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Completed [LP] Enlist in the Royal Dragoons! Codex plays Sabres of Infinity
- Thread starter Lithium Flower
- Start date
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
"What shall be our next move?"
Cazarosta shakes his head.
"We can do nothing. If we charge out there alone, we would accomplish nothing."
Elson makes a little strangled sound in his throat as he bites back a hot retort. Cazarosta continues unfazed, his voice as cold as ice.
"Wulfram, on the other hand, must ride out to meet Khorobirit's hussars. He has all the cavalry on his flank, save for us, and if he does nothing, those hussars will be able to roll up the line and cut down the entire army at their leisure."
A distant blast of trumpets brings your attention to the field once again. Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the Duke of Wulfram's banner flutter free in the grey wind as the Duke and his Tierran cavalry ride forth to meet the enemy hussars head on.
You watch with bated breath as the two massive formations of cavalry converge on each other, sabres, broadswords, lances and armour glittering in the sun. The ground trembles as the Antari and Tierran horse surge towards their titanic clash.
"Battalion! Fire!"
In an instant, powdersmoke and fire blot out your view. The sound of the distant clash is drowned out by the closer sound of massed musketry as Tierran infantry fire upon upon the returning horde of Antari foot.
Once again, your world shrinks to a single floor of a single tower, bordered by smoke and fire and the screams of the dying.
-
A half hour later, the battle pierces the veil of fog and fire again, this time in the form of a messenger: one of the Duke of Cunaris's staff.
"Begging your pardons sirs, the Colonel wants to see all three of you downstairs, right now."
You descend the crumbling stairs to the ground floor of the tower to see Cunaris surrounded by the other officers of the regiment and speaking in hushed tones with a man wearing a major's insignia covered in blood and filth and bruises. It is only when you get close enough to hear their conversation that you realize he is wearing the grey-green of the Dragoons.
"—have already battered them to pieces. Tourbridge's brigade is being hit hard in the right flank."
Cunaris's expression is tired and drawn, as if he were a man twice his age. "And Wulfram?" he asks, his voice soft with anxiety.
The other officer bows his head in sadness. "Dead, sir. The Earl of Welles and Viscount Halford too. If anyone is still in command of the cavalry, I know not whom."
-
You hear Elson give a choked sob. He staggers, as if he had been struck in the stomach.
The door slams open. "What's all this? Wulfram? Dead?" asks a new voice, belonging to Lieutenant Colonel Marras, the commander of Sixth Squadron and second-in-command of the regiment.
Cunaris nods. "As Major Keane was in the process of telling us, the battle goes poorly. Our right flank is in disarray, as is the chain of command. I am afraid that this regiment must act now independently if the situation is to be made salvageable. Have you gentlemen any suggestions?"
Marras claps his hands together before any discussion could ensue. "We must attack!" he declares boldly. For a moment, there is only silence as the regiment's second-in-command strokes his unfashionably luxuriant facial hair. Then, as enthusiastically explosive as before, he continues, "Yes! If we strike from this flank, the Antari will be forced to face us and give our brothers on the other flank the time to gain the initative! Let us lead a valiant charge and tip the balance of the battle in our favour, your Grace! For King, for glory and for all the Saints! Let it be so!"
Perhaps it is something in the air, but the Lieutenant Colonel's exuberant bloodlust seems to be contagious. Cunaris, at the verge of despair a moment before, speaks with a new energy.
"I concur. Marras, you will assemble your squadron before the enemy. I shall do the same. Major Keane, find whoever is in command now and report back with news. Captain Elson, you will maintain two of your troops here, to hold the castle and receive Major Keane's report. The rest shall join us in the advance."
The strange enthusiasm which has infected Cunaris seems to have also afflicted Captain Elson, as he grins in boyish glee. "Cazarosta, you and your men will remain here to guard the towers."
The deathborn's eyebrow climbs. "Sir?"
Elson's grin turns ugly and his high spirits turn instantly into a burning fury. "Damn your insolence sir! You will remain here to command the defence of this fortification and you will do so until ordered otherwise or until the ending of the world!"
Cazarosta nods. "Very well… sir."
Elson turns to the rest of his lieutenants, yourself included. "Now, who will stay with the bastard?" he asks, his voice still hot with fury.
1) Volunteer to guard the castle with Cazarosta. My skills are of more use here than in the field.
2) Hide in a castle while the rest of the regiment fights for glory? Not a chance!
3) I volunteer to stay in the castle, but only to give myself a chance to escape this certain defeat.
Cazarosta shakes his head.
"We can do nothing. If we charge out there alone, we would accomplish nothing."
Elson makes a little strangled sound in his throat as he bites back a hot retort. Cazarosta continues unfazed, his voice as cold as ice.
"Wulfram, on the other hand, must ride out to meet Khorobirit's hussars. He has all the cavalry on his flank, save for us, and if he does nothing, those hussars will be able to roll up the line and cut down the entire army at their leisure."
A distant blast of trumpets brings your attention to the field once again. Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the Duke of Wulfram's banner flutter free in the grey wind as the Duke and his Tierran cavalry ride forth to meet the enemy hussars head on.
You watch with bated breath as the two massive formations of cavalry converge on each other, sabres, broadswords, lances and armour glittering in the sun. The ground trembles as the Antari and Tierran horse surge towards their titanic clash.
"Battalion! Fire!"
In an instant, powdersmoke and fire blot out your view. The sound of the distant clash is drowned out by the closer sound of massed musketry as Tierran infantry fire upon upon the returning horde of Antari foot.
Once again, your world shrinks to a single floor of a single tower, bordered by smoke and fire and the screams of the dying.
-
A half hour later, the battle pierces the veil of fog and fire again, this time in the form of a messenger: one of the Duke of Cunaris's staff.
"Begging your pardons sirs, the Colonel wants to see all three of you downstairs, right now."
You descend the crumbling stairs to the ground floor of the tower to see Cunaris surrounded by the other officers of the regiment and speaking in hushed tones with a man wearing a major's insignia covered in blood and filth and bruises. It is only when you get close enough to hear their conversation that you realize he is wearing the grey-green of the Dragoons.
"—have already battered them to pieces. Tourbridge's brigade is being hit hard in the right flank."
Cunaris's expression is tired and drawn, as if he were a man twice his age. "And Wulfram?" he asks, his voice soft with anxiety.
The other officer bows his head in sadness. "Dead, sir. The Earl of Welles and Viscount Halford too. If anyone is still in command of the cavalry, I know not whom."
-
You hear Elson give a choked sob. He staggers, as if he had been struck in the stomach.
The door slams open. "What's all this? Wulfram? Dead?" asks a new voice, belonging to Lieutenant Colonel Marras, the commander of Sixth Squadron and second-in-command of the regiment.
Cunaris nods. "As Major Keane was in the process of telling us, the battle goes poorly. Our right flank is in disarray, as is the chain of command. I am afraid that this regiment must act now independently if the situation is to be made salvageable. Have you gentlemen any suggestions?"
Marras claps his hands together before any discussion could ensue. "We must attack!" he declares boldly. For a moment, there is only silence as the regiment's second-in-command strokes his unfashionably luxuriant facial hair. Then, as enthusiastically explosive as before, he continues, "Yes! If we strike from this flank, the Antari will be forced to face us and give our brothers on the other flank the time to gain the initative! Let us lead a valiant charge and tip the balance of the battle in our favour, your Grace! For King, for glory and for all the Saints! Let it be so!"
Perhaps it is something in the air, but the Lieutenant Colonel's exuberant bloodlust seems to be contagious. Cunaris, at the verge of despair a moment before, speaks with a new energy.
"I concur. Marras, you will assemble your squadron before the enemy. I shall do the same. Major Keane, find whoever is in command now and report back with news. Captain Elson, you will maintain two of your troops here, to hold the castle and receive Major Keane's report. The rest shall join us in the advance."
The strange enthusiasm which has infected Cunaris seems to have also afflicted Captain Elson, as he grins in boyish glee. "Cazarosta, you and your men will remain here to guard the towers."
The deathborn's eyebrow climbs. "Sir?"
Elson's grin turns ugly and his high spirits turn instantly into a burning fury. "Damn your insolence sir! You will remain here to command the defence of this fortification and you will do so until ordered otherwise or until the ending of the world!"
Cazarosta nods. "Very well… sir."
Elson turns to the rest of his lieutenants, yourself included. "Now, who will stay with the bastard?" he asks, his voice still hot with fury.
1) Volunteer to guard the castle with Cazarosta. My skills are of more use here than in the field.
2) Hide in a castle while the rest of the regiment fights for glory? Not a chance!
3) I volunteer to stay in the castle, but only to give myself a chance to escape this certain defeat.
As of the Summer of the 607th year of the Old Imperial Era
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 49%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 94% Cynicism: 6%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 49%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 94% Cynicism: 6%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sixth Troop, Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 29%
Loyalty: 32%
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 29%
Loyalty: 32%
2
tsuke
Educated
- Joined
- May 29, 2018
- Messages
- 116
hello. Former lurker here. Glad to see people are playing choice games. They are a great company 
judging by the quality of CYOA here some of you guys could probably make the cut for their 7.5k or 10k contracts.
Anyway I just wanted to post to gauge interest in a second continuation LP after this for Guns of Infinity. I could probably approximate your choices here and you could continue with nearly the same character for book 2. Assuming you dont manage to kill off Alaric lol.
judging by the quality of CYOA here some of you guys could probably make the cut for their 7.5k or 10k contracts.Anyway I just wanted to post to gauge interest in a second continuation LP after this for Guns of Infinity. I could probably approximate your choices here and you could continue with nearly the same character for book 2. Assuming you dont manage to kill off Alaric lol.
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
You wait in silence, waiting for somebody else to take the task of defending the castle from your hands. The tension is strong; it seems the other officers of the squadron think much the same as you. You wait for a long time.
Finally, one of the other lieutenants in your squadron, a newly promoted man with whom you have never spoken before, steps forward. "I will do it."
You breathe a sigh of relief as the whole room relaxes. Cunaris, either unnoticing or unwilling to notice the moment of decision, returns directly to business, his tone betraying no emotion or judgment.
"Very good. Inform your men. I want them formed up between the castle towers in five minutes. Am I made clear?"
"Yes, sir!" choruses every other voice in the room, yours included.
Cunaris nods. "Then get to it gentlemen."
You snap a quick salute, and head upstairs to tell your men.
-
They do not react well.
As soon as you fill them in on the details of your new orders, the whole room falls into silence. For a moment, you hear nothing save the sounds of the distant battle.
It is staff sergeant Hernandes who breaks the silence.
"M-might I have a w-word with you sir?"
Hernandes stammers more nervously than usual when lead him to the other side of the room and ask him to speak his mind. "I d-don't think the m-men would m-uch like to go into b-battle at these odds sir. I c-can m-make them follow orders off the field, but on it, I offer n-no guarantees."
You can appreciate the sentiment. A little part of you thinks it is suicide too.
However, the fact that your men seem to think your new orders unsound might push them to extreme measures. Surely, it is something to be looked after in any way possible.
How do you respond to this?
I ask Staff-Sargeant Hernandes what he thinks.
"And you, staff sergeant, what do you think?"
Hernandes shakes his head.
"S-sir. I h-have n-no opinion on the matter."
You can tell that he is lying through his teeth, but now is neither the time or the place to press him for the truth.
-
You head down the stairs and into the stables, where you saddle up Thunderer and ride out to where Elson, Cunaris and the better part of the regiment await you.
"Listen closely, gentlemen. I've not the time to repeat myself," Cunaris says as the last of the men move their horses into position. "We shall attack by the troop, as to ensure that we strike as many of the enemy as possible. This done, we shall then proceed to wheel about, ride clear and attack again. This will continue until the enemy is beaten. Am I made clear?"
Hundreds of voices reply: "Yes, sir!"
The Duke nods. "Marras, you will take the left. Elson, you will take the right. I will lead the center. The powdersmoke is still thick, so take care not to be separated from your men. Under no circumstances should you stop moving: should the Antari pin you down, they will overwhelm you with sheer numbers. Saints go with you."
With a fluid motion of his hand, the Duke pulls free his long sword and holds it aloft as it blazes with the light of the bane.
"Tierra and Victory!"
-
The powder fog is everywhere as you advance closer towards the scene of the main battle. The sharp, vile smell of gunpowder seeps into your eyes and nostrils, itching and chafing and turning your stomach. This has been like no battle you have ever been in, with the smoke and the hot, dry fire-kindled wind whipping about you.
It is disorienting, to say the least. You feel that you have twisted and turned in every direction. Surely you would have lost your way a thousand times over if not for the blazing ache of the bane in your mind, the signature of sixty thousand men struggling in the muck and dirt, looming ever closer.
Closer to your position, you also hold the rest of your regiment in your mind's eye, keeping station some fifty or so paces to the right of Elson's troop. They are the only reminder that you and your men are not alone on this hellish field, save for the sounds of battle and the flicker of a boot, a drawn sabre or a horse's flank brushing out of the impenetrable haze to your left.
Sometimes, you hear a snippet of an order or the carried half-syllable of a shout coming from the direction of the other Dragoons. With the haze so thick about you and the sound of battle drowning out anything short of a full bellow, you have been effectively left to your own devices. Surely, there must be something you can do to better prepare your men for battle.
1) I give the less certain of my men the opportunity to withdraw from this battle.
2) I do nothing
Finally, one of the other lieutenants in your squadron, a newly promoted man with whom you have never spoken before, steps forward. "I will do it."
You breathe a sigh of relief as the whole room relaxes. Cunaris, either unnoticing or unwilling to notice the moment of decision, returns directly to business, his tone betraying no emotion or judgment.
"Very good. Inform your men. I want them formed up between the castle towers in five minutes. Am I made clear?"
"Yes, sir!" choruses every other voice in the room, yours included.
Cunaris nods. "Then get to it gentlemen."
You snap a quick salute, and head upstairs to tell your men.
-
They do not react well.
As soon as you fill them in on the details of your new orders, the whole room falls into silence. For a moment, you hear nothing save the sounds of the distant battle.
It is staff sergeant Hernandes who breaks the silence.
"M-might I have a w-word with you sir?"
Hernandes stammers more nervously than usual when lead him to the other side of the room and ask him to speak his mind. "I d-don't think the m-men would m-uch like to go into b-battle at these odds sir. I c-can m-make them follow orders off the field, but on it, I offer n-no guarantees."
You can appreciate the sentiment. A little part of you thinks it is suicide too.
However, the fact that your men seem to think your new orders unsound might push them to extreme measures. Surely, it is something to be looked after in any way possible.
How do you respond to this?
I ask Staff-Sargeant Hernandes what he thinks.
"And you, staff sergeant, what do you think?"
Hernandes shakes his head.
"S-sir. I h-have n-no opinion on the matter."
You can tell that he is lying through his teeth, but now is neither the time or the place to press him for the truth.
-
You head down the stairs and into the stables, where you saddle up Thunderer and ride out to where Elson, Cunaris and the better part of the regiment await you.
"Listen closely, gentlemen. I've not the time to repeat myself," Cunaris says as the last of the men move their horses into position. "We shall attack by the troop, as to ensure that we strike as many of the enemy as possible. This done, we shall then proceed to wheel about, ride clear and attack again. This will continue until the enemy is beaten. Am I made clear?"
Hundreds of voices reply: "Yes, sir!"
The Duke nods. "Marras, you will take the left. Elson, you will take the right. I will lead the center. The powdersmoke is still thick, so take care not to be separated from your men. Under no circumstances should you stop moving: should the Antari pin you down, they will overwhelm you with sheer numbers. Saints go with you."
With a fluid motion of his hand, the Duke pulls free his long sword and holds it aloft as it blazes with the light of the bane.
"Tierra and Victory!"
-
The powder fog is everywhere as you advance closer towards the scene of the main battle. The sharp, vile smell of gunpowder seeps into your eyes and nostrils, itching and chafing and turning your stomach. This has been like no battle you have ever been in, with the smoke and the hot, dry fire-kindled wind whipping about you.
It is disorienting, to say the least. You feel that you have twisted and turned in every direction. Surely you would have lost your way a thousand times over if not for the blazing ache of the bane in your mind, the signature of sixty thousand men struggling in the muck and dirt, looming ever closer.
Closer to your position, you also hold the rest of your regiment in your mind's eye, keeping station some fifty or so paces to the right of Elson's troop. They are the only reminder that you and your men are not alone on this hellish field, save for the sounds of battle and the flicker of a boot, a drawn sabre or a horse's flank brushing out of the impenetrable haze to your left.
Sometimes, you hear a snippet of an order or the carried half-syllable of a shout coming from the direction of the other Dragoons. With the haze so thick about you and the sound of battle drowning out anything short of a full bellow, you have been effectively left to your own devices. Surely, there must be something you can do to better prepare your men for battle.
1) I give the less certain of my men the opportunity to withdraw from this battle.
2) I do nothing
As of the Summer of the 607th year of the Old Imperial Era
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 49%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 94% Cynicism: 6%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 49%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 94% Cynicism: 6%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sixth Troop, Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 29%
Loyalty: 32%
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 29%
Loyalty: 32%
1
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
Exporting our save into Guns was always the plan IF Alaric survives.
2. No Retreat!
Lithium Flower
Arcane
- Joined
- Nov 29, 2016
- Messages
- 1,832
(PUNISHMENT DIVINE UNLEASHED WITH HATE
A WRATHFUL STORM OF SHOT AND BLADE
PURGE WITH PIKE, GUN, AND SABRE
BRING CLEANSING FIRE'S RIGHTEOUS BREATH
NO FORGIVENESS.
NO RETREAT.)
There is no time to be wasted on speeches and last-minute nothings, not now when you are all but on top of the enemy.
You merely raise your sabre over your head and signal for your men to advance onwards.
-
The enemy is still too far away to be seen when you hear Elson's voice shouting clear over the battle.
"Squadron! Forward, at the gallop! Tierra! Tierra and Victory!"
Heeding your Squadron Commander's order, you spur your horse into a full run, your men following after you. The ground resonates with thunder as the awful din of half a thousand Dragoons fills the air. With your sabre out in front of you and the hot fog of powdersmoke whipping by your head and getting into your eyes, there is no time for any thought or sentiment save the fearful adrenaline of the charge.
The Antari infantry do not see you when Thunderer ploughs bodily into their flank. Then again, you don't see them either. All you know is that in half of an instant you went from careening through the powder fog to finding yourself in the midst of a horde of enemy foot, your momentum carrying you deeper and deeper.
Thankfully, the enemy was no less prepared for your attack than you were, and had the added disadvantage of being taken in the flank. You slash frantically, trying to win free of the press. If the Antari are able to recover their wits and pin you down here, you are a dead man.
You look around for your men, only to find them scattered amongst the Antari. You quickly call out to them, to rally them together before the Antari are able to offer real resistance, but some are luckier than others. Most cut themselves free begin moving to your side; some are less lucky, overwhelmed by numbers or unhorsed by sheer ill fortune.
The Antari recover quickly, as you discover to your expense when two of them turn to face you, improvised weapons in their hands. While they may not seem like much, every moment you delay will surely bring more Antari down on your heads, never a good thing. The more enemies rushing you at once, the greater the chance that they might take you off your horse — a death sentence in a melee like this.
What do you do?
1) Defend myself until my men can rally to me, and then cut our way out.
2) Rush the enemy before more of them try to attack me. I'll use my speed and my sabre to my advantage.
3) Shoot them with my pistols.
4) Ride them down with Thunderer.
A WRATHFUL STORM OF SHOT AND BLADE
PURGE WITH PIKE, GUN, AND SABRE
BRING CLEANSING FIRE'S RIGHTEOUS BREATH
NO FORGIVENESS.
NO RETREAT.)
There is no time to be wasted on speeches and last-minute nothings, not now when you are all but on top of the enemy.
You merely raise your sabre over your head and signal for your men to advance onwards.
-
The enemy is still too far away to be seen when you hear Elson's voice shouting clear over the battle.
"Squadron! Forward, at the gallop! Tierra! Tierra and Victory!"
Heeding your Squadron Commander's order, you spur your horse into a full run, your men following after you. The ground resonates with thunder as the awful din of half a thousand Dragoons fills the air. With your sabre out in front of you and the hot fog of powdersmoke whipping by your head and getting into your eyes, there is no time for any thought or sentiment save the fearful adrenaline of the charge.
The Antari infantry do not see you when Thunderer ploughs bodily into their flank. Then again, you don't see them either. All you know is that in half of an instant you went from careening through the powder fog to finding yourself in the midst of a horde of enemy foot, your momentum carrying you deeper and deeper.
Thankfully, the enemy was no less prepared for your attack than you were, and had the added disadvantage of being taken in the flank. You slash frantically, trying to win free of the press. If the Antari are able to recover their wits and pin you down here, you are a dead man.
You look around for your men, only to find them scattered amongst the Antari. You quickly call out to them, to rally them together before the Antari are able to offer real resistance, but some are luckier than others. Most cut themselves free begin moving to your side; some are less lucky, overwhelmed by numbers or unhorsed by sheer ill fortune.
The Antari recover quickly, as you discover to your expense when two of them turn to face you, improvised weapons in their hands. While they may not seem like much, every moment you delay will surely bring more Antari down on your heads, never a good thing. The more enemies rushing you at once, the greater the chance that they might take you off your horse — a death sentence in a melee like this.
What do you do?
1) Defend myself until my men can rally to me, and then cut our way out.
2) Rush the enemy before more of them try to attack me. I'll use my speed and my sabre to my advantage.
3) Shoot them with my pistols.
4) Ride them down with Thunderer.
As of the Summer of the 607th year of the Old Imperial Era
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 49%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 94% Cynicism: 6%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 19
Rank: Lieutenant
Wealth: 550
Income: 10
Soldiering: 74%
Charisma: 40%
Intellect: 0%
Reputation: 49%
Health: 65%
Idealism: 94% Cynicism: 6%
Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%
You have no decorations as of yet.
Sixth Troop, Third Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 29%
Loyalty: 32%
Senior NCO: Staff- Sergeant Hernandes
Discipline: 30%
Morale: 29%
Loyalty: 32%
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