There was a time, long ago, before the first tenets of the Filaharn faith were whispered and before the Empire of Swadia was known as "Holy" when the gods meant more to the people of Calradia than just those whose wrath was to be avoided and whose bestowal of divine right determined the Kings of the lands. So it was that in the days of yesteryear that the gods were seen as forces of good and renewal in the land rather than, through the incessant wars of their chosen King's, the scourge of it. The men of those days who fought with the symbols of the Gods on their armor fought so that they and their own may live in peace not, as it is today, so that they may plunder a countryside killing its men and robbing its women of their virtue. It is hard to believe, my boy, I know; but you know me and know that I would tell you a lie. In those bygone days, now mostly forgotten by the people's of our land, Calradians worshiped a different Pantheon. Back then we paid homage to the eight gods of the Elan Vital, those eight exponents of the vital force which nourishes us in life and which we return to in death, were enough for men in those times. Gods such as Sophia, goddess of wisdom, and Helionas, god of light were enough for Calradians back then, and I tell you my boy that in those times Calradia was a peace and flourished! But those days are long gone and men worship new gods now. Though we can still have hope. Hope that one day a champion of the old ways will arise in Calradia and that by the blade of his sword the factions of Calradia will be laid low and that by the power of his vision and the strength of his arms the ancient Capital of Arete be rebuilt! And that the Sacred Garden of the Eight Petaled Rose be reestablished; one petal for each of the eight gods, one flower for the one Elan Vital! Oh, but such is a fool's hope. Who will lead us in these days of despair? Who knows of the old ways anymore? I learned of them from my grandfather who himself learned of them from his grandfather before him and so on for I do not know how long. So now I tell you these stories my boy and pass on to you this fool's hope for a return to the better days now long gone by. Maybe it is not just a fool's hope, by I fear that it is. I admit that I doubt that we or our posterity will ever see peace in this land and feel as though Calradia will remain in a constant state of war for as long as men call it their home."
And such was the story Pascal of Erfurt would tell his young grandson Laurent on late nights after having a little more ale than usual at the tavern. Pascal's story was laughed at by most in his village, but to Laurent, whose parents had perished shortly after his birth, the words of his grandfather were the absolute truth. Laurent began to dream, as young boys do, of becoming the champion of the old ways who his grandfather hoped for. Whenever he could he would challenge the other boys in his village to duels with wooden swords and would call himself "Laurent of the Eight Petaled Rose" and "Defender of the Elan Vital". The other boys of Erfurt all took him to be quite odd as a result and so would often gang up on him in their play fights. The experience of consistently fighting solo against a much larger group turned Laurent into the most skilled swordsman among the boys. Yet, this caused the other boys to resent him even more and so Laurent spent the majority of his youth as a loner always waiting for and relishing those late nights when his grandfather, his only true friend, would come home and tell him the story of the old ways.
On one gloomy and rainy night in the beginning of spring, Laurent's grandfather did not arrive home at his usual or even later than usual time. Naturally, Laurent was very worried and was unable to fall asleep that night. He sat up all night looking out the only window in his grandfather's small hovel at Erfurt's one street. At around dawn, he heard the clattering hooves of horses a ways off in the distance and a few minutes later five Imperial Horsemen rode into the village with a sixth horse carrying what seemed to be a person sized lump. The leader of the Horsemen called out for everyone in the village to assemble saying "By the authority of the laws of the Imperial State, I hereby come to carry out the punishment of one Pascal of Erfurt for treason and order all those present here in Erfurt who lived along side him to gather around outside and view the spectacle!"With that the Horsemen dismounted and took down the person sized lump from the sixth horse. Laurent could see clearly now in the growing light of day that this lump was in fact his grandfather. He would learn later that last night was one of those on which his grandfather had had more to drink that usual, but this time that he had begun his story of the old ways before he arrived home. One of the people who heard Pascal's story, however, was an officer in the army of the Imperial State who considered Pascal's explicit desire for the factions, of which the Imperial State was one, of Calradia to be "laid low" to be treasonous. The punishment of for treason of course was immolation.
The now dismounted horsemen tied what was a quite badly beaten yet still clearly conscious Pascal to a tree near the center of the village around which most of the villagers had now gathered. Laurent was glued to the window. Unable to move, to speak or to do anything, he stayed frozen in his position watching what was to be his Grandfather's final moments. None of the villagers had really cared for Pascal or Laurent and were quite happy to have this little bit of excitement added to their day. Once he was fully tied to the tree in the center of the village, Pascal looked up and said to the onlookers, "Shame on you, on whom I have never inflicted the least bit of harm, that you should now forsake me for such a trifle. I have never lifted my hand against any of you and now I am to be burned! Have you no mercy!" Two of the horsemen began pouring cheap brandy over Pascal while another laid some straw around his feet. Pascal, his voice now breaking between words, cried, "Fideis, goddess of mercy, will you not save me! I beg of you protect me in my our of need!" The leader of the horsemen lit a torch and said, "All those who would undermine the Imperial State deserve the most cruel of punishments. I now shall serve this man his." He then began to walk toward Pascal.
Laurent could not believe his eyes. Everything he had ever loved was now about to be destroyed and he could do nothing. He could not even move. It was now his sixteenth Spring and so he was almost a man he thought, yet he could do nothing. It was as though he was paralyzed with his eyes fixed on his grandfather. At that moment, Pascal's eyes met his grandson's right as the leader of the horsemen laid down his torch at the base of the straw. Pascal then, making barely a sound, mouthed the following words to his grandson "Grandson, become the champion of the old ways and reestablish the sacred garden. Through your victory you will avenge me. Go now, do not watch this." How he could understand what his grandfather had said he did not know, but Laurent heard every word. As if a curse had been lifted he could now move, and could feel his legs carrying him out the back door of his grandfather's hovel and away from the village. As he ran he could hear the jeers of the villagers at this grandfather and then, as the flames slowly grew, he could hear his grandfather's screams of agony. As long as he lived he would never forget those sounds. And so he ran and he ran and did not look back.
By the time Laurent could run no longer it was night fall and he collapsed near the bridge separating the territory of the Imperial State from that of the Laurian Empire. He could go on no longer and so found a dry bank under that bridge where he laid down to rest. His cheeks were stained by the hot tears of sadness and guilt. Was it not his fault that his grandfather had died, he thought, as had he been more courageous he could have fought those men and rescued his grandfather. Such thoughts accompanied by the pain of losing the only person whom he had ever cared for and who had ever cared for him swirled through his head before finally being extinguished by the onset of sleep.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
ddd
[b][size=7]The Battle atop Potbelly Hill[/size][/b]
Potbelly Hill, if it can even really be called a hill, lies just to the north and west of the small hamlet of Beziers in the region of Languon. The top of the hill is no more than half a kilometer from the village and is mere 200 meters higher than the surrounding plains. The plains of Bezier themselves, however, are ringed by a few larger hills and thus provide the village and its hinterland with a natural barrier from the rest of this lawless region. You see, Languon has been, ever since the ascension of Maurice Fabius to Duke of the region, a land of ruled by force rather than by law. Though a kindhearted soul the Duke does not possess the military mind and courage of his father and so has been unable to subdue the marauding bands who ravage the Languon countryside. As a result these bands have become ever more confident that they can act with impunity and have, as a result, made life increasingly unbearable for the region's population. Such is the plight of Languon.
Yet, for quite some time Beziers has been untouched by this violence due to the difficulty of reaching it and the fact that it is not particularly wealthy or important. Therefore, Beziers seemed the perfect place for the poor Duke of Languon to station and have trained new recruits to his army. His hope being that, given the relative safety of of Beziers, his new recruits would have time to train and prepare for his planned campaign against the outlaws of his lands. He believed that, despite his earlier set back, if he could only have a large and well trained enough force then he could defeat the bandits and looters which plague his land and restore law and order to the region. As a result, he ordered one of his junior officers and native of the village, Francoise de Beziers, to take 20 new recruits to the village and turn them into 10 Halberdiers and 10 Musketeers. Being a Captain of the Duke's own Musketeer regiment and having had experience with polearms before that, Francoise was more than prepared to take on the job. With orders in hand, he and his company of green soldiers marched to Beziers.
Upon arriving at the village, Francoise and his men set up camp atop Potbelly Hill and began training exercises. Training was tough going at first, but little by little then men began to improve. After about three weeks time the men were looking much more like an organized unit than the rabble they had resembled just a few days earlier. Much to their chagrin, however, on the very same day that Francoise began to believe that he could truly turn these men into hardened fighters he heard grave news from one of the village shepherds. While tending to his on one of the hills that ringed the northern edge of the Beziers hinterland, this shepherd had observed the ambush of a large contingent of Ducal forces by an even larger force of bandits. The Duke's men, reported the shepherd, were slaughtered to the last man by the bandits who, after picking the corpses for loot, began to march directly toward Bezier! The shepherd reckoned that the bandits numbered about 60 and were well-equipped. Despite the fact that it had remained untouched for quite some time, it seemed as though Bezier's luck had now run out.
Francoise de Beziers was now faced with a difficult decision. He could either stay and defend the village or he could retreat so as not to forfeit his newly trained men. The decision was difficult but he had to act fast. He knew that it would be terrible for the Duke to lose even more men after the disaster which he had just suffered, yet he knew as well that retreating would mean nothing short of the pillage of his home town and the death of its inhabitants. Despite the danger, Francoise could not leave the villagers to their fate and so prepared his men for battle. It was clear that Francoise could not make it to the top of one of the larger hills ringing the village before the bandits themselves made it there and so it seemed best to him that he and his men should stay atop Potbelly Hill and hope to bring the enemy to attack them at this strong position. In order to cause the bandits to do this, Francoise planned to bring his musketeers down from the hill in order to engaged the bandits and then to fall back so as to lure the enemy to attack the hill. On the hill, of course would be the heavily armored Halberdiers who would then engaged the less well armored bandits in hand to hand combat. Such were the plans of Francoise de Beziers on a day in late spring in the middle of the afternoon.
As soon as he could see the bandits coming down from the northern hills, Francoise marched out with his musketeers to greet the enemy with a volley of hot lead.
[img]http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc0ZGGlhsI/AAAAAAAAABo/rahTabadsNk/s1600/mb6.jpg[/img]
None of the bandits had expected to face resistance near the town of Beziers and so were not prepared to see a group of 10 red berreted musketeers firing at them. Though caught off guard, the bandits were far from scared by the spectacle and were rather brought to a rage. They cursed the musketeers, fired some arrows and charged after Francoise and his men.
[img]http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1M7hTQiI/AAAAAAAAACg/phBsBQG0kVQ/s1600/mb25.jpg[/img]
Though some of the initial volleys were successful, some of the missiles let loose by the bandits hit their mark as well and two of Francoise's men went down with shrieks of agony. It brought him much grief to have to leave these men behind, but he knew that his only chance for victory was to fall back to the top of Potbelly Hill and so he ordered his men to do so. The bandits took heart in what seemed to be a retreat and so pursued the musketeers with an increased vigor; each bandit wishing to be the first to catch the fleeing men. Yet, upon reaching the top of the hill, Francoise and his men turned around to face the bandits and the Halberdiers, who had until then concealed themselves, marched forward to do so as well.
[img]http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1NdWvWLI/AAAAAAAAAC4/URoeTBVEK0c/s1600/mb29.jpg[/img]
Francoise ordered his men to form a tight line and to prepare to receive the enemy's charge. Unperturbed by what they deemed to be a mere handful of extra men the bandits continued in hot pursuit, however, by this time their ranks had been skimmed by about 15 or so men due to the marksmanship of Francoise's musketeers.
[img]http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1cIpow0I/AAAAAAAAAD4/MmumRKbeVW0/s1600/mb37.jpg[/img]
Shortly thereafter the enemy closed the gap and were upon the defenders. Potbelly hill sounded of the clanging of steel, the roar of muskets, the whir of arrows and the screams of the dying.
[img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1kIHzifI/AAAAAAAAAEI/injG8uSDVoc/s1600/mb39.jpg[/img]
As the battle raged on, it became clear that the advantage of the bandits was not so great as they or anyone else had previously expected. The heavily armored Halberdiers were virtually immune to enemy arrows and could also withstand most enemy strikes that did not land on their neck, groin or underarms (i.e. the parts which were covered with very little armor). This along with the marksmanship and swordsmanship of the musketeers proved to be quite deadly and, despite suffering some casualties, Francoise's men were killing bandits at a rate of 7 or 8 to every 1 of their own killed.
[img]http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1kg4i1lI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/x5DHUvj9ObY/s1600/mb40.jpg[/img]
It was evening when all was said and done. Three hours had passed and all 60 bandits were slain. Francoise had lost a total of 7 men which, though disheartening, he realized to be a very small number given the forces arrayed against them. As he looked around the battlefield the carnage was unbelievable.
[img]http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1WI6qWcI/AAAAAAAAADI/OQZJy-86mI0/s1600/mb31.jpg[/img]
For Francoise this victory marked his first as a commanding officer, but that was not all. This victory over some of the cruelest and most hardened bandits Languon had to offer marked the first real success of a Ducal force against outlaws since the ascension of Maurice three years ago. Both his men and the villagers of Beziers were overjoyed at the outcome of this battle and soon it would be known throughout the land that an officer of the Duke had laid low his enemies. Would the future mean more such successes for Francoise or was this merely and ephemeral victory? A bit of luck perhaps. He could only look out at the hills surrounding the plains of Beziers and wonder...
[img]http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1b0Viu_I/AAAAAAAAADg/H3MTsfOCBps/s1600/mb34.jpg[/img]
Potbelly Hill, if it can even really be called a hill, lies just to the north and west of the small hamlet of Beziers in the region of Languon. The top of the hill is no more than half a kilometer from the village and is mere 200 meters higher than the surrounding plains. The plains of Bezier themselves, however, are ringed by a few larger hills and thus provide the village and its hinterland with a natural barrier from the rest of this lawless region. You see, Languon has been, ever since the ascension of Maurice Fabius to Duke of the region, a land of ruled by force rather than by law. Though a kindhearted soul the Duke does not possess the military mind and courage of his father and so has been unable to subdue the marauding bands who ravage the Languon countryside. As a result these bands have become ever more confident that they can act with impunity and have, as a result, made life increasingly unbearable for the region's population. Such is the plight of Languon.
Yet, for quite some time Beziers has been untouched by this violence due to the difficulty of reaching it and the fact that it is not particularly wealthy or important. Therefore, Beziers seemed the perfect place for the poor Duke of Languon to station and have trained new recruits to his army. His hope being that, given the relative safety of of Beziers, his new recruits would have time to train and prepare for his planned campaign against the outlaws of his lands. He believed that, despite his earlier set back, if he could only have a large and well trained enough force then he could defeat the bandits and looters which plague his land and restore law and order to the region. As a result, he ordered one of his junior officers and native of the village, Francoise de Beziers, to take 20 new recruits to the village and turn them into 10 Halberdiers and 10 Musketeers. Being a Captain of the Duke's own Musketeer regiment and having had experience with polearms before that, Francoise was more than prepared to take on the job. With orders in hand, he and his company of green soldiers marched to Beziers.
Upon arriving at the village, Francoise and his men set up camp atop Potbelly Hill and began training exercises. Training was tough going at first, but little by little then men began to improve. After about three weeks time the men were looking much more like an organized unit than the rabble they had resembled just a few days earlier. Much to their chagrin, however, on the very same day that Francoise began to believe that he could truly turn these men into hardened fighters he heard grave news from one of the village shepherds. While tending to his on one of the hills that ringed the northern edge of the Beziers hinterland, this shepherd had observed the ambush of a large contingent of Ducal forces by an even larger force of bandits. The Duke's men, reported the shepherd, were slaughtered to the last man by the bandits who, after picking the corpses for loot, began to march directly toward Bezier! The shepherd reckoned that the bandits numbered about 60 and were well-equipped. Despite the fact that it had remained untouched for quite some time, it seemed as though Bezier's luck had now run out.
Francoise de Beziers was now faced with a difficult decision. He could either stay and defend the village or he could retreat so as not to forfeit his newly trained men. The decision was difficult but he had to act fast. He knew that it would be terrible for the Duke to lose even more men after the disaster which he had just suffered, yet he knew as well that retreating would mean nothing short of the pillage of his home town and the death of its inhabitants. Despite the danger, Francoise could not leave the villagers to their fate and so prepared his men for battle. It was clear that Francoise could not make it to the top of one of the larger hills ringing the village before the bandits themselves made it there and so it seemed best to him that he and his men should stay atop Potbelly Hill and hope to bring the enemy to attack them at this strong position. In order to cause the bandits to do this, Francoise planned to bring his musketeers down from the hill in order to engaged the bandits and then to fall back so as to lure the enemy to attack the hill. On the hill, of course would be the heavily armored Halberdiers who would then engaged the less well armored bandits in hand to hand combat. Such were the plans of Francoise de Beziers on a day in late spring in the middle of the afternoon.
As soon as he could see the bandits coming down from the northern hills, Francoise marched out with his musketeers to greet the enemy with a volley of hot lead.
[img]http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc0ZGGlhsI/AAAAAAAAABo/rahTabadsNk/s1600/mb6.jpg[/img]
None of the bandits had expected to face resistance near the town of Beziers and so were not prepared to see a group of 10 red berreted musketeers firing at them. Though caught off guard, the bandits were far from scared by the spectacle and were rather brought to a rage. They cursed the musketeers, fired some arrows and charged after Francoise and his men.
[img]http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1M7hTQiI/AAAAAAAAACg/phBsBQG0kVQ/s1600/mb25.jpg[/img]
Though some of the initial volleys were successful, some of the missiles let loose by the bandits hit their mark as well and two of Francoise's men went down with shrieks of agony. It brought him much grief to have to leave these men behind, but he knew that his only chance for victory was to fall back to the top of Potbelly Hill and so he ordered his men to do so. The bandits took heart in what seemed to be a retreat and so pursued the musketeers with an increased vigor; each bandit wishing to be the first to catch the fleeing men. Yet, upon reaching the top of the hill, Francoise and his men turned around to face the bandits and the Halberdiers, who had until then concealed themselves, marched forward to do so as well.
[img]http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1NdWvWLI/AAAAAAAAAC4/URoeTBVEK0c/s1600/mb29.jpg[/img]
Francoise ordered his men to form a tight line and to prepare to receive the enemy's charge. Unperturbed by what they deemed to be a mere handful of extra men the bandits continued in hot pursuit, however, by this time their ranks had been skimmed by about 15 or so men due to the marksmanship of Francoise's musketeers.
[img]http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1cIpow0I/AAAAAAAAAD4/MmumRKbeVW0/s1600/mb37.jpg[/img]
Shortly thereafter the enemy closed the gap and were upon the defenders. Potbelly hill sounded of the clanging of steel, the roar of muskets, the whir of arrows and the screams of the dying.
[img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1kIHzifI/AAAAAAAAAEI/injG8uSDVoc/s1600/mb39.jpg[/img]
As the battle raged on, it became clear that the advantage of the bandits was not so great as they or anyone else had previously expected. The heavily armored Halberdiers were virtually immune to enemy arrows and could also withstand most enemy strikes that did not land on their neck, groin or underarms (i.e. the parts which were covered with very little armor). This along with the marksmanship and swordsmanship of the musketeers proved to be quite deadly and, despite suffering some casualties, Francoise's men were killing bandits at a rate of 7 or 8 to every 1 of their own killed.
[img]http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1kg4i1lI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/x5DHUvj9ObY/s1600/mb40.jpg[/img]
It was evening when all was said and done. Three hours had passed and all 60 bandits were slain. Francoise had lost a total of 7 men which, though disheartening, he realized to be a very small number given the forces arrayed against them. As he looked around the battlefield the carnage was unbelievable.
[img]http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1WI6qWcI/AAAAAAAAADI/OQZJy-86mI0/s1600/mb31.jpg[/img]
For Francoise this victory marked his first as a commanding officer, but that was not all. This victory over some of the cruelest and most hardened bandits Languon had to offer marked the first real success of a Ducal force against outlaws since the ascension of Maurice three years ago. Both his men and the villagers of Beziers were overjoyed at the outcome of this battle and soon it would be known throughout the land that an officer of the Duke had laid low his enemies. Would the future mean more such successes for Francoise or was this merely and ephemeral victory? A bit of luck perhaps. He could only look out at the hills surrounding the plains of Beziers and wonder...
[img]http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OYwK5pLSato/SZc1b0Viu_I/AAAAAAAAADg/H3MTsfOCBps/s1600/mb34.jpg[/img]
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