Blog: Big Small Worlds
Owner: Padre
Author: padremack
Post: THE BATTLE OF PALOMTRINA, PART TWO: THE FIGHT CONTINUES
Knowing this was his last chance to contribute anything to the battle, indeed to do anything else at all in his life – for to hesitate now would surely mean that he and the last few palace-guardsmen would perish to the enemy’s magic and missiles – Captain Sirus Ricci led a charge against the huge regiment of clanrats ahead.
The captain himself did not know it, but the robed, grey furred fellow in the front rank was the enemy’s general.
Upon receiving the charge, Seer-Lord Urlak’s enthusiasm for a fight immediately dissipated, as he found himself swallowed into a frantic, furious swirl of blades and claws. His thoughts turned quickly to how he could extricate himself. He now realised he much preferred frying the foe with magical fire from a distance, and that it had been a moment’s madness that had planted the urge for close combat in his mind.
The again, there were so few of the enemy, and so many of his own warriors close by, not just his bodyguard, but also the globadiers and Clan Skravell’s fighting regiment. Maybe he could just edge his way back into the rank and file a little, then surely the enemy would be beaten before any blades were brought to bear on him?
Upon the far side of the field, the ‘Cavalieri Benedetti’ (Blessed Knights) were as keen as Captain Ricci to close on the foe as soon as possible, before any more of their number were laid low by warpstone infused bullets.
So, they urged their steel-barded destriers to charge at the giant rats and their handlers, then began skewering the scrabbling vermin as best they could. It became immediately obvious the bloody work was going to take some time, and their champion could not help but wonder if they had acted too hastily, considering the huge mob of slave warriors right by their side!
Indeed, had he known exactly what the uomini ratto were like, he might also have feared what the war engines to his left might do to him and his companions, for it was doubtful they would baulk at loosing their deadly lightning straight through their own warriors, if it also meant delivering harm to the foe.
Unable, from his present position, to discern what was happening upon the other side of the cypress trees, where the bombard was, and also concerned that should he need to give the desperate order to shoot upon the engine to his artillerymen that his word might take a moment too long to reach them, Arch-Lector Bernado left the hand-gunners to make his way towards the cannons.
Behind the knights, the strongmen of Remas picked up their pace towards the enemy, nearly all their eyes fixed upon the bombard’s bulk behind the enemy’s slave regiment.
Despite their proven strength as individuals, in feats of wrestling, exercise and the like, it seemed to many of them that it could be strength in numbers that was required on this field of combat, and the enemy certainly had the upper hand in that regard!
On the other side of the lines, the reformed Cathayans marched back to re-take their original position.
The Reman’s magical prayers had little effect, but the first cannon sent a ball to damage the flank of the middle machine in the enemy’s battery of three …
… then the second’s roundshot punched the third engine so hard that it tumbled over to the side, the sight of which sent both other engines and several of the jezzails into flight!
The engines would soon leave the field of battle never to return.
All three crossbow regiments targeted Clan Skravell’s yellow banner regiment, felling fourteen clanrats!
While the bravi continued their messy slaughter of the swarming rats before them …
… the last few palace guards and the warehouse brute fought desperately against the massed ranks of the Seer’s bodyguard.
Half a dozen clanrats perished in the first moments, including the strangely armed engineer, but such was their number that they barely noticed what had been done. Urlak noticed, however, especially as the ranks behind were pushing forward so hard that he failed to force his way backwards and conceal himself among them. Stealing himself a moment longer, he conjured a scorching flame on the dwarven crossbows, killing two, then used the last of the etheric winds he could bend to his will, he magically transported himself all the way to the baggage at the rear of the line, where his first act was to breath a sigh of relief.
Clan Skravell now charged into the Cathayans …
… while the poisoned wind mortar team decided they would attempt to add to the dwarves’ misery by launching a grenado at them.
The subsequent death, most horrible to behold, of one of the dwarfs, caused the rest to decide it were best they fell back, very quickly, and with little care for order.
As the noble champion had feared, the massive body of slaves hurtled into the knights’ flank.
But not all the ratmen were miserable slaves. In their front rank strode Warlord Budrojor of Clan Fiddlash, as well as one of his chieftains and an engineer. The warlord, unlike all those around him, had both skill and strength enough to slay one of the knights, but every other blow, bite and scratch delivered by either clan or giant rat, failed to penetrate the knights’ plate-armour and barding. Several giant rats were hewn apart or crushed beneath ironshod hooves, but once again, sheer weight of numbers meant that men and horses would have to do a lot more to break the enemy’s will to fight.
Similarly, despite cutting down a few clanrats themselves, the palace guard were unable to make headway. Indeed, had they not been accompanied by Captain Tristano Tronolone, the army standard bearer, with his magically blessed banner gifting them an unnatural courage (Game Note: Stubborn), they would certainly have broken and fled themselves!
To the palace guards’ right, Clan Skravell’s warriors killed nine of the mercenary Cathayans …
… but so close was Tronolone’s army standard, that the easterner’s also felt its blessing, and they too, despite the vast disparity in numbers, found the courage to fight on.
The arch-lector strode boldly up the slope, beneath the cannon muzzles, to join the maestro upon the top of the little hill.
“I know why you have come, your holiness,” said the maestro.
Bernado answered only with a sigh, then the two of them looked over to the bombard. They watched as the city’s strongmen charged into the flank of the huge mob of slave-rats.
And saw also how the bravi, having finally killed the last of the petty vermin, failed to get to the giant rats through the trees.
“It is not over yet,” offered the maestro. “The enemy are base cowards, and all might yet flee if put to any real trouble. That would leave a way through to the infernal engine.”
A handgun volley’s blast distracted them momentarily, as the Warpfire Thrower was felled, while the demise of the ratling crew brought about by the crossbowmen on the neighbouring hill, and the killing of two of the globadiers by the Cathayan crossbows was not audible to them.
“Have a care!” cried one of the gunners close by, followed by a the blast of both guns, which struck down another two of the globadiers.
Warlord Budrojor decided that fighting unarmoured men would be a more bloody sport than scratching against plate armour, and so moved over to the slaves’ left flank …
… where he gleefully struck down two of the foe.
But the rest of the combat was not going the ratmen’s way, for both the knights and the strongmen were far superior in fighting ability to the slaves and giant rats.
Another knight succumbed to one slave’s lucky stab with a rusty blade, but now that they were flanked, the slaves’ confidence was shattered, and when several of their number were bloodily felled by the strongmen’s hammers and a knights’ blade, their enforced will to fight transformed instantly into a desperate urge to escape. In a moment, the ranks and files explosively disintegrated as slaves burst out in all directions, even killing one of the strongmen in their flight.
As the last three knights rode down the giant rats, the strongmen, running a parallel course, suddenly found themselves facing the doom bombard.
“There, maestro,” said Bernado, “we are gifted a chance. Now we shall see if those brave fellows have sufficient strength to topple the engine.”
Da Leoni almost suggested that the arch-lector might like offer a prayer for success, but sensibly, bit his tongue. His holiness was no stranger to battle and did not need advice. Besides, the maestro knew how hard it had been for the entire army council to consent to his instruction that the doom bombard must not be fired upon in any way whatsoever, and that instead it should be toppled in such a manner as to minimize the damage to the great iron barrels. To cast doubt on his own plan by suggesting prayers were needed for success did not seem reasonable.
On dispatching the last of the Cathayans, Clan Skravell immediately charged the reforming dwarf crossbows …
… while the fight between the bodyguard regiment and the palace guards ground on, with neither side yielding. It did not help that the clanrats were afraid of the giant, club-wielding ogre!
What they did not know was that the surviving globabiers were moving around them, considering whether to lob grenadoes in regardless of the injury that would be caused to their own kind.
The engineer driving the wheel that pushed the bombard suddenly felt quite alone!
But he still had a trick up his sleeve! He could see the strongmen were intent on closing on him, and he knew his wheel had no means of discharging bolts of energy as its counterpart on the far side of the field could do. So, he decided he would do the only thing it was capable of, yanked back on the steam regulator and sent both wheel and the attached bombard lurching forwards to plough into the men!
Five strongmen were messily crushed by the unexpected manoeuvre, so shocking the remainder that they turned to flee away!
“Morr help us!” exclaimed the arch-lector impulsively. “Who will stop it now?”
Upon the other side of the field, Lord Urlak had skitterleapt across to the jezzails …
… where he too was considering a similar question. He spotted the brightly liveried knights, and saw how they were turning, no doubt intent on assaulting the engine.
“Fools!” he laughed. “More than fools!”
The satisfaction that his plan had worked meant he momentarily forgot the rest of the field. To see the enemy’s best warriors led into a silly yet deadly dance by the bombard was such a delight to him. Still, their deaths needed to be brought about, and so he invoked lightning to strike at them, cooking one like flesh-meat dropped onto a red hot griddle pan.
Such was his cruel pleasure that he almost felt like dancing!
Clan Skravell so mauled the dwarfs that they broke and fled from the field, with the warriors running after them until their chieftain brought them to a halt.
Yet the much-reduced bodyguard regiment was not so fortunate, as its will to fight was finally broken. The clanrats turned to flee, and were cut down by the palace guard’s greatswords. The last few surviving men, and the lone ogre, now found themselves in open ground, with the globadiers watching them from a little distance.
(Turns 5 and 6 to follow.)
Continue reading on the Big Small Worlds blog
Owner: Padre
Author: padremack
Post: THE BATTLE OF PALOMTRINA, PART TWO: THE FIGHT CONTINUES
Knowing this was his last chance to contribute anything to the battle, indeed to do anything else at all in his life – for to hesitate now would surely mean that he and the last few palace-guardsmen would perish to the enemy’s magic and missiles – Captain Sirus Ricci led a charge against the huge regiment of clanrats ahead.
The captain himself did not know it, but the robed, grey furred fellow in the front rank was the enemy’s general.
Upon receiving the charge, Seer-Lord Urlak’s enthusiasm for a fight immediately dissipated, as he found himself swallowed into a frantic, furious swirl of blades and claws. His thoughts turned quickly to how he could extricate himself. He now realised he much preferred frying the foe with magical fire from a distance, and that it had been a moment’s madness that had planted the urge for close combat in his mind.
The again, there were so few of the enemy, and so many of his own warriors close by, not just his bodyguard, but also the globadiers and Clan Skravell’s fighting regiment. Maybe he could just edge his way back into the rank and file a little, then surely the enemy would be beaten before any blades were brought to bear on him?
Upon the far side of the field, the ‘Cavalieri Benedetti’ (Blessed Knights) were as keen as Captain Ricci to close on the foe as soon as possible, before any more of their number were laid low by warpstone infused bullets.
So, they urged their steel-barded destriers to charge at the giant rats and their handlers, then began skewering the scrabbling vermin as best they could. It became immediately obvious the bloody work was going to take some time, and their champion could not help but wonder if they had acted too hastily, considering the huge mob of slave warriors right by their side!
Indeed, had he known exactly what the uomini ratto were like, he might also have feared what the war engines to his left might do to him and his companions, for it was doubtful they would baulk at loosing their deadly lightning straight through their own warriors, if it also meant delivering harm to the foe.
Unable, from his present position, to discern what was happening upon the other side of the cypress trees, where the bombard was, and also concerned that should he need to give the desperate order to shoot upon the engine to his artillerymen that his word might take a moment too long to reach them, Arch-Lector Bernado left the hand-gunners to make his way towards the cannons.
Behind the knights, the strongmen of Remas picked up their pace towards the enemy, nearly all their eyes fixed upon the bombard’s bulk behind the enemy’s slave regiment.
Despite their proven strength as individuals, in feats of wrestling, exercise and the like, it seemed to many of them that it could be strength in numbers that was required on this field of combat, and the enemy certainly had the upper hand in that regard!
On the other side of the lines, the reformed Cathayans marched back to re-take their original position.
The Reman’s magical prayers had little effect, but the first cannon sent a ball to damage the flank of the middle machine in the enemy’s battery of three …
… then the second’s roundshot punched the third engine so hard that it tumbled over to the side, the sight of which sent both other engines and several of the jezzails into flight!
The engines would soon leave the field of battle never to return.
All three crossbow regiments targeted Clan Skravell’s yellow banner regiment, felling fourteen clanrats!
While the bravi continued their messy slaughter of the swarming rats before them …
… the last few palace guards and the warehouse brute fought desperately against the massed ranks of the Seer’s bodyguard.
Half a dozen clanrats perished in the first moments, including the strangely armed engineer, but such was their number that they barely noticed what had been done. Urlak noticed, however, especially as the ranks behind were pushing forward so hard that he failed to force his way backwards and conceal himself among them. Stealing himself a moment longer, he conjured a scorching flame on the dwarven crossbows, killing two, then used the last of the etheric winds he could bend to his will, he magically transported himself all the way to the baggage at the rear of the line, where his first act was to breath a sigh of relief.
Clan Skravell now charged into the Cathayans …
… while the poisoned wind mortar team decided they would attempt to add to the dwarves’ misery by launching a grenado at them.
The subsequent death, most horrible to behold, of one of the dwarfs, caused the rest to decide it were best they fell back, very quickly, and with little care for order.
As the noble champion had feared, the massive body of slaves hurtled into the knights’ flank.
But not all the ratmen were miserable slaves. In their front rank strode Warlord Budrojor of Clan Fiddlash, as well as one of his chieftains and an engineer. The warlord, unlike all those around him, had both skill and strength enough to slay one of the knights, but every other blow, bite and scratch delivered by either clan or giant rat, failed to penetrate the knights’ plate-armour and barding. Several giant rats were hewn apart or crushed beneath ironshod hooves, but once again, sheer weight of numbers meant that men and horses would have to do a lot more to break the enemy’s will to fight.
Similarly, despite cutting down a few clanrats themselves, the palace guard were unable to make headway. Indeed, had they not been accompanied by Captain Tristano Tronolone, the army standard bearer, with his magically blessed banner gifting them an unnatural courage (Game Note: Stubborn), they would certainly have broken and fled themselves!
To the palace guards’ right, Clan Skravell’s warriors killed nine of the mercenary Cathayans …
… but so close was Tronolone’s army standard, that the easterner’s also felt its blessing, and they too, despite the vast disparity in numbers, found the courage to fight on.
The arch-lector strode boldly up the slope, beneath the cannon muzzles, to join the maestro upon the top of the little hill.
“I know why you have come, your holiness,” said the maestro.
Bernado answered only with a sigh, then the two of them looked over to the bombard. They watched as the city’s strongmen charged into the flank of the huge mob of slave-rats.
And saw also how the bravi, having finally killed the last of the petty vermin, failed to get to the giant rats through the trees.
“It is not over yet,” offered the maestro. “The enemy are base cowards, and all might yet flee if put to any real trouble. That would leave a way through to the infernal engine.”
A handgun volley’s blast distracted them momentarily, as the Warpfire Thrower was felled, while the demise of the ratling crew brought about by the crossbowmen on the neighbouring hill, and the killing of two of the globadiers by the Cathayan crossbows was not audible to them.
“Have a care!” cried one of the gunners close by, followed by a the blast of both guns, which struck down another two of the globadiers.
Warlord Budrojor decided that fighting unarmoured men would be a more bloody sport than scratching against plate armour, and so moved over to the slaves’ left flank …
… where he gleefully struck down two of the foe.
But the rest of the combat was not going the ratmen’s way, for both the knights and the strongmen were far superior in fighting ability to the slaves and giant rats.
Another knight succumbed to one slave’s lucky stab with a rusty blade, but now that they were flanked, the slaves’ confidence was shattered, and when several of their number were bloodily felled by the strongmen’s hammers and a knights’ blade, their enforced will to fight transformed instantly into a desperate urge to escape. In a moment, the ranks and files explosively disintegrated as slaves burst out in all directions, even killing one of the strongmen in their flight.
As the last three knights rode down the giant rats, the strongmen, running a parallel course, suddenly found themselves facing the doom bombard.
“There, maestro,” said Bernado, “we are gifted a chance. Now we shall see if those brave fellows have sufficient strength to topple the engine.”
Da Leoni almost suggested that the arch-lector might like offer a prayer for success, but sensibly, bit his tongue. His holiness was no stranger to battle and did not need advice. Besides, the maestro knew how hard it had been for the entire army council to consent to his instruction that the doom bombard must not be fired upon in any way whatsoever, and that instead it should be toppled in such a manner as to minimize the damage to the great iron barrels. To cast doubt on his own plan by suggesting prayers were needed for success did not seem reasonable.
On dispatching the last of the Cathayans, Clan Skravell immediately charged the reforming dwarf crossbows …
… while the fight between the bodyguard regiment and the palace guards ground on, with neither side yielding. It did not help that the clanrats were afraid of the giant, club-wielding ogre!
What they did not know was that the surviving globabiers were moving around them, considering whether to lob grenadoes in regardless of the injury that would be caused to their own kind.
The engineer driving the wheel that pushed the bombard suddenly felt quite alone!
But he still had a trick up his sleeve! He could see the strongmen were intent on closing on him, and he knew his wheel had no means of discharging bolts of energy as its counterpart on the far side of the field could do. So, he decided he would do the only thing it was capable of, yanked back on the steam regulator and sent both wheel and the attached bombard lurching forwards to plough into the men!
Five strongmen were messily crushed by the unexpected manoeuvre, so shocking the remainder that they turned to flee away!
“Morr help us!” exclaimed the arch-lector impulsively. “Who will stop it now?”
Upon the other side of the field, Lord Urlak had skitterleapt across to the jezzails …
… where he too was considering a similar question. He spotted the brightly liveried knights, and saw how they were turning, no doubt intent on assaulting the engine.
“Fools!” he laughed. “More than fools!”
The satisfaction that his plan had worked meant he momentarily forgot the rest of the field. To see the enemy’s best warriors led into a silly yet deadly dance by the bombard was such a delight to him. Still, their deaths needed to be brought about, and so he invoked lightning to strike at them, cooking one like flesh-meat dropped onto a red hot griddle pan.
Such was his cruel pleasure that he almost felt like dancing!
Clan Skravell so mauled the dwarfs that they broke and fled from the field, with the warriors running after them until their chieftain brought them to a halt.
Yet the much-reduced bodyguard regiment was not so fortunate, as its will to fight was finally broken. The clanrats turned to flee, and were cut down by the palace guard’s greatswords. The last few surviving men, and the lone ogre, now found themselves in open ground, with the globadiers watching them from a little distance.
(Turns 5 and 6 to follow.)
Continue reading on the Big Small Worlds blog
