Stradia: The Fourth War - Chapter 1 "The North Falls"

[Aieris]

When she woke that morning, Aieris' head was filled with plans for the day. New arrows, brow-beating someone into letting her interrogate prisoners, burning prisoners until they told her something useful, the works. But as she reached the ground floor of the inn, already scowling so as to persuade the other patrons to leave her alone, she spotted the fat old innkeeper, with a jolly expression as always, waddle over to her.

"Ma'am," he said while bowing and touching his hand ot his forehead. "a message was left for you. Your presence has been requested at the Border Ranger house, after the funeral ceremony, if it please you" he finished, bowing slightly again.

Aieris waited a moment to make sure there was no more message, then nodded her head slightly in thanks, and left. With a funeral ceremony taking place, it would be harder for her to find a blacksmith to put her order in with, but she would try. And this meeting would delay her interrogation of the prisoners, but it would be important to know what was happening in the city, so she would have to go.

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As the border rangers finished speaking, Aieris stood before any other could and said simply "The rangers are right. If we want to survive, we should flee".

Because they were right. The defences of Gole were a joke, as were the militia which had been assembled. If Aieris were to stay alive, and to have a chance at finding her parents, she would have to both stick with the army, and get out of Gole.

It was too bad really, that she would likely not be there to see the Venurians take the city. Armies always set fire to cities, and it was likely to burn so prettily.

[Ugainius]

Alexander ran through the Kenshurians options in his head:

1: They retreat to a city or other easily defended settlement. We cut them down as they flee, or let them go. Either way Venuria gets control of the North and is free to drive deeper into Kenshuria.

2: They surrender.

3: The Militia at Gole stays and prepares for a siege; one which they cannot win. If it did result in a siege then it would be a simple matter of outlasting them or storming them.

The more Von Paulus thought, the more he realized that the men at Gole had only one true option: retreat and hope for the best. Any other decision and they'd be slaughtered, only the fool would support staying in the village. Gole had become their tomb, the only difference to that of a real being that they had a chance to walk away from it.

Venurias victory was assured.

[Jtab]

After a long period of silent contemplation, Bentis finally found words for some of his thoughts. “If the Venurian forces in Socre have been counted in the thousands, what good can come from waiting for them? Here or in Midgaard. The army we met yesterday was maybe 300 strong when they made their retreat. Why allow them to wait for reinforcements? They would expect us to still be licking our wounds and surely could be taken by surprise. Perhaps falling back to Midgaard would be the best option but why not strike at them once more in the hopes of damaging morale or intelligence?”

Bentis sat back down, barely realizing he had stood to address the congregation of local “heroes”. He breathed deeply as he relaxed again; it took a great deal of concentration to speak properly. Perhaps with practice the speech would come more easily, but for now he would have to simply speak slowly and calmly. He scanned across the room to see how the others had received his thoughts on the matter at hand.

[TheBlindMime]

"Thousands strong..." Loki muttered under his breath, he had believed that there must be more Venurians but thousands of them? He shuddered at the thought. His heart strings were further plucked by the mention of evacuation. "A mass exodus..." This time he spoke from shock sufficient enough to draw attention back to him.

Loki gulped painfully as the eyes of the group rested upon him, his dwarven mind was quick to formulate a plan but he loathed to repeat it. "I've been waiting for the flags of the Kenzurahn flags to wave over our backs as the army arrived. I 'spect that was naieve of me to think, the Virnurans are gonnah come here with thur full force, we should meet them in kind, in Midgaard... We have to leave nothin' behind for those filthy Virnurans, we take all we can and burn the rest. Destroy leftover crops, shatter armors, mar the city walls, fracture whetstones, demol... demolish the forge. We leave nothin' fer them." It had pained him to think of destroying the forge but it was a sight better then letting the Venurians use it.

"The last men to leave set fire to whatever will light, yes they will have the remains of our city, but they will have not taken Gole." Loki considered yesterday's battle, "Were the horde close we'd already be dead, I 'spect that what we fought yesturday was but a scoutin' party. The best we can hope fer is that they have to return to Socre before the reinforcements arrive. I 'spect 'hat too is naieve of me, We prolly have less then a week fore they arrive."

The prospects were looking grim all around. "How quickly could we organize an exodus from Gole?" Loki looked to Gorn, the sound of leaving Gole behind had obviously winded the Elder. This war wasn't sitting well with anyone here, war rarely did.

[Azisien]

Talk of retreat and the destruction of Gole brought even more despair around the already grim council. Most of the men and women in the room looked to superiors to guidance, while most of the superiors looked to Gorn. However, it was one of the knights of the Long Patrol who spoke next. He was a very tall man, over six foot three, and otherwise could have passed for Anduil's younger brother with his blonde hair and reasonably handsome looks. His handsome face, however, was stung with a mixture of anger and disgust.

"One small skirmish has ruined our appetite for battle? This war should breed patriotism," he purposefully glanced at Aieris and Penn, "not cowardice." The knight looked at House Master. "I surely expected more out of you, Rowan. We have two thousand militia sitting in their bunks, sharpening their blades! We are much stronger behind these walls then out in the field, and retreat? If the Venurians discovered our exodus we could be slaughtered! Only a small portion of our people have access to horses, most would have to march. No troll or gargoyle can outrun a strong, healthy stallion, but human, elf, dwarf? We would be mice to their wolves. Unarmed townspeople! How, exactly, can we guaruntee a safe route to Midgaard?"

Rowan slammed his fist down onto the surface of the wooden table. "I won't stand here and have you call me a coward, Alandir! With the militia at the flank, we could get the citizens of Gole to Midgaard. Those that cannot march fast or long can be given horses, with a modest number set aside for defensive cavalry. We could contact Sir Elmric and ask for his aid in the retreat!"

Alandir would hear no more. "What we should ask Sir Elmric for, is soldiers. He has strong connections in Midgaard, he could talk to the right people, and get us more reinforcements! If we want to evacuate anywhere, it should be Weste. Their inhabitants, militia included, should come here. As much as all of you downplay our defenses, they are not so bad. The strongest in the north, even moreso than Ateria!"

Gorn spoke as if too loud a noise would trigger an avalanche. "Ateria fell in four days. Socre in one." The elder fell silent. The thought of leaving Gole would touch him more than any one other, for he had watched it turn from an empty patch of land into a thriving village. When Loki asked Gorn a question directly, the elf could only shake his head slightly at his friend before lowering it. Indeed, the Gorn that had opened the meeting was not the Gorn that stood before them now.

Alandir took another opportunity to rally support for staying in Gorn's moment of weakness. "They were not prepared for a protracted siege! Elder, my fellow Kenshurians, if we commit all of our resources to a real defense, we could hold back the Venurians for many days, weeks! We could even send them howling back to their camp to the north! Their invasion took this country by surprise, and villages fell as a result. But we can prepare for them now. Kenshuria's army will be on the march, and each moment we delay them is another footstep made by our own legions."

[Aieris]

Aieris stood to speak again. Quietly, and calmly, she responded to the statements of the one who was called Alandir.

"Houses of wood, which would burn, and trap us in a flaming city of death. Walls which can not only be set aflame, but jumped over by the enemy. Streets small enough to trap hundreds if a building were to collapse. Not to mention a force comprised for the most part of children who have had mere weeks of training. Yes. We could assemble a real defense. And it would remain a real defense until the moment the Venurians attacked us, when we would be caught in a trap of our own making. Not to mention all these villagers you seem so worried about would be left all but defenseless when the Venurians finished with us. The villagers need the horses more than knights, if they are to reach safety, and how well does a knight without its horse fight again?"

As Aieris sat calmly down again, she wondered what the fuming knight would come up with next.

[Lumenskir]

"Five days?" Ariosto had been prepared for a less drawn out waiting game, even after his off-the-handle ramblings of taking Gole in one night. "My prisoners will probably be ripe by then. I was thinking of sneaking in with their clothes for some in depth reconnaissance, but with a hefty legion on our side knowing special weak points isn't so neccessary."

The enchanter tapped on his lenseless glasses, trying to salvage the two bleeding moaners who had now outlived their usefulness. "Maybe...if I could sneak in, I might be able to get close enough to an aide or bodyguard of a general or captain, enchant them into attacking their ward. The Kenshurans seem to handle betrayal about as well as wood handles fire. Even if the would be assassin does get stopped, the fact that the dreaded Venurians have such a pervasive hold in their echelons would probably produce the low morale Alex deems neccesary." After chewing on his eyeware for a moment, playing an internal devil's advocate, he added something to his idea. "Of course, do it too soon and we risk a turtle mentality as opposed to a headless chicken. Maybe around a night before? Or even that day, and I could signal when the time is right to attack? Just some thoughts, my Captain."

[Mintaro]

Penn scratched his chin, he had forgotten to shave that morning and his usual growth was all the more itchy. "The real problem is that, if we leave this city undefended, or even destroyed. Then the enemy wont rest. They won't halt until they find us. With no town to slow them down they will just keep marching on. Meaning that even if we began evacuating people today, they will not be far enough away to continue outrunning trained Venurians. Now we can set up ambushes. Or even defensive skirmishes to give civilians more time to retreat. In the end however, all that we would accomplish is the death of armed men instead of unarmed. We would lose less in a tactical retreat than in a full on seige it is true. But I think what we should focus on might just be losing a selected amount." All in the council seemed to be looking at him, not quite understanding what he was trying to say.

"What I'm saying is, we have defenses here, not the best but some. And the Venurians probably only believe our numbers to be what they saw of us yesterday. Perhaps what we need to consider is, evacuating those we can. Then leave behind a volunteer force to hold this city as long as they can. If the Venurians decide to try and wait out the defense force, so much the better, thats just more time for a retreat. If they try to attack, at least that might by the retreat an extra day. Venurian's like to celebrate after victories, or so I've been told One thing is certain though, along this line of thought those that are left will assuredly die."

[Barahad]

Graeme slept deep and dreamless: when he awoke, the first rays of dawn were falling through the window of his room at the inn. He moved to throw the covers back, and sucked in a sharp groan. The injuries he'd taken in yesterday's battle were still raw, and he could see that many of his bruises were particularly large and angry, mottled black, blue and purple on his front and sides. He bit back a curse and donned his tunic and trousers. He had been careful with his armour when he had removed it the night before, taking care to rinse the dirt and blood from the mail. His tunic was darkened by spots, slashes, and splashes of black: dried blood, soaked into his tabard. He resigned himself to the unkempt appearance, but left aside his armour for the moment.

His first concern were normal: food, the use of the privy, and rendering himself presentable to the world. Having taken care of these things, he considered his armour. It was, he reckoned, only proper to appear in full uniform for the burial service. Nord deserved that much respect, at least.

So he pulled on his armour, piece by piece, wincing at every bruise and tired muscle. After what seemed an unnecessarily long time, he had pulled on the last piece of his armour. Seizing his helm (with the dent banged out by a stiff hammer), he tucked it under his right arm, strapped his shield to his back, and made his way out of the inn.

On the stairwell, he greeted a messenger who had been sent with orders to report to the war council to be held after the dedication ceremony for the fallen soldiers. Graeme took the sealed message and tucked it safely about his person. There would be little time before the start of the dedication. Graeme found himself hurrying towards the temple while trying to maintain an unhurried demeanour.

He arrived to find a sizeable crowd had gathered. As he stopped near the back of the crowd, he heard a fearful whisper from his left, and glanced to see a couple stepping aside. Graeme frowned and shook his head at the gesture, but the two refused to move back to their rightful place. In short order, Graeme relented, thanked them for their hospitality and stepped into the empty space. The Kenshurians in front of him also moved aside, words flowing quietly between them. Soon, this strange process had brought Graeme to the front of service. He watched, his face impassive and his eyes solemn, as Nord was carried from the temple and placed upon an unlit pyre. He seemed strangely serene as he was laid gently before the gathered mourners.

The priests began then, offering prayers and hopes for the dead; to balm the wounds of those who had lost friends and family in the battle. Graeme followed raptly as a torch was finally brought to the pile. With a touch, the flames roared to life, a blast of heat washing over the crowd as the pyre's thick smoke drifted skyward, to be dispersed on a strong morning breeze. This signalled an end to the remembrance, and Graeme turned away from the temple, to find that he had been left standing alone, Kenshurians all staying well clear.

Graeme frowned, but in a moment he understood. It was the tabard he wore. It was stained with memories of yesterday's battle: the blood of friend and foe alike. He had not found the time to clean it, and it was this from which the Kenshurians recoiled. He was, to them, war and death personified. Smiling sadly at that thought, he decided he would make his way directly to the council of war.

As he entered, some of the soldiers present in the room gave way before him. 'Am I truly that terrible to behold?' Graeme wondered silently to himself as he stayed nearer to the wall of the room, wondering what would be said after yesterday's battle.

He was surprised then, at the cursory mention of the conflagration. Talk turned immediately to the possibility of defending Gole: whether abandonment of the settlement was in order, or whether a stand should be mounted here, against the Venurians. Some argued for a mixed approach, and the soldier who had survived yesterday's rescue attempt, suggested a daring strategy of attack against the enemy. The conversation grew in volume and heat until the young knight could bear no more.

Stepping away from the wall, he made his way towards the center of the room. Heads turned to gaze upon the new speaker, and Graeme looked steadily about the room, meeting the gaze of each speaker in turn. "Yesterday, we failed." Dead silence fell upon the room, and Graeme could see expectant and hostile eyes on him. "The Venurian company was not destroyed, and we lost far too many good men, not to mention mounts, equipment, and other supplies." He glanced at Gorn. "Nord fell." He turned to the gathered rangers. "Rangers fell." He glanced at the other knight, Anduril. "The Long Patrol suffered heavily." He turned to look at Bentis. "Militiamen died," he looked to any who might be natives of Gole. "And this day many wake to find themselves bereft of the comforting presence of friends and family."

He paused. It was a dramatic statement, but nothing new to any gathered in the room. "We must ask why we failed, and we must ask how that failure might be in future avoided." He nodded to the other knight of the Long Patrol, Alandir. "We failed because we faced them on open ground." Gorn gazed intently at him, frowning but interested. "We failed because we allowed them to choose the battleground. We failed because we met them only with even strength. We failed because the Venurians had organized their battle plan well in advance, and we did not. We failed yesterday because they flanked us and outfought us. Yet many are here to discuss our failure, and that, THAT is a success."

Graeme took a deep breath. "We have survived. The company we faced yesterday does not have the strength to take Gole. Many of their soldiers were slain, their strength reduced. They withdrew, though I do not think they did it because they felt they were beaten."

"Many here speak of retreat, of an evacuation of Gole," Graeme frowned. "On this, I am torn. We know the Venurians will come here. Their attack is inevitable. Between Gole and Midgaard lies little but wilderness. We are the last significant bastion in the north. We are surely outnumbered. It has been pointed out that our defences are likely inadequate to repel the Venurian attackers. There are many innocents here, whose safety must be seen to. None of these facts can be disregarded."

"We must see the citizens of Gole safely southward," Graeme stopped. "On this, there can be no debate, nor resistance. If they remain, they will be caught up in the war, and left to the terrible mercies of a long siege or Venurian success. Children, mothers, the elderly will die in numbers equal or greater than will be suffered by the armed defenders. Sending them south will also allow our supplies to last longer." Graeme turned to Gorn. "Enough militia must be assigned to this task to protect these people. I do not know how many this will require, but it cannot be an insignificant force. Guides who know the wilderness between Gole and Midgaard will be needed to see them through."

"As they must leave, the militia and other warriors must stay. We will be required to hold the Venurians here long enough to allow our loved ones, friends, and fellow countrymen to escape. If we retreat, we risk being overtaken by the Venurians and slaughtered in the open. By standing behind the walls and towers of Gole, we gain the advantage of prepared positions and stockpiled goods."

Graeme pressed on. "Nor must the defences remain inadequate to counter the Venurians. As Alandir observed, there are a great many warriors sitting within Gole, waiting for battle. Until then, set them to work on the ramparts: dig trenches in front of the walls; dig trenches behind the walls. Line those trenches with sharpened stakes; take the excavated earth and spread it upon the wooden roofs of Gole to make the risk of fire less likely; fortify the areas behind the walls; block streets to force the Venurians to follow paths of our choosing, so that they might be trapped and slaughtered; deceive them, delay them, harass them, kill them; all of these things will buy hours and days of time that those we have sworn to protect might be seen to safety."

He finally turned to regard Bentis. "And finally, there is the matter of attack." Graeme turned back to the council. "We are not restricted to Gole, nor are we restricted simply to defence. We have warriors who know the lay of the land; we have warriors waiting to do battle with the Venurians. Employ this knowledge. Lay ambushes for their scouts, traps for their foragers. When they camp by night, kill their sentries and set fire to their tents and supplies. Kill some as they sleep; kill others as they are awake; wound and maim those we cannot kill. Preoccupy their minds with their own defence, so they cannot turn their full attention to the attack. If we cannot strike them dead with one hammer-blow, then perhaps we can kill them by a thousand dagger strokes."

Graeme looked one last time about the council. "We must at once retreat, defend, and attack, if we are to hold the Venurians around Gole and make them regret having ever crossed through the border forest." He fell silent then, and stepped back towards the wall.

[Akamaz]

AS the knight in the bloody tabard finished his speech, Ishva stood up from where she was sitting. "Many of you do not know me, but some of you at least know what my order stands for. This one has been using contacts in the merchants guild and within my own order to send requests for more troops, specialists, and money and supplies to PAY the troops." she paused for a moment to let that sink in. "As every merchant knows, War is bad for business... well except for you Blacksmiths.. " she said with a nod to the dwarf.

"We can most likely expect some response within the next few days to those requests. I think that the plan of sending the non-combatants off is a tactically sound one, but I also think we should keep the warriors here, and take volunteers from the townsmen."

Having said her piece, she sat back down quietly.