diary Diary Post - Siege of Fredericksburg

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Below is an excerpt from the personal diary of Leon Barclay
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Today was my second battle. We once again saw victory over the vile warbands of Veletz, Stassion, and Krugmar. I remember rallying the banners of Minitz in Kanunsberg, whilst Cousin Alfred brought his host. His face is not one I’d forget. He’s a glum and hardy looking man, he boasts numerous scars from conflicts and disputes. He bears the gaunt features that soldiers often have after a long campaign. He’s been fighting the enemies of Reinmar as long as I’ve been alive. We spoke and drank wine together in the tavern, and our men joined us.

Once we were called to do so, we parted ways, I joined the King’s army in Whitespire, and Alfred went to join his own liege’s host.  I felt much pride as I was bid to ride next to King John and the Knights of Saint Godwin, though tension also rose as the impending siege grew close.

I spoke with my Herrenmeister, Sir Stanton, about the battle. We discussed tactics, troop placements, and the keep we were determined to take. I had the same sort of discussion with my Chancellor, Roland. They are both men with illuminating insights on the subject of warfare, I find them much more adept at command than myself.

Once the royal army and men of Aaun marched into the Coalition’s camp, I gathered my host and made sure they were prepared. I met with Cousin Alfred once again, this time at his tent, and we spoke to the Warchief, Wilhelm. I then met with Uncle Gottfried. He spoke with me some about the cannons on our battlements, and the trebuchets on the enemy’s. He compared the two, before explaining to me the importance of siege engines.

It wasn’t long after that conversation that the Siege of Fredericksburg began. I scrambled to join the men operating the cannons. I carried the rounds, and helped the cannoneers load their shots. I have never heard anything louder than those cannons, the sheer cacophony is enough to ring in a man’s head for decades.

Once we had destroyed the enemy’s engines and punctured their palisades of dirt and stone, we surged forward. I remember the men who led the charge, ladders carried upon their shoulders. They darted through cannonfire and mounted their ladders upon the walls, allowing our men to climb up and breach the keep. I joined the contingent of men who climbed up from the inside of the keep, fighting on the battlements.

Despite all the training and the bit of battle experience I have gained, I still find myself a poor match against the seasoned soldiers in this war. Once we had taken the battlements, I took a moment of respite. I caught some of our fallen in my eye, and sorrow filled me. They were martyrs of a righteous cause.

I didn’t have much time to rest, but was grateful for the spare few minutes I was allowed. We then went through the keep, cutting down any defender we found. The castle was secure, but the plains it overlooked had many mounted men-at-arms. They went through, fighting each other as we watched on.

As our cavalry saw success, the commanders had discussed what to do for a time. Once the time was right, we sallied out from the captured keep, set on engaging what was left of the enemy host.
It was not long until we saw complete victory after our charge. We had put the enemy to the sword, those that managed to survive routed. The men of the Coalition gathered, triumphant and joyous. I met with my grandfather, and his praise for my efforts further steeled my resolve to dig out the Veletzian scourge from the realms of Canondom.

Once the rallied armies had begun to separate, mine and my cousin’s hosts made their way to Kanunsberg, the warriors of Reinmar and Minitz celebrated together, whilst I met with my kinsmen and discussed our next move.
 

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Archbishop Brandt took off the winged mask that had been atop his head as he stood by the red waters of the river Petra. The Covenanter Lords had set up camp and sent men at arms, especially from among the Reinmaren for their renowned cavalrymen to scour the battlefield for any survivors. He cast his gaze towards the great keep that had been wrestled away from the maw of the dragon, the tombstone of the final clutch of Frederick's spirit upon the Heartlands. As he spotted the crowned helmet of his grandson, the Archbishop galloped nearer to Leon, going over to pull his grandson into an embrace. He knew that Leon had to fight, but his heart before the battle pleaded against that. 

 

He was glad that Leon survived.