. "Men!" he shouted, the entire battle line falling silent, only the clink of mail in the winds could be heard "Today we face almost certain death. That I cannot deny you" he paused watching his vapourish breath float into the frigid air "However, each man there is one of the Tsar's lapdogs! One of us equals 10 of them! for we have something they do not" he paused with a small smile on his face, ignoring that his men would not be able to see it through the gold face mask that he, and so many of his soldiers wore. "We are fighting for something more than a man! We are fighting for an ideal! for justice! For the restoration of a fair, benevolent state!" his rough voice reaching a louder, stronger pitch with every word, while the sound of a trumpet echoed across from the Tsar's camp, they were on the move. "We fight with the gods, and our cause on our side! Remember that, and despite the odds, WE SHALL BE VICTORIOUS THIS DAY! he wheeled his hunter around and pulled his flintlock out as his men roared in approval "TO YOUR POSITIONS!" he shouted over the din.

The archers scrambled up the hill and the infantry quickly formed a wall in front of them, while the cavalry grouped around Vladd. He watched calmly as the horde approached over the hills, waiting for them to be in range "FIRE AT WILL!" he roared and moments later the sounds of hundreds of arrows being loosed into the air was heard, and the black cloud flew high before falling down into the Tsar's forces, causing cries of pain as the arrows crashed into soft skin, or punched through weak armour. as the Rebels began preparing the next batch of arrows, the Tsar's answer was loosed, sending another shower of arrows down onto the rebels who scrambled to hide behind their shields, though this did not save them all and cries of pain were heard from men and horses caught in the torrent.

"CHARGE" Vladd shouted, knowing they couldn't take much more of that kind of attack. and spurred his horse forward, a massive cavalry and infantry charge began, as they rushed towards enemy lines, Vladd firing a shot from his flintlock off, and watched as the bullet slammed into an enemy horseman almost in slow motion, sending him flying off his mount and crashing into the snow. Vladd quickly lowered his pistol and pulled out his tempered sabre, the elegent weapon creating a shiiing sound as he drew it. Then moments later they were into the meléé, the sounds of men and horses screaming in agony as weapons hacked at their flesh would be unbearable to someone unused to war, but to Vladd, this was normal. Forcing his way through the massed horses he charged the archers who were busy aiming another Volley at Vlad's archers. He quickly laid into them, hot blood spraying across the snow and his armour, men screaming in agony, and seconds later he was gone. The perfect hit and run tactic.

He wheeled around as an arrow skimmed his shoulder, causing him to cry out in agony and almost fall from his horse, only just managing to maintain control. He then found himself under the attack of a boyer and his bodyguard. They hacked his horse out from under him, sending vladd sliding into the blood soaked snow, moaning in pain. He desperatly tried to stand but then a mace smashed into the side of his head, sending him sprawling knocked out into the snow.

From this moment the rebels were doomed, leaderless they were quickly surrounded and crushed by the Tsar's superior forces, survivors captured for torture and execution, the bodies of the dead left there to rot... One of the survivors however, was Vladd.

epilogue

He was awoken by a brutal kick to his side "Who we got here then..." said the harsh voice of Boyer Alexandorvich as he leant down and tore off the helmet of the semi concious Vladd "Well well well..." another kick making Vladd cough up blood violently "Vladd the traitor... I'm sure the Tsar will be happy to see you..." he waved at his guards who roughly hauled Vladd to his feet, away to be executed...

Three weeks past in the dungeons, three weeks on little food and water, three weeks in a hell hole... Vladd was eventually dragged out and tortured publicly before being impailed on a spike outside the capitals gate, he died a slow horrible painful death, the first man to dare to oppose the Tsar, the man who sowed an idea. Vlad the traitor... History will look kindly upon him...



(yeah I took alotta creative license there, but the battle outcomes are the same as they happened in game)
 
Roar of the Lion (Part One)
May, 1497, Anno Domine 300,251 AC

‘FILAHARN VULT!!!!!’ The battle cry of the Lion Throne rang out across the hinterlands of Swadia, as ten thousand Brigadiers screamed in unison with the rage of their almighty and all-powerful god against these pitiful heathens. For while Filaharn might take pity of them, we would surely not, and today their bodies would be cloven with righteous steel, and their souls blasted with holy fire. For while their armies might have similar numbers, it would be the Lion that would take the field against these infidels, as these were the elite of the Empire, the Proprugnators, blessed through fire and iron. And they would bring death to these infidels.

It would be a bloody business, for the minions of the Mad Emperor where entrenched in a great redoubt, with shot, cannon, and pike waiting around every corner. But today the foolish mongrels would sally forth, and it would be our job, the Third Brigadier Legion, the Fang of the Lion, to break through their phalanx. And with a righteous fury, we would do it.

‘VULT! FILAHARN VULT!’ The cry rang out once more; as Celaharn Augusto, their leader, blessed of the Radiant Cross, raised a sword of Filaharn and sprinted across the cannon pocked wasteland that now comprised most of the Hinterlands. This is what he was born to do, this is what he was raised to do, and this is what he was commanded to do: bring the infidels death, destruction, and eventually, defeat in the name of his religion, whose cross was branded across his brow. And he would bring death to their ranks.

The phalanx came ever closer. He could now see the fear in their eyes; the fear of the weak before the strong, the fear of those about to die. And suddenly the sword rage overcame him; it came over him like a great blast of fire, and the sword rage, the battle rage, the rage of the Radiant Cross, now carried him over the ground faster than any horse on this earth. And now he would do what he was born to do: to kill better than any. With one last step, and with a spring in his step, he propelled himself forward into death’s phalanx. But as he thought to himself, damn them, it would be their deaths under this blood red sun, and he would be damned before he allowed them so spill out his lifeblood.

‘**** YOU!’ Screamed the enraged lord of war, and he crashed into the phalanx, not giving a damn about their damned pikes, and nothing on this earth would stop him from reaching his hated enemy. And certainly nothing above would stop him, and his armor, blessed by the Pope, broke their phalanx like twigs and with one last curse, he was among his enemy, and at last he raised his sword, and like a hawk among the rabbits, he struck down among these lily-livered pansies. And he struck again, and again and again, and still, to his infinite pleasure, they still came. And Filaharn damn them, they would die like the dogs they were.

And his Proprugnators did him proud. They cut through the enemy lines like a hot knife through butter, and sowed chaos among the enemy. They were in the heat of battle; the rage of the berserker, and damn them if they thought they could beat us, for our God was with us this day, and as long as our blood rage lasted, we were invincible. And we butchered them like sheep before the slaughter. The phalanx lasted only a few moments more, and then they ran screaming before these blood-drunk madmen, who had killed hundreds in mere minutes. And still Lord Augusto, Sixth Deva of Filaharn struck down. For Filaharn, for Glory, and for a goddamned bloody Victory. This was their mission, and they were doing it well.

And then the enemy Lord sent out his elite, the great brawlers of the realm to stop our raging advance: the Doppelsoldners, the men who would think themselves our equals.

We’ll show them who’s best.

Celaharn quickly noted these new challenger’s, sent to stop his men while the phalanx reformed, and cried out ‘FILAHARN VULT!’, for what he hoped would not be the last time, and quickened his pace to meet these gaudy fools. ‘CHARGE THE DAMN BASTARDS, FOR WE ARE THE FANG OF THE LION! THE THIRD LEGION!’ And at last, the next great charge met with another great clash of steel, shield, and bone.

Augusto picked his next target and…


Well, thats about as far as I'm gonna get tonight! Off to other stuff!
 
Ambush near Astraknan
Recounted by Lt. Col. Harnstaag.

A few months after the Battle of Bielomor.

I was ordered to lead a detachment of Sappers and Light Infantry as aid to our forward base near Wercheg (which happened to be near Odoiev as well). A small platoon of Imperial State Calivermen accompanied us, as their regiment was sent by the Kaiser to secure a Non-Aggression Pact between the Imperials and the Union, and they were also there to "encourage" the general to attack the Laurians.  I'd been on bad terms with the Major General after my nephew became drunk and insulted the General, and threw a beer bottle at him. We set off from Astraknan, where the reservists were billeted, and we used an old goat track to bypass the mountain range. Of course, we could have sailed to our forward base, but the Navy was away bombarding some random village or sinking some flotilla in the middle of nowhere, like usual. There was a pass cut by our artillery for our armies to march through, but we weren't permitted to do that because Winnerstrand wouldn't let us.

So we marched up this badly-worn goat track through the mountains, and we came across some peasants, but they fled. We were so tired we did not bother to flee them, not to mention that we were carrying a lot of supplies. Not before long, some Vaegir irregulars attacked us. We were far from battle-ready. Our guides had deserted us, and some of the Calivermen were dying of hypothermia and altitude sickness. The Bread was stale, and all we had to drink was some low-quality beer. At least we had some good, fresh cheese. We killed the irregulars, lost one or two men, around three were wounded.

Once we neared the exit of the pass, strelsy, irregulars, dismounted cavalry, adventurers and mercenaries attacked us. Most of our wounded were killed, but some of the walking wounded did kill a few dirty Vaegirs before they fell. We were completely surrounded, until one of the sappers, carrying a barrel of explosives and powder, charged at the Vaegirs on our left (who were under an outcrop and defended by a wall formed by rocks) and blew up the barrel, himself and a few Vaegirs under the outcrop, killing the rest. The Vaegir commander came under a flag of truce to ask us to surrender, but I spat in his face, called him a coward, told him that his mother was a cow and his father was a chunk of limestone that one hundred and eighty-two beggars had done their business on it, slapped him with a metal gauntlet twice, then challenged him to a duel. Obviously, he accepted.

He was wearing some combination of Laurian, Swadian and Vaegir armour, and we fought. I had a height advantage, and he had a longer weapon. We were both skilled swordsmen, but the idiot chose to reach for his pistol after some time, but he kept fumbling for it until I shoved my sword into his belly and threw a Francisca into his face. We had arranged that the loser's force would surrender, but the Vaegirs fought back nonetheless. We quickly shot down the demoralized Vaegirs with our pistols, calivers, arquebuses and blunderbusses. Luckily, we found fresh water, good food and some wines in their camp. We went on towards our forward base and reached their without problem. The camp commander gave me a permit to travel through the main pass, and with an escort of a few officers(most of whom I knew and were on leave) and the surviving members of the detachment, I returned to Astraknan, presented my report and the Vaegir commander's sword, and because the Vaegir commander had a bounty on his head, Maj. Gen. Winnerstrand was pleased and my regiment, my friends, those who survived the mission and I had 1 months' leave in Västerboot. What joy!

 
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Dual lore war stories!
 
Standing Order of the Hälmarian Expeditionary Force.

Last updated 19 April, 1496.

Commander-in-Chief:- Crown Prince Iohann Eirik.



30th Corps
Commander-in-Chief:- Lt. Gen. Igelström.

22nd Division, Commanded by Maj. Gen. Winnerstrand.

Col. Iohannsson's Brigade

Harnstaag's Regiment.
Finenke's Regiment.
30th Artillery. (commanded by Maj. Lindstrom.)
45th Närke Volunteers. (commanded by Col. Ollson.)
10th Reiters. (commanded by Lt. Col. Perrsson.)

Brigadier Rilke's Brigade

34th Regiment of Foot. (commanded by Lt. Col. Svensson, heavily depleted)
34th Artillery. (Commanded by Maj. Lindstrom, jnr.)
97th Hakkapells. (Commanded by Cpt. Valdemar, heavily depleted, destroyed in action.)
5th Dragoons. (returned to Hälmar on account of casualties)

12th Division, commanded by Maj. Gen. Nolksvern.

Colonel Armfelt's Brigade

45th Sappers. (Commanded by Maj. Fiklestrom.)
57th Pistolliers. (Commanded by Col. Bolksson.)

Maj. Gen. Gutenviem's Light Division
13th, 94th, 22nd Light Companies, compiled into a Flanker Battalion lead by Maj. Frown.
32th, 101st Sharpshooter Battalions, lead by Lt. Col. Berg.
 
Tiberius Decimus Maximus said:
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Dual lore war stories!

Make that triple war stories.

                                                                                                A Laurian Story

    A Laurian man crouched on a hill, pressing his spyglass against his lined face."Twenty," he muttered, counting the band of Kaiserlich soldiers that was making its way into a decrepit old castle. Among them was an old man, dressed in expensive but tattered clothing. His arms were bound behind him and a Kaiserlicher's rifle was pressed against his back. The Laurian put away his spyglass, while cursing under his breath."Well, Captain, it looks like we were just a bit too slow," sighed the young man, Francisco, who stood beside him. The captain stayed silent. "Lucky bastards," he said, finally. "If we had been hear a half hour earlier, we could have ridden them down in the open." Captain George Ramirez swung his fist down against the ground, his face looking even more lined because of his scowl. "Captain?" asked Francisco nervously, stroking the back of his neatly combed shoulder length hair. "What!?" hissed the captain. "Well... what should we do?" stammered the young Laurian. "Gather the men. I'm not going to explain things twice." replied Ramirez. "Of course Sir." And with that, Francisco headed down the hill. Ramirez watched the young man walk off. His scowl had changed to a grim frown. Damn, he thought, If only we had gotten here earlier. The captain then headed down the hill himself.

Twleve Laurian men stood in a line, facing Ramirez as he reached the bottom of the hill. Their arquebuses were slung over their shoulders and each held a horse by the reins. We're scouts, thought the captain, We watch out for enemy activity and chase off enemy scouts and brigands. How do they expect us to defeat a larger force holding a damned castle! "Well," said Ramirez at last. "We've found Lord Carlos. He's being held captive by twenty of the Kaiser's men. To make things worse, their holed up in an old Nord castle.  Tonight, we'll have to infiltrate the castle, eliminate the enemy and rescue the old lord. The only advantage we have is secrecy. They don't know we're after them and we'll have to keep it that way for as long as possible. We leave the horses here and will only use our guns after they know we're there. Stealth is key." The captain paused for a moment, looking over the faces of the young men then at the sky. "We move out in two hours."

Under the dark and moonless sky, the thirteen Laurians approached the castle. They crouched low to ground, crawling through the thick grass the surrounded the abandoned fortress. A couple of lookouts paced around the walls, oblivious to the Laurians' presence. Ramirez led the men to a ruined section of the wall. Long ago, catapults had smashed it apart, the rubble forming a staircase to the intact sections of the wall. Hulio and Pedro, a couple of lanky brothers, climbed halfway up the mound of rubble. The two Kaiserlicher guards walked by, talking and paying little attention to their job. The brother, knives drawn, rushed up the remained of the rubble and sprinted towards the lookouts. A moment later, both guards hung limp in the brothers' arms, their throats cut. The bodies were moved onto the rubble, and crammed into a wide crevice.

Ramirez and the other Laurians moved onto the wall. The captain peered into the courtyard. Two guards sat outside the empty doorway of a building on the other side of the castle. "We'll split into two groups," whispered the captain. "You lucky men," he continued, gesturing to the six closest to him, "come with me. Francisco, you'll lead the rest. We move around the wall in opposite directions. My group takes the left side, Francisco's takes the right. Once we get behind the guards, Hulio and Pedro will do their jobs. Go." The Laurians began their crawl across the wall, moving slowly and silently. Once Ramirez's group got behind the guards, he looked over at Francisco and the rest. They were lagging behind, being just over half way across the courtyard. At that moment, one of the guards looked up, towards the slower group. He shouted a warning. Francisco and the rest froze. A moment later, a dozen Kaiserlichers burst out from the building and began to form a line. Run, mouthed Ramirez, looking at Francisco. He got the message, as did a couple of others, Paul and José. But the captain could only watch as the other three went down in a hail of bullets.

"Now!" shouted Ramirez, swinging his arquebuse over his shoulder. He aimed at Kaiserlichers directly below him and fired at one, just turning towards the previously hidden Laurians. The man fell to ground, a hole blown through his side. As the old captain rushed down  a nearby staircase, five more went down. Phillip must have missed, thought Ramirez as he drew his sword. That boy couldn't hit an Elephant Brigadier. The captain brought his blade down across the face of a Kaiserlicher reaching for his sword. The captain flung his sword up, parrying a blow coming down at his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Phillip run by, stabbing a Kaiserlicher through the chest. Ramirez swung at his opponent just missing him. A nearby foe drew a pistol and fired. Ramirez dodged a thrust aimed at his chest. Pedro screamed in agony, and fell to the ground while his brother leapt at the gunman. The captain cleaved his adversary's head, blood spraying into the air. Hulio fell upon the gunman's blade, joining his brother in death. The captain swung around, jamming his blade into a Kaiserlicher's throat. Francisco rushed at the gunman, the sole remaining Kaiserlicher, from behind. The young man cleaved his foe's neck, nearly decapitating him. The captain breathed a sigh of relief.

The grass of the courtyard was covered in blood. Francisco walked up to the captain, looking shaken. "That's... that's five of us dead, sir. Sixteen for the Imperial State." Ramirez looked over the bodies that lay on the ground. "That only leaves four to guard the old man. We need to finish this now!" The captain rushed into the building, his soldiers following behind.

At the end of one room building, probably a storehouse, stood four Kaiserlichers. Lord Carlos was one his knees in front of them, two pistols jammed against his skull. An officer of the State strode forward, flanked by a nervous looking man holding a repeater rifle. "Come close and he die," warned the officer in broken Laurian, gesturing to the lord. "Don't do anything stupid," replied Ramirez, gripping his sword tightly. "If you give us Lord Carlos, we'll let you and your men go." The captain noticed that one of the men holding Lord Carlos hostage was trembling badly. A shot rang out. Lord Carlos fell forward, a bullet hole through the side of his head. Paul fired his arquebuse, killing a Kaiserlicher. The man with the repeater rifle emptied all four bullets into Ramirez. The captain fell to the ground. Francisco leapt at the man and slew him. The officer and his remaining man were both gunned down. Ramirez tried to say something, but no words came from his mouth. Only blood that he coughed up. The captain heard Francisco calling his name, and felt Phillip clutching his hand. And then he, Captain George Ramirez, died.
 
Bunduqdari, I just read your story. It was really good and probably the most personal story here. It was a nice change from the usual histories or tales of war. Not to mention really imaginative.
 
Toffey said:
Tiberius Decimus Maximus said:
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Dual lore war stories!

Make that triple war stories.

Quadruple war stories.

The Story of an Ellisian Spearman

Samuel glanced up at the sun, the dreadful sun. His armor was hot enough from marching for hours, but the sun had just emerged from the clouds, and it was killing him. His friend Joshua had staggered and fallen from the heat, and he was killed on the spot. ‘****ing Lion Throne,’ he thought to himself, ‘taking over our land, changing laws, killing our people.’ Sam had been a member of the Ellisian Legions, born into their rule by his parents, joined at the ripe age of seventeen.

He looked down at his feet and sighed, the brigade of men were heading to fight off some Swadian lord or something like that. Though he was still a true Ellisian infantryman, with all his gear from before, it didn’t feel right. Sam rattled his spear a little, checking that everything was in order. Two hundred brigadiers marched ahead of them, and one hundred cavalrymen were behind them. There were flag carriers donning the front and back of the infantry and cavalry lines. In between the two groups was one hundred of the remnants, Ellisian spearman, Sam being one of them.

After hours of marching, the large brigade of men halted, and Sam’s lord trotted past the lines to the front with several cavalrymen behind him, a spotter at his side. Sam stood in line, waiting, then he heard some muttering up ahead. Soon enough, the word reached the spearmen that the enemy had been spotted on the horizon, and that the men were to take up positions. In five minutes the real order was out and the brigadiersmen parted so the spearmen could jog up front.

The spearmen formed two lines, one in the front, one in the back, and then braced their spears. The brigadiersmen took up formations behind them and at the flanks while the cavalry trotted out of sight to get ready for flanking. The enemy had stopped several hundred yards away and was getting ready for what looked like a charge. In moments, the enemy cavalry had spurred forward and were charging the infantry line. Several seconds later a hail of bullets came flying over the cavalrymen’s heads, and about ten spearmen and twenty brigadiersmen fell dead or dying. No more volleys came, as the cavalry were in the way, and the infantry were charging behind.

Sam counted the seconds until impact aloud, “FIVE….FOUR…..THREE….TWO….ONE…BRACE YOURSELVES!” The enemy cavalrymen charged right into the spearmen’s spears, killing many of their men, and many more of their horses. The brigadiersmen charged through the spearmen’s ranks and started massacring the enemy. A horn sounded in the not so far off distance, and the Lion Throne cavalrymen charged the enemy’s ranged soldiers. In seconds they were gone, and then the cavalry charged toward the infantry battle going on.

Sam stabbed his spear into the face of one soldier, and then into the gut of another. A horse came charging toward him, and Sam jumped out of the way and stabbed the horse’s rump. The beast came crashing down and several brigadiersmen overtook the enemy. The slaughter was going well. Sam turned around to take out another enemy that had snuck up behind him, and stopped dead after disposing of him. A large line of ranged soldiers was forming behind the brigade, and an even larger line of cavalry and infantry formed behind them. The brigade was now outnumbered and outgunned. “LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU!” Sam yelled, but it was too late, and the volley came forward.

Sam hit the deck, along with a few others, but most of the rest jolted in pain or just fell dead. The enemy cavalry was charging the soldiers now, but there was really no need. There were few men left, and what was left of the Lion Throne cavalry was retreating, about twenty men. The spearmen and brigadiersmen turned to face the cavalry, a rage in their eyes, no longer fearing death that was so imminent. The spearmen trotted forward, about thirty men, and braced their spears. The brigadiersmen, about fifty of them, filled the gaps.

In ten seconds the cavalry was on them, some impaled on their spears, the rest engaging the troops. Sam lowered his spear and began fighting. He stabbed, dodged, weaved. The Swadian infantry arrived; he did the same with them.

After twelve minutes of fighting, the last fifteen men of the brigade were surrounded by the enemy who began slowly advancing. None of the brigade surrendered, if they did, they would die anyway. With a roar, the soldiers charged a group of the enemy and began fighting. Sam stabbed and stabbed, never tiring. Sam was laughing in madness, but then he felt a searing pain in his back as an enemy soldier sliced him across it. Sam fell down on the ground and was left for dead, but was he really dead?????????
 
Corndawg said:
Toffey said:
Tiberius Decimus Maximus said:
original_awesome_smiley.jpg


Dual lore war stories!

Make that triple war stories.

Quadruple war stories.
Quintuple (or whatever) war stories.

"Battle of the Cheeses"

Winter.

A Hälmarian caravan was marching along a road towards the forward base. It consisted of a few men from the Light Infantry companies of various regiments, like the Calivers and Katzbalgers, the Cattle Drivers and the Beer Kegs, and some muleteers. The weather was rather hot, which was rather unusual, because the sea winds generally made it cooler. The caravan was carrying cheeses, entrenching tools, spare beer kegs, an "acquired" Swadian Battle Wagon (with the cardboard cutouts included) and the left greave of a Swadian set of armour. The troops were wearing their winter uniforms, and had marched all day. The last thing anyone wanted was that a band of Strelsy, lots of irregulars and a local Boyar's army would turn up. Yet they did.

The Hälmarians decided to occupy the Battle Wagon, and placed the cardboard cutouts in a nearby wood. The muleteers ran to a nearby rock formation, and the mules were left tied to the Battle Wagon. The Boyar decided on all-out attack, and sent most of his Strelsy and more experienced men to attack the wood. Meanwhile, the irregulars decided that it would be a good idea to plunder the mules, and so approached the apparently abandoned Wagon. The Hälmarians, out of sight as they were lying down inside the wagon, stood up and fired at the irregulars, surprising them, and routing them. The Strelsy and the Boyar's men wasted all their ammuniton and tired themselves attacking the cardboard cutouts. They then decided to attack the Wagon. Time and time again, the Vaegirs were repelled due to their lack of ranged weaponry and their fatigue. Eventually, the Boyar left.

Although the battle had no strategical importance whatsoever, the "Battle of the Cheeses" was a popular conversation topic between Vaegir prisoners and Hälmarians, or the other way around.
 
Another segment already! YAY!

Edit: Could this be classified as Sextuple?

The Story of an Ellisian Spearman Chpt.2

Sam awoke and began to get up, but a searing pain shot up his back and he screamed in agony before falling back down. He looked around and saw that he wasn’t in a blood-soaked field, but in a bed at an inn. He picked his head up and saw three other soldiers in the beds around him, they were all brigadiersmen, but he couldn’t give a **** about that now. He tried sitting up, but fell back down again, the pain being too much for him to bear. After a few moments, a young girl poked her head in; she looked about eight years old. She ran away and came back with an older girl, in her twenties Sam guessed. She walked over, seeing that he was awake.

“Are you all right good sir?”

“Yes,” Sam replied, “what happened, where am I?”

“Calm down good sir, you were injured in battle. You are in Vienna, I am-“

Sam cut her off, “Vienna! I have to get out of here, right now!”

“Again, calm down, we are sheltering you from the authorities at our own risk, so please quiet down.”

“You don’t understand, if they find out, they’ll kill you, your family, then everyone at the inn, everyone.”

“We know that, but please, you need to rest for a little more, then you can leave.”

“Fine, but please don’t be angry at me if the authorities come.”

“Very well, now sleep.” Sam slept, very well, but he was woken later, and abruptly.

A loud shriek pierced Samuel’s sleep, and he instinctively sprang up, ignoring the pain. The three brigadiersmen, Propugnators from what he could see, where on their feet at once. They grabbed their weapons and rushed down the stairs. When they reached the bottom they were blocked by a wall of fire. Sam leaped through it, quickly followed by the others. There was roughly fifteen Swadian soldiers in the inn, and they were dueling with a traveler, a monkish man, a blonde with what looked like a Nordic sword, a mercenary, a merchant, and the inn owner.

Sam and the others quickly joined the fray. The pub owner said, “They rushed in and stabbed a few people, so we fought.” Sam nodded and stabbed at a soldier. One of the Propugnators sliced a soldier’s arm off and another stabbed one in the crotch, making the men wince a little, all of them. The traveler was cut in the throat and the merchant took down the soldier that did so. The inn owner sliced a soldier’s head off and cut another one along the gut. Sam stabbed one in the eye while the mercenary cut one’s leg off. There were seven enemies left.

Three of the soldiers overtook one of the Propugnators and the others took down the mercenary. The monkish man retreated into the back with the blonde, presumably defending the woman, and the merchant cut a soldier to pieces. The remaining six enemies surrounded Sam, the two Propugnators, the inn owner, and the merchant, five on six. Sam bellowed in anger and charged two soldiers, knocking one over and cutting the other’s hand off. The merchant stabbed one of the soldiers and was killed by another while the inn owner cleaved a soldier in the face, splitting his skull. The Propugnators respectively took down one each and their was three left, one without a hand. The blonde emerged from the back room, unseen by the enemy, and stabbed one in the back, this distracted them enough for the others to take down the last two. The group rejoiced and walked to the back room.

In another part of Vienna, the captain of the guard, Paladin of the Holy Swadian Empire Sir John Fallor the 3rd looked over the day’s reports. He sighed nervously as he awaited one of his soldiers report on the inn. He had learned of several enemies being harbored their and sent the soldier off with several other men to take out everyone inside. It had been too long though, and he called a page. Boy,” he said, “send word that I would like thirty soldiers sent to the inn to check up on and or reinforce the soldiers sent earlier, tell them to meet up with me and I shall accompany them.”

“Aye Sir.” The young man replied, and he ran off.

Back at the inn, the group began planning their escape. “We should head out the back here and take the horses.” Said the innkeeper, pointing at a map he had of the city.

“What if they are waiting for us?” Inquired his nine year old daughter.

“Then we jump over them.” Said the inn owner. Sam looked on from the back, his armor on now, as with the two Propugnators. “You there, the man with the gloomy face, go to the front and grab my sword from under the bar, it may come in handy.” Sam nodded and jogged out front, reaching under the bar. He pulled up a beautifully crafted hand and a half sword that looked like it could slice through anything. He turned to walk back into the back room, but was interrupted by the sound of a door being burst open from behind him.

Moments before that happening, Sir John was dismounting his horse outside the inn. “Form up behind me, we can only go in one at a time.” His men nodded and made a line, with two of the men running to the sides of the door. John ran up to the door and drew his sword. He brought his foot forward and kicked the door open, then rushed in. He was greeted by the sight of a man. He stood in disbelief, “Sa-Sa-Sam?” His hands shook rapidly.

Sam turned around, stunned by what he saw, “J-John?”

Stay Tuned.
 
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