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The Norlandic Rout of 1660

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The Norlandic Rout of 1660



 

The crow soars through a sky roiling with black smoke, blind to the bloodshed below. For what is there to see but another monument to the self destructive madness of mankind?

 

Ordered by the raw throat of a man choking on the cloying smog of war, a flight of arrows scales the stairway to the heavens. Barbed tips glint red in a sky riddled with clouds of ash, their sharp edges as cruel as the heathens for which they are meant. The crow jerks away, but even it cannot escape the brutality unfolding below. With a squak torn from its lungs by the weight of an arrow punching through its frail body, it tumbles down into the muddled mess of men below, anchored to the ground by their heavy armor.

 

As the creature falls, so do a hundred arrows, cleaving through the tender flesh of the Norlandic levies, shredding their poorly woven gambesons like leaves punched through by hail. Screams erupt amongst their uneven ranks as even now, their weakest men begin to falter. The peasants can do nothing when the might of the Renatian legions marches across the battlefield, their ironshod boots drumming a beat on the ground more terrifying than any war drum.

 

At their front, leading upon tall steeds clad brightly in glittering steel and the colors of their bloodline ride the most revered Aurelius and Antonius, their lances like darts of divine power moulded by the hands of GOD, to be driven into the chests of those heathens who would oppose them. And lead they did, with shouts of encouragement to their men and followed by their loyal captains and lords, they crashed into the feeble enemy.

 

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One could write pages about the tactics that had been elaborated by the greatest minds of the Kingdom in the sleepless nights that preceded the battle. The smoke-filled tents, light by candles at the darkest hours of the night, where Aurelius paced back and forth before a map, his best men at his side, eyes red with fatigue, yet gleaming with the all powerful light of faith and conviction.

 

But in truth, one would speak only of ideas then, great ideas, but ideas nonetheless. The truth of the battlefield can only be recounted in terms of brutality and slaughter.

 

As the legions of men in gleaming black armor advanced behind the cavalry, their pikes and halberds pointed down like thickets of monolithic bramble promising nothing but death, the Norlanders broke.


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Shattered by the devastating attacks spearheaded by the elite and faced with the uncompromising façade of an ELITE fighting force, their minds sought an alternative, and found it in flight. Flight back to their homes and hovels, their meagre existence spent cracking stones and scrabbling at a dry and hostile land for the smallest harvest of grain. A flight ended all to soon for most, as with great shouts, the cavalry lept into the fray once more, swords sprinkling lush fields with a fertile rain of blood. The levies fled in a confused mass, their unprotected backs so easily carved by steel that had been forged with the purpose of being tested against true men. But such a test would have to wait, for as they fleed, they fell and died in droves.

 

The Kingdom had won again, and at the tip of the spear, the King who had brought them glory once again.

 

 

 

Ave to the King, Praise be to GOD, and may every man glory in the splendor of our great nation.

 

 

 

 

A series of paintings of the event are added to the tome.

 

Spoiler

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Soldiers gather into neat files for inspection in Senntisten in the pre-dawn gloom, the day of the battle.

 

 

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The sun rises and with it, so does the army.

 

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The light of GOD crests the tips of the Adamantine Cathderal, to grace those men gathered below.

 

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Perfectly organized divisions advance towards the enemy in tight formation. /s

 

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A brave soldier, stuck by an arrow, flounders and drowns within the uncompromising marsh.

 

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The army fords a river, every man helping his brother as they cross.

 

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Captain Krieger surveys the men as they prepare for battle.

 

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"And so, they ran." - Count Eimar scoffed as he read through the piece

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Arnaud Halcourt would smile as he looks around the battlefield, now knowing, that they have one this day.

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2 minutes ago, Zanderaw said:

"By GOD's grace, Oren shall rise again."

“I’ll bureh my axe in yer head stupid Orenian sympathizer. Let the failed states of Oren and Urguan stay in the past.” states Nerak Frostbeard after leading the right side division alongside his Kaz’Ulrah brothers.

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4 minutes ago, Raomir said:

“I’ll bureh my axe in yer head stupid Orenian sympathizer. Let the failed states of Oren and Urguan stay in the past.” states Nerak Frostbeard after leading the right side division alongside his Kaz’Ulrah brothers.

Antonius nods in agreement.

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A Dominion officer nods in approval, returning home, victorious, joining in with the cries of victory that erupted from the return. Watching over as the Praetor conducts a ceremony for an Immortal Princeguard of the Crown, welcoming his brother into the silver elite. Watching as the Praetor hands the bloodied crown of the Norlantic King to an Archdruid, fulfilling a promise made earlier. Though the 'Ker did not participate in the festivities of the victory within the tavern, continuing his rounds, filling paperwork, and other duties, though relishing in the victory. But, a victory is a victory, a loss is a loss; there will always be both, but duties never cease.

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Slain amidst the battle, Asmund joins  his brother Uther in the afterlife.

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Armaedik smiles as he reads the tome. "I think I might have been in one of those pictures," He jokes with himself.

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*Countess Aldyth var Burgundar would smile as she read this* " this was a great battle. All of the Northern Atlas Alliance fought amazingly" *she'd say as she'd finish cleaning the blood from her armor* 

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Rodrik studies the document, cleaning his long sword from the blood of Orenian soldiers  "Ye' aren't defeated when ye lose, ye' are defeated when you quit. We will fight till our last breath."

Edited by Lionbileti

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"A needless war; spurred by the wrath and the boundless ambition of the Renatians and their ilk." explained Amandil, following with a weary sigh.

 

"Though we do not want it, we must protect our livelihood from these aggressors, or else be forced under the yolk of tyrants. God Save Haense." he'd state to his fellow Brothers as they oversee the construction of new fortresses within the Realm of Haense.

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