Victory in Defeat

[Mirtok 2853]

~ The Korvassa Front Lines 1780 ~

 

A gentle breeze wafted over the calm dunes of Korvassa while the General of the Imperial State Army stared out across the vast sands. In the distance, steady columns of thick black smoke hung above the undeniable location of the Inferni incursion zone. The demonic sigil burned bright even amidst the bright backdrop of the blazing desert sky. Behind him, his comrades in arms from the ISA and the HRA toiled with their duties. The siege of Al Faiz was certainly imminent, all present knew this to be true despite having no insight to the inner machinations of the enemy. Before too long, they would set out over the bleached ground to potentially give their lives to hold off impending doom.

 

The soldiers were elated to be directly addressed by their beloved High Pontiff. Bringing words of the divine to inspire the heroism of Man throughout the defensive force. Not much more could be done to stall the inevitable, what had been done would simply have to be enough or else risk total destruction. The plan was quite simple, the only stake the soldiers of Oren had in all of this was to mitigate the loss of precious life while inflicting mass casualties on the enemy in the process. A hit and run so to speak, there was little option left in the wake of such an indomitable foe. As the last of the prayers of protection and hymns of war were uttered from bowed heads and sand chapped lips, a singular horn was blared marking the start of the battle.

 

The supply chain previously established had allowed for the import of a number of mobile ballista batteries that had been marked to reinforce the East flank of the city. The scouts earlier in the day had detailed the massive conglomeration of demonic thralls to that side of the city. In conjunction with its proximity to the evacuation route for the city, the East became the premiere front against the oncoming ground forces. The numerous tangles with the Inferi by the Death Korps deployed to Korvassa had yielded tactical data that suggested the sheer magnitude of the enemy troops to heavily outnumber that of the descendants. Saving the city had slowly become less and less a possibility as the time ticked closer to the day of the attack. And as the day indeed came, it was all too obvious that Korvassa would fall.

 

Though it is not the nature of true descendants to cower in the face of great adversity. All throughout history, the annals have been marked by valiant stands against overwhelming odds. Though perhaps the ancestral heroes did not have to contend with the possibility that their souls would be consumed by their invaders. Despite the danger, the men and women of the ISA and the HRA refused to back down without at least making the Inferi earn it. As well the proud Al Faiz would not simply go calmly into the night. There were yet still some who dwelled within the city and all those who volunteered to assure their escape would need to be assured their retreat as well. For every comrade lost in battle, the strength of their murderers would grow.

 

Many others had come to join the battle in hopes that perhaps the doomed city might not yet fall. They promptly took up arms all along the sandstone walls as the hordes of pitiful masses swarmed from beyond the miniscule gap between the city and the enemy war camp. The Oreners, augmented with Elven infantry, formed a defensive line to the East. The call had come to begin the evacuation of the last round of civilians and soon after the Inferi began to issue calls of their own. 

At first, it was hard to see the extent of the enemy forces from over the rolling dunes. Perhaps those inside the city were able to see them first but the Oren flank had to wait in terrible anticipation. The steady rumble of hundreds of armored feet echoed from over the ridge across from their position, violent shireks of unnatural origin randomly called out in guttural glee.

 

General Alren boomed across the ranks of his comrades “Hold the line comrades, ready those baslistas! Archer, lock bolts and prepare to fire on my mark! We must keep this flank open as long as we possibly can for we are the only thing separating the enemy from the evac route for the city. We must not allow the ship to become compromised or all is truly lost! The strength of Man is evidence by your brave willingness to stand with me today. We will not sit idle and allow these Demons free reign to slaughter and kill. They will earn every drop of blood, and we shall return that prize ten fold onto them. Once more comrades, hold the line and fire on my command!”

 

As the last of his words were uttered, Alren looked across to the horizon while his comrades let out their own battle cries in response. A legion of pathetic, squalid demonic soldiers barreled forth from the direction of their war camp. His eyes widened slightly in shock as he estimated their numbers to be in the hundreds, a mass of chittering bloodthirsty killers marked for the singular purpose of destruction. The General looked over to the men beside, issuing a silent nod as they too realized what was coming for them. In one singular motion, the order was given to fire.

 

The likes of the Orens rained volley after volley of bolt fire on the charging enemy, all the while crews manned several mobile ballistas that fired through the heaped masses of meat. It was hard to tell what was occurring on the South end of the city but the bone rattling thuds gave subtle indication that the siege was in full swing. What could be easily seen however were waves of missiles felling many in the enemy front lines. Blood erupted into the air as massive bolts ripped their ranks, tossing gore and gibs abound. Though nothing seemed to have interrupted the avalanche of the encroaching enemy forces even as their ‘comrades’ became obstacles for them to trample over. Line after line had met descendant arrow, and yet they still came.

 

Eventually the order was issued to pull back to the next ridge along the evacuation route, abandoning the ballistas in favor of more rapid mobility fire from a crossbow. It was in that instance the enemy swarming the Eastern flank finally returned fire, raining their own brand of piercing hate on the ranks of Oren. God must have been watching over them that day as only a few had been struck in the initial volley. Alren with his shield raised had witnessed one of his soldiers shot clean through his visor and into his eye- fortunate enough not to be killed instantly as the velocity of the arrow was mitigated by his eye socket. Though as the arrows continued to pour from above, one found its mark in the Generals shoulder.

 

The enemy force was truly overwhelming, any attempts at holding the line would have been careless suicide. Once again, the order was given to pull back so that the next phase of the tactical plane could be executed. Blood poured steadily from the wound in his shoulder but Alren stilled trudged over the sandy dunes. Through gritted teeth he would call out to an officer nearest him . . .

 

“Lt Helena, send word to the forces in the city, we are quickly being surrounded. The window to escape is closing and if they mean to fight another day they should make their way to the ship! Go comrade, and ensure we too are not surrounded on the Western side.”

 

The Lieutenant gave a sharp salute before sprinting off towards the front gates of the city. The Oreners continued on with the bloody affair, now firing at will into the oncoming Inferi. Beset below the ridge line of their previous position, a line of ether rich barrels had been positioned in anticipation of an overwhelming attack. It was obvious at this point that the objective to hit the enemy had been met and now it was time to run. Those who fought atop the city walls were now pouring out from the front gates and towards the impressive vessel docked in the natural Korvassan harbor. It was now or never, the General gave the order to blow the charges. With a single action, Private Velu produced a hearty flame from their palm and lobbed the voidal attack at the barrels. In the blink of an eye, from once what was unobstructed land had become a towering wall of searing hot fire- buying precious moments to cover the evacuation of the Korvassan defense forces.

 

The final order was given, board the ship or be left behind. The sentence alone was motivation enough for all present to take advantage of the fiery distraction and clamour for the boat. Only a couple souls- perhaps motivated by bravery or foolishness- stayed behind as the ship set sail across the bay to Aegrothond. Alren watched from the ship deck and hundreds more Inferi thralls streamed forth from either side of the city. It may not seem obvious to the uninitiated but the days objective had been a resounding success. The city of Al Faiz though fallen had been fully evacuated and the Inferi had been dealt a huge blow at minimal cost to the descendants. Only time will tell what is in store, who is next in the warpath? One thing can be certain, Oren will be there to resist it, every step of the way.
 

[Mescaffier 6197]

Lieutenant Viktoriya-Marie sat by the side of  Sir Alaric DeNurem, her hands folded atop her lap as she recounted the day’s events – a look of defeat upon her visage as they’d read on together. The Leftant had been in charge of signaling their troops of the Inferni – yet her post had been commanded to be abandoned on a moment’s notice. 

 

”At least . . . We were able teh evacuate tae Farfolk wit’ zero casualties,” she’d murmur, shutting her eyes as the scene came back to her – the woman’s squadron shooting out a few last bolts as the Infernal Horde arrived, every other ballista on the field having had been exploded: leaving her the last shooter. She held her sheild within her grasp, glaring down at the white sun painted upon it with an un-quelled bitterness. 

[Paulobig 133]

Sir Alaric DeNurem stood atop the platform inside the Bastille courtyard, his right hand clutched the handle of his shield as he peered ahead, by his side stood Lieutenant Viktoriya.

 

"Korvassa may be lost, though none of our comrades succumbed to the Inferi horde - The evacuation turned out a complete success." Remarked the DeNurem, casting a gaze at her. "Question ist.. How many more will fall till these beasts can be stopped?" The Knight mused, narrowing his eyes in reflection to the issue.

[wyvernbro 77]

On the main deck of the Ansar, Matthias leans against the railing and looks across the dark waters at the great column of smoke rising on the horizon. A chill goes through him at the thought of what they had left behind in the land of the Qalasheen — the spurts of malflame which spread and consumed all in their path, the daemonic horde descending upon the city, and the cacophony of horror which it had brought.

The Imperial officer bows his head and reflexively reaches for the prayer beads in his pocket, as he begins to mutter a prayer to Exalted Owyn. “O Purifier, whose protection is so great, so strong, so near to the heart of God — I place in you all my hopes. May we be your light in the coming darkness. Amen.” With that, the Orenian soldier turns his eyes back to the horizon, a look of grim determination etched into his features.

[Johann 2498]

“And so the Inferi march, the wheel turns, the cycle continues.”

[RenegadeWolf_ 25]

Upon hearing the news, of Korvassa’s loss, Deryk Vog would take his leave of the Bastille and head to the local Tavern, to drink and celebrate, even for a night. 

[GMRO 6187]

Boris var Ruthern leaned back against a wall upon the fleeing ship from Al-Faiz, pulling up his helmet to allow his hair flop down. “Glad to be out of the desert alive, at least.”

[ErikAzog 3575]

Peter Baldwin d’Arkent, would look from aboard the ship that carried them away from the Inferi, he would form the cross with his right hand, going to mutter a small prayer. then stating, “Out of the desert and into the frying pan.” he’d state as he watched the burning sigil of the Inferi light up across the sky, going to furrow his brow at the sight of a Prince from Al-Faiz being surrounded and cut down by the Inferi, he would then look towards the wounded, going to look at his son, Alexander d’Arkent, that laid among the wounded.

[Viggen92 326]

"Praise be to the banner that Archangel Michael sent unto us for this battle!" Cheered the Grandmaster after they had landed safe ashore.