Eternity RPC Board
11-13-2017, 05:41 PM
The two armies met in a valley. While one day the city of Orenburg and its suburbs would expand to be visible from there, back in the 301 BCE, the valley was still a lush, natural haven a little over ten kilometers from the walls of Orenburg. Forests stretched down from the mountains to the north, a small brook in between the two smooth slopes that rose to the opposing hills the armies had taken position on. Though small, the brook still formed a natural obstacle that would work against whichever side aimed to cross it, especially the Lanlanians and their heavier armor.
Indeed, watching from the crest of the western hill, Doren at his side, Prince Lyrn could see that much of the Phortainese army was wearing no armor at all. "Are they mad?" he questioned, glancing at Doren. Now on the battlefield, the Prince had donned his full uniform. Springing from his shoulders, fastened together by a golden ring clipped to a hoop on his cuirass, was an indigo cape that flowed to the back of his knees. It had always been the color of the Lanlanian Royal Family. His bronze helmet was decorated with a bear's open maw above the brow and a Messanic cross on each cheek-guard.
"It certainly seems so, Prince," Doren replied. The Ordinskarl's cape was crimson and only extended to his lower back. His helmet had the addition of several large blue feathers—one for each of his successful campaigns, a tradition in ancient Lanlania.
The Phortainese center was formed of armored heavy infantry, though it was much smaller than the Kingdom's three Hosts. In fact, the entire Phortainese army was smaller than Lyrn's. They must have marched out to meet them without managing to round together their entire force. Coupled with the apparent lousy discipline that was visible in the Phortainese's poor formations and haphazard line, and it looked to be a slaughter. "This will be too easy."
"Don't get overconfident," said Doren, glancing at his Prince. "They might still have a few tricks up their sleeves. And their moral is high." Their chanting echoed across the valley. Admittedly, it made an impressive incantation that Lyrn would be pleased to hear, were it not from barbarians.
"I doubt it," Lyrn replied. "Our cavalry has already scouted the battlefield. The forest is empty and the brook flows straight to the ocean. They've no way to sneak up on us. In fact, we're set to flank them."
The Ordinskarl chuckled. "That may be right, but if you let down your guard and try to coast to victory, they'll take you by surprise and slice your throat from behind. Like they did to your grandfather."
Lyrn scowled but nodded nonetheless. The sun was still high overhead and there was not a cloud in sight. They would clash today. But who would make the first move?
"We have no choice but to attack, do we?" Lyrn questioned. The more they delayed, the more Phortainese crawled out of the woods and more supplies were consumed. Though it was right across the border, feeding his nearly 40,000 men wasn't cheap by any means.
"Indeed," Doren answered. "It'd be best to take Orenhold before the rest of their levies gather or they fortify their position."
Lyrn sighed. "The cavalry will flank them, right?"
"Dag is a competent commander, and I have faith he will seize any opportunities we present him."
The scowl returned. Lyrn suppressed it with a thin smile and glanced at his band a few feet to his right. The rank and file wore no capes, of course. Instead, the soldiers assigned to the band wore cloaks made of bearskin, like the standard-bearers, to make them more visible on the battlefield. "Signal the advance," Lyrn ordered.
"Aye," replied the six men.
Being right next to them, Lyrn winced slightly as they tune began. But with instruments was the only way to communicate with his entire army, spread out neatly on the hill's crest. His entire line stretched quite a distance in both directions. The Hosts were quite an empowering sight viewed from the back: lines and lines of soldiers, clad in red and iron, javelins piercing the sky from then back, and large, rectangular shields forming a wall in front of them. All of it at his command.
From the front, the well-drilled, well-uniformed infantry, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, shields at the ready and two-weighed javelin at each hostman's back likely drove despair into weaker men. And when it advanced, each formation moving in unison under the thundering and recognizable call to march...well, the Phortaineses' chanting stopped.
Indeed, watching from the crest of the western hill, Doren at his side, Prince Lyrn could see that much of the Phortainese army was wearing no armor at all. "Are they mad?" he questioned, glancing at Doren. Now on the battlefield, the Prince had donned his full uniform. Springing from his shoulders, fastened together by a golden ring clipped to a hoop on his cuirass, was an indigo cape that flowed to the back of his knees. It had always been the color of the Lanlanian Royal Family. His bronze helmet was decorated with a bear's open maw above the brow and a Messanic cross on each cheek-guard.
"It certainly seems so, Prince," Doren replied. The Ordinskarl's cape was crimson and only extended to his lower back. His helmet had the addition of several large blue feathers—one for each of his successful campaigns, a tradition in ancient Lanlania.
The Phortainese center was formed of armored heavy infantry, though it was much smaller than the Kingdom's three Hosts. In fact, the entire Phortainese army was smaller than Lyrn's. They must have marched out to meet them without managing to round together their entire force. Coupled with the apparent lousy discipline that was visible in the Phortainese's poor formations and haphazard line, and it looked to be a slaughter. "This will be too easy."
"Don't get overconfident," said Doren, glancing at his Prince. "They might still have a few tricks up their sleeves. And their moral is high." Their chanting echoed across the valley. Admittedly, it made an impressive incantation that Lyrn would be pleased to hear, were it not from barbarians.
"I doubt it," Lyrn replied. "Our cavalry has already scouted the battlefield. The forest is empty and the brook flows straight to the ocean. They've no way to sneak up on us. In fact, we're set to flank them."
The Ordinskarl chuckled. "That may be right, but if you let down your guard and try to coast to victory, they'll take you by surprise and slice your throat from behind. Like they did to your grandfather."
Lyrn scowled but nodded nonetheless. The sun was still high overhead and there was not a cloud in sight. They would clash today. But who would make the first move?
"We have no choice but to attack, do we?" Lyrn questioned. The more they delayed, the more Phortainese crawled out of the woods and more supplies were consumed. Though it was right across the border, feeding his nearly 40,000 men wasn't cheap by any means.
"Indeed," Doren answered. "It'd be best to take Orenhold before the rest of their levies gather or they fortify their position."
Lyrn sighed. "The cavalry will flank them, right?"
"Dag is a competent commander, and I have faith he will seize any opportunities we present him."
The scowl returned. Lyrn suppressed it with a thin smile and glanced at his band a few feet to his right. The rank and file wore no capes, of course. Instead, the soldiers assigned to the band wore cloaks made of bearskin, like the standard-bearers, to make them more visible on the battlefield. "Signal the advance," Lyrn ordered.
"Aye," replied the six men.
Being right next to them, Lyrn winced slightly as they tune began. But with instruments was the only way to communicate with his entire army, spread out neatly on the hill's crest. His entire line stretched quite a distance in both directions. The Hosts were quite an empowering sight viewed from the back: lines and lines of soldiers, clad in red and iron, javelins piercing the sky from then back, and large, rectangular shields forming a wall in front of them. All of it at his command.
From the front, the well-drilled, well-uniformed infantry, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, shields at the ready and two-weighed javelin at each hostman's back likely drove despair into weaker men. And when it advanced, each formation moving in unison under the thundering and recognizable call to march...well, the Phortaineses' chanting stopped.
Role Play States | ||
 | Holy Lanlanian Empire Holy Emperor: Feryn I Prime Minister: Klaus Lofgren | The Holy Lanlanian Empire is a multi-ethnic state based in western Brigidna with territories all across the globe. It is a relic of an older age, an absolute monarchy hidden under a functioning democracy. The empire has historically been the world's leading power, though has long been in decline and was recently overtaken by the Republic of Nyland. Nonetheless, the empire is not an opponent to take lightly. |
 | Ishnalli Empire Empress: Lanryu-il Chancellor: IDEK | The greatest country in the world. It's YUUUUGGGEEEE. |
 | |