Turn 4.03: The War for Logrhorn
Part III
In the days leading up to your declaration of war, Thromrhold castle is set ablaze with activity. Even Sable (who took every precaution to always appear unflappable) is stressed and haggard. The morning sickness doesn't help. As for yourself, you help setting up the barricades and reinforcements while your taskforce assembles in secret. Assembling your entire army is unabashed rakery, but a few hundred troops in the hours before war is declared should arouse little suspicion, as long as they are quiet.
In an hour you leave under the cover of night for Hringsdalr, where three snekkja await you and your men. Mistilteinn is as sharp as ever, ready to drink the blood of your enemies. Across your hip hangs a quiver of specialized arrows. Some are steel, their tips barbed and hollow. Others are tipped with Dust… red crystal for breaching or burning, blue for freezing, yellow to quietly stun an unwary opponent.
Sable stares at your anniversary gift, lovingly polishing the blade and practicing her drawing technique. She has also taken to disassembling and reassembling a marksman's rifle, a short-barreled sliver of gunmetal with a bullpup magazine. Looking up at you, her face is stony and solemn.
"You know I'm not very capable in a straight-up fight, right?"
You nod. "I'm aware. I'll be your meatshield, okay? Do all the heavy lifting."
Your wife smiles at that, an upwards twitch of the lips.
"Of course." Though she has not fully accepted the customs of Daarheim, she has agreed to clip her hair short. Now it sits just above her ears, tight against her scalp. "And since you're such a big, dumb brute, you should leave all the sneaking around to me."
"Of course," you say, buckling on your armor. It's simple and functional - a dragonscale vest covered in navy blue camo. It's far heavier than a breastplate, but in the tight quarters of Lichtra's castle, your aura will only hold for so long - you need heavy protection. You've also strapped a pair of hard-plastic greaves to your shins, enough to block an errant sword swing or a hopeful pistol round.
Sable's armor is much simpler. She's dressed in a navy-blue sweatshirt and denim jeans with a tactical vest thrown over the top. Besides the regular bevy of slim blades concealed on her person and her marksman's rifle, she's tucked a small pistol into a holster at her waist.
"Ready to go?" You ask, strapping on a shoulder holster for your emergency sidearm.
"Yeah," she says. "Lichtra won't know what hit him."
"Sable... " you start. "For whatever it's worth… thanks for coming along. I admit I feel a little safer with you at my back. And…" you pause, rubbing the back of your head. "For everything else. I mean, you didn't know who Lichtra was a year ago, and now you're about to personally fuck his day up."
She laughs an honest laugh. "
We're about to fuck his day up. And… I should be thanking you too. No reason to get all sappy right before we go off to war, but this past year has been…" she sighs before settling into a small grin. "It's been fun. I'm happy here. You're a good man, Gerhard."
"Sounded pretty sappy to me," you jest. She slaps at your shoulder.
"Jackass." Gently, you clasp your hand over hers, squeezing it tight. "I wish you'd chosen a less risky plan. Though, taking it all into consideration, it is a very
Gerhard plan."
"Wouldn't be possible without you," you admit. "Would you mind greeting Torvald and Fuscia? I need to say goodbye."
"Sure," she says. "I hear Torvald's already drunk."
You sigh, palm meeting your face. "Of course."
"Go see your family. We'll be waiting for you by the town gate." Sable presses a chaste kiss onto your cheek before fleeing your chambers.
Time to go. The tumblers in your door clack shut as you turn the key, the air of finality about it all vaguely unsettling.
Unlike before, your mother's chambers are unlocked and easily opened. She sits on a simple window-side chair overlooking the castle grounds. Outside, the trees stir in a gentle breeze, brightly lit in the pale glow of a shattered moon. Edelweiss is here as well, her nose buried in some ledger or another.
"Mother," you start. "Edelweiss. I'm leaving with Sable soon."
Turning to face you, Ophelia Stenberg puts a finger over her lips, nodding at Aurleg's cradle. You cringe, hoping you haven't woken your sister. Thankfully, she still sleeps soundly, curled up in a bundle of squirrel fur.
"Sorry," you whisper.
Your mother sighs. "It's okay," she replies, just as hushed. An awkward pause stretches between you, and you step forward, an attempt to reach out, say something. Anything.
"It's reckless," Ophelia says. "Borderline insane. Your father would not have approved… of any of this."
Edelweiss puts her book down, looking first at her mother then at you. She gives you a sympathetic, apologetic shrug. "Be proud of him, mom," she says. The words surprise you more than Ophelia. "Gerhard is no longer your little boy, and I am no longer your little girl. Father would not approve, no, but I doubt he is smiling down at your choice of words." Closing her book, she stands, marching over to inspect your wargear. "You better know what you're doing."
"I'm a soldier," you say, still shocked by her admonishment of Ophelia. "This is what I do best. I will return, with new lands for Aurleg and Wolfram to rule when they come of age."
Edelweiss rolls her eyes before pulling you into a brief hug. "Stay safe, and do Dad proud. He may have been content with Thromrhold, but we all know he thought Brynus was a bit cunty."
You chuckle softly, and your mother cracks a small, sad smile. "True," you say. "Keep mom and your siblings safe. Lightning's staying behind too. Remember, he's the one who trained me - he knows what he's doing. Listen to him. If anything should happen to either me or Sable-"
Ophelia opens her mouth to speak but you raise a hand. "Gods, if they exist, forbid misfortune befall us... Edelweiss, you are the Knightess of Thromrhold. I know we haven't seen eye-to-eye recently, but I think you'll do fine. If only myself is killed or made incapable… you should know…"
This was not how you wanted to break the news.
"Sable is pregnant." Your mother claps her hands over her mouth, and Edelweiss eyes go wide. "If something happens to me - put Thromrhold above all else."
Father's words. "If it does not threaten the safety of the realm - avenge me. I've sworn to my wife to be a father to our child, and if I am denied that promise, find those responsible and make them suffer."
My words.
"Gerhard…" you mother whispers, voice wracked with tears. "By the gods how you've grown." She smiles, wiping a single tear that leaks from the corner of her eye. Standing from her chair, she embraces you as well.
By the Knight how she's thinned.
"You're such an idiot," Edelweiss says, running a hand through her hair. "Oh gods, I'm going to be an aunt."
"So's Aurleg," you point out, smiling at your infant sister. "And Wolfram an uncle. Do keep him from corrupting my child."
"We'll try," Edelweiss says. Her gaze has gone hard, and she sets her mouth in a determined frown. The knuckles of her fist ring against the center of her chest. "Honor and Victory to you, Gerhard."
You copy the gesture, your armor rebuffing the strike with the soft rattling of interlocked scales. "And to you, Edelweiss."
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Sable, Torvald, Fuscia and the rest of your party are waiting for you atop a few dozen horses. The best of Thromrhold's riflemen attend you as well, dressed in cloaks and leathers, their rifles slung across their soldiers. To a man, their heads are shorn, a few wearing steel-bowl helmets. Many have a close combat weapon of some sort, an arming sword or a pistol of some sort. Most have knives.
Torvald grunts a short greeting as you approach. He was never a frequent sight at the castle, preferring the silence of the woods for his home and moss for his bedding. True to Sable's word, a cloud of alcohol surrounds his broad-shouldered frame. His beard is a black, tangled mess, tied off at the end with circlets of petrified wood. Over his shoulders hangs a half-sized ghillie suit, shrouding him in a tapestry of filthy netting. Across his knees is the head of his two-handed hafted axe, a whetstone scraping across its blade.
"Torvald," You say.
"Sir," he responds.
"Greetings Sir," his apprentice Fuschia chirps. He's somewhat more sociable than his master, a small teenager in a digital-camo sweatshirt and flack jacket. His hair is wild and unbound, an explosion of dark pink that ends in knotted tangles and frayed ends. It appears as though he's taken on some of his master's characteristics in the time since you last met.
"Where are Kyanos and Ashley?" You ask. Along with the pair of Huntsmen in front of you, you also requested Kyanos and his apprentice to join you in your taskforce. However, they are noticeably absent.
"Hringsdalr," Fuschia says. "They're dealing with a nest of smugglers that took up residence in a warehouse there. Dead by now, probably."
"Definitely dead," Trovald hums. "Kyanos is not a man of half-measures."
"Very well," you say. You are to meet with Kara in Hringsdalr, along with her contingent of riflemen.
"Knight and Knightess," a rifleman says, his grey courser sidling up alongside your own. His knuckles ring off his solid steel breastplate. "Sergeant Erwin Sinna at your service. As requested, I've brought a hundred of my best men along with me."
"You've done well Sergeant. You think everyone can make it to Hringsdalr before dawn?"
"I know it. We've resorted to requisitioning some plowhorses, but all of us are armed and mounted. What are our orders?"
You motion for Torvald and Fuscia to join your discussion. Sable turns towards you as well, always at your back.
"Our task is to act as a small striking force. Decapitate Brynus' ability to lead his forces, and force him to capitulate. We know how to slip into his castle and do so undetected. With any luck and the favor of the gods, we'll end the war before our armies meet."
Sergeant Sinna laughs. "I like it!" He booms. "Though I wish there was a chance for a good battle. My husband's mother worked in Knight Auric's greenhouse the night of its destruction… he would be pleased to hear some measure of vengeance has been dealt."
You hold up your hand. "There might be chance enough, but it's in everyone's best interest to keep casualties low."
"I understand, Sir. Grimm have been damn near restless this past year. Though you've been relentless in pursuing them, Sir." His subordinates rapped their knuckles off their chests, acknowledging your valor.
"It is my duty," you reply. "Also, this is your Knightess, Sable Stenberg. She will be leading the breach team, since she has extensive knowledge of Logrhorn Castle's layout."
Sabel extends her hand to the Sergeant, and he presses a kiss to it.
"As you will it, Sir. A former Grimmsbane is something to be reckoned with."
You grin at the truth of those words. "Very well. Now that introductions are complete, we must depart. Logrhorn awaits."
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Though Hringsdalr is often a bustling center of trade for Thromrhold, the pre-dawn hours have rendered it still and silent. No one arrives to cheer you and your taskforce on, and only the clattering of the hooves echoes off the brick storehouses and wooden apartments. The horses pant and wheeze. The ride has been hard.
But the declaration of war has been sent, and every second is precious. After directing your soldiers to catch a few minutes' rest by the docks, you approach Lunus' manor.
Overlooking Hringsdalr's small harbor, it is a stately, though hardly ostentatious or decorative manse. The guards recognize you and admit you entrance along with Sable and Sergeant Sinna.
When you enter the manor's hall, the rest of your taskforce await you. Kara crouches over a wastebasket while Lunus runs a razor through her hair. At the rear of the room sits Kyanos and Ashley, silently watching the proceedings. You nod at them, and they return the gesture. Kyanos wipes blood from his blade while his apprentice wrestles a bone from one of her hounds.
"Auntie Kara, Lunus, I've arrived," you announce, striding towards them. Lunus pauses his work for a moment to wave.
"Welcome to my home, however long you may be staying," he says. "My snekkja are ready to depart when you are."
"My riflemen are ready as well," Kara says into the wastebasket. "Brynus will suffer the wrath of the Stenbergs."
"We shall depart in a few hours," you say. "It will take us a day and half of sailing to reach our landing zone just north of Illilundr. Even in average conditions, we should reach the beach by dusk tomorrow. Once night falls, we shall seize the castle."
"I can't wait to see the look on their faces," Kara chuffs, a wide grin on her face. "Their gate shattering in an instant."
"Actually," you say. "The plan's changed somewhat. Sable will be accompanying us, and she knows a way into the castle so that we can avoid weakening it. We don't know how far away Lichtra's levies will be. If we're forced to defend the castle, destroying its front gate might not be in our best interests."
Kara looks at your wife from the side of her eyes. "That sounds useful. Not my style, but useful."
"My siblings weren't fans of my style either," Sable says. "They used to call me Padfoot." Kara huffs a short laugh.
"All done," Lunus says, gently brushing off the shaved portion of Kara's head. She stands, her flowing ashen locks now hemmed into a fierce undercut. Resting her hand on her bow-sword, she nods. "To the docks then."
In no time at all, the harbor is bustling. The sun rises over the river, casting its orange glow on the war party below. You inspect the three ships that will carry you to victory. Snekkja are narrow rivercraft, long in body and designed to sit high in the water. These are no different, each one now painted in dark colors to hide your passing in the night.
Shouting soldiers load their equipment and ammunition aboard the crafts, dock-boards rattling under the stampeding of three hundred feet. Sailors throw ropes and tie knots, gesturing wildly at their companions as they prepare to set sail.
Before you is your flagship for the brief time it will carry you downriver.
The Dausvenda. A sleek craft, well-built from oaken timbers and large enough to land eighty men. Sable brushes past you, an eager grin on her face. When she's halfway across the gangplank, she turns to face you.
"Ready?"
"Ready." You board your ship, hustling across the planks and vaulting down into the ship's berth. You watch your soldiers join you, those with shields securing them to the
The Dausvenda's sides. Each one is spaced evenly enough to provide a small firing window. Kara directs her riflemen along as well, helping them stow ammunition and provisions.
The huntsmen take the third, smallest ship. Ashley's hounds whine as they cross the gangplank, but obey nonetheless. Torvald looks supremely uncomfortable aboard the rocking snekkja, though his face set in rigid determination. A platoon of soldiers join them, in awe of the huntsmen that helm their craft. They whisper and grin like children.
It is a testament to Lunus' word that preparation only takes a handful of minutes. Besides the soldiers, the snekkja are ready to go.
From her own ship, Kara lets loose a war-cry.
"Men of Glaciersheer, are you ready?"
"AYE!" They bellow, slamming the butts of their rifles onto the deck of their snekkja.
"Men of Thromrhold," you cry. "Are you ready?"
"AYE!" They bellow back in a single, unified voice.
"Then we depart! Shove off!" Rushing to obey their commands, your soldiers slice through the knots that keep you anchored to the docks. "Drummer,
March of Frost!"
Beside you, a stocky woman nods and readies the taiko that sits at the base of the single mast. With a keening cry, she begins her simple song, a pounding, deliberate drumming. Each strike upon the drum sends a shiver through your soul. Despite the hard ride, your adrenaline level spikes, and you can feel gooseflesh upon your back.
This is what you trained for.
This is what you were
born for.
"Oars!" You shout. "Oars!" Your men retrieve their oars from under their seats and slot them through the metal loops.
The drummer hammers the taiko with slow, unrelenting strikes. As the snekkja turn towards Logrhorn, the other two drummers join in, the sound of their instruments resonating against the glimmering water.
You walk the length of the ship to stand at the prow, scanning the riverbend for whatever may come. Behind you, Sergeant Sinna begins a war-chant, a supplication to the Knight of Frost. It is a song about war, the Silverlands, the honor of combat and the conduct of a good soldier.
A wave slaps against the prow, but is shoved aside by the speed of your craft.
More voices join the Sergeant's.
"Sails!" You cry. They unfurl at once, each ship letting loose the Stenberg's colors in a rush of canvas. They fill at once, though it cannot deafen the war-chant that now booms across the river banks.
War is here, and you will be the one to wage it. Sable approaches behind you, her hand landing on your shoulder.
Low and steady, you add your voice to the chant. And though she's never heard it before in her life, Sable does as well.
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The first day of your journey is mostly uneventful. You and your soldiers are able to sleep in shifts, keeping watchers on the banks at all time. The drummers rest for now, to keep your passage as silent as possible. The quieter you are, the better it will suit you.
Unfortunately, you are spotted. As the sun sets, you round a bend in the river and discover a Logrhorn patrol encamped on a short beach. At the sight of your sails, they are thrown into a panic. They are no more than thirty meters away.
"Port side!" You cry. "Open fire!" Obeying at once, your soldiers drop their oars and scoop up their rifles. Within seconds, a volley of fire is loosed, scything down the slowest runners and those without aura. Return fire slams into the snekkja, though it is scattered and panicked. Rounds snap over your head as you dash to the port side. Sable lands next to you, marksman's rifle braced against her shoulder. You nod, and she peeks out from behind a pair of shields. Her rifle barks, and you can see from your spot that her shots are unerring. One slams into the center of a gunner's chest, sending him sprawling. His aura keeps him alive, but it cannot prevent the second bullet from piercing his throat. He chokes to death on the sand, gurgling out his lifeblood.
Cries of pain echo out into the night. A shield next to you splinters under the weight of buckshot, and you can hear the pellets rattle off the deck of your ship.
Unfortunately, due to the surprise of the encounter, you could not bring enough firepower to bear. Three of the Logrhorn patrol escape into the woods, no doubt to warn their master of what they've seen.
Your single machine gun crew sits disappointed, the fluted LMG still resting against the burly shoulder of its operator. They didn't get a chance to deploy.
"Next time, soldiers," you say, clapping one their shoulder. "Any casualties?" You cry. There's a chorus of no's. Mercifully, the return fire was sporadic and ineffective. You frown.
However, you are now in a bad position. You've been spotted, and tracking down what's left of the patrol isn't worth the time.
"What now?" Sable asks, ejecting a mag from her rifle. She tucks it into a pocket of her vest. Before replying, you hail your Aunt.
"Kara! Are you wounded?" You bellow behind you.
"I'm fine! Bastards couldn't shoot for shit!" Kara booms back, earning her a brief laugh from her troops. You breathe a sigh of relief.
Sable has a point… you can't proceed according to plan… your approach vector is compromised. Lichtra will know when and where you're coming. In pondering what to do, you recall Lightning's advice - 'the unexpected is often the superior course of action'.
"Pack it in!" You order. "Leave no survivors, we must continue at once!"
Your soldiers cry out an affirmative. Rifles crack once more, and the screaming that filled the night comes to an end. Once more, oars slice into the water.
"Speed then?" Sable asks.
"Yes. We'll land farther down river… past Illilundr. If we move quietly enough, we could slip past the city tomorrow night. The river should be wide enough at that point to avoid detection."
Sable grins. "They might even have most of their forces deployed upriver, where they expect us. Thins the welcome party, won't it?"
You huff, an uneasy smile on your face. "It better. Otherwise, we're in for a difficult landing."
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True to your word, you go unnoticed into the next night. Running silent and mostly oarless, you've managed to snake your way downriver. Since the encounter at the bend, the banks have been empty. Just as dusk approaches on the second day, Illilundr comes into view. Torches along its docks flicker into existence, orange flecks of light against a wood-and-brick background. On the opposite bank, your snekkja pass by (hopefully) unseen.
Now, the sails have been retracted, your lights doused. Only the gentle push of water against the ships' bellies makes any sound at all. Tension settles upon the shoulders of your taskforce, each soldier's eyes glued to the city. The noise of city life burbles across the waters, though it does not sound overtly alarmed. It is possible you pass by undetected.
Still, you scan the harbor, waiting for a sign of movement, a raised alarm…
"Anything?" Sable whispers. You shake your head.
"Nothing," you reply. She squeezes your knee.
"It will work. Look at how they sleep. To them, the war was likely announced only yesterday. They are idle and arrogant." She frowns, her lips curling. "Idleness is the seed of misfortune."
You raise an eyebrow.
"Proverb from the Grimmsbane Kingdom. 'Course it's true when there's enough grimm to carpet a castle."
You snort a small laugh before returning to your binocs. In your second of respite, developments have occurred on the docks of Illilundr. Two cutters are preparing to leave, small black boats designed for open sea travel. They sit a little higher on the water than your snekkja, and have an additional sail.
"Two craft, cutters," you hiss. "Eyes on, eyes on!" Quietly, your soldiers return to their stations, eyes appraising the distant city.
Sergeant Sinna rushes over to you, his wood-stocked semi-auto rifle clutched in his right hand. "Two cutters, sir?"
"That's correct," you affirm. "They're certainly in a hurry."
"What should I order the men to do?" Sinna asks. "Do you think they're heading for us?"
You frown. "Doubtful." And sure enough, they depart in but a minute's time. You stalk them silently, keeping your binocs trained on the trailing vehicle.
Then, you spy something on deck. Someone.
"By the gods." You whisper. Before you sails Brynus Lichtra, his countenance colored by haste and fear.
Surely, fate does not favor me so blatantly?
"Gerhard, what is it?" Sable demands.
"It's Lichtra! He's running!" You thrust the binocs into her hand. Within seconds, her jaw drops.
"It's him! He's seen us!" She sputters.
Now! The time is now! With a fluid motion, you retrieve your war-horn from your belt. After a short breath, it bellows its song across the river, a low and throaty wail.
"ALL HANDS," you order, "Prepare to engage!"
"AYE!"
Your soldiers scramble to their positions. Behind you, Kara's men do the same. Your sail descends with a rustle of canvas, instantly swelling with a slicing fall wind.
"Pursuit speed!" Sergeant Sinna yells, gesturing at the cutters. "If they escape to the ocean, we'll be outpaced!"
He's right. Cutters are mostly used for lightning-quick messaging and open-sea travel. They don't have as many oars as snekkja, but are decidedly more nimble craft once they escape the wind-choking hills of Daarheim.
If Lichtra makes it past the delta, he will be lost to us.
Roused from her slumber, your drummer leaps to her duty. Once more her cry echoes out, and the drum begins its song again. It is faster this time, unrelenting. Grunting under the strain, your rifleman pull at the oars with all their might.
It is no use. Decades of harboring a shipbuilder's guild have clearly favored his craft of choice. Even on the river, his cutters outpace you. Pursuit continues for several minutes past Illilundr, but catching him is a useless endeavor.
"Fuck!" You curse, bellowing the word out to the heavens. "Fuck!" you lash out, splintering a shield anchored on the side of the The Dausvenda. You scream a curse to the gods, a redness descending upon you. Seething and frothing, your soldiers avoid your gaze, desperate to avoid the maelstrom that is their Knight.
"Gerhard," Sable says, placing a hand on your arm. You shrug it off, growling at the disturbance. Fate handed you your prey on a golden platter, and he slipped through your fingers.
"FUCK!" You bellow, striking at the mask.
"Gerhard." Sable says again. The slight trace of fear in her eyes is enough to still the worst of your rage.
"What?" You snap.
"The mission's scrapped." She says.
"No fucking shit Sable."
"We are now deep in enemy territory, unsupported, and outnumbered. We have very limited window of time with which to decide our course of action. For the love of the Nameless One, please, I need you to have a clear head." She pauses, her visage curling into a grim mask. "For our child," she hisses.
And like that, the anger is gone. It simmers still, but your wife speaks sense.
"Yes… of course," you mumble. Your fist meets your forehead.
Stupid, Gerhard. You're a fucking fool, just like she says.
You sigh. What must be done? You consider your options.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[] Pursue Lichtra Anyway: Maybe he just got lucky. If you continue your pursuit, your enemy might meet catastrophic failure, or fate might decide to smile upon you once more. It is risky, but he has not reached the delta yet. It is still possible to nab him.
[] Seize the Castle: Lichtra may be gone, but valuable hostages might still be found within his castle. No great a prize as Lichtra himself, sure, yet you still could have much to gain by turning around now and halting a tiring pursuit. Once there, you can decide to either wait for Marble to arrive or slip back up the river. Sable believes that this is the wisest option.
[] Pillage Illilundr: Though the sound of your pursuit may have startled them, the city's sloth is telling: Lichtra's levies are unprepared or simply idle. Either way, you can sow chaos and fear among the ranks of your enemy. You might also win some valuable plunder, though if you should attack the city, they will resent you if you win the war. Then again, what is the opinion of some serfs when you stand on the border of success or failure? Sergeant Sinna thinks this would be them most sound course of action.
[] Tactical Retreat: Sable's right, the mission is, to put it frankly, FUBAR'd. It is time to cut your losses and sail back upriver and try your hand at winning the war in a more conventional manner. During the war-planning, Kara has stressed to you time and time again that Brynus is no coward - his actions tonight are severely out of character. Either he is experiencing a momentary lack of judgement, or he has something sinister planned. At the moment, you still hold the initiative… to retreat would be to cast it aside. Kara is unnerved by Lichtra's retreat, and is hesitant to try any aggressive overtures. She argues that you shouldn't do anything stupid.
[] Write-In: You have a better idea!
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No planned voting this time! Gods be with you... since they clearly were... phoning it in today.
