https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWZNn0aerXQ
THE BATTLE OF THE BRIDGE
The First Skirmish of the Red Sands
GENERAL:
TYPE OF BATTLE: Skirmish
PROPOSED TIER: Tier one
TIME: Saturday, August 26th, 3 PM EST
SIDE A: The Holy Orenian Empire and allies
SIDE B: The War Uzg and allies
DISCORD: eat ass skate fast
LOCATION:
DIRECT AREA:
https://gyazo.com/16099f9750f6113197d9ee7678d503f8
SURROUNDING AREA:
https://gyazo.com/d41b962766b36ebd4d40103e1eee4733
PROPOSED RULES:
All Lord of the Craft server rules.
No status switching.
TNT disabled.
No golden apples.
No altering of terrain or construction of new fortifications after this warclaim is posted.
If the defenders do not show to their side of the warclaim then they implicitly forfeit and the Empire is allowed to take control of the region and continue on with siege-warclaim on a date and time of their sole preference.
“Vengeance for our deceased.”
Peter Sigismund, surveying the war-torn Lorraine fields come the conclusion of the Prince Philip’s War.
Reticence fell over the half-a-dozen men gathered about the scene, an electric air of unease and anticipation crackling invisibly about them, sparking with thoughts unspoken.
“Damned savages, I say.” The Captain, Ser Felix, broke the silence.
“How many this time?” The Archchancellor’s intonation came as a low timbre, filled with both a lack of zest and severe displeasure.
“About twenty, Your Excellency.” Piped a diffident, youthful guardsman, all chilled to the marrow; his uniform was the very same as those stricken men before him, their once-proud frames laid low.
“Good men, the lot of them… cursed brutes.” The austere Chamberlain muttered, crossing himself thrice as he glanced over the gruesome scene, bodies of man and orc alike strewn and bent like weeds in wind, hacked down in a macabre display of gore and bloodletting, severed limbs and crimson ichor littering the area. It was clear who the winner of the engagement was; the bodies of the Orenian soldiers were desecrated, stripped of anything of value, coin purses plucked without a mere thought.
Aeternius allowed himself a sharp inhale, heavy brow coming to knit. “What of the ultimatum? One would presume that the Rex keeps his silence.” His gaze shifted, fixating upon Pepin, who rolled his shoulders in a subtle shrug.
“As surely as one keeps a secret - the Rex has issued nothing.”
“A certain nothing; one that will cost them something.” Ushered the Emperor’s gravelly baritone, one that rumbled within his chest like rolling thunder.
“Sire?” Snivelled the perplexed guardsman, wringing both hands together in expressive anxiety.
"They joined the Romstun's against the NATO, they've slaughtered our men in raids, and their Rex fails to attack the city." Peter Sigismund snapped aloud.
“If it is war they want, then it is war they shall have,” he began, his cold gaze enough to put one’s teeth on edge, yielding no quarter. “We shall have vengeance for our departed.”