The Red Fields of Tier

[Kevinblabla7 641]

 

 

---

And the fields ran red

 

        The sun kissed the sky, painting the clouds a bright orange as it crawled slowly from its slumber below the horizon. The Santegian siege camp was covered in a pious silence. Soldiers of the coalition mingled around campfires, completing the last of their pre battle rituals. The soft rasp of whetstone on steel could be heard as the armourers and smiths completed their final preparations. A great yellow and black stood in the middle of the camp, banners swaying lazily in the morning breeze. Within the commanders of the coalition stood about a table covered with maps and figures. A fierce argument was beginning to develop between the commanders. Abdes de Savin, a large imposing man with a face set deeply with the stress and worry of his campaign stood, beginning to speak. “The men of the Empire are few in number, we have the better fighters” he boldly declared a scornful sneer bolting across his features as he spoke. “We do not need to waste our time with elaborate preparations, let me take the Forlorn Hope forward. Our sappers can blow a breach using the dwarven charges then we can blow a hole in the walls and sack the place” He repeatedly slammed his hand on the table, highlighting his words with a loud thump. In response a stout dwarf exhaled heavily, the sigh cascading loudly though the room. The eyes of all within the command tent turned at the dwarf’s actions “Ye’ve abow as much experience wit siege cra’f as I ‘ave w’iv elfin trees” The gruff Dwed growled, fidgeting with his crown as his mud laden boots were propped on the table. “T’eh roight course ‘o action ‘ere is t’eh break down t’eh for w’iv our trebs, aye?”. The conversation wound on with voices rising higher and higher. Then A man clad in dark plate bearing the red and black of the Ash Guard slowly raised his hand for silence. The room fell to silence and all eyes turned towards the seated figure. “You are both wrong” the figure said, his voice barely above a whisper. Yet all in the chamber strained to hear his words. “They have prepared no siege weapons or defences of their own, they mean to sally out and meet us on the field”. The commanders looked about, realization dawning on their field, without a word they exited the command tent running over the old commands and formations that they had performed so many times before.

 

        The armies of the coalition marched in lockstep. The banners of Norland, Urguan, the War Nation and the Santegians flapping proudly in the wind as they marched to war in unison. The ranks of the coalition forces were filled with a wide variety of forces. From the drilled and uniformed forces of the Ash Guard and the Dwarven Legion, to the towering stature of golems and ologs, their long limbs slowly swinging as they moved ponderously forward towards the foe. Yet as the commanders of the coalition began to shout orders the army stopped as one. Standing resolute and unified in a single purpose. A great machine of war, its ranks filled with fledgling nations and old foes of the Empire, all prepared to wage war once more.

 

        Beyond the hills of the camp the brass horns of the Imperial armies blew proudly, the men of the coalition felt a shiver descend their spines as the memory of the old Empire, in the height of its glory was brought to the fore of their thoughts. The Imperial forces advanced, the thundering cadence of their hobnailed boots crushing the fields underfoot as they advanced in formation. The heraldry of the Imperial forces flapped proudly in the wind, banners and standards held by countless sergeants as they conquered the face of the known world. But that was in a different time, a different place. A time when the line of Dragons was strong and bold, now the dragons were devoid of wings, mere lizards in comparison to their ancestors of yore. As the glint of sunlight left the ranks of the Imperial forces the gaps began to show. The once great knights of the Empire were fewer in number than ever before, some relegated to mounting farm horses instead of the mighty steeds of old. Though the nobility and commanders of the Empire bored their plate and heraldry proudly, they did not move with the same confidence and ease of command as their predecessors. The infantry, no longer endless rank and file of pristine soldiers drilled and armoured to absolute perfection. Instead the ranks were filled with malnourished peasants garbed in old and damaged armours, their weapons bore signs of rust. The air was tinged with an air of sadness, this was not the mighty beast it had once been. Instead it was an ancient creature, brought low by sickness, famine and incompetence. Putting it out of its misery now would be nought but a mercy.

 

 

        The Keeper and his red garbed fellows stepped forth, each baring a massive ivory horn laden with runic marks and decoration. Upon their backs massive torches of primitive beauty were attached, the flames rising far over the heads of the holy men as they brought the great horns to their lips. The resulting blare was one of primitive force, rising from deep within the hearts and chests of the coalition the great army moved forward. The battle fervor rising in their lungs as they began to scream warcries. The ranks banged their blades on their shields, raising a cacophony of sound into the air. Then as if by some divine compulsion, the coalition broke ranks and charged. Fury and bloodlust filled them as they tore through the Imperial ranks as a scythe slices wheat. The Imperial battle line fell back, its rank and file on the cusp of breaking as Imperial officers barked at them to reformed hold the line. Screams and sobbing could be heard as the first wounded fell below the crush of battle. The scent of death filled the air as men soiled themselves and spent their innards in the dirt. The cavalry of the Empire attempted a flanking charge, yet the press of bodies was too great and their light steeds were repelled. With a final push the warriors of the Coalition broke through the Imperial line, shattering their forces into a route. As the last of the Imperial forces fled the field the banner of Santegia was hung, waving proudly from the heights of the formerly Imperial Keep. The fields had been sown with the seeds of death and the planting of the day had been heavy.

 

        As the sun set, the coalition forces began to take stock of their dead. The butchers bill had not been heavy yet every fallen man must be accounted for. As darkness wove its fingers over the land, casting dusk upon the coalition forces the strange red priests could be seen making their way among the ranks of the coalition. Their torches glinting off of the burnished red plate that they bore into battle. The Keeper stood, surrounded by a gathering of Ash Guard, Santegians and curious onlookers. “Children of the All Father”, the towering figure shouted, his voice booming over the ranks of those gathered. “You stand before us, bearing witness to the victory of the All Father over that being of stagnation that your canonist foes refer to as ‘god. Let us all give thanks that the light of the Father has guided us to yet another victory. Glory to the Father, the Flame, and the Ancestors the gathered men would shout banging their weapons and shields as they were consumed in zealous fervor.

 

        The day had been won, and the Imperium vanquished once more. The eyes of the coalition now turned towards the great city of Alexandria, once the seat of House Staunton, now rendered unto a shadow of what it once was.

 

 

(( All credits to Narthok <3))

[Chaw 964]

Montoya pulls a sword from the body of an Orenian goon, he chuckles, "we evidently do have the better fighters."

[Pieman 1134]

Grumpy Allaudin de Savin cheers, smoking his old pipe. "Ave Savinia"

[Cornivore 1292]

Prince Gonzalo de Castro sits in his newly aquired throne that had once belonged to the warrior prince himself Frederick Baden.

[TankM1A2 840]

3 minutes ago, Chaw said:

Montoya pulls a sword from the body of an Orenian goon, he chuckles, "we evidently do have the better fighters."

0

 

 

"Thanks for the sword." says King Artyom, having been presented that same sword a few hours later at a court session in Norland.

[Archbishop 1784]

"Idiotic Stauntons didn't even bother with defences.. well they're on their own now anyway." says Felix Fitch.

[Kukiii 511]

Ser Elias de Castro would smirk after the battle, wiping off his blade as he went to walk into the freshly battered keep "I told you we had the better fighters. Poor me some rum lads! Tonight we celebrate!"

[Jakesimonson 691]

*jake pulls his sword from a dead staunton* "yes! a great victory!"

[shortchangehero 4217]

Jacque de felsen smiles from the seven skies

[Hackhen 68]

*Angus plays one foot onto a oren dead corps before raising his Warhammer. "FOR THE ALL FAHTER"

[_pr0fit 3084]

"Way down south in the land of traitors...." Sven would sing, his voice trailing off as he hefted his warhammer onto his shoulder walking amongst the corpses back to the Norlandic encampment 

[sergisala 3451]

Alexander Merentel would shrug as his house nor 'Hallowfell' was mentioned in the narration.

[Kevinblabla7 641]

Unseen footage of Adalwulf pushing back the Orenian Hordes and giving courage to the men of the Coalition

[MangoArt 399]

"Da battle was over in minutes. Dey fought well, buh dey stood nub chance againzt da Urukz." Remarked Naaklug proudly.

[Gizzol 252]

Tepah would sadly be near the back of conflict, enjoying a nice wine and a card game with the rest of his comrades. 

 

"Got any fives?"

 

"Go fish"