-
Welcome to rpgcodex.net, a site dedicated to discussing computer based role-playing games in a free and open fashion. We're less strict than other forums, but please refer to the rules.
"This message is awaiting moderator approval": All new users must pass through our moderation queue before they will be able to post normally. Until your account has "passed" your posts will only be visible to yourself (and moderators) until they are approved. Give us a week to get around to approving / deleting / ignoring your mundane opinion on crap before hassling us about it. Once you have passed the moderation period (think of it as a test), you will be able to post normally, just like all the other retards.
Completed [LP] Bleed for your Kingdom, officer! Codex plays Guns of Infinity
- Thread starter Lithium Flower
- Start date
1
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
I'll lure the enemy in, then hit them with a counter-charge.
"The plan is as follows," you announce, your words rapid and precise. With the enemy on the approach, there is no more time for niceties. "My dragoons are to withdraw out of sight, hiding ourselves among the bush to obfuscate the enemy's banesense. Lewes, your Experimentals stay where they are, draw the enemy in. When the Antari are pulled in far enough, we'll charge them, take them in the flank, wipe them out." You look to the others around you, the still-scowling green-jacketed officer specifically. "Understood?"
A chorus of affirmatives. "Understood," Lewes replies grudgingly, his expression still bitter.
"Understood, sir," you reply, tolerating the common-born officer's rudeness no further. "Or have you forgotten that you are addressing a superior officer?" you snap.
Lewes grits his teeth. "Understood, sir."
"Very good," you reply. There is hardly time for anything more than a brief rebuke now. "Prepare for action."
-
You watch the Antari from afar as they burst back out into the clearing. You can see them clearly through your field glass, but they evidently do not see you sitting astride Thunderer, just far enough up the road to have a clear view of the enemy.
No, the Antari are focused entirely on Lewes and his band of riflemen. Already, the Experimentals are spreading out in a loose formation and opening fire, filling the air with the sharp cracks of their skirmishers' guns. Some of the Antari drop from their saddles, shot down at the impossible range of three hundred paces.
The ground begins to tremble under the weight of Antari hooves. There cannot be more than seventy or eighty of them, but even such a relatively small force can make the ground tremble beneath you. Lewes's men begin reloading as the range begins to close with frightful speed. Even formed up, the Experimentals would be too few to resist a frontal cavalry charge for long. Scattered as they are, they would serve as little but targets once the Antari got close.
If they got close.
You fold up your field glass and reach for your sabre. Beside you, your officers tense themselvesfor the coming battle.
The Antari are less than two hundred paces away, more than close enough for you to spring your trap.
"Dragoons! Draw swords!"
The air fills with the rasp of bared steel, so very loud in your ears. Beyond, the Antari continue forwards, oblivious, presenting you their exposed flank in their obstinate bravery.
"Dragoons! Charge!"
-
The Antari do not see you. So intent are they on wiping out Lewes's embattled knot of infantrymen that they seem to have been rendered almost blind to their flanks. Even as your men advance into the clearing with sabres drawn, even as you spur your horses to trot, to canter, and to the galloping fury of the charge.
They do not see your squadron until the very last moment, when the thunder of your horses' hooves drown out the noise of their own, and the first of your dragoons slam into their exposed flank.
Too late.
You don't quite manage to keep your formation together as you charge your men home. Your dragoons hit the enemy in bits and pieces.
The enemy recovers quickly. With the force of your charge wasted by its scattered impact, the Antari are quickly able to reorient themselves to face you. The charge that was supposed to sweep the enemy away has instead devolved into a grinding melee. Things have gone terribly wrong. Soon, the clearing fills with the sound of steel on steel, of the dying screams of horses and of men.
Your dragoons and the Antari butcher each other in a clashing cloud of limbs, blood, steel, and death. Confusion reigns as your ordered plan devolves into a bloodbath; man against man, horse against horse, blade against blade.
Finally, it is your superior numbers which win the day. The Antari begin to run, in twos and threes; bloodied men atop blown horses, limping away from the fight until there are none left still standing. Your men, those left alive, do not pursue. They too have lost their belly for fighting.
The air is rank with the stink of spilled blood, voided bowels, and sorrow. The clearing is covered with dead, more than two dozen of them yours.
It is calamity, absolute calamity. "Bloody Martyr," Lewes exclaims as you and your dragoons make your way back to his Experimentals. "I can't say your lads lack for bravery, but they could use a bit more drill."
"And you, sirrah," Lord Renard mutters under his breath, incandescent with rage, "could use two hundred lashes to beat th' insolence out of you."
The green-jacketed officer shakes his head. "No, but that can wait. What's important now, sir, is that your men spared us a hard fight, and you have my thanks for it."
1) "We did our duty, that was all."
2) "You might thank me with a drink once we reach Fort Kharan."
3) "You might thank me by not behaving like such an uncouth lout."
"The plan is as follows," you announce, your words rapid and precise. With the enemy on the approach, there is no more time for niceties. "My dragoons are to withdraw out of sight, hiding ourselves among the bush to obfuscate the enemy's banesense. Lewes, your Experimentals stay where they are, draw the enemy in. When the Antari are pulled in far enough, we'll charge them, take them in the flank, wipe them out." You look to the others around you, the still-scowling green-jacketed officer specifically. "Understood?"
A chorus of affirmatives. "Understood," Lewes replies grudgingly, his expression still bitter.
"Understood, sir," you reply, tolerating the common-born officer's rudeness no further. "Or have you forgotten that you are addressing a superior officer?" you snap.
Lewes grits his teeth. "Understood, sir."
"Very good," you reply. There is hardly time for anything more than a brief rebuke now. "Prepare for action."
-
You watch the Antari from afar as they burst back out into the clearing. You can see them clearly through your field glass, but they evidently do not see you sitting astride Thunderer, just far enough up the road to have a clear view of the enemy.
No, the Antari are focused entirely on Lewes and his band of riflemen. Already, the Experimentals are spreading out in a loose formation and opening fire, filling the air with the sharp cracks of their skirmishers' guns. Some of the Antari drop from their saddles, shot down at the impossible range of three hundred paces.
The ground begins to tremble under the weight of Antari hooves. There cannot be more than seventy or eighty of them, but even such a relatively small force can make the ground tremble beneath you. Lewes's men begin reloading as the range begins to close with frightful speed. Even formed up, the Experimentals would be too few to resist a frontal cavalry charge for long. Scattered as they are, they would serve as little but targets once the Antari got close.
If they got close.
You fold up your field glass and reach for your sabre. Beside you, your officers tense themselvesfor the coming battle.
The Antari are less than two hundred paces away, more than close enough for you to spring your trap.
"Dragoons! Draw swords!"
The air fills with the rasp of bared steel, so very loud in your ears. Beyond, the Antari continue forwards, oblivious, presenting you their exposed flank in their obstinate bravery.
"Dragoons! Charge!"
-
The Antari do not see you. So intent are they on wiping out Lewes's embattled knot of infantrymen that they seem to have been rendered almost blind to their flanks. Even as your men advance into the clearing with sabres drawn, even as you spur your horses to trot, to canter, and to the galloping fury of the charge.
They do not see your squadron until the very last moment, when the thunder of your horses' hooves drown out the noise of their own, and the first of your dragoons slam into their exposed flank.
Too late.
You don't quite manage to keep your formation together as you charge your men home. Your dragoons hit the enemy in bits and pieces.
The enemy recovers quickly. With the force of your charge wasted by its scattered impact, the Antari are quickly able to reorient themselves to face you. The charge that was supposed to sweep the enemy away has instead devolved into a grinding melee. Things have gone terribly wrong. Soon, the clearing fills with the sound of steel on steel, of the dying screams of horses and of men.
Your dragoons and the Antari butcher each other in a clashing cloud of limbs, blood, steel, and death. Confusion reigns as your ordered plan devolves into a bloodbath; man against man, horse against horse, blade against blade.
Finally, it is your superior numbers which win the day. The Antari begin to run, in twos and threes; bloodied men atop blown horses, limping away from the fight until there are none left still standing. Your men, those left alive, do not pursue. They too have lost their belly for fighting.
The air is rank with the stink of spilled blood, voided bowels, and sorrow. The clearing is covered with dead, more than two dozen of them yours.
It is calamity, absolute calamity. "Bloody Martyr," Lewes exclaims as you and your dragoons make your way back to his Experimentals. "I can't say your lads lack for bravery, but they could use a bit more drill."
"And you, sirrah," Lord Renard mutters under his breath, incandescent with rage, "could use two hundred lashes to beat th' insolence out of you."
The green-jacketed officer shakes his head. "No, but that can wait. What's important now, sir, is that your men spared us a hard fight, and you have my thanks for it."
1) "We did our duty, that was all."
2) "You might thank me with a drink once we reach Fort Kharan."
3) "You might thank me by not behaving like such an uncouth lout."
As of the Spring of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 488
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 18%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 79% Cynicism: 21%
Ruthlessness: 36% Mercy: 64%
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: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 488
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 18%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 79% Cynicism: 21%
Ruthlessness: 36% Mercy: 64%
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: 39%
Morale: 39%
Loyalty: 37%
Strength: 85%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 39%
Loyalty: 37%
Strength: 85%
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
2. Our reputation is so low we might as well revel in it.
2.
2.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
Lewes grins wide. "Are you sure you'd want to be seen with a disreputable type like myself, sir?" he asks. "Wouldn't look good for a proper officer to be talking to some guttersnipe like me."
You smile back. "I'm not exactly reputable myself, Lieutenant."
The Experimental Corps officer barks out a sharp laugh. "Ain't all bastards, are you?" He nods. "Aye, we'll lead you the rest of the way to Fort Kharan, and I'll be happy to buy you a drink, sir."
Over the next day, you continue north along the road, until finally, near sunset, you spy a mass of earthworks and palisades crowning a steep hill by the river: Fort Kharan.
-
When you first laid eyes upon the outpost that would become Fort Kharan nearly eight years ago, the site had possessed little more than a few blockhouses of logs and sod, surrounded by a low palisade and garrisoned by less than a hundred men. You had been a cornet then, with a commission less than a year old and half a dozen men under your command.
Now, you return as a captain with a full squadron at your back, not to an outpost but to an immense complex of breastworks, gun positions, palisades, blockhouses, and outbuildings, a sprawling network of defensive works garrisoned by more than two thousand men.
Within, you find that Fort Kharan has grown in others ways as well. The outpost you remember barely had enough basic amenities to keep its scraped-together garrison of grenadiers and dragoons alive. Fort Kharan offers warm beds and hot food for your men, feed and water for your horses, bane-healers for your wounded, ointments for the saddle sores of your raw recruits,and enough supplies to fill your pack mules' bags to the brim.
You and Lewes part ways once inside the fort. He must report in to his own superiors, and you must see to the temporary quartering and resupply of your men and horses. By the time you are finished, it is nearly pitch black, and the cool spring day has long since given way to a chilly night.
Not that any of this stops Lieutenant Lewes from dropping by again. After all, he still owes you a drink.
-
You meet with your lieutenants, Lady Katarina, and Lord Cassius in Fort Kharan's map room early the next morning with your head in agony, your stomach in the midst of civil war, and your memory of the previous night spotty, save for the fact that your one drink with Lieutenant Lewes had somehow turned into twelve.
On the table between you sits a detailed chart of Southern Antar, a map which describes in plain detail the dilemma before you.
The choice, at first glance, appears to be a simple one betwixt danger and safety, for the most direct path to the King's forces runs along the bank of the River Kharan, a route that will very likely take you dangerously close to Prince Khorobirit's advancing army. Should you move too quickly, or too slowly, or take a wrong turn, or simply be unlucky, you might find yourself leading your squadron, Lady Katarina, and the Takaran Ambassador right into the jaws of tens of thousands of Antari.
However, taking the longer route, detouring southeast through Blogia and then north, has its own disadvantages. While it does keep two hundred kilometres of forest between you and the path of Khorobirit's army, the detour will also take you at least twice as long to travel.
Either way, you will likely risk the men under your command and those whom you have been charged to escort, and your ability to hold your squadron together will be tested. You have no concrete orders to fall back upon, no superiors to ask for guidance or clarification. Everyone in the room looks to you for an answer.
A metaphorical headache, on top of your literal headache, no less. What a pleasant way to start a morning.
"Blaylock, Findlay, Sandoral, your thoughts?"
"Well, sir, I don't see much point in wasting time dancing about," Blaylock replies. "We should take the direct route."
Lord Renard shakes his head. "Ain't prudent if ye ask me. Ain't proper. Do that, we ain't unlike to find ourselves neck deep in th' enemy."
"And that's a bad thing?" Blaylock asks. "We're soldiers, we fight the enemy if we find them, and we beat them. I rather thought that was the whole point of this war."
"Th' point of this war is to win it, and that ain't always mean fighting," Lord Renard points out; a surprisingly astute observation for someone you had pegged as somewhat dim. "At the moment, it ain't mean nothing but delivering His Excellency the ambassador safe t' His Majesty."
Both lieutenants are, of course, too well-bred to quarrel openly in front of you, which means they can only glare sullenly at each other from across the map table, with Sandoral in the middle, remaining both neutral and silent.
Well, it doesn't look like you'll be getting any solid consensus one way or another from this lot.
"Lady Katarina, what advice might you offer?"
Lady Katarina looks sidelong at you, her expression one of boredom and disappointment, like that of a teacher whose pupil has failed to solve a simple arithmetic problem. "Your assignment must come first, and any factors which might jeopardise the successful completion of that assignment must be avoided, if possible."
The young noblewoman leans forward and places one slim finger squarely on the road east. "With such factors in mind, the road which keeps us furthest away from an Antari army seems the obvious choice."
"So you advise cowardice, then?" Lieutenant Blaylock growls.
"I would advise caution," Lady Katarina replies in a tone so cold that it even seems to check your ill-mannered subordinate. "One might understand that certain individuals would find it difficult to grasp the concept, but the well-being of a Takaran ambassador is a matter of paramount importance to Tierran interests. Thus, it may do great injury to His Majesty's government to see it imperilled, be it by the enemy or the rashness of His Majesty's own soldiers.
"Of course," she continues as she looks to you, smiling sweetly, "any officer of the King with experience and rank sufficient to see the wider picture must well realise that."
"Lord Cassius, what do you think?"
The Takaran ambassador stares intently at the map, his bright-blue eyes tracing roads and rivers. "Personally, I think the best course of action is obvious."
If Lord Cassius favours one option so heavily, he has certainly not made such an opinion clear to you. "I beg pardon?" you ask.
"Tell me, Sir Alaric," he says, not looking up from the map, "do you know what 'Vybarvo'in Geicijn' is?"
Vybarvo'in Geicijn? Well, the words are obviously Takaran, but you don't think you have ever come across them before.
You shake your head. "I fear not, my lord."
Lord Cassius smiles faintly, proudly. Had it been a touch more, it might have even qualified as a sneer. "The best translation would be something like 'The Spirit of Takara,' and I suppose that does hint at the true meaning of the term."
He looks up at you, that faint smile still on his lips, blue eyes intent. "Vybarvo'in Geicijn: it is determination in the face of adversity, boldness in the face of risk, and if necessary, sacrifice in the face of calamity. A Takaran officer would not even think twice; they would pick the boldest path, they would marshal every speck of determination at their disposal to sweep aside any obstacle, and they would prevail." Lord Cassius's expression is pride in all its glory, and his words are tinged with imperial triumphalism. "It is that sort of thinking which made Takara the greatest power in all creation, and it is that sort of thinking which keeps it that way."
For a moment, you think the diplomat might even go further. Instead, he checks himself. "Of course, you are not a Takaran officer, your men are not Takaran soldiers, so perhaps my advice might not be so useful."
There it is again, that implied insult: that your men are not good enough by the standards of this haughty point-eared dandy, that you are not good enough.
Perhaps you ought to follow his advice, if only to prove him wrong.
1) "Let us be bold and take our chances; we go north."
2) "Given the circumstances, caution would be best; we go east."
You smile back. "I'm not exactly reputable myself, Lieutenant."
The Experimental Corps officer barks out a sharp laugh. "Ain't all bastards, are you?" He nods. "Aye, we'll lead you the rest of the way to Fort Kharan, and I'll be happy to buy you a drink, sir."
Over the next day, you continue north along the road, until finally, near sunset, you spy a mass of earthworks and palisades crowning a steep hill by the river: Fort Kharan.
-
When you first laid eyes upon the outpost that would become Fort Kharan nearly eight years ago, the site had possessed little more than a few blockhouses of logs and sod, surrounded by a low palisade and garrisoned by less than a hundred men. You had been a cornet then, with a commission less than a year old and half a dozen men under your command.
Now, you return as a captain with a full squadron at your back, not to an outpost but to an immense complex of breastworks, gun positions, palisades, blockhouses, and outbuildings, a sprawling network of defensive works garrisoned by more than two thousand men.
Within, you find that Fort Kharan has grown in others ways as well. The outpost you remember barely had enough basic amenities to keep its scraped-together garrison of grenadiers and dragoons alive. Fort Kharan offers warm beds and hot food for your men, feed and water for your horses, bane-healers for your wounded, ointments for the saddle sores of your raw recruits,and enough supplies to fill your pack mules' bags to the brim.
You and Lewes part ways once inside the fort. He must report in to his own superiors, and you must see to the temporary quartering and resupply of your men and horses. By the time you are finished, it is nearly pitch black, and the cool spring day has long since given way to a chilly night.
Not that any of this stops Lieutenant Lewes from dropping by again. After all, he still owes you a drink.
-
You meet with your lieutenants, Lady Katarina, and Lord Cassius in Fort Kharan's map room early the next morning with your head in agony, your stomach in the midst of civil war, and your memory of the previous night spotty, save for the fact that your one drink with Lieutenant Lewes had somehow turned into twelve.
On the table between you sits a detailed chart of Southern Antar, a map which describes in plain detail the dilemma before you.
The choice, at first glance, appears to be a simple one betwixt danger and safety, for the most direct path to the King's forces runs along the bank of the River Kharan, a route that will very likely take you dangerously close to Prince Khorobirit's advancing army. Should you move too quickly, or too slowly, or take a wrong turn, or simply be unlucky, you might find yourself leading your squadron, Lady Katarina, and the Takaran Ambassador right into the jaws of tens of thousands of Antari.
However, taking the longer route, detouring southeast through Blogia and then north, has its own disadvantages. While it does keep two hundred kilometres of forest between you and the path of Khorobirit's army, the detour will also take you at least twice as long to travel.
Either way, you will likely risk the men under your command and those whom you have been charged to escort, and your ability to hold your squadron together will be tested. You have no concrete orders to fall back upon, no superiors to ask for guidance or clarification. Everyone in the room looks to you for an answer.
A metaphorical headache, on top of your literal headache, no less. What a pleasant way to start a morning.
"Blaylock, Findlay, Sandoral, your thoughts?"
"Well, sir, I don't see much point in wasting time dancing about," Blaylock replies. "We should take the direct route."
Lord Renard shakes his head. "Ain't prudent if ye ask me. Ain't proper. Do that, we ain't unlike to find ourselves neck deep in th' enemy."
"And that's a bad thing?" Blaylock asks. "We're soldiers, we fight the enemy if we find them, and we beat them. I rather thought that was the whole point of this war."
"Th' point of this war is to win it, and that ain't always mean fighting," Lord Renard points out; a surprisingly astute observation for someone you had pegged as somewhat dim. "At the moment, it ain't mean nothing but delivering His Excellency the ambassador safe t' His Majesty."
Both lieutenants are, of course, too well-bred to quarrel openly in front of you, which means they can only glare sullenly at each other from across the map table, with Sandoral in the middle, remaining both neutral and silent.
Well, it doesn't look like you'll be getting any solid consensus one way or another from this lot.
"Lady Katarina, what advice might you offer?"
Lady Katarina looks sidelong at you, her expression one of boredom and disappointment, like that of a teacher whose pupil has failed to solve a simple arithmetic problem. "Your assignment must come first, and any factors which might jeopardise the successful completion of that assignment must be avoided, if possible."
The young noblewoman leans forward and places one slim finger squarely on the road east. "With such factors in mind, the road which keeps us furthest away from an Antari army seems the obvious choice."
"So you advise cowardice, then?" Lieutenant Blaylock growls.
"I would advise caution," Lady Katarina replies in a tone so cold that it even seems to check your ill-mannered subordinate. "One might understand that certain individuals would find it difficult to grasp the concept, but the well-being of a Takaran ambassador is a matter of paramount importance to Tierran interests. Thus, it may do great injury to His Majesty's government to see it imperilled, be it by the enemy or the rashness of His Majesty's own soldiers.
"Of course," she continues as she looks to you, smiling sweetly, "any officer of the King with experience and rank sufficient to see the wider picture must well realise that."
"Lord Cassius, what do you think?"
The Takaran ambassador stares intently at the map, his bright-blue eyes tracing roads and rivers. "Personally, I think the best course of action is obvious."
If Lord Cassius favours one option so heavily, he has certainly not made such an opinion clear to you. "I beg pardon?" you ask.
"Tell me, Sir Alaric," he says, not looking up from the map, "do you know what 'Vybarvo'in Geicijn' is?"
Vybarvo'in Geicijn? Well, the words are obviously Takaran, but you don't think you have ever come across them before.
You shake your head. "I fear not, my lord."
Lord Cassius smiles faintly, proudly. Had it been a touch more, it might have even qualified as a sneer. "The best translation would be something like 'The Spirit of Takara,' and I suppose that does hint at the true meaning of the term."
He looks up at you, that faint smile still on his lips, blue eyes intent. "Vybarvo'in Geicijn: it is determination in the face of adversity, boldness in the face of risk, and if necessary, sacrifice in the face of calamity. A Takaran officer would not even think twice; they would pick the boldest path, they would marshal every speck of determination at their disposal to sweep aside any obstacle, and they would prevail." Lord Cassius's expression is pride in all its glory, and his words are tinged with imperial triumphalism. "It is that sort of thinking which made Takara the greatest power in all creation, and it is that sort of thinking which keeps it that way."
For a moment, you think the diplomat might even go further. Instead, he checks himself. "Of course, you are not a Takaran officer, your men are not Takaran soldiers, so perhaps my advice might not be so useful."
There it is again, that implied insult: that your men are not good enough by the standards of this haughty point-eared dandy, that you are not good enough.
Perhaps you ought to follow his advice, if only to prove him wrong.
1) "Let us be bold and take our chances; we go north."
2) "Given the circumstances, caution would be best; we go east."
As of the Spring of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 488
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 20%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 76% Cynicism: 24%
Ruthlessness: 36% Mercy: 64%
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: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 488
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 20%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 76% Cynicism: 24%
Ruthlessness: 36% Mercy: 64%
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: 39%
Morale: 39%
Loyalty: 37%
Strength: 85%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 39%
Loyalty: 37%
Strength: 85%
LordTryhard
Novice
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2018
- Messages
- 55
2. We lost thirty men in that melee, due to our horrible unit stats. I do not believe our unit is currently fit for combat.
Also, perfect way to further antagonize this pointy-eared tourist.
Also, perfect way to further antagonize this pointy-eared tourist.
2. Our men are not up to the needs of direct confrontation. Indeed, I believe that this elf is baiting us.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
Lady Katarina nods in reply. "Well, I suppose that settles things, does it not?" she declares as she begins to fold up the map.
"Well, I am glad to see you have some sense in you," she whispers softly in your ear as she passes you by, her expression faintly satisfied as she heads out of the map room, the map tucked under her arm.
Your lieutenants soon follow her, Blaylock and Sandoral keeping their expressions carefully neutral, whilst Lord Renard makes no pains to hide his relief.
That only leaves Lord Cassius, who remains in his chair, looking none too pleased.
"So, we are to make a detour of 200 kilometers or more, simply to avoid the slightest chance that we will meet the Antari?" he questions sceptically. "Surely you cannot be as afraid of them as all that."
"I'm not doing this for my sake but for your safety."
"It would only be sensible to fear an enemy that so outnumbers us, Your Excellency."
"Perhaps I am afraid; after facing Khorobirit once, you would be too."
"Well, I am glad to see you have some sense in you," she whispers softly in your ear as she passes you by, her expression faintly satisfied as she heads out of the map room, the map tucked under her arm.
Your lieutenants soon follow her, Blaylock and Sandoral keeping their expressions carefully neutral, whilst Lord Renard makes no pains to hide his relief.
That only leaves Lord Cassius, who remains in his chair, looking none too pleased.
"So, we are to make a detour of 200 kilometers or more, simply to avoid the slightest chance that we will meet the Antari?" he questions sceptically. "Surely you cannot be as afraid of them as all that."
"I'm not doing this for my sake but for your safety."
"It would only be sensible to fear an enemy that so outnumbers us, Your Excellency."
"Perhaps I am afraid; after facing Khorobirit once, you would be too."
As of the Spring of the 610th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 488
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 20%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 76% Cynicism: 24%
Ruthlessness: 36% Mercy: 64%
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: 22
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 488
Income: 15
Soldiering: 75%
Charisma: 43%
Intellect: 5%
Reputation: 20%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 76% Cynicism: 24%
Ruthlessness: 36% Mercy: 64%
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: 39%
Morale: 39%
Loyalty: 37%
Strength: 85%
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 39%
Morale: 39%
Loyalty: 37%
Strength: 85%
Reinhardt
Arcane
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2015
- Messages
- 29,726
1. It's true.
No, it's because our plan was shit. Codex proved its reputation. Again.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
1. It's true.
No, it's because our plan was shit. Codex proved its reputation. Again.
The plan wasn't shit but rather the decision to choose that particular plan was shit.
It was high risk, high reward plan dependent on unit stats vs a less risky organized retreat and the former was chosen despite shit unit stats.
2
1
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
1-10: 1
11-20: 2
11-20: 2
As an Amazon Associate, rpgcodex.net earns from qualifying purchases.