The Bonds That Bind Us

[Principality of Savoy 915]

The Bonds that Bind Us

 

 

 

A Foreword from the Royal Chancery

Oren is forged from war. This be true now, and will be every day onwards.

 

Like a sword, armour, or a tool, only under heat and stress were our bonds made strong, and did our shape take form. I watched as Oren was pounded, not so much to crush it out of existence, but enough to shape it into a powerful and united nation; this process began with the opening of the canonist war.

 

Today, we present to you, dear citizens of Oren, one of the turning points in humanity's history. It is told from the perspective of a soldier, representing the brave Orenic men who shed their blood daily for stability and prosperity in our nation.

 

A Soldier’s Account of the ‘Battle for Milvian Bridge’

Not a detail of the battle has escaped me. It was the year 1485, only two years after Petrus was captured by those wretched supporters of the King of Renatus. We stood not there though; we held true somewhere else, and that was at the end of the Milvian Bridge.

 

I had been in service to Oren for nearly a decade before that day. I had clashed against Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, even my fellow Men, and in so proving my mettle, I had climbed my way to the rank of Decurion in the Order of Saint Amyas. I recruited men, trained them, and then led a band of crusaders into battle. My life was built around obedience and respecting my superiors … but this was the first time I served under a commander as youthful as Guy de Bar.

 

The Ashford boy’s face was bald when he first ascended to the helm of our Order in Lord Adrian’s stead, but I thought nothing of it; he was fervent and robust, being quick to hear our grievances and engage in conversation with us. Though at times, I did admittedly find it difficult - clashing with him over a variety of issues, I found my place, more often than not, as his subordinate. I had my experience, but Lord Guy - he had his damned foresight. His eyes would dart across the men, and soon orders would be barked in our direction. He drilled us hard, and expected nothing less than complete discipline and obedience amongst his order-men.

 

In one instance, a man was caught stealing bread as we marched to do battle against an Urguanian clan. Lord de Bar had witnessed this, and had him in shackles, bellowing with rage about how vile the man was to rob the honest folks of Leuvaarden and breach our Order’s tenants. He had him exiled him from the city, not even unbinding the man as he walked out onto the road alone. I was shocked at the severity of Lord Guy’s punishment, but admired the results, for never again was Leuvaarden challenged by thieves or miscreants.

 

 

It took our solemn parade less than a day to reach the Orenian encampment on the Akovian border. We marched, bearing grim faces and bent double as we looked to the near naked trees on either side of the road. They, to me, looked like sad giants, falling apart, and doing away with what they had. It was hard not to think of it as an ill omen, and as the crusaders around me walked half asleep, I could not help but feel a twinge of fear.

 

Dread filled my heart and mind as we moved closer to the bridge, and my faith even began to waver. It is not that I didn’t practice what I preached, but the anxiety and fear we felt in understanding how numerous our foes were was unbearable. It was not just heretics that we were to defeat, but pagans and nonhumans; the Waldenians we battled nearly matched our numbers alone, but a number of Dwarves dispatched by Urguan, Orcs lent from the Rex, and even numerous Wood Elven bowmen had opted to joining these men. Hope began to diminish for us, and a feeling of doom hung over our sullen march as we neared the battleground. Foreign kingdoms of these lesser races were quick to band together against the Canonists, and I gave much thought as to why we had so few allies.

 

 

Following our arrival at the encampment, I realized we were the last reinforcements expected. The men there bore gaunt expressions and sullen eyes, and only at sight of the Knights Lorraine in their ivory tabards did they seem to come to life. Shame had been brought to the canonist cause through many unsuccessful skirmishes, and though their numbers remained respectable, the rabble before us were pitifully over encumbered with the burden of war. Only now did I find myself doubting our commander, Guy de Bar.

 

 

The Grand Master’s calculating, steely gaze looked not at us, but over the river; he watched the innumerable pikes and billhooks of the gathering pagan forces raise as they amalgamated into a rough mass. Did he not see their superior numbers well enough? Could he not just order us to retreat to a redoubt, and better battle these heretics from safety? I knew not, but I worried greatly, and my stomach knotted tightly into a fist as I readied my blade for what I knew was to be the deciding battle of the faiths.

 

 

Soon enough, Grand Master Guy de Bar, and the leader of Woldzimir’s forces, the tigress Emma Vladov, rode side by side, discussing their plan for the battle. A well-drilled line began to form at our end of the bridge, deterring those that may have found it wise to begin skirmishes on the bridge early. This wall of shields, at the very least, hid the quivering shoulders of our men, as the fatigued soldiers looked about, hoping to be relieved. Tense, perturbed whispers were exchanged between the fretful initiates, and despite my own concerns, I managed to joke about the height of the stouts, and the brutish nature of these Waldenians. The men laughed, and joined with me in mocking their forces, pointing out that at this distance, it looked as if the Orcs were just shrubs that the Wood Elves were mistakenly protecting, but doom changed the tone of our voices and the sound of our laughter. We found it hard to be assured victory.

 

 

The plan, as dictated by Grand Master de Bar, was not to hold our ground, but to storm theirs, as we prepared to face off against this sea of foes. I could hardly process the situation we were in when I was told to form up with the other men at the bridge. My knees buckling, I muttered a silent prayer as I stood shoulder-to-shoulder amidst my comrades. No doubt to soothe our dismal moods, Guy de Bar strode into our ranks and passed around a canteen of the finest vintage he could afford us, something no man, no matter how resolute, could bring himself to refuse. We began to merrily dream up the loot we’d be raiding from the enemy encampment over the bottle, and let some of the anxiety wash down to become a fire in our bellies. Though men brought with them brews from home, nothing matched the fine taste of the wines Grand Master de Bar handed to us.

 

We held our formation the best we could, but I could not help but feel great distress from it: Our allies slouched with exhaustion, and many of the fresher-faced recruits wavered at the chilling warhorns of our opposition. Facing the opening of the bridge, the slits of my helm captured the consolidation of our enemies, and my gauntlet-clad hands were lucky to be gripping only the finest Savoyard timber, as anything of poorer strength would have exploded in my grasp as I heard the blaring war cries of the Uruk berserkers across the bridge. Several arrows whistled by our weak formation, some landing at our feet with dull thuds. I felt as hopeless as my comrades I drew in air anxiously, and we retreated several paces as more arrows struck the ground around us.

 

Suddenly, I felt a consoling hand grasp my pauldron firmly. Whirling around, I realized that before me was our Grand Master, Guy de Bar. For a moment, I felt my dread wane as I looked upon his face, not a frown or a wild eyed expression, but his calming, stern smile. The young Grand Master addressed me momentarily with a composed, heartening nod, before moving to hail the order-men around me. Pacing around our line with an encouraging gaze, Guy spoke a few quiet words to us personally.”I would expect no less than what you have been trained to do on this day, my friends. Let us show God that we truly deserve His favor!” Mounting his horse, Guy turned to face our entire force before raising his glimmering blade into the air.

 

“Death is nothing, my brothers; but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily. Do not fear death. Go, sons of Horen, go forth! Charge!”

 

The Grand Master brought down his sword, gritting his teeth in a resolute snarl. I relayed the order to charge, and like a dam broken, our inspired forces flooded across the bridge towards our enemies. The thundering sound of our boots reporting on the stone promenade only served to further inspire our men, and with renewed zeal we hurled battle cries at the top of our lungs. I hefted my shield over my head, and cursed as another volley of arrows hissed towards us. A new sound was heard over the din of our charge; the wails of wounded soldiers as they fell to wood elven sharpshooters. A man to the right of me fell with a screech of agony, and a pair of bloodied order-men tumbled aside from our rush; but the remainder of our men charged forth, all doubts alleviated by the Grand Master’s passionate drive forward.

 

 

Contact with the Waldenian foe came quickly, and as steel crashed against steel I found myself caught in the midst of the hellish engagement. We slapped up against our adversaries’ lines with enough force to scatter them, but I was still unsure as to whether or not we possessed the manpower and tenacity to drive them back. As I sighted Guy de Bar atop his horse amidst the clamor, bouting with several enemy infantrymen, I found myself wondering if we were doomed to be overrun and massacred - or if we truly were driving the heretical fools back.

 

I jostled through the battle, eager to assist the Grand Master while he fended off a battalion of Waldenians. Many of the men surrounding me did not advance like I did; too caught up in their own quest for glory, they slashed through the ranks of our enemies blindly. I shouldered past countless figures locked in combat, and as I approached Guy de Bar, I watched as his horse was speared and crumpled from under him. Rushing to my liege’s side as he deftly pulled himself out of the fallen beast’s stirrup, I found myself with a newfound respect for the Grand Master’s martial ability, and I then stood by his side in a frantic melee against a flurry of enemies.

 

As the battle raged on, and my bloodied sword grew heavy in my fatigued arms, I began to notice the Dwarven lines faltering. I felt an adrenal surge as I fought on, rallying those around me to press forward. The Waldenians were repelled from the end of the bridge, and our perimeter began to broaden. Soon, I found myself at the widening front, but I stopped not to look at my foe; I knew where they stood, and swung my sword heavily at their empty skulls.

 

The fear on the visages of our enemies was apparent as we began to break their lines, and as our forces slammed hard against theirs, they began to stumble and flounder over one another. As gaps in their lines formed, we instantly moved to fill them, and eventually the holes in the Waldenian’s formations were shattered and they were struck down in droves.

 

 

How many men I had slain by the battle’s denouement, I knew not, but I found great difficulty in managing a swing without cleaving through a wavering enemy. The remaining Waldenians were pressed so tight in their defensive formation that they could not lift their shields to defend themselves, and with shouts of determination, we cut them down where they stood. The men around me reveled in the glorious slaughter of our enemies, and I soon found myself rejoicing with them as I cut down foe after foe.

 

When the Orcish horns sounded a retreat amongst the broken lines of our opposing army, we found ourselves in hot pursuit of frantically escaping enemies. Throwing down their arms in desperation, some men cowered rather than join their routing comrades; these cravens were butchered despite their cries for mercy, for we were told to show no pity for those choosing to surrender.

 

As the day drew to a close, and we found ourselves mopping up the remaining pockets of opposition, the men cheered our Grand Master’s name in marvel of his leadership in the face of such adversity. I stood by Guy’s side as he addressed the crusaders after the battle, and despite our massively inferior numbers, we suffered surprisingly few casualties. In contempt of the countless Waldenian and nonhuman dead littering the bridge, I herded back nearly ten captives to our encampment, where we had amassed a significant group of prisoners.

 

 

 

As I marched past the lines of kneeling prisoners though, they looked almost dumbfounded with grief and shocked at their hopeless situation. These men fought, but why did they fight? I pitied them greatly as they looked about with red, fearful eyes and gaunt, grime-streaked faces, having never realised how mislead they were, and what a poor spiritual guide they chose. Despite this, it was hard for me not to strike the poor fools where they knelt. How one could so ignorant is beyond me, but perhaps as heretics and pagans, they had much more experience in being lost and dragged into things they truly did not understand. The men who turned from the true word of God were given a second chance to adhere to his teachings again, to be shown mercy; but still many refused stubbornly and were put to death. I failed to feel even a tinge of remorse as their heads rolled; they brought this war on, and were to suffer the full wrath of God’s servants.

 

The blows and beatings Oren took prior to the battle of The Milvian Bridge shaped her, and made her strong. Cooled was the blade that is Oren, as it was submerged in the blood of those heretics and pagans upon Milvian Bridge. We men of Savoy are proud to have acted righteously alongside our Akovian and Adrian brethren, and with commanders like Guy de Bar and Emma Vladov at the helm of our army, our spiritual and military guidance would never be questioned again.

At the battle of the Milvian Bridge, it was not God alone who gave us victory; but we unified men of Oren, ready to die for our cause.

[TicTocTom 40]

Maximus reads this, smiling broadly as he does so.

 

"God bless Oren!"

[FancyPants 101]

Canonist and proud...

[thesmellypocket 1859]

"I shall make a ballad out of this." Adolf comments.

[Heero 4092]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.