Of The Hope Of Swadia
In the end of the 15th Century, the Once-Mighty Holy Swadian Empire laid in ruins. It's oppulent cities threatened by all sides by it's ancient, and newer, enemies. The Tsardom of Vaegirs finally united under the banner of a strong leader, whose genocide of foreigners marked the end of their subtle methods. The Lion Throne, to the south and beyond the mountains, has enough resources to fuel it's invasion and an all-out war withe very other nation on Calradia. The grudging Imperial State, fuelled by their modern ideals, tries to end the absolute rule of the old, yet still magnificent Swadian Empire. From the north, the Laurian invasion led by Queen Imelda Loeher was in the very same situation that the Throne was: with many lands under it's direct - or indirect rule, many paid for this foreign adventure of hers, "The Calradian Adventure", pretty much like the "Bermian Adventure" that Luis III did, aeons past.
Still, once Emperor Sigismund Augustus was maddened by the grief of tragedy that smote him down, all hope to the crumbling Holy Empire seemed to be vanishing. But not at all. One hope endures. Some say he is a bastard son of the Emperor, a warrior born of a palace maid after a cold winter. One who was send overseas through Obello, to Bermian.
***
Damn, I hate the cold. Here we are, at the Grunwalder Pass, wich in this winter unnaturally filled up with snow. As much snow that some guessed it was a part of the Tsardom Mountains that fell here, far to the south. And there they where. Far to the north, the fireplaces could be seen when the hailstorms diminished.
Today, the Deva explained that it was the will of Filaharn that fueled these storms. It's always heavenly will, he said. That if we vanquished the northerners tomorrow, maybe the snow shall melt down.
Ah, how I miss the steppes of Mylesia. The warm winds. Those where times! Before the Papal Invasion.
***
He was led forward, sticked by the botton end of pikes.
"Forward!" The Doppelsolder bellowed. He saw the head of the boastful Deva on a Swadian Knight's lance earlier. There were few survivors in this weird winter. Ellis was blocked by the meltdown, as the rivers and the Ergellon Lake flooded into the neighbouring villages, killing cattle and people.
There were not many survivors of the bloody battle that happened earlier. He coud see two Kara-Khitanese next to him in the line. A Ptian in his front... and... a few Brigadiers chained to the racks. How? How did these... extravagant savages managed to beat the Throne's might?
It was a strange group of ragtag warriors. Swadian Landsknecths, Doppelsoldners together with obviously Bermianese Marines. Many mercenary Besiegers and Gallowglasses were present in the 'execution' as well. As the hill went up, a group of colorful Swadian Knights awaited of the top, mounted in their fine stallions. One man in the middle of them catched his attention. Dressed in an all-black handworked armour, and with the helm closed, he stared to the group of prisioners led to his presence.
Pointing his sword to the group, the black armoured knight bellowed:
"See now the might of the Brigade!"
A chorus of laughter echoed through the snowy hills.
He pointed to the Kara-Khitan.
"Your are Khitanese, am I right?"
"You are, lord. I'm..."
"I do not want your name, dog. I guess you were the archer that felled two of my knights. Would you indulge me to awnser?"
"I was. I did shoot two riders down."
"That's it. You" He pointed to a red-dressed doppelsolder whose flamberge was as tall as himself "Cut his left hand"
"No, please... I beg mer..."
The Black Knight stared down as the soldier executed his duty. A cry of pain. A rush of blood, and the snow turned red.
"This is only the start for you, damned zealots. I'm The Black Prince, and I swear, all of your wretched race shall be cast aout of Calradia over the mountains again!"