Sneakei
03-02-2006, 08:32 AM
Alright everyone, I'm Sneakei and I felt like writing a bit to explore what exactly I'd like to do with Darkfall. It resulted in some ideas for stories--which I decided to just run with. This is the first section (the most the forums allow me to put into one post.) If someone (other than me!) remotely likes it, I'll post some more. Otherwise...well I might just torture you to satify my own twisted ego! Without further ado.
Taking the High Road
Dorian grimaced at the news, "sorry general, The Duke sends his most sincere apologies, but he cannot attend and wishes to leave you in charge," The messenger twisted uncomfortably in his saddle under the piercing strength of Dorian's grey-eyed gaze.
"Attend? This is a battle, not some dinner party for him and his flowery friends! Not to mention, this is a direct result of his actions to ignore the King's call to war!" Ironic, but not entirely unexpected. Dorian had figured The Duke would at least be spineless enough to beg for his life in person. It was times like this that Dorian hated his situation the most, having a craven lord without any compunction for the thousand odd warriors he had sent out to defend his lack of honor. So Dorian had the choice of serving with distinction--which would leave him dead for the cause of a fat coward, or he could abandon his lord's cause and become a coward himself...Of course it would spare many lives if he turned coward--but isn't that the way all cowards legitimize their actions? He bit the inside of his cheek, ignoring the taste of blood as the messenger turned his horse around and sped back to the castle. Dorian turned back around to face the battlefield. His troops were lined up in schiltrons, an ancient tactic used by forces with little or inferior cavalry in order to repel the opposing forces'. His archers and spell specialists were focused in circles surrounded by a hedge of pikes, spears and halberd--peppered with other shorter weapons. His force was cradled on either side by the steep walls of a valley--protecting their flanks. It would make very little difference on the actual outcome, but such is the risk one runs when outnumbered about twenty to one. The King’s forces were arrayed in a more traditional triple line: infantry, ranged units, then cavalry. There was also the ’fourth line’ that Dorian was most afraid of, the King's Guard. Quite possibly the most elite group warriors this side of the Gods. They consisted of the heaviest armor, weapons, and people that the Kingdom could find. Each was trained not only in the martial arts of physical combat, but also by the best scholars in the arcane arts. Dorian gave an internal shudder, and was glad that he most likely would never have to face them, as they were used only when the battle was at its most dire--or the King himself came out to fight. Neither was likely to be risked in a battle this small. His mental processes ground to a halt as the King's flag advanced to the front of the line and made it roughly halfway between the opposing armies.
"Shall we go out and meet them, general?" Alexa--his second in command--making sure he was paying attention
"T'would only be proper of us to deliver the Duke's terms." Dorian muttered sarcastically to her through his teeth. Kicking his horse into action to puncuate his sentence.
"What are we doing?" Alexa asked him as they trot towards the King. From anyone else, he'd take it as questioning his judgement, but he knew she just wanted to be on the same page.
"I don't know yet."
"Hmph." She grunted back noncommitally. "It will be interesting to see how this day ends." Strong contenter for the biggest understatement Dorian had heard this year.
He bled off some speed as he closed to the King's coalition. Bowing from the saddle,
"Greetings King, I must regret that it was under these circumstances that we meet for the first time." Dorian said truthfully as he studied the King. He had always heard stories, but being from a relatively backwater part of the Kingdom, he had never had the chance to even see the King. The King sat tall in his saddle, his clear blue eyes surveying everything about Dorian--who felt slightly transparent at the moment. His long black beard covered his mouth--concealing any small tics that could give him away in certain situations.
"Dorian Patavia it is, correct?" Dorian nodded in response to the question--surprised that the King even knew his name, "I too regret the necessity for this particular meeting, although your reputation preceeds you. You served the Kingdom well in your defense of my eastern outposts from orc
invasions." Dorian bowed his head at the magnanimous compliment, noting the emphasis on ’my’ outposts. "That brings me to my next point, why the hell are you sitting here in defiance of your sovereign lord, and where the hell is Baluvian?" Baluvian--the Duke in question. "I would've thought that he was responsible for this."
"Well, my King, I must remind you that I am sworn directly to the Duke, as such, he is my sovereign. In response to your second question, I am the general of the Duke's forces, and he wishes to remain at his castle--leaving his army's command to me. He wishes me to deliver his terms. The Duke demands that you return back to the Kingdom and allow him to continue defending your easternmost frontiers against any possible imminent invasions" The King's eyes widened a bit anger or shock--Dorian couldn't tell which.
"The invasion isn’t imminent, we already beat it back, and your troops were nowhere to be seen! So may I take it as, Baluvian is cowering in his castle, sending his best general out to be destroyed on his behalf?
"That might be one way of phrasing it." Dorian conceded.
"Well, we might as well get on with this. As you can see, you're grossly outnumbered. No matter who you may be sworn to, I demand you and your entire army to lay down arms, and allow my forces to access Baluvian's castle in order to try him for high treason." Dorian was torn between the two possibilities. He glanced back at Alexa whose fire-red hair framed a face seemingly chiseled out of stone. All his life, he had fought for the honor of his Duke--previously Baluvian's brother, but his oath was to the Duke--and to disgrace that oath was to disgrace everyone he had sworn that oath to, not to mention himself.
"Sorry, my King, I cannot give that order. Nor, I pray, would my soldiers follow it if I did." Most likely, a bald-faced lie. These people had been following him in one battle or another for the last five years and most would follow his orders unquestioningly. The King visibly recoiled from Dorian's comment. Obviously averse to attacking his own citizens.
"Then you give me no choice, you will be destroyed this day, and Baluvian will be held accountable for his lack of support during war-time." Dorian nodded in understanding, bowed, and galloped away. He stopped in front of his forces, split into four stilton. He muttered some words--giving his voice a louder quality--allowing him to address his entire army.
"This day, we shall fight the forces of our King," Many glances darted uneasily among his troops, "I must remind you of the oaths you swore, not to uphold the Kingdom, but rather to follow the will of our Duke. Honor, given to our lord is the foundation of our entire system. To violate this, is to violate the one thing that separates us from the barbarians outside of the Kingdom that we fight. I cannot compel each and every one of you to fight this battle however, those of you who wish to violate your sworn sovereign's will may flee now, and risk the danger of being caught later either by Duke or King to be held accountable for your dishonesty. I'd rather you leave now than disorder my battle plans." He glanced back and forth, raking his ranks with his glare. Not a soul budged. "Then you are committed to this battle, and you will obey me until death--of you or myself. We will die to honor our oaths to the Duke!" He didn't expect much of a cheer for that, nor did he recieve one. He galloped back to his small cavalry wing behind his main battle line--mentally reviewing his battle plan. One advantage of his formation is that they can fight while moving and keeping formation. His tightly packed formations were vulnerable to enemy spellcasting, but his casters were focused mainly on protection until the battle became too raging for largescale area casting to be used. He figured falling back slowly would allow his formations to move well while keeping the King's forces off balance. The only problem would be if the King's cavalry charged, because the pikes would need to be planted in the ground for maximum effect. This movement would also stop the King's forces from completely surrounding his forces--allowing his fresh troops to
cycle to the front. Dorian even had a few surprises that he hoped would delay the inevitable. His reverie was broken with the sound of air crackling with arcane energy. Spells and counterspells started to whip across the battlefield. The occasional fireball would streak its way towards one of his formations, only to have it deflected by a shield. One impacted, and Dorian winced as the flames engulfed a number of people--before the physical damage being erased by healers. As the artillery barrage kept Dorian's forces busy, the front infantry lines started marching forward. Dorian's archers struck back with little effect, heals coming quicker than the incoming fire. Dorian hoped his secret weapons were coming along well.
***
Turin watched the two parties come together between the opposing armies. He watched as Dorian gave him a subtle signal to proceed. Then he contacted his squad leaders, invisibly giving them their orders. His team knew how to do everything required of them with very little direction. They were the spell snipers. The sides of the valley had been lined with stealthy burrows weeks before--allowing them to avid the King's patrols--who recently deceased right before the battle. It would seem that Dorian had some clairvoyance, because historically he always had his troops place in just the right place to cause much damage. In this case, he may have been crediting Dorian too much, as this pass was the only way for an army to reach the Duke’s lands. Turin doubted that they would be able to cause enough damage to tip the balance of this battle, but he was far from hanging Dorian out to dry. Before he had become a general, they had both the first generation of spell snipers. Dorian and him had pioneered the tactics and training required. As spells started flying back and forth, he readied his teams to strike. Their main targets were targets of opportunity, which were the healers and pure-casters. They tended to be the easiest to kill in proportion to how much damage they could do. Instantly twenty souls evaporated, as the squad leaders directed their deadly weapons independently. The best thing about their tactics were that their spells were tailored to leave very little trace as to where they came from. It looked as if the strings of twenty puppets had just been cut. Their stealth wouldn't last inevitably, but it never did. Another twenty fell, and the shocking suddenness was starting to induce some panic in the caster lines, as they searched for the source of the attacks. As a third twenty fell, Turin saw a tracer spell flare back to one of his squads' positions, climbing along one of the squadmembers attack spells. A moment later the position was engulfed in a hellish combination of spells--green, yellow, blue, red colors exploded--destroying Myrtag's unit. His troops relied on offensive power and stealth, and didn't have the spell power to resist direct attacks with protective spells. He flicked another set of orders along his squadleaders mentally. Once they were discovered, it was standard procedure to either withdraw, or go to full saturation attack. In this case--withdrawing would have put them in little position to help the rest of the battle--so full saturation. The squads released their concentration from hiding the origin of their spells and let loose with every bit of destructive power they possessed. Beams of coherent light, acid bombs, illusory warriors, fireballs. The sheer number of attack vectors disordered the King's armies from responding effectively. As hundreds perished under concentrated fire, the commanders were targeted first by his squads--resulting in poor retaliatory efforts. His forces might not have much protective spellpower, but enough to respond to poorly coordinated attacks--not to mention that some were still splitting their fire against Dorian's main force. His units weren't attacking unscathed anymore though, his troops were dropping periodically and he really didn't want to lose his entire force...
***
Dorian stiffened his lips in bitter satisfaction as his spell snipers tore into the enemy spellcasters. As he had predicted, the casters had been so focused on penetrating his schiltron’s defenses that they hadn't paid any attention to their own security. Dorian envied Turin, ever since Dorian had been
promoted he had been taken away from his spell sniper units. Working with those troops were what commanding was all about. While his army as a whole was far from inexperienced, working with the cream of the crop was far more liberating. Once he saw a squad go down in flame, he really saw the training wheels come off. It was a spectacular sight of destruction that he didn't get to enjoy for long as the battle at hand loomed larger. The infantry began charging, keeping the cavalry in reserve until Dorian's formations had been broken up a little. He signalled for the slow withdraw pace to begin, and his troops began their slow retreat.
Taking the High Road
Dorian grimaced at the news, "sorry general, The Duke sends his most sincere apologies, but he cannot attend and wishes to leave you in charge," The messenger twisted uncomfortably in his saddle under the piercing strength of Dorian's grey-eyed gaze.
"Attend? This is a battle, not some dinner party for him and his flowery friends! Not to mention, this is a direct result of his actions to ignore the King's call to war!" Ironic, but not entirely unexpected. Dorian had figured The Duke would at least be spineless enough to beg for his life in person. It was times like this that Dorian hated his situation the most, having a craven lord without any compunction for the thousand odd warriors he had sent out to defend his lack of honor. So Dorian had the choice of serving with distinction--which would leave him dead for the cause of a fat coward, or he could abandon his lord's cause and become a coward himself...Of course it would spare many lives if he turned coward--but isn't that the way all cowards legitimize their actions? He bit the inside of his cheek, ignoring the taste of blood as the messenger turned his horse around and sped back to the castle. Dorian turned back around to face the battlefield. His troops were lined up in schiltrons, an ancient tactic used by forces with little or inferior cavalry in order to repel the opposing forces'. His archers and spell specialists were focused in circles surrounded by a hedge of pikes, spears and halberd--peppered with other shorter weapons. His force was cradled on either side by the steep walls of a valley--protecting their flanks. It would make very little difference on the actual outcome, but such is the risk one runs when outnumbered about twenty to one. The King’s forces were arrayed in a more traditional triple line: infantry, ranged units, then cavalry. There was also the ’fourth line’ that Dorian was most afraid of, the King's Guard. Quite possibly the most elite group warriors this side of the Gods. They consisted of the heaviest armor, weapons, and people that the Kingdom could find. Each was trained not only in the martial arts of physical combat, but also by the best scholars in the arcane arts. Dorian gave an internal shudder, and was glad that he most likely would never have to face them, as they were used only when the battle was at its most dire--or the King himself came out to fight. Neither was likely to be risked in a battle this small. His mental processes ground to a halt as the King's flag advanced to the front of the line and made it roughly halfway between the opposing armies.
"Shall we go out and meet them, general?" Alexa--his second in command--making sure he was paying attention
"T'would only be proper of us to deliver the Duke's terms." Dorian muttered sarcastically to her through his teeth. Kicking his horse into action to puncuate his sentence.
"What are we doing?" Alexa asked him as they trot towards the King. From anyone else, he'd take it as questioning his judgement, but he knew she just wanted to be on the same page.
"I don't know yet."
"Hmph." She grunted back noncommitally. "It will be interesting to see how this day ends." Strong contenter for the biggest understatement Dorian had heard this year.
He bled off some speed as he closed to the King's coalition. Bowing from the saddle,
"Greetings King, I must regret that it was under these circumstances that we meet for the first time." Dorian said truthfully as he studied the King. He had always heard stories, but being from a relatively backwater part of the Kingdom, he had never had the chance to even see the King. The King sat tall in his saddle, his clear blue eyes surveying everything about Dorian--who felt slightly transparent at the moment. His long black beard covered his mouth--concealing any small tics that could give him away in certain situations.
"Dorian Patavia it is, correct?" Dorian nodded in response to the question--surprised that the King even knew his name, "I too regret the necessity for this particular meeting, although your reputation preceeds you. You served the Kingdom well in your defense of my eastern outposts from orc
invasions." Dorian bowed his head at the magnanimous compliment, noting the emphasis on ’my’ outposts. "That brings me to my next point, why the hell are you sitting here in defiance of your sovereign lord, and where the hell is Baluvian?" Baluvian--the Duke in question. "I would've thought that he was responsible for this."
"Well, my King, I must remind you that I am sworn directly to the Duke, as such, he is my sovereign. In response to your second question, I am the general of the Duke's forces, and he wishes to remain at his castle--leaving his army's command to me. He wishes me to deliver his terms. The Duke demands that you return back to the Kingdom and allow him to continue defending your easternmost frontiers against any possible imminent invasions" The King's eyes widened a bit anger or shock--Dorian couldn't tell which.
"The invasion isn’t imminent, we already beat it back, and your troops were nowhere to be seen! So may I take it as, Baluvian is cowering in his castle, sending his best general out to be destroyed on his behalf?
"That might be one way of phrasing it." Dorian conceded.
"Well, we might as well get on with this. As you can see, you're grossly outnumbered. No matter who you may be sworn to, I demand you and your entire army to lay down arms, and allow my forces to access Baluvian's castle in order to try him for high treason." Dorian was torn between the two possibilities. He glanced back at Alexa whose fire-red hair framed a face seemingly chiseled out of stone. All his life, he had fought for the honor of his Duke--previously Baluvian's brother, but his oath was to the Duke--and to disgrace that oath was to disgrace everyone he had sworn that oath to, not to mention himself.
"Sorry, my King, I cannot give that order. Nor, I pray, would my soldiers follow it if I did." Most likely, a bald-faced lie. These people had been following him in one battle or another for the last five years and most would follow his orders unquestioningly. The King visibly recoiled from Dorian's comment. Obviously averse to attacking his own citizens.
"Then you give me no choice, you will be destroyed this day, and Baluvian will be held accountable for his lack of support during war-time." Dorian nodded in understanding, bowed, and galloped away. He stopped in front of his forces, split into four stilton. He muttered some words--giving his voice a louder quality--allowing him to address his entire army.
"This day, we shall fight the forces of our King," Many glances darted uneasily among his troops, "I must remind you of the oaths you swore, not to uphold the Kingdom, but rather to follow the will of our Duke. Honor, given to our lord is the foundation of our entire system. To violate this, is to violate the one thing that separates us from the barbarians outside of the Kingdom that we fight. I cannot compel each and every one of you to fight this battle however, those of you who wish to violate your sworn sovereign's will may flee now, and risk the danger of being caught later either by Duke or King to be held accountable for your dishonesty. I'd rather you leave now than disorder my battle plans." He glanced back and forth, raking his ranks with his glare. Not a soul budged. "Then you are committed to this battle, and you will obey me until death--of you or myself. We will die to honor our oaths to the Duke!" He didn't expect much of a cheer for that, nor did he recieve one. He galloped back to his small cavalry wing behind his main battle line--mentally reviewing his battle plan. One advantage of his formation is that they can fight while moving and keeping formation. His tightly packed formations were vulnerable to enemy spellcasting, but his casters were focused mainly on protection until the battle became too raging for largescale area casting to be used. He figured falling back slowly would allow his formations to move well while keeping the King's forces off balance. The only problem would be if the King's cavalry charged, because the pikes would need to be planted in the ground for maximum effect. This movement would also stop the King's forces from completely surrounding his forces--allowing his fresh troops to
cycle to the front. Dorian even had a few surprises that he hoped would delay the inevitable. His reverie was broken with the sound of air crackling with arcane energy. Spells and counterspells started to whip across the battlefield. The occasional fireball would streak its way towards one of his formations, only to have it deflected by a shield. One impacted, and Dorian winced as the flames engulfed a number of people--before the physical damage being erased by healers. As the artillery barrage kept Dorian's forces busy, the front infantry lines started marching forward. Dorian's archers struck back with little effect, heals coming quicker than the incoming fire. Dorian hoped his secret weapons were coming along well.
***
Turin watched the two parties come together between the opposing armies. He watched as Dorian gave him a subtle signal to proceed. Then he contacted his squad leaders, invisibly giving them their orders. His team knew how to do everything required of them with very little direction. They were the spell snipers. The sides of the valley had been lined with stealthy burrows weeks before--allowing them to avid the King's patrols--who recently deceased right before the battle. It would seem that Dorian had some clairvoyance, because historically he always had his troops place in just the right place to cause much damage. In this case, he may have been crediting Dorian too much, as this pass was the only way for an army to reach the Duke’s lands. Turin doubted that they would be able to cause enough damage to tip the balance of this battle, but he was far from hanging Dorian out to dry. Before he had become a general, they had both the first generation of spell snipers. Dorian and him had pioneered the tactics and training required. As spells started flying back and forth, he readied his teams to strike. Their main targets were targets of opportunity, which were the healers and pure-casters. They tended to be the easiest to kill in proportion to how much damage they could do. Instantly twenty souls evaporated, as the squad leaders directed their deadly weapons independently. The best thing about their tactics were that their spells were tailored to leave very little trace as to where they came from. It looked as if the strings of twenty puppets had just been cut. Their stealth wouldn't last inevitably, but it never did. Another twenty fell, and the shocking suddenness was starting to induce some panic in the caster lines, as they searched for the source of the attacks. As a third twenty fell, Turin saw a tracer spell flare back to one of his squads' positions, climbing along one of the squadmembers attack spells. A moment later the position was engulfed in a hellish combination of spells--green, yellow, blue, red colors exploded--destroying Myrtag's unit. His troops relied on offensive power and stealth, and didn't have the spell power to resist direct attacks with protective spells. He flicked another set of orders along his squadleaders mentally. Once they were discovered, it was standard procedure to either withdraw, or go to full saturation attack. In this case--withdrawing would have put them in little position to help the rest of the battle--so full saturation. The squads released their concentration from hiding the origin of their spells and let loose with every bit of destructive power they possessed. Beams of coherent light, acid bombs, illusory warriors, fireballs. The sheer number of attack vectors disordered the King's armies from responding effectively. As hundreds perished under concentrated fire, the commanders were targeted first by his squads--resulting in poor retaliatory efforts. His forces might not have much protective spellpower, but enough to respond to poorly coordinated attacks--not to mention that some were still splitting their fire against Dorian's main force. His units weren't attacking unscathed anymore though, his troops were dropping periodically and he really didn't want to lose his entire force...
***
Dorian stiffened his lips in bitter satisfaction as his spell snipers tore into the enemy spellcasters. As he had predicted, the casters had been so focused on penetrating his schiltron’s defenses that they hadn't paid any attention to their own security. Dorian envied Turin, ever since Dorian had been
promoted he had been taken away from his spell sniper units. Working with those troops were what commanding was all about. While his army as a whole was far from inexperienced, working with the cream of the crop was far more liberating. Once he saw a squad go down in flame, he really saw the training wheels come off. It was a spectacular sight of destruction that he didn't get to enjoy for long as the battle at hand loomed larger. The infantry began charging, keeping the cavalry in reserve until Dorian's formations had been broken up a little. He signalled for the slow withdraw pace to begin, and his troops began their slow retreat.