Blog: Big Small Worlds
Owner: Padre
Author: padremack
Post: THE BATTLE OF PALOMTRINA, PART TWo: the fight begins.
The entire Reman line stood its ground, each body of soldiers maintaining their present position, even the mounted companies. His holiness, Bernado, however, dismounted and joined the hand-gunners before him, ordering his mounted companions to join the baggage at the rear.
From his new position he prayed for Morr’s protection on the handgunners, and although he successfully summoned the blessing, he was overwhelmed by its manifestation and momentarily felt unable to pray further. Father Uguccione attempted to summon a similar protection on the bravi beside him, but the enemy’s counter-magics thwarted him.
From the hill on the rightmost of the Reman line the cannons were hauled about to aim right across the field towards at the rat-ogres on the far side.
The first iron ball pierced two of the giant vermin, causing Warlord Gurthrak of Clan Skravell to squeal in fear and frustration.
The second gun, after some careful adjustment by the maestro, fired along the same line.
Its shot killed another two ogres and one of their packmasters, and in so doing cut Gurthrak’s squeal short, as his fear took a more paralysing turn!
Yet he did not run, for Seer-Lord Urlak was close by, and he knew that to run now would surely mean his later capital punishment! The last surviving pack-ogre was peppered with crossbow bolts from the Cathayan crossbows on the hill before them, while several of the engine guards in the centre of the line were felled by Dwarven quarrels.
Apart from Gurthrak, the rest of the uomini ratto were undismayed – the engine guard were so enclosed in leather and waxed linen robes that they barely noticed their comrades’ demise, and those who saw what had happened to the rat ogres were simply happy that the guns had not been aimed at them! And so, the army’s right advanced in good order, with only the globadiers holding themselves back a little.
On the left, Warlord Budrojor of the Fiddlash clan ordered the slaves to reform, reducing the front and adding depth, in the hope that they would thus stand their ground longer in the forthcoming fight.
As this was done, the swarms of rats scurried forwards at full pelt to just behind the little copse of cypress trees.
In the front rank of his bodyguard regiment, Lord Urlak decided it was time to show his power not just to the enemy but to his own servants, to let everyone know just how dangerous he could be. The enemy would suffer the consequences, and his own warriors would learn a valuable lesson concerning what he might do if they fail to please him.
The little company of pistoliers seemed perfect for such a demonstration, and so he began by conjuring warp-lightning to strike at them, killing three in a most horrible manner. The last two turned and fled.
‘Not enough-sufficient’ he thought to himself, ‘I can do more and better than that!’
Turning his attention on the palace guard, he summoned a scorching flame to burst from the ground beneath them, eliciting an eruption of agonised screams as ten of the armoured warriors burned to death! He was surprised at the ease with which he had cast the spell, but more surprised to see the enemy soldiers simply reform their ranks and files, rather than flee the field.
Less dramatically, the engineer upon the far flank, employed his magical ring to kill one of the Knights of Morr (saving the shot in his pistol for later).
The jezzails now spat their heavy bullets at the palace guard …
… and the engine guard’s poisoned wind mortar team lobbed a grenade at the same, between them killing nine more men!
Eager to join in the destruction, the crew of the first warp-lightning cannon were o-er hasty in their mechanical operations, and spewed a murderously hot bolt at the engine guard, killing fourteen!
Somehow, those few who remained found the courage to continue, although that may well have been because their thoughts were somewhat frazzled by the vestiges of warp energy still flickering about their skulls.
The crew of the second cannon, the biggest of the three, failed to temper the steam, causing their engine to turn on the spot just as it was about to vent its deadly energies.
The bolt then released damaged the third engine and roasted six of the giant rats. Despite the damage, the third cannon was the only one to fire on target, and sent a bolt …
… to kill the two of ogres with long poles, leaving only the club-bearing one to blunder onwards.
The catapult …
… sent a missile arcing through the air to clip the Cathayan fighting regiment, killing only one …
…yet the sight of the bursting boils blistering his flesh and the sound of his agonised screams, caused the rest of them to turn and flee.
The misfires and subsequent self-harm had not gone unnoticed by Lord Urlak, but he was happy enough to see the enemy so harmed. Before him, the palace guard were now but a handful, the Cathayans fleeing, and the lone ogre was pathetic to behold.
He could see that the enemy’s missile strength was not diminished, but it surely soon would be now that there were so few fighting men to target on the left of their line. His confidence surged, and he found himself having to stop his mind a-wandering to what he would do to Remas when it was his to play with. Now was not the time, he thought, for such distractions. There was much more killing to do, and he wanted to enjoy the doing of it.
On the far side of the field, the maestro Angelo da Leoni was looking worriedly at the doom bombard.
It had yet to move. Its crew might not intend it to, for if it functioned as the last one was supposed to, and as the ratmen’s threats had claimed (although in a letter he had not personally read), it did not need to move in order to kill almost everyone on the field of battle, from both sides.
From his hilltop vantage point, he had been able to watch the enemy’s advance, and the harm done to the Reman fighting regiments on the left of the line. Already two of the ogre dock guards had been killed, leaving only one to bring its brute strength to bear on the engine in a manner that would hopefully not cause a catastrophic explosion. The company of strongmen below him were still intact, but they faced a veritable verminous horde, and the mounted nobles at their side had already suffered a casualty, despite their steel carapaces.
He was beginning to wonder if they might have to risk firing upon the bombard. This seemed an insane option, but if the alternative was to allow it to draw closer to the city, then perhaps the sacrifice of the army was worth risking. Little did he know the arch-lector had been harbouring the same thoughts – indeed his holiness was unwilling to stray too far from the guns in case he needed to give exactly such an order!
As he fretted, he could see the Knights of Morr had now spurred their horses to advance directly towards the mob of ratmen between them and the bombard.
The bravi swordsmen and the strongmen moved up beside the knights …
… although as they all did so they were surely aware of the massive war-engines that be brought to bear upon them. The knights were secretly glad of the cypress trees making their advance a little less obvious to the ratmen crews.
Bernado wanted to give what was left of his palace guard every chance they could of making a stand, and so cursed the yellow clad enemy regiment approaching them with Morr’s caress, weakening them considerably.
While the other Reman cleric, Father Uguccione, successfully inflicted a similar but weaker curse on the huge mob of slave warriors out on the enemy’s far left.
He also threw a fireball at the swarm of rats drawing close, but so much of its heat was dissipated by the trees that only one rat perished. More disappointingly, he sensed the power sap entirely from the magical ring he had employed and knew it would be of no use for the rest of the battle.
From behind he heard the loud report of the cannons as once again they took aim at the rat ogres.
Warlord Gurthrak felt one shot pass within an inch of his head, and despite the shock of it, wondered whether his magical wards had actually saved him. Then the bonebreaker beneath him jolted and stumbled as the second shot glanced against it, breaking its arm, and tearing the last of the pack ogres to pieces. This was more than enough for the warlord – he shrieked his command, yanked the lever attached to the control straps and turned his mount around to begin his flight from this field and its damnable cannons.
Urlak cared not a jot. The warlord had played his part by taking four shots from the enemy guns, allowing him and his bodyguard regiment to draw close unscathed.
The Palomtrinan handgunners volleyed at the engine guard, killing three.
Then the dwarf crossbow felled another five.
And the crossbowmen on the rise behind them, laid low another three.
Only one engine guard remained, being the standard bearer, along with the clan Skravell chieftain who had been commanded to lead them in this battle.
Now there was nothing left to lead, he decided he was not needed, and made his way over to join Clan Skravell’s yellow banner regiment.
The lesser warriors, slaves and giant rats, advanced cautiously on the left, as ordered by Warlord Budrojor, who wanted to ensure no-one got through to the bombard.
While the swarms burst through the trees to set upon the bravi.
Urlak, along with the main fighting regiments and the globadiers, moved up cautiously, but did not yet attempt to charge.
The Seer Lord was keen to see what more his army’s missiles, big and small, could do, before he ordered his warriors to close on the foe. For now, he would try his magic again.
While his conjured lightning was dispelled by the foe, he successfully scorched the handgunners, killing six. Annoyingly, perhaps because the arch-lector was with them, they showed no signs of panic or disarray.
A rolling thunder of blasts came from behind as the jezzails fired upon what few of the palace guard remained, killing even more.
Those who now remained seemed to present little threat, reduced to a mere handful. To Urlak’s eyes they were a pathetic sight indeed. Four dwarven crossbows were killed by the Clan Skravell spitfire gun, while the poisoned wind mortar and the catapult behind killed eleven Cathayans!
‘More, more!’ thought Urlak, becoming greedily gleeful at the destruction.
Then he heard the crack and fizzle of electrical bolts as two warplightning cannons killed three of the noble knights, and a sharp snap as the engineer’s pistol …
… killed another. More than half of the noble-order’s members had been felled, having yet to bloody their lances.
Their manoeuvres revealed a lack of concern, and any grief writ upon their faces was hidden by the helms. They merely continued their advance, turning their trot into a canter, as they drew closer to the foe.
A messy struggle began between the verminous swarms and the bravi …
… while Urlak told his warriors to brace themselves for the enemy’s charge. Forgetting his natural caution, which had kept him alive for so many years, he felt carried along by events, the witnessing of the death of so many foes, and craved a chance to claw at the enemy’s flesh himself while some remained alive, as if he too were a youngling warrior!
(Next part to follow soon.)
Continue reading on the Big Small Worlds blog
Owner: Padre
Author: padremack
Post: THE BATTLE OF PALOMTRINA, PART TWo: the fight begins.
The entire Reman line stood its ground, each body of soldiers maintaining their present position, even the mounted companies. His holiness, Bernado, however, dismounted and joined the hand-gunners before him, ordering his mounted companions to join the baggage at the rear.
From his new position he prayed for Morr’s protection on the handgunners, and although he successfully summoned the blessing, he was overwhelmed by its manifestation and momentarily felt unable to pray further. Father Uguccione attempted to summon a similar protection on the bravi beside him, but the enemy’s counter-magics thwarted him.
From the hill on the rightmost of the Reman line the cannons were hauled about to aim right across the field towards at the rat-ogres on the far side.
The first iron ball pierced two of the giant vermin, causing Warlord Gurthrak of Clan Skravell to squeal in fear and frustration.
The second gun, after some careful adjustment by the maestro, fired along the same line.
Its shot killed another two ogres and one of their packmasters, and in so doing cut Gurthrak’s squeal short, as his fear took a more paralysing turn!
Yet he did not run, for Seer-Lord Urlak was close by, and he knew that to run now would surely mean his later capital punishment! The last surviving pack-ogre was peppered with crossbow bolts from the Cathayan crossbows on the hill before them, while several of the engine guards in the centre of the line were felled by Dwarven quarrels.
Apart from Gurthrak, the rest of the uomini ratto were undismayed – the engine guard were so enclosed in leather and waxed linen robes that they barely noticed their comrades’ demise, and those who saw what had happened to the rat ogres were simply happy that the guns had not been aimed at them! And so, the army’s right advanced in good order, with only the globadiers holding themselves back a little.
On the left, Warlord Budrojor of the Fiddlash clan ordered the slaves to reform, reducing the front and adding depth, in the hope that they would thus stand their ground longer in the forthcoming fight.
As this was done, the swarms of rats scurried forwards at full pelt to just behind the little copse of cypress trees.
In the front rank of his bodyguard regiment, Lord Urlak decided it was time to show his power not just to the enemy but to his own servants, to let everyone know just how dangerous he could be. The enemy would suffer the consequences, and his own warriors would learn a valuable lesson concerning what he might do if they fail to please him.
The little company of pistoliers seemed perfect for such a demonstration, and so he began by conjuring warp-lightning to strike at them, killing three in a most horrible manner. The last two turned and fled.
‘Not enough-sufficient’ he thought to himself, ‘I can do more and better than that!’
Turning his attention on the palace guard, he summoned a scorching flame to burst from the ground beneath them, eliciting an eruption of agonised screams as ten of the armoured warriors burned to death! He was surprised at the ease with which he had cast the spell, but more surprised to see the enemy soldiers simply reform their ranks and files, rather than flee the field.
Less dramatically, the engineer upon the far flank, employed his magical ring to kill one of the Knights of Morr (saving the shot in his pistol for later).
The jezzails now spat their heavy bullets at the palace guard …
… and the engine guard’s poisoned wind mortar team lobbed a grenade at the same, between them killing nine more men!
Eager to join in the destruction, the crew of the first warp-lightning cannon were o-er hasty in their mechanical operations, and spewed a murderously hot bolt at the engine guard, killing fourteen!
Somehow, those few who remained found the courage to continue, although that may well have been because their thoughts were somewhat frazzled by the vestiges of warp energy still flickering about their skulls.
The crew of the second cannon, the biggest of the three, failed to temper the steam, causing their engine to turn on the spot just as it was about to vent its deadly energies.
The bolt then released damaged the third engine and roasted six of the giant rats. Despite the damage, the third cannon was the only one to fire on target, and sent a bolt …
… to kill the two of ogres with long poles, leaving only the club-bearing one to blunder onwards.
The catapult …
… sent a missile arcing through the air to clip the Cathayan fighting regiment, killing only one …
…yet the sight of the bursting boils blistering his flesh and the sound of his agonised screams, caused the rest of them to turn and flee.
The misfires and subsequent self-harm had not gone unnoticed by Lord Urlak, but he was happy enough to see the enemy so harmed. Before him, the palace guard were now but a handful, the Cathayans fleeing, and the lone ogre was pathetic to behold.
He could see that the enemy’s missile strength was not diminished, but it surely soon would be now that there were so few fighting men to target on the left of their line. His confidence surged, and he found himself having to stop his mind a-wandering to what he would do to Remas when it was his to play with. Now was not the time, he thought, for such distractions. There was much more killing to do, and he wanted to enjoy the doing of it.
On the far side of the field, the maestro Angelo da Leoni was looking worriedly at the doom bombard.
It had yet to move. Its crew might not intend it to, for if it functioned as the last one was supposed to, and as the ratmen’s threats had claimed (although in a letter he had not personally read), it did not need to move in order to kill almost everyone on the field of battle, from both sides.
From his hilltop vantage point, he had been able to watch the enemy’s advance, and the harm done to the Reman fighting regiments on the left of the line. Already two of the ogre dock guards had been killed, leaving only one to bring its brute strength to bear on the engine in a manner that would hopefully not cause a catastrophic explosion. The company of strongmen below him were still intact, but they faced a veritable verminous horde, and the mounted nobles at their side had already suffered a casualty, despite their steel carapaces.
He was beginning to wonder if they might have to risk firing upon the bombard. This seemed an insane option, but if the alternative was to allow it to draw closer to the city, then perhaps the sacrifice of the army was worth risking. Little did he know the arch-lector had been harbouring the same thoughts – indeed his holiness was unwilling to stray too far from the guns in case he needed to give exactly such an order!
As he fretted, he could see the Knights of Morr had now spurred their horses to advance directly towards the mob of ratmen between them and the bombard.
The bravi swordsmen and the strongmen moved up beside the knights …
… although as they all did so they were surely aware of the massive war-engines that be brought to bear upon them. The knights were secretly glad of the cypress trees making their advance a little less obvious to the ratmen crews.
Bernado wanted to give what was left of his palace guard every chance they could of making a stand, and so cursed the yellow clad enemy regiment approaching them with Morr’s caress, weakening them considerably.
While the other Reman cleric, Father Uguccione, successfully inflicted a similar but weaker curse on the huge mob of slave warriors out on the enemy’s far left.
He also threw a fireball at the swarm of rats drawing close, but so much of its heat was dissipated by the trees that only one rat perished. More disappointingly, he sensed the power sap entirely from the magical ring he had employed and knew it would be of no use for the rest of the battle.
From behind he heard the loud report of the cannons as once again they took aim at the rat ogres.
Warlord Gurthrak felt one shot pass within an inch of his head, and despite the shock of it, wondered whether his magical wards had actually saved him. Then the bonebreaker beneath him jolted and stumbled as the second shot glanced against it, breaking its arm, and tearing the last of the pack ogres to pieces. This was more than enough for the warlord – he shrieked his command, yanked the lever attached to the control straps and turned his mount around to begin his flight from this field and its damnable cannons.
Urlak cared not a jot. The warlord had played his part by taking four shots from the enemy guns, allowing him and his bodyguard regiment to draw close unscathed.
The Palomtrinan handgunners volleyed at the engine guard, killing three.
Then the dwarf crossbow felled another five.
And the crossbowmen on the rise behind them, laid low another three.
Only one engine guard remained, being the standard bearer, along with the clan Skravell chieftain who had been commanded to lead them in this battle.
Now there was nothing left to lead, he decided he was not needed, and made his way over to join Clan Skravell’s yellow banner regiment.
The lesser warriors, slaves and giant rats, advanced cautiously on the left, as ordered by Warlord Budrojor, who wanted to ensure no-one got through to the bombard.
While the swarms burst through the trees to set upon the bravi.
Urlak, along with the main fighting regiments and the globadiers, moved up cautiously, but did not yet attempt to charge.
The Seer Lord was keen to see what more his army’s missiles, big and small, could do, before he ordered his warriors to close on the foe. For now, he would try his magic again.
While his conjured lightning was dispelled by the foe, he successfully scorched the handgunners, killing six. Annoyingly, perhaps because the arch-lector was with them, they showed no signs of panic or disarray.
A rolling thunder of blasts came from behind as the jezzails fired upon what few of the palace guard remained, killing even more.
Those who now remained seemed to present little threat, reduced to a mere handful. To Urlak’s eyes they were a pathetic sight indeed. Four dwarven crossbows were killed by the Clan Skravell spitfire gun, while the poisoned wind mortar and the catapult behind killed eleven Cathayans!
‘More, more!’ thought Urlak, becoming greedily gleeful at the destruction.
Then he heard the crack and fizzle of electrical bolts as two warplightning cannons killed three of the noble knights, and a sharp snap as the engineer’s pistol …
… killed another. More than half of the noble-order’s members had been felled, having yet to bloody their lances.
Their manoeuvres revealed a lack of concern, and any grief writ upon their faces was hidden by the helms. They merely continued their advance, turning their trot into a canter, as they drew closer to the foe.
A messy struggle began between the verminous swarms and the bravi …
… while Urlak told his warriors to brace themselves for the enemy’s charge. Forgetting his natural caution, which had kept him alive for so many years, he felt carried along by events, the witnessing of the death of so many foes, and craved a chance to claw at the enemy’s flesh himself while some remained alive, as if he too were a youngling warrior!
(Next part to follow soon.)
Continue reading on the Big Small Worlds blog
