For many in The Concord, Mukarrem has become the new Bolsterlee; a rolling conflict slowly grinding a once beautiful land into a wasted battlefield. It has been years since The Concord held the Salt Road, and the forces of the Trade Principality strike on such a narrow front that their pace is relentless. Concordian’s whisper that of Mukarrem in much the same way that they do of Mancante Terra, and Vassertal;
Lost causes that cost more than they reward.
But perhaps there is a change on the wind, blood in the water, that will change this war arithmetic. Although, not always for the better.
Draped in Gold and Blood
The strike rang through Tekkari’s forearm, rattling her elbow and threatening to throw her half-full quiver from her shoulders, but her twin knives held firm, even as her legs buckled. The sun-baked ground was as hard as stone beneath her, and the sawblade grasses chewed at the backs of her legs and her neck, but all she could think of was holding her crescent blades aloft against the next strike. The plate armoured bandit swore and spit from inside his helmet, blood and saliva mixing and dripping downwards from the inside of his faceplate.
“Give up and die savage.” He hacked and brought his mace down again. But Terraki would not give up so easily; even from the floor, the people of the Al’Mai would not surrender while they felt the sun of Andash on their skin. The mace’s head blotted out the burning midday glare for a moment and then all was darkness.
-
Gustav felt the wet sucking crunch as he pulled his flanged mace free one last time, like pulling your fingers from a cracked egg. He retched and fumbled for the release on his sallet and managed to raise his visor in time to spit the rest of his meagre breakfast and last night’s rum onto this cursed steppe, rather than send it into his bevor and down his gambeson. Around him the battle raged as it had for two hours. Spheres he was tired, and soaked through with sweat, piss, blood, and more besides. He had lost his shield an hour ago, three arrows embedded in its frame, and had made do with his mace and two years of half-remembered College training.
His entire world exploded into a cacophony of noise and spiraling horizons as the force of an auroch slammed into his side and sent him sprawling over a corpse and down to the ground. His unsecured visor clattered this way and that, deafening him as if he had tripped down a flight of stairs into a scullery. Tumbling to a stop, he dug one boot in and growled, at himself, the world, the sun, the fucking Andashi, the sour rum in the pit of his stomach, and forced himself to his feet.
The warrior across from him smiled brightly, his boyish face sunburned the same colour as his red war-braid, the big Iron Valley styled round shield that had sent Gustav stumbling in one hand, a too-large war-axe in the other. Gustav’s vision swayed for a moment as he lashed out wide with his mace, forcing space between himself and the fresher fighter.
“You can’t even fight fast,” tutted the Valleyfolk, darting back easily.
“What the fuck did you say to me?” Groaned the ritter, turned mercenary, turned drunkard.
The next clatter of iron on steel sent him returning to the floor. The second was the last screaming noise he ever heard.
-
Hefi the Lucky smiled sadly as his fighting axe refused to come free of the downed bandits' pitted plate harness. It upset him to leave it behind, but he was hopeful that he could remember where it was in the vast chaotic plain of combat.
Nearly twenty-thousand warriors were on the field today, if the general was correct and you included all the outlying scouts, vanguards, and second rank troops. It was a momentous moment, something that could really be felt. As if you were standing in the history tomes. But this was unlikely to be that, Hefi knew this. While it was a grand battle out on the Priado, it was just another defence. Old Bridga who lead his warband thought there would be at least another three such pitched battles this season before the Principality went home for the Autumn, to ‘nurse their wounds and wound their nurses’ as Bridga said.
Hefi drew his long knife as he raised his head up, trying to work out how far he had wandered from the rest of the warband in the chaos.
-
Otann let their breath free in one long, steady exhale, remembering the smooth trajectory of the arrow behind closed eyes and committing it to memory. It was a blessing from The Blood to take lives so easily and so well, it did good to reflect on this. But the battle was progressing, and not in The Basilisk's favour.
The hunter quickly unstrung their bow, pressing the string into a small deerskin pouch and taking the bowstave in hand. Swift feet carried him towards the rear of the fighting where they could spot others of Al-Shakti’s elite archers. They shared grim looks and the same steady gait.
The Concord had won this day, but The Basilisk and the Warjackal had made them pay for it.
Game Information
Two Concordian armies traded blows with two Trade Principality armies this past summer on the vast grassy plains of the Priado expanse as a part of the continuing defence of Mukarrem from Majeed’s forces.
Over a series of pitched battles The Andashi Desert Whisperers and the Iron Valley’s Own held the field, particularly aided by the support of the Liberties Fist, which lay anchored off the coast , providing aid and protection. Both Concordian forces have suffered approximately five hundred casualties.
The Desert Whisperers will begin this season in the Priado Expanse with a strength of 3700. The Valley’s Own will begin this season in the Priado Expanse with a strength of 5200.
The violence of action from the enemy was dangerous, but ultimately of greater risk to themselves than Concordian forces. Both of the Trade Principalities forces retreated to The Salt Road, having taken approximately 1000 casualties each.
Quod Est Imperatorum, Imperatori
Sunlight reflecting off the ranks of the legion was truly one of the greatest sights in the world. It didn’t matter if it was a snowpacked dusk outside an Invicta Major border fort, or as it turned out, as the soldiers clambered up the long hessian ladders to their clifftop encampments.
Two thousand were ashore already, and the Centumatore had assured him that the remaining eight would be ashore by day's end. The true danger was not a matter of someone falling from the cliffs and drowning, although that had occurred, but rather the damage that each of the landing galleys sustained while shackled to this Spheres-damned continent and its ornery cliffs.
His vision alighted on the forms on the cliffside distant from his own observation camp. The flowing robes and bone-garbed headdresses visible in this morning light. The locals had been informed by the Velites about their changing circumstances a week past. He had prayed to the Sphere of Imperial Wisdom that these tribesfolk would have some wisdom of their own, but it was growing apparent that more severe matters may have to be taken.
“Questor Primus, a missive from Questor Vikandius.” Came the chatter of his aide, breaking his reverie. The Primus rolled his eyes and turned to face the meek colonial.
“Well?”
“Th-the Questor states that he has received orders transferring to your command and the restoration of the ranks and payments of his troops. He is thankful and is ready to march north at your command.” The speech was equal parts too fast and too slow. It was impossible to find good help.
“Tell the Questor no. He is in a good position and will remain to assist our…allies. Myself and Questor Metalia have the circumstances well in hand here. He is to continue with his campaign of action as directed by the Trade Princeling. You are dismissed.”
The scrabble of the aides' sandaled feet was so frantic that the Primus had thought the young lad had taken a tumble into the sea. He sighed.
“Veni, vidi, vici.” Mumbled Questor Primus Opiter Velius Curo with as much sarcasm as disappointment.
Game Information
Torrealuz and Riozaf have been taken by the Artebazzani Empire.
Questor Vikandius is now an Artebazzani Empire army.
Concordian scouts in the Priado Expanse report seeing Questor Vikandius’ army rallying along the Salt Road, with new banners of red and gold.