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Completed [LP] Bleed for your Kingdom, officer! Codex plays Guns of Infinity
- Thread starter Lithium Flower
- Start date
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"I was in command. The fault is mine, sir."
"Was it, Captain?" Cunaris's voice takes on a faintly amused tone. "You were sent into battle with half-trained men and no officers, save yourself. If you insist upon taking the blame for it, I shall enter it in my official report accordingly."
Your commanding officer rolls his wheelchair up to you. "However, I shall still report that you did your utmost, and I am sure His Majesty will agree."
The Duke looks away for a moment, and when he turns back to you, his expression is set.
"With your report in mind, I shall do my best to give you the time to resolve the lingering issues within your squadron. I can, of course, make no guarantees regarding orders from His Majesty, but it will likely be months before you will be sent into battle again. I'll expect a report of greater success from you when that time is come. To stumble once is regrettable, to do so twice, with time to prepare, is unpardonable. Am I made clear?"
"Absolutely clear, sir," you respond. The implication couldn't be more obvious: you must return with a victory, or else.
Cunaris nods, his expression clearly pained at the harshness of his own ultimatum. "Very good, Captain. You are dismissed."
-
You step out of your regimental commander's office with a renewed sense of purpose; with the uncertain reprieve you've been given, you must forge your squadron into an effective fighting force.
You do not even make it out of the corridor before you run into a familiar sight: thin, olive-skinned, hawk-nosed and angular, almost unchanged since the last time you saw him over three months ago. Unchanged, save by the red expanse of scar tissue down the left side of his face where an Antari warhammer had raked him at Blogia.
He greets you as he approaches: Sir Caius d'al Cazarosta, your acquaintance from training, fellow Dragoon officer, and your bitter rival, perhaps even enemy; a cold, unfeeling bastard in more ways than one. Still, he is your fellow King's Officer, and you must dignify him with the barest civility.
"Captain Ortiga, I am glad to see you are well," the other officer replies as you greet him, his tone deceptively polite. "You've returned from a sortie to the north, is that not so? I trust that your squadron performed well?"
For the sake of politeness alone, you tell Cazarosta of the debacle from which you and your squadron have just returned.
"I see," the other dragoon says as you finish your recounting. "Most regrettable. I too have had…difficulties regarding the men of my new command."
Cazarosta had been made captain and knighted after Blogia, on the same day you had, by the direct order of the King himself. However, unlike you, he is unlikely to rise any higher. He was born as a result of the illicit union between his baneblooded mother and a commoner. The result was an offspring of baneblood heritage but with none of its associate powers: a deathborn-bastard.
Cazarosta's unfortunate mother paid for her indiscretion with her life, and as the result of her crime, Cazarosta himself had suffered its consequences for all of his. It was only due to his exceptional skill with the sabre and pistol and the patronage of his mother's powerful husband, the Earl of Leoniscourt, that he had been able to acquire a commission at all. That he had been able to make captain based on merit alone was even more extraordinary.
Now though, the way up is barred to him; no Dragoon major would be willing to sell his commission to a deathborn, no matter how renowned. You can imagine that the prospect fills the other officer with no small amount of bitterness… if he is capable of feeling anything at all.
However, now is not the time to be contemplating the nature of a man when he stands right before you. His eyes meet yours, flinty as always, as if expecting a question in reply….
"What difficulties have you had with your command?"
The other officer almost seems caught off-guard by your question. "I beg pardon?"
After Blogia, Cazarosta had been promoted to command what was left of Third Squadron, your old unit. It too had taken immense losses during the battle, both those troops which followed Captain Elson into his suicidal charge and those who stayed behind in the desperate defense of the Tierran left flank.
"You said that you've had difficulties with your command," you explain. "Might I inquire in detail?"
The other officer nods. "Of course. Third Squadron is short a great deal of things, chief among them carbines, saddles, and horses for the men. It appears," he gives you a pointed look, "that your command has received higher priority for such supplies than mine."
You nod, a bit puzzled at Cazarosta's implication. The other officer doesn't pause to explain.
"However," Cazarosta continues, "our chiefest shortage has been in men. While I do have a core of veterans at my disposal, the number of replacements I've available are only enough to raise Third Squadron to half-strength. Worse yet, the new men are taking to both military discipline and their assigned duties poorly."
You nod in sympathy. It seems that despite the dismal level of readiness within your own unit, you're still the lucky one; at least Sixth Squadron is still nearly full-strength, even after the minor losses you took.
"What are you here for?"
Cazarosta looks to the side as you ask. "You mean at regimental headquarters?"
You nod.
"I am here to request that His Grace enter my squadron into consideration for any further active duties which may come up," Cazarosta replies.
Your eyes widen a little at that. 'Active duties' is a rather silly euphemism attached to combat patrols, raiding duties, and deep reconnaissance; in short, anything liable to get men killed, especially untrained, unprepared men.
"Are your men quite prepared for that?" you find yourself asking, almost involuntarily.
Cazarosta shrugs. "Perhaps not, but we shall not know for sure until they are put to the test. After all, men do not become veterans by training alone. Better that a few die in minor skirmishes than to face the prospect of throwing my entire untrained command into battle at our next time of crisis."
You nod. You suppose Cazarosta has a point.
"Good day to you, Sir Caius."
The other dragoon responds with a curt nod, almost satirical in its precision.
"Good day to you as well, Sir Alaric," he replies, his eyes narrowed in malevolence as if they were chuckling silently at a joke made at your expense.
It is not a long walk to your lodgings, but in the late afternoon, the streets of Noringia are packed with the men of the King's Army. Before the war, the small port on the southern coast of Antar had been home to twelve thousand people. Now, even with most of the original inhabitants gone and after the losses taken at Blogia, the place houses three times that number of soldiers, clerks, supernumeraries, and the mob of camp followers, peddlers, and shady businessmen that invariably follow an army at war.
You require the better part of half an hour to jostle, shove, and squeeze your way through the mobs of Line Infantry orange, Dragoon grey-green, and Navy blue. When you finally arrive at the small but comfortably appointed room assigned to you as your personal lodgings, you find a folded sheet of paper, sealed with wax, waiting on your desk.
It is from your father.
The seal in the wax is unmistakable. It bears the ornate coat of arms of a noble house—your noble house—imprinted in the soft red material. The seal was stamped by the signet ring that your father wears as the Baron of…
1) Aldershall.
2) Reddingfield.
3) Sanloren.
4) Ezinbrooke.
5) None of those are right. (write-in. No Serbian provinces please.)
"Was it, Captain?" Cunaris's voice takes on a faintly amused tone. "You were sent into battle with half-trained men and no officers, save yourself. If you insist upon taking the blame for it, I shall enter it in my official report accordingly."
Your commanding officer rolls his wheelchair up to you. "However, I shall still report that you did your utmost, and I am sure His Majesty will agree."
The Duke looks away for a moment, and when he turns back to you, his expression is set.
"With your report in mind, I shall do my best to give you the time to resolve the lingering issues within your squadron. I can, of course, make no guarantees regarding orders from His Majesty, but it will likely be months before you will be sent into battle again. I'll expect a report of greater success from you when that time is come. To stumble once is regrettable, to do so twice, with time to prepare, is unpardonable. Am I made clear?"
"Absolutely clear, sir," you respond. The implication couldn't be more obvious: you must return with a victory, or else.
Cunaris nods, his expression clearly pained at the harshness of his own ultimatum. "Very good, Captain. You are dismissed."
-
You step out of your regimental commander's office with a renewed sense of purpose; with the uncertain reprieve you've been given, you must forge your squadron into an effective fighting force.
You do not even make it out of the corridor before you run into a familiar sight: thin, olive-skinned, hawk-nosed and angular, almost unchanged since the last time you saw him over three months ago. Unchanged, save by the red expanse of scar tissue down the left side of his face where an Antari warhammer had raked him at Blogia.
He greets you as he approaches: Sir Caius d'al Cazarosta, your acquaintance from training, fellow Dragoon officer, and your bitter rival, perhaps even enemy; a cold, unfeeling bastard in more ways than one. Still, he is your fellow King's Officer, and you must dignify him with the barest civility.
"Captain Ortiga, I am glad to see you are well," the other officer replies as you greet him, his tone deceptively polite. "You've returned from a sortie to the north, is that not so? I trust that your squadron performed well?"
For the sake of politeness alone, you tell Cazarosta of the debacle from which you and your squadron have just returned.
"I see," the other dragoon says as you finish your recounting. "Most regrettable. I too have had…difficulties regarding the men of my new command."
Cazarosta had been made captain and knighted after Blogia, on the same day you had, by the direct order of the King himself. However, unlike you, he is unlikely to rise any higher. He was born as a result of the illicit union between his baneblooded mother and a commoner. The result was an offspring of baneblood heritage but with none of its associate powers: a deathborn-bastard.
Cazarosta's unfortunate mother paid for her indiscretion with her life, and as the result of her crime, Cazarosta himself had suffered its consequences for all of his. It was only due to his exceptional skill with the sabre and pistol and the patronage of his mother's powerful husband, the Earl of Leoniscourt, that he had been able to acquire a commission at all. That he had been able to make captain based on merit alone was even more extraordinary.
Now though, the way up is barred to him; no Dragoon major would be willing to sell his commission to a deathborn, no matter how renowned. You can imagine that the prospect fills the other officer with no small amount of bitterness… if he is capable of feeling anything at all.
However, now is not the time to be contemplating the nature of a man when he stands right before you. His eyes meet yours, flinty as always, as if expecting a question in reply….
"What difficulties have you had with your command?"
The other officer almost seems caught off-guard by your question. "I beg pardon?"
After Blogia, Cazarosta had been promoted to command what was left of Third Squadron, your old unit. It too had taken immense losses during the battle, both those troops which followed Captain Elson into his suicidal charge and those who stayed behind in the desperate defense of the Tierran left flank.
"You said that you've had difficulties with your command," you explain. "Might I inquire in detail?"
The other officer nods. "Of course. Third Squadron is short a great deal of things, chief among them carbines, saddles, and horses for the men. It appears," he gives you a pointed look, "that your command has received higher priority for such supplies than mine."
You nod, a bit puzzled at Cazarosta's implication. The other officer doesn't pause to explain.
"However," Cazarosta continues, "our chiefest shortage has been in men. While I do have a core of veterans at my disposal, the number of replacements I've available are only enough to raise Third Squadron to half-strength. Worse yet, the new men are taking to both military discipline and their assigned duties poorly."
You nod in sympathy. It seems that despite the dismal level of readiness within your own unit, you're still the lucky one; at least Sixth Squadron is still nearly full-strength, even after the minor losses you took.
"What are you here for?"
Cazarosta looks to the side as you ask. "You mean at regimental headquarters?"
You nod.
"I am here to request that His Grace enter my squadron into consideration for any further active duties which may come up," Cazarosta replies.
Your eyes widen a little at that. 'Active duties' is a rather silly euphemism attached to combat patrols, raiding duties, and deep reconnaissance; in short, anything liable to get men killed, especially untrained, unprepared men.
"Are your men quite prepared for that?" you find yourself asking, almost involuntarily.
Cazarosta shrugs. "Perhaps not, but we shall not know for sure until they are put to the test. After all, men do not become veterans by training alone. Better that a few die in minor skirmishes than to face the prospect of throwing my entire untrained command into battle at our next time of crisis."
You nod. You suppose Cazarosta has a point.
"Good day to you, Sir Caius."
The other dragoon responds with a curt nod, almost satirical in its precision.
"Good day to you as well, Sir Alaric," he replies, his eyes narrowed in malevolence as if they were chuckling silently at a joke made at your expense.
It is not a long walk to your lodgings, but in the late afternoon, the streets of Noringia are packed with the men of the King's Army. Before the war, the small port on the southern coast of Antar had been home to twelve thousand people. Now, even with most of the original inhabitants gone and after the losses taken at Blogia, the place houses three times that number of soldiers, clerks, supernumeraries, and the mob of camp followers, peddlers, and shady businessmen that invariably follow an army at war.
You require the better part of half an hour to jostle, shove, and squeeze your way through the mobs of Line Infantry orange, Dragoon grey-green, and Navy blue. When you finally arrive at the small but comfortably appointed room assigned to you as your personal lodgings, you find a folded sheet of paper, sealed with wax, waiting on your desk.
It is from your father.
The seal in the wax is unmistakable. It bears the ornate coat of arms of a noble house—your noble house—imprinted in the soft red material. The seal was stamped by the signet ring that your father wears as the Baron of…
1) Aldershall.
2) Reddingfield.
3) Sanloren.
4) Ezinbrooke.
5) None of those are right. (write-in. No Serbian provinces please.)
As of the Summer of the 607th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 550
Income: 30
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 1%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 84% Cynicism: 16%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 550
Income: 30
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 1%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 84% Cynicism: 16%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 25%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 25%
Strength: 96%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 25%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 25%
Strength: 96%
Do any of these choices have significance? I looked back over the Tierran map on page 1 and can't even find those provinces/baronies.
4
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
The map shows duchies, not smaller baronies. We decided in Sabres that we are from the duchy of Cunaris, so that's where our home barony is located. That being said this is just a flavor choice.
tsuke
Educated
- Joined
- May 29, 2018
- Messages
- 116
The paths chosen are usually the most straightforward ones which even if successful lead the men to be killed and having to be replaced. The loyalty of the remaining ones drop too from all the deaths.
4.
4.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
(Alaric d'al Ortiga of Ezinbrooke. Nice.
Now, I will present the next 3 choices in one update because they are very short and interconnected. I won't count votes individually but rather an entire set of 3 votes, so please vote once for each choice. If I don't get a decisive number of vote sets, I will just count them individually.)
You pick up the letter immediately and unfold it, your mind awash with feelings of…
A1) Excitement; I want to know what news my father has sent to his most beloved son.
A2) Trepidation; my father and I have an often strained relationship.
A3) Confusion; my father barely even spoke to me.
News from your father means news from the rest of your family.
What of the rest of your family, anyhow? What do you remember of them; your mother, for example?
B1) My mother and I are quite close.
B2) Mother and I do not speak much.
B3) Mother is dead, and she has been for quite a few years now.
What else? What of your siblings? Have you siblings?
C1) I have a younger brother and sister.
C2) I have a younger sister.
C3) I am an only child.
Now, I will present the next 3 choices in one update because they are very short and interconnected. I won't count votes individually but rather an entire set of 3 votes, so please vote once for each choice. If I don't get a decisive number of vote sets, I will just count them individually.)
You pick up the letter immediately and unfold it, your mind awash with feelings of…
A1) Excitement; I want to know what news my father has sent to his most beloved son.
A2) Trepidation; my father and I have an often strained relationship.
A3) Confusion; my father barely even spoke to me.
News from your father means news from the rest of your family.
What of the rest of your family, anyhow? What do you remember of them; your mother, for example?
B1) My mother and I are quite close.
B2) Mother and I do not speak much.
B3) Mother is dead, and she has been for quite a few years now.
What else? What of your siblings? Have you siblings?
C1) I have a younger brother and sister.
C2) I have a younger sister.
C3) I am an only child.
Last edited:
Reinhardt
Arcane
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2015
- Messages
- 29,616
I like it.
A3, B3, C1
The birth of the young sister was extremely difficult for mother and in the end it she simply never recovered and passed a short while later.
Father never recovered from the loss, though he were nary a goodly talkative sort before that.
As he retreated further emotionally, locking himself away into chambers of pity or throwing himself into his work, my young brother and mewling sister were taken into the care of relatives whilst I was left to mine own devices.
The birth of the young sister was extremely difficult for mother and in the end it she simply never recovered and passed a short while later.
Father never recovered from the loss, though he were nary a goodly talkative sort before that.
As he retreated further emotionally, locking himself away into chambers of pity or throwing himself into his work, my young brother and mewling sister were taken into the care of relatives whilst I was left to mine own devices.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
(We are going full edge, ladies and gentlemen.)
You cannot, for the life of you, think of a single moment over your long years of childhood in which your father showed the barest affection for you. To you, he had always been much like a statue, distant and uncaring. If he spared the rod or words of censure, it was only due to his neglect, not his mercy.
Why he would send any news to the son he has neglected for so long escapes you.
In any case, news from your father means news from the rest of your family.
-
Your mother died of some horrid sickness years before you joined the King's Army. For all of their talents, even the bane-healers could not save her. You think about her sometimes, less so as the years have passed.
-
Yes, you had only the children of your house servants for company.
You open the letter and set it down on the desk, pausing only to light a candle to hold back the advancing gloom of sunset. Then, you sit down and read it.
-
To Whom It May Concern,
I am given to understand that my son, one Lieutenant Ortiga of the Royal Dragoons, was wounded in the late action by our armies in Antar. If he is no longer among the living, please reply to this letter whenever convenient.
However, should he remain alive, please convey to him my compliments and inform him that I am in need of his aid.
The events of the last few years have placed great pressure upon our family. Please convey upon Lieutenant Ortiga that I, his father, expect him, as the only member of this house to profit from this war, to make the effort to alleviate House Ortiga's hardships through any aid he may spare.
Your Obedient Servant, Lord Ezinbrooke
-
It is all you can do not to crumple up the bloody thing in disgust. After all the years of neglect and cold, uncaring censure, he asks after you only to beg for money?
Still, someday you will become Baron Ezinbrooke, and your father's debts will become your debts. Perhaps you should send that money, if only to alleviate the financial burden you will one day be taking on?
1) I send back as much money as I can: thirty crown a month.
2) I send my family a substantial sum: fifteen crown a month.
3) I have expenses too! I send back five crown a month.
4) I send back nothing.
You cannot, for the life of you, think of a single moment over your long years of childhood in which your father showed the barest affection for you. To you, he had always been much like a statue, distant and uncaring. If he spared the rod or words of censure, it was only due to his neglect, not his mercy.
Why he would send any news to the son he has neglected for so long escapes you.
In any case, news from your father means news from the rest of your family.
-
Your mother died of some horrid sickness years before you joined the King's Army. For all of their talents, even the bane-healers could not save her. You think about her sometimes, less so as the years have passed.
-
Yes, you had only the children of your house servants for company.
You open the letter and set it down on the desk, pausing only to light a candle to hold back the advancing gloom of sunset. Then, you sit down and read it.
-
To Whom It May Concern,
I am given to understand that my son, one Lieutenant Ortiga of the Royal Dragoons, was wounded in the late action by our armies in Antar. If he is no longer among the living, please reply to this letter whenever convenient.
However, should he remain alive, please convey to him my compliments and inform him that I am in need of his aid.
The events of the last few years have placed great pressure upon our family. Please convey upon Lieutenant Ortiga that I, his father, expect him, as the only member of this house to profit from this war, to make the effort to alleviate House Ortiga's hardships through any aid he may spare.
Your Obedient Servant, Lord Ezinbrooke
-
It is all you can do not to crumple up the bloody thing in disgust. After all the years of neglect and cold, uncaring censure, he asks after you only to beg for money?
Still, someday you will become Baron Ezinbrooke, and your father's debts will become your debts. Perhaps you should send that money, if only to alleviate the financial burden you will one day be taking on?
1) I send back as much money as I can: thirty crown a month.
2) I send my family a substantial sum: fifteen crown a month.
3) I have expenses too! I send back five crown a month.
4) I send back nothing.
As of the Summer of the 607th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 550
Income: 30
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 1%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 84% Cynicism: 16%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 550
Income: 30
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 1%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 84% Cynicism: 16%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 25%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 25%
Strength: 96%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 25%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 25%
Strength: 96%
1
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
Fifteen gold crown is nothing to laugh at; it is more than the average Tierran tenant farmer makes in a year. Any of your ordinary dragoons would likely kill for that sort of money.
Still, your family comes first, and you decide to send that considerable amount home, every month.
You fold up the letter again, reach for your pen, and begin drafting a reply…
-
Weeks pass and turn into months. The burning heat of the Antari summer turns into the mild breezes and heavy rain of autumn.
Hernandes does what he is best at: drilling, more drilling, and some extra drilling at the end. He puts your men through endless evolutions of musketry drill, sabre drill, close order drill, and skirmishing drill.
To his credit, order does improve greatly, but your men are not stupid; they can see your hand behind Hernades's unrelenting regimen, and they begin to resent you for it.
-
Then, one day not a week after the first killer frost of the winter, you are summoned to the army's headquarters building. Waiting for you there are four men bearing the sigil of the Order of Saint Joshua and a large, carefully padded box.
The liveried men—Seekers of the Red—take an hour to undo all but one of the multiple seals warding the box. The last one is carefully warded, a banetrap designed to fatally incapacitate any who touch it, save you. With some difficulty, the Seekers assist you in undoing the last safeguard. Then, the box is opened.
Inside, mounted upon a wooden cross-shaped stand, sits a full suit of gleaming plate armour and a padded arming doublet to absorb heavy shocks and prevent chafing, complete with maille patches to cover gaps in the plate. Next to the armour is a second stand carrying a finely made broad-bladed longsword in a black leather scabbard. To your baneblooded eyes, both are marked with intricate patterns of acid-etched runes, glowing with the pale blue light of the Bane.
They are the armour and weapon of a Knight of the Orders-Militant, and you know full well that both have been tailored to fit your body exactly.
-
In a closed room, the four Seekers—servants of the knightly order which the King inducted you into nearly a year ago—help you put on your armour for the first time. The process takes another ten minutes, but the armour itself is surprisingly comfortable. Save for the claustrophobic darkness of the heavy plumed helm, you could almost feel as if the armour was a second skin, one which renders you impervious to most mundane weapons, including musket fire at any range beyond fifteen paces.
It is only when you are fully clad head to toe in a skin of enchanted steel that the Seekers present you with the sword—your sword. Your gauntleted hand fits the leather grip perfectly, and the blade draws from its scabbard as smoothly as silk in a summer breeze.
The instant the sword clears its sheath, the runes on the blade flare with a sudden intensity. Then, as your banesense begins to tug at your mind and edge your vision in green, the blade bursts into brilliant orange flame.
The sword's balance is perfect, and the heavy blade feels deadly in your hand as you take a few experimental swings, facing away from the four religious servants. You feel agile and powerful as you handle the massive sword one-handed. You barely feel the weight of the armour at all.
You know of the power of bane-hardened armour and bane-runed weaponry from personal experience. The former provides phenomenal protection, and the latter can penetrate even bane-hardened armour, let alone comparatively trivial obstacles like stone, wood, or people. However, you have no doubt that your enemies would know this too; going into battle in a big, clanking, shining suit of armour with a flaming sword in hand might as well be an open invitation to your enemies to try to kill you first.
With that in mind, how often do you plan on using your new knightly equipment?
1) I shall be going into every battle in armour, with my new sword.
2) I shall decide on a case-by-case basis.
3) I'll continue wearing my Dragoon uniform and sabre, thank you kindly.
(Choosing 2 will repeat this choice before every major battle.)
(Meanwhile, Hernandes is doing some work. Look at that Discipline increase. Poor bastards...)
Still, your family comes first, and you decide to send that considerable amount home, every month.
You fold up the letter again, reach for your pen, and begin drafting a reply…
-
Weeks pass and turn into months. The burning heat of the Antari summer turns into the mild breezes and heavy rain of autumn.
Hernandes does what he is best at: drilling, more drilling, and some extra drilling at the end. He puts your men through endless evolutions of musketry drill, sabre drill, close order drill, and skirmishing drill.
To his credit, order does improve greatly, but your men are not stupid; they can see your hand behind Hernades's unrelenting regimen, and they begin to resent you for it.
-
Then, one day not a week after the first killer frost of the winter, you are summoned to the army's headquarters building. Waiting for you there are four men bearing the sigil of the Order of Saint Joshua and a large, carefully padded box.
The liveried men—Seekers of the Red—take an hour to undo all but one of the multiple seals warding the box. The last one is carefully warded, a banetrap designed to fatally incapacitate any who touch it, save you. With some difficulty, the Seekers assist you in undoing the last safeguard. Then, the box is opened.
Inside, mounted upon a wooden cross-shaped stand, sits a full suit of gleaming plate armour and a padded arming doublet to absorb heavy shocks and prevent chafing, complete with maille patches to cover gaps in the plate. Next to the armour is a second stand carrying a finely made broad-bladed longsword in a black leather scabbard. To your baneblooded eyes, both are marked with intricate patterns of acid-etched runes, glowing with the pale blue light of the Bane.
They are the armour and weapon of a Knight of the Orders-Militant, and you know full well that both have been tailored to fit your body exactly.
-
In a closed room, the four Seekers—servants of the knightly order which the King inducted you into nearly a year ago—help you put on your armour for the first time. The process takes another ten minutes, but the armour itself is surprisingly comfortable. Save for the claustrophobic darkness of the heavy plumed helm, you could almost feel as if the armour was a second skin, one which renders you impervious to most mundane weapons, including musket fire at any range beyond fifteen paces.
It is only when you are fully clad head to toe in a skin of enchanted steel that the Seekers present you with the sword—your sword. Your gauntleted hand fits the leather grip perfectly, and the blade draws from its scabbard as smoothly as silk in a summer breeze.
The instant the sword clears its sheath, the runes on the blade flare with a sudden intensity. Then, as your banesense begins to tug at your mind and edge your vision in green, the blade bursts into brilliant orange flame.
The sword's balance is perfect, and the heavy blade feels deadly in your hand as you take a few experimental swings, facing away from the four religious servants. You feel agile and powerful as you handle the massive sword one-handed. You barely feel the weight of the armour at all.
You know of the power of bane-hardened armour and bane-runed weaponry from personal experience. The former provides phenomenal protection, and the latter can penetrate even bane-hardened armour, let alone comparatively trivial obstacles like stone, wood, or people. However, you have no doubt that your enemies would know this too; going into battle in a big, clanking, shining suit of armour with a flaming sword in hand might as well be an open invitation to your enemies to try to kill you first.
With that in mind, how often do you plan on using your new knightly equipment?
1) I shall be going into every battle in armour, with my new sword.
2) I shall decide on a case-by-case basis.
3) I'll continue wearing my Dragoon uniform and sabre, thank you kindly.
(Choosing 2 will repeat this choice before every major battle.)
As of the Winter of the 607th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 640
Income: 15
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 1%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 84% Cynicism: 16%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 640
Income: 15
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 1%
Reputation: 24%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 84% Cynicism: 16%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 36%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 24%
Strength: 96%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 36%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 24%
Strength: 96%
(Meanwhile, Hernandes is doing some work. Look at that Discipline increase. Poor bastards...)
I’m surprised, when it mentioned them resenting us I thought it would be a much larger ding to the loyalty. Anyway, this armor is very cool stuff, but I’d like the chance to stow it if sneaking is the order of the day. How about 2?
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