Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Drill my men relentlessly.

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You have spent most of those six months running your men through drill after drill after drill. Their marksmanship and steadiness under stress have improved significantly, and you would have few qualms in proclaiming their horsemanship some of the best in the regiment.

However, your attempts to get your men to embrace their training regimen fall flat. They remain utterly bored with the constant drills and exercises. You are unable to make your enthusiasm catch on. Morale has begun to suffer.

Discipline: 40%
Morale: 25%
Loyalty: 30%

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As summer turns to autumn, the weather begins to take a turn for the worse. The sky is overrun with dark clouds which disgorge an overwhelming amount of rain. The paths which you ride upon, formerly firm, turn into a morass of knee-deep mud under the weeping sky.

After a month and a half of this muddy hell, you step out of your cramped quarters one early morning to find the ground frozen solid. The trees around the outpost are covered with a thin sheen of frost and a bitter northerly wind sends stabs of cold through your thick woollen tunic.

Before you can go back inside to find your greatcoat, a Grenadier ensign, shivering beneath a large, fur-lined cloak, approaches to inform you that the outpost commander wishes to see you and the other officers in his office.

The commander of your outpost and several other satellite camps is a Wulframite nobleman of the oldest pedigree: Lord Captain Sir Enrique d'al Hunter, 12th Viscount of Wolfswood. A Knight-Captain of the Order of Saint Jerome as well as an officer in the Grenadier Guards, he is a banecaster of the ninth calibre, a powerful force on the battlefield with his knightly bane-hardened plate and enchanted longsword.

Lord Captain Hunter is the epitome of the Grenadier Guards officer: dashing, handsome and reckless to the point of foolishness. His disposition is perhaps well suited for an elite and highly prestigious regiment of heavy infantry, but in his current position commanding a section of a vast and porous defensive front, his aggressive talent is wasted.

Despite his reckless streak, Captain Hunter (as he prefers to be called, eschewing all noble affectations and titles on duty) seems a relatively competent leader. The Captain greets you warmly as the ensign ushers you into his office and you take your place among the other officers.

"Ah! Castleton!" He steps forward to shake your hand, as is his habit, even when among his own subordinates. "Very good, glad you could make it. Damned cold won't be making your life much easier, will it?"

You make small talk with the Captain and the other officers for another few minutes as one or two late stragglers file in. When Captain Hunter is finally satisfied that all of his officers are present, he clears his throat. "Gather around, gentlemen."

Captain Hunter produces a large map and unrolls it over the top of his desk. As you and your fellow officers crowd around, you can see quite clearly that it is a somewhat rough chart of the immediate area. "I know many of you have been hit with a bit of ennui over the last few days, so this should come as good news: we're about to do a bit of scrapping."

Captain Hunter explains the situation: The night before, one of the advanced listening posts had spotted a large group of Antari, heading south along the road towards the bridge, perhaps two hundred or so in all. With them are apparently a series of large carts loaded with crates.

"As you well know, gentlemen, winter will soon be upon us. It is likely that some Lord of the Congress is attempting a final push against our forces further to the east. I would think it very likely that this force is a supply caravan, loaded down with food or winter supplies for what ever army might be gathering out there. Thus, it is imperative that we stop this force."

It is clear that the Captain is set on battle. A few worried murmurs rattle about in the crowded room. To stop such a force would require immediate action without adequate preparation or reinforcement from the other outposts under the Captain's command, against a force that outnumbers the entire Tierran garrison four to one.

Captain Hunter outlines his plan: He intends to ambush them as they cross the bridge. Sending the cavalry element of the garrison (that is to say, you) ahead to scout the area and prepare the ground first, the Captain himself will lead most of the rest of the garrison behind you, setting up an ambush on the far side of the river.

When the Antari column arrives and begins its way across the narrow wooden bridge, Hunter's Grenadiers will attack the flanks and rear of the column. At the same time, you and your Dragoons are to occupy the fortified tollhouse on the Tierran side of the river, acting as a blocking force to prevent the Antari from escaping the ambush and continuing down the Imperial Highway.

While the Captain rarely asks for his subordinates' opinions on their orders, you can't help but feel that the Captain's plan is:
[] Utter foolishness. This reckless act will get us all killed.
[] Too reckless. The rewards are great but the risk would be enormous.
[] Risky, but necessary.
[] A chance for a glorious victory.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Risky, but necessary.

Click to shrink...

You cannot ignore the utter recklessness of the Captain's plan, but you must admit that the risk is well worth the result and that allowing an Antari army the supplies to launch a final winter offensive would be disastrous.

Over the next quarter of an hour, Captain Hunter goes over the ambush positions in detail, using wooden tokens to simulate your forces, as well as those of the enemy. When he is confident that you have all reached an understanding over the planned ambush, he dismisses his own Grenadier officers, leaving you alone with the Captain.

Captain Hunter beckons you to approach. You step up right to the edge of the desk. "You must think me mad, Cornet. To send fifty men against two hundred like this."

Before you can respond either way, the Captain continues. "No matter. I'd think myself mad if I presented such a plan in the mirror. No need to worry, though. I have a plan to even the odds, and you'll be the one to put it into action."

Captain Hunter reaches into a a large desk drawer and pulls out a bulky canvas satchel. With one hand, he flips open the flap to reveal a large block of blood red wax, smelling of cinnamon and pine sap. Next to it are hundreds of strips of parchment, neatly bundled, each etched with an intricate series of runes: baneseals.

"You have a reputation as an excellent officer, so I feel no reluctance in trusting this essential task to you. I require you to set these seals in preparation for a cast when you first arrive. I've drawn up a diagram and placed it at the bottom of the pack, so there is no excuse for any error. Needless to say, this cast will set the opening odds in our favour considerably. It would not be hyperbole to say that the success of the operation depends on it. Thus, I shall require you to make preparing these seals and setting them in the proper pattern to be top priority."

The Captain sets the satchel down in front of you. "Take this with you and inform your men. I want your patrol saddled and out the gate in two hours. Dismissed."

Satchel in hand, you head for the enlisted men's barracks to rouse your Dragoons and inform them of the upcoming action in which they are to take part. Around you, you can already see the Grenadiers assembling by platoon. It will take them nearly half the day to arrive to the ambush position on foot.

You try to ignore the nervous sensation in the pit of your stomach as you push open the rough wooden plank door and enter the smoky and ill-lit common room of the barracks. This will be your first engagement leading your own men into combat. There will be no Captain Montez to offer you advice, no fellow cornets to watch your back. You and you alone will be responsible for leading your men to victory or death.

Your men are eating breakfast when you inform them of them of their new assignment. Despite the obvious danger of the mission, they wolf down their stew and black bread quickly and are at the stables, saddling their mounts within half an hour. Six months without any sort of excitement has left them spoiling for a fight.

You saddle up and strap the satchel to Faith's side. Giving your sabre and pistol a last check, you climb atop your mount and ease the animal towards the outpost gates. By the time you arrive, your men are already present, mounted up and ready to go.

Your heart pounds in your chest as your horse carries you to the head of the formation. Not even the chill morning wind can cool your anxiety. After a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure that your men are in formation, you face forward. "Dragoons! Advance!"

-​

It is ten kilometres as the gryphon flies from the outpost to the bridge, but the winding path down through the woods make the actual travelling distance more like twenty. Normally, it would be an easy ride of four hours or so to reach your destination, but today time is of the essence. It would be wise to pick up the pace a bit more.

You could also risk trying to go as fast as possible. With luck and good horses, you could make the trip in less than an hour and a half, but the strain on your mounts would be immense.

Do you:
[] Take it easy. Let us spare the horses a bit.
[] Pick up the pace a bit. We cannot afford to dawdle.
[] Damn the horses! Ride at full speed!

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Damn the horses! Ride at full speed!

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You ride your horses as hard as you can, pushing them to the absolute limit of their endurance in an attempt to get to the bridge as quickly as possible. You do remember to pace your mounts properly, slowly working up from a walk to a trot, then to a canter, and finally to a full run. Your horses arrive tired, but not entirely exhausted, at around ten o'clock.

The Kharan River bridge was built in the days of the Old Empire, spanning the wide, sluggish river at its narrowest point. A series of granite arches carry the roadway from one low bank of the Kharan to the other. The road itself is covered with logs, split and laid flat-side-up, to maintain a manageable surface during the rainy season.

On your side of the river, at the very edge of the river bank and not far from the road, stands an old toll house of fieldstone and wood. You send your men to scout and secure the area immediately across the bridge while you investigate the building.

The toll house is empty, but in good shape (the thing was abandoned when the King's Army took control of the bridge) and you quickly understand why Captain Hunter would choose for you to take position here. The walls are thick and solid, better to keep out both the harsh winter and Antari musket balls. The house itself possesses windows on the second floor facing the bridge: excellent firing ports. In addition, a low wall surrounds the main building and the ramshackle stables, allowing further protection for your horses.

After a few minutes your men return to report that the immediate area is clear. With the area secure and your men's horses tied up in the stables, you must now take the time to carry out Captain Hunter's orders. You search the satchel and do indeed find a diagram, instructing you on how to set the baneseals in the proper positions.

Thankfully, the diagram itself is clear and Hunter's handwriting is readable enough for you to understand it without too much puzzling. The casting pattern is a simple one, requiring you to set the seals upon the trunks of the trees on the far riverbank. As you set your men to melting the wax, you begin preparing each of the strips of parchment.

As you count out the parchment strips, you come to the realization that the Captain's diagram is full of redundancies and double-sealings. You consider the possibility of arranging the seals more efficiently and using the remainder to extend the pattern, resulting in a more effective cast. Of course, you could also simply pocket the excess baneseals and sell them later: such tools of the banecaster's trade fetch exorbitant prices in almost any town.

You:
[X] Ask my sergeant for advice.

Sergeant Lanzerel doesn't even stop to think before telling you his mind. "Sir, if you think you can make the pattern more effective, do it. Senior officers love fellows who use their initiative to win fights."

With that in mind, you decide to:
[] Set the seals exactly as the diagram says. Hopefully, Captain Hunter knows what he is doing.
[] Try to set the seals down in a more efficient pattern, and use the rest to extend the pattern.
[] Try a more efficient pattern, and pocket the remaining seals to sell later.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Try to set the seals down in a more efficient pattern and use the rest to extend the pattern.

You try your hand at placing a more efficient baneseal pattern on the trees standing on the opposite bank. Despite a few frustrating mistakes, you manage to set down a pattern that will get the job done and still leave you almost a hundred seals to spare.

You take the remaining seals and set them in a pattern of your own design around the wooden timbers of the bridge roadway. Should the wood of the timbers have been cut recently enough, the residual bane within would be enough to enhance the power of the banecast. You finally finish up, three hours after you first began.

With the baneseal pattern set up, the entire apparatus merely awaits a caster of sufficient calibre to unleash its destructive potential. In the meantime, you are left to your own devices while you wait for both the enemy and Captain Hunter's relief force to arrive. Three opportunities immediately appear to you:

The most obvious choice is to rub down and feed your horses, who remain still somewhat fatigued after your ride from the outpost. Keeping your mounts healthy and ready to go would likely prove an asset in the coming battle.

Secondly, you could ensure that none of the Antari escape the trap prepared for them by cutting down a few trees and using them to block your end of the bridge. As treacherous as the roads are this time of year, the river is far worse. You have little doubt that a slow death by hypothermia awaits any fleeing Antari willing to take their chances in the icy water.

Lastly, there is the fact that while the toll house's windows are large enough to serve as firing ports, they are perhaps a bit too wide, leaving your men open to return fire. Taking the time to cut proper firing loops might lessen the chances of a lucky shot killing one of your men.

In the end, you decide to:
[] Care for the horses.
[] Block the road.
[] Cut firing loops.

You have enough time before the Antari force arrives to select two of the choices above.

Click to shrink...

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Care for the horses.

You take some time to care for your horses, feeding them with oats from the feed bags you brought along with you and rubbing them down with rags soaked in boiled water. After that, you clean your saddlery and ensure that none of your mounts have any hidden and hitherto undetected injuries.

Finally, after an hour and a half, you do all you can for your mounts. Still, there is no sign of either the Antari or Captain Hunter. You proceed to:

[X] Cut firing loops.

You set your men to chipping away new firing loops along the walls of the toll house facing the river and the bridge.

The work is hard. The toll house was clearly built with the threat of bandit attacks in mind. The walls are thick, and the stones are sturdily mortared. However, after ninety minutes' toil, your men finally report that they now have more secure firing positions.

Just as your men finish their work, you begin to hear the sounds of boots marching to fife and drum behind you. Over the next few minutes, the sounds grow louder until you finally see the Captain himself leading his column up the road on horseback, resplendent in the bane-hardened plate of a Knight of the Orders-Militant.

Captain Hunter rides up to you, his face a picture of exuberance. "Ah! Cornet Castleton, I trust we are prepared to receive our Antari visitors?"

When you answer him in the affirmative, the Captain grins and dismounts, taking the reins in his hand. "Good. We shan't have much longer before they decide to pay us a visit." He points out a smoke trail rising from the woods on the other side of the river.

"A party of locals wouldn't dare risk detection so close to the outpost, but a column of armed men would. They've likely stopped to warm up and rest their horses." Hunter pauses in thought for a moment before frowning. "They wouldn't be doing that in the middle of the afternoon unless they're expecting a fight. Their leader must be a smart one: he knows that this bridge is our last chance to stop them."

Hunter looks over his shoulder and beckons the rest of his men to follow him.

"Well then. Let's get to our positions before they decide to press on." The Captain shoots you a serious expression as he walks past, his warhorse behind him. "Saints guide you, Castleton."

You and your men return to your positions within the toll house as Captain Hunter leads his Grenadiers across the bridge. You sit in anticipation, staring at the column of smoke in the distance.

A few minutes later, the Captain waves a yellow signal flag in your direction, telling you that all is in readiness. You relax for a moment, then realize that the rising smoke from the other side of the river is gone: the Antari have doused their fires and are back on the move.

Soon enough, you see the head of their column marching down the road. Their leader is a giant, bearded man on a large warhorse, resplendent in bane-hardened armour. From his back rise a pair of metal and leather frames, rising well over his head and covered with feathers in a way reminiscent of angel wings: he is an Antari Church Hussar, one of the most feared warriors on the continent.

The Antari looks to his sides. For a moment, he pauses, staring at where you know Captain Hunter has hidden. Then, after a moment, he shakes his head and rides on.

The Antari mutters something to the standard bearer beside him: a scrawny man carrying on his shoulder a banner emblazoned with a grizzly bear rampant with a greatsword. A series of heavy carts follow them, surrounded on all sides by a massive mob of rag-tag infantry.

As soon as the enemy commander sets foot on the bridge, you feel the sensation of a banecaster at work, pulling you towards Captain Hunter's position. The Antari commander feels it too. You see him turn in his saddle, but it is too late.

You hear the staccato sound of splintering wood in the distance. From your distant vantage point, you can see the trees on the opposite side of the river bend, twist and finally disintegrate into a storm of wooden shrapnel. As the Antari column buckles and scatters under this unexpected onslaught, the split logs on the roadway of the bridge begin to tremble before lifting themselves loose and hurling themselves at the Antari column as if thrown by a gigantic hand. The heavy pieces of wood crash through the confused Antari like cannonballs through a field of wheat, smashing men to paste and tearing them into pieces. Your ears ring from their distant screams of pain.

From the tollhouse, you see the Antari commander pick himself off the ground, his magnificent warhorse turned to a gory ruin, his armour scored and bloodied. You see him pick up the tattered remains of his flag from the shattered corpse of his standard bearer. You hear him bellow orders in the primally melodic tongue of the Antari as he tries to bring his men to order.

Then you see half a hundred black specks fly from the forest in high arcs and land on the road. Explosions rock the chaotic mass of the Antari column as each of the grenades burn through their fuses and explode.

The already shattered Antari formation begins to disintegrate into an unordered mob. Some run for the woods, only to be cut down by a sudden volley of musketry. Captain Hunter has sprung his trap.

From the other side of the river, you can hear your commander crying for blood as his men charge out of the forest with fixed bayonets. "Tierra and Victory! Kill them all!"

What little you can see of the battle is a chaotic tangle of limbs, bodies, and steel. Obscured by the swirling clouds of powder smoke, the already-chaotic nature of hand-to-hand combat becomes pure confusion to your eyes. As the smoke begins to clear, you begin getting a better glimpse of the situation.

Attacked from both sides, the Antari are not doing particularly well. With the superior reach of their bayonets, the Grenadiers are slowly whittling down the numbers of the remaining Antari defenders. A dozen or so Antari try to escape over the bridge, but your men quickly open fire on them.

The firefight does not last long. Your men exchange a few volleys with the Antari. A few Antari balls pockmark the stone wall, and a few more smash through the windows, but none are able to hit your men.

After two or three minutes of firing back and forth, the small band of Antari facing you lose any stomach for battle. The three or four still on their feet hurl themselves into the river, preferring to take their chances with the icy current.

With your attention turned back to the battle, you see that the situation has taken a turn for the worse. Fighting at the head of his men, the armoured Antari commander is cutting a swathe through the Grenadiers trying to stop him from escaping. Likewise, Captain Hunter is laying about left and right with the burning blade of his longsword, clearing a charred path of carnage as he tries to engage the retreating Hussar.

You take a look at your men. Their rifled carbines are accurate enough to make some slight difference in the distant melee but you know that the meagre weight of fire your small unit could throw would hardly allow you to control the course of the fighting. However, you note that the Antari are still entirely unguarded on the flank facing you. A mounted charge would be risky but might be just the thing needed to force the enemy to capitulate.

Thinking quickly, you shout an order to your men:

[] "Let us give the Grenadiers some supporting fire from here!"
[] "Mount up! We're going to charge the enemy!"

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] "Mount up! We're going to charge the enemy!"

Your men quickly put away their carbines and rush to the stables, hoisting their saddles over the backs of their mounts with practiced precision. It takes you barely a minute to be ahorse and riding out the tollhouse gate.

With three hundred metres of bridge between you and the roiling melee, it is child's play to get your horse up to a full gallop. Sabre out, you catch yourself bellowing a full-throated war cry as you and your men thunder down the bridge towards the enemy.

You and your men hit the Antari in well-drilled unison. Your momentum carries you into the midst of the surprised enemy. The combined force of your charging horses causes the Antari rear to collapse into confusion, making those still on their feet easy pickings for your sabres.

You rein in Faith tightly, before she charges past your men. Remembering your training, you begin cutting your way through the enemy as a unit. The Grenadiers give a ragged cheer as they see your mounted soldiers joining the battle.

You are well and truly stuck in when the Antari finally regroup and begin offering a proper fight. Your sabre lashes out again and again as you plunge into the ragged Antari line, your flanks guarded by your men.

It is only after another minute or two of hard fighting that the Antari finally begin giving way. The fight turns into a complete rout. Battered, demoralized, and broken, the surviving Antari begin fleeing in all directions, only to face the levelled bayonets of the Grenadiers. With no way to escape and no chance of victory, very few continue to offer resistance.

The Antari commander is one of them, surrounded by a quickly diminishing ring of loyal bodyguards. Wielding a baneforged sabre in one hand and his standard in the other, he beats back any attempt to subdue him. One by one, he cuts down his assailants with graceful sweeps of his curved blade until you see Captain Hunter himself stride forward and match the hussar baneblade to baneblade. The Antari fights with unsurpassed skill, using his lighter weapon to keep your superior on the defensive until finally, a Grenadier corporal breaks through the cordon of bodyguards and puts his bayonet through the Antari officer's unprotected armpit.

The Hussar's sabre falls from his nerveless hand. Captain Hunter puts the burning blade of his sword to the man's throat. Facing eleven hand-widths of hell, the Antari pulls off his helm and throws it to the ground in surrender. His bodyguards soon follow.

The battle is over.

-​

The mood is jubilant as Captain Hunter approaches you, bareheaded and grinning like an idiot. He all but kisses you as he shakes your hand eagerly, telling you he will commend your brilliant performance in the battle to your superiors in the Royal Dragoons.

The Grenadiers open the supply carts to find casks of salt pork, lard, and barrels of strong Antari potato wine, as well as over six hundred warm fur cloaks and a stack of thick blankets. It seems that your outpost will neither lack food nor warm clothing this winter.

The captured Antari commander is to be ransomed back to his liege lord at the nearest opportunity for some exorbitantly large sum. Captain Hunter assures you that you and your men will receive your fair share. When the Captain informs your prisoner of his intent, the Antari noble accepts the circumstances with fierce but civil defiance.

"I am Karol, of House Loch," he states in accented but fairly good Tierran, his sky-blue eyes sullen under his long tangle of dishevelled blond hair. "I demand medical treatment for my wounded and whatever provisions you can make for my dead."

Captain Hunter nods immediately. "Without question. We'll see to yours as soon as we're finished with ours."

The Antari gives a slight grin, more like a grimace, in gratitude. "I carry the banner of Lord Mikhail of Khorobirit, a lord of the Congress. He will pay my ransom."

Captain Hunter nods. "I will send a messenger to your Prince Khorobirit at the soonest opportunity. Your soldiers? Will he pay ransom for them too?"

Karol of Loch shakes his head. "Prince Khorobirit barely considers me worthy enough of his notice to give me a command. How much do you think he cares for baneless chattel?"

"In Tierra, we do not speak of human beings in such a manner," Hunter replies, his voice half reproach and half a warning.

Loch stares back. "We are not in Tierra, Captain."

Hunter takes a short, sharp breath as if he were about to offer a reply but seems to think better of it at the last instant. He exhales in a long sigh.

"Very well. I will see that your men do not suffer in our captivity. I'm sorry we had to be so uncivilized about this business."

The Antari barks a bitter, harsh laugh.

"Uncivilized? We declare war on you thinking to plunder your cities. Instead, you invade us and burn our villages to the ground. Meanwhile, our noble Congress bickers amongst itself, trying to excuse why our armies keep getting pissed away by idiot lordlings who think themselves tactical geniuses: That is what the heirs of Saint Stanislaus have fallen to. Trust me, Captain. When it comes to this war, this is the most civilized thing I have ever had the honour to take part in. My men fought well, but I was clearly outmanoeuvred. I can make no excuses."

-​

It takes the entire evening and much of the night to get the captured supplies and wounded back to the outpost. Bone-tired and battered, you barely have enough energy to tie up your horse before falling into your bed and immediately losing yourself in a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sure enough, Captain Hunter sends a messenger northward under a flag of truce the next day. The Captain offers Lord Karol his own quarters, plus guards, of course, and sleeps instead in the now-empty quarters of a Lieutenant killed in the battle. Two weeks later, the courier returns with a sack of gold stamped with the double-headed eagle of the League of Antar. True to his word, Lord Karol is released, and his ransom money is split amongst the officers and men. Your share is a tidy pile of gold worth about 240 crowns, to be split between you and your men at your discretion.

While a commanding officer would naturally be expected to claim the lion's share of the ransom money, you see an excellent opportunity to gain the love of your men. While regulations suggest that you only split half the money with your subordinates, you could always choose to give them a more generous share, with the implicit promise of more to come, should they remain loyal.

Of course, you could always keep all the money for yourself. Your men won't like it, but there's nothing else stopping you. After all, the bit about splitting prize money with the men is only a "suggestion."

You decide to split the ransom money:

[] Generously: I split the money between my men, leaving none for myself.
[] Fairly: I split the money evenly between the six of us: 40 crowns per man.
[] By regulations: half will go to my men, leaving the remaining 120 crowns to myself.
[] Keep all the money: I was the one that did all the hard work, and an officer's lifestyle requires a greater supply of funds than that of an enlisted man.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Fairly: I split the money evenly between the six of us: 40 crowns per man.
Aside from the extra money, your men's Loyalty has increased to 35%.

Click to shrink...

You split the money six ways. Each man gets an even share, yourself included. While the men don't show much overt gratitude over such a conspicuous display of generosity, they certainly seem more willing to accept your orders with a grin and a click of the heels than before.

The next evening, when you check on your men in the enlisted men's barracks, they insist on opening a bottle of some strange liquor that one of the men had "liberated" and delivering toasts to your health. The alcohol is truly atrocious, but the good spirits of your men help the vile stuff go down your throat much easier.

Three weeks later, a messenger is spotted riding up the road from Noringia. He brings with him letters addressed to you from your family and friends, as well as similar post for the other men of the garrison. More importantly, he brings a copy of the Aetoria Gazette, which contains within its four dozen pages news of the war elsewhere.

The first thing you are told is that in being mentioned by Captain Hunter's dispatches, you had come to the attention of the King himself, who has seen fit to award you the Gryphon of Rendower, one of Tierra's highest awards for outstanding leadership and tactical acumen.

​

You also learn that the supply column you ambushed had been on its way to supply a larger Antari force, poised to strike south at Noringia itself. Without its much-needed winter supplies, the paralyzed Antari army began crumbling in the face of the cold before finally being annihilated in detail by the main force of the King's army in several running skirmishes.

The destruction of the Antari main force has also resulted in a raft of promotions for junior officers who had distinguished themselves in the presence of the King or his generals. One of those mentioned is Davis d'al Elson of the Royal Dragoons. For his actions in battle, he has been promoted to lieutenant. Strangely enough, no particular act of extraordinary bravery or genius was cited as a reason for the extraordinary promotion of a cornet with barely a year's seniority.

Why do you think that is?

[] He clearly used his noble birth to secure an undeserved promotion.
[] Perhaps one of his more powerful relatives pulled some strings?
[] Maybe the Gazette ran out of space to print whatever Elson had done to deserve his promotion?

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Perhaps one of his more powerful relatives pulled some strings?

Knowing Elson's disposition, you can't help but think that one of his more powerful relatives in Grenadier Square had pushed for his promotion. After all, Elson is an honest fellow who would never try to grab a promotion he didn't deserve, right?

-​

Your first winter in Antar turns out to be a never-ending purgatory of mud, snow, ice, and hail. Thanks to your captured warm weather gear, you return from patrol with your extremities "merely" stinging from pain, rather than numbed by the telltale symptoms of frostbite. Some days are so full of whipping, biting snowfall that crossing the outpost to report to Captain Hunter is an ordeal in itself.

At the very least, you are able to occupy yourself. That winter, you finally have the time to crack open the set of books your father had given you when you first left to purchase your commission. Works of philosophy, theory, and natural sciences help the cold, monotonous days pass faster and your mind profits greatly from your long hours of reading.

With everyone crammed into the crude, leaky shelters, diseases spread quickly. A dozen of the Grenadiers die from strange diseases which you have never heard of before. You and your Dragoons are not immune to these foreign sicknesses either. Not a day goes by without one or two of your men ill from some strange or familiar ailment.

By the time the snow finally begins to melt, you are all sickly and emaciated. You meet the first signs of spring with depleted food stores, a terrible case of the flux, and three of your men's horses frozen to death. Thankfully, a supply column from Noringia soon follows, bringing with it food, reinforcements, and some welcome news.

In his infinite wisdom, His Grace the Duke of Wulfram, commander of the King's Army in Antar, has decided to focus military operations along the River Kharan for the foreseeable future. Thus, the small outpost which has served as a base for you and your men over the past year is to be vastly expanded with a palisade, more permanent buildings, and enough room to house three thousand fighting men and their hangers-on, camp followers, and servants. With this news comes official documentation designating the site of your much-expanded outpost as "Fort Kharan," though you rather think that is more wishful thinking on Wulfram's part than a statement of fact.

A steady stream of profiteers and other ne'er-do-wells follow in the wake of the new arrivals. The next week, another column arrives, bringing with them a company of Royal Engineers, four small pieces of field artillery, and a half-dozen other small detached units of cavalry from other regiments. They bring the news that Captain Hunter is to be promoted to major and that your long assignment as the outpost's only cavalry officer is finally over.

With another three dozen cavalrymen now present at the outpost, you are now at more liberty to choose your own assignments. A few options present themselves:

Firstly, you can remain on patrol duty while the other cavalry units take over the additional duties of the enlarged outpost. Without the need to also operate as Hunter's at-need cavalry force, you could probably expect an easier time of it.

Secondly, you could always draw the easier duty of serving as the cavalry reserve. While that means you will be cooped up in barracks for most of the next year while the other cavalry units are on patrol, there is always the chance for some emergency or great battle for you to distinguish yourself.

Lastly, you can request a promotion to lieutenant. Now that you have the one year's seniority needed to be eligible, promotion to lieutenant would be the natural step forward. Such an advancement would open up the possibility of being assigned the command of an entire troop of forty Dragoons and thus give you a greater chance of finding yourself in a major engagement.

Promotion in the Royal Tierran Army is a fickle thing. You would need the appropriate seniority and the funds to pay the difference between the amount you could sell your cornet's commission for and the price demanded by the man selling his lieutenant's commission to you. In your case, the going rate for such a step up is about 250 crowns, hardly an insignificant sum. However, particularly well-regarded officers sometimes have the cost of their promotions covered by regimental funds as a reward for their high reputations - something which you might possibly be able to warrant, thanks to your heroics thus far.

[] Return to patrol duty.
[] Request cavalry reserve duty.
[] Seek promotion to lieutenant.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Request cavalry reserve duty.

You inform Major Hunter and your men of your decision the next day.

Chapter V
Wherein the cavalry officer rides to the relief of an outlying OUTPOST and engages a small force of ANTARI in BATTLE.​

There is no doubt that the arrival of additional cavalry units is a welcome development. You happily have your patrol assigned to the outpost's cavalry reserve. While this would require you to be ready to sortie in case of emergency, it would also allow your men to be present within the newly erected palisade and recently arrived comforts of the outpost at all other times, a welcome change from the monotony of patrol duty. With the outpost expanded into a full base of operations, the tempo of life has picked up. You cannot even drop by the enlisted barracks to check on your men without bumping into some newly-arrived officer happy to establish an acquaintance.

With the new faces come a new attitude and new superiors. With Sir Enrique d'al Hunter's promotion to major, he no longer has the time to direct individual patrols. Instead, you must deal with a member of his newly-appointed staff, Captain Daniel d'al Lefebvre, a harsh and cynical man whose blunt and caustic manner strikes a sharp contrast with the gentlemanly Major Hunter.

Over the next few weeks, the outpost expands dramatically. The newly-arrived engineers build several wood and stone bunkhouses to shelter the new men. A high log palisade is raised. The cozy little camp which had served as your home for the past year is no more, replaced by a bustling little fortress complete with merchants, provosts, and houses of ill repute. You are temporarily joined in the reserve by the rest of the cavalry contingent as new patrol routes are planned to accommodate the vastly expanded supply network linking the outpost to Noringia.

You notice that Sergeant Lanzerel does not get along well with some of the new arrivals. One or two of the newly arrived junior officers seem especially disagreeable to him. One day, you are told that Lanzerel has struck an officer, a newly arrived ensign from the 4th of Foot. Though a hastily convened board of inquiry quickly finds the officer at fault and acquits your sergeant, your reputation among the outpost's officers suffers for being unable to rein in such a loose cannon.

For the most part, reserve duty is a relaxing change from the constant schedule of patrols you had grown used to.

You feel the first warm breezes of late spring on your face as you make your morning rounds. It is a good feeling, knowing that you will no longer be ankle-deep in mud or snow, and you will finally be able to end the day with dry socks and a late sunset.

Suddenly, there is a commotion at the gate. A man clad in the ostentatious uniform of the White Rose Lancers gallops past upon a haggard-looking but still-magnificent mount. The White Rose Lancers are the Duke of Warburton's personal guard unit and thus have been favoured with brilliant white tunics and sky-blue braid that you have no doubt makes a far better impression on the ladies than your own green-grey and red.

Paying you and his horse no heed, the Lancer tumbles easily off the saddle, clutching a folded sheet of parchment tightly in one hand. He rushes forward towards Major Hunter's office, collapsing into the arms of the sentries standing just beyond the door.

A little bit shocked at what has just happened, you see the ornately-dressed light cavalryman disappear into the building. A moment later, a sentry peeks his head out of the door. "Cornet Castleton. Major Hunter and Captain Lefebvre request your presence."

You enter the office to see the two senior officers of the outpost standing with the Lancer you saw earlier. You report yourself ready for duty, and the two Grenadier officers take you to the map table. Captain Lefebvre points at a dot on the map near the far side of the River Kharan.

"As you well know, we've had a listening post on the far side of the River Kharan for some time now. It is a relatively crude camp with limited defences and a very small garrison numbering perhaps a dozen."

Major Hunter beckons the Lancer to approach. Only when you get a closer look do you realize that the man's ornate uniform bears merely the insignia of a lowly non-commissioned soldier.

"Lance Corporal Kinsey has just ridden through the night from that camp. He has come to us with intelligence that the listening post is under light attack by the Antari. The garrison is holding, but it has apparently expended much of its supplies of shot and powder. The attacking force is reported to be quite sparse, but the Lancers are unsuited to fighting on foot. With the other units of horse on patrol, you remain the only force of cavalry available. We require your men to ride to the post with relief supplies of ammunition and assist them in dealing with any remaining assailants."

The Major looks up at you, his expression serious. "This is an undertaking of grave urgency Cornet, and I will demand the greatest expediency from you. If you have any questions, ask them now.

[X] "Who commands the listening post?"

Lance Corporal Kinsey describes the few virtues and many, many weaknesses of Lieutenant Carrecort, his commanding officer, in great and bitter detail. Apparently, the man only has his commission because of powerful relatives in the Cortes. According to Kinsey, he is a man of unsound intelligence and entirely unsuited for any sort of combat. Most importantly, Kinsey blames him for ordering the garrison to stand and fight when they could have as easily melted into the forest.

Lefebvre and Hunter listen with pained expressions. You get the expression that neither man would wish such a leader inflicted on any of the soldiers under their command.

"Any other questions, Cornet?"

[X] "What defences does the listening post have?"

Major Hunter asks the Lancer for an answer; it is not an encouraging one. Lance-Corporal Kinsey describes the listening post's lack of defence very succinctly. Aside from a crude fence made from bundled branches and a few strong points composed of piled logs (more for defence from the weather than from an earnest attack), the listening post has no defensive fortifications to speak of.

"Any other questions, Cornet?"

[X] "Why don't we send a larger relief column on foot instead?"

Captain Lefebvre shakes his head. "If we send a force on foot, it would take more than a day to reach the listening post. Such a delay could leave the garrison without ammunition long enough for the Antari to overwhelm them. In this case, speed trumps all other considerations. It shall have to be you."

"Any other questions, Cornet?"

[X] "No questions, sir."

Major Hunter steps forward as you finish with your questions.

"Very well. You are also permitted to engage any stragglers of the Antari force that remain. As such, I am making the contents of the armoury available to you should you feel the need to augment your striking power or the abilities of the listening post's lancers."

You see Captain Lefebvre's face go sour. It is clear that Major Hunter's offer goes against the recommendations of his chief of staff. Still frowning, Lefebvre leads you to the squat stone armour building.

"You may requisition a few items from our stores if you absolutely must. Our supplies of munitions are limited, so try to avoid squandering them."

You look over the weapons and supplies available to you:

[] Hand grenades to clear out any stubborn rear guard.
[] Extra shot and powder for a protracted fight.
[] Infantry muskets to arm the pistol-carrying lancers with more accurate weapons.
[] We won't need any extra supplies.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Hand grenades to clear out any stubborn rear guard.

You pack a saddle bag full of hand grenades: black iron spherical shells packed with black powder and lit with a fuse. As you place them inside the bag one by one, a handful of Grenadier sentries graciously take the time to give you some advice on lighting and throwing the infernal things.

With the explosive weapons carefully packed, you and your men set off a little after nine o'clock. You follow the Old Imperial Highway down to the Kharan River Bridge. The conditions of the road have been much improved in recent months, thanks to the diligent efforts of the royal engineers. Potholes have been filled, large stretches have been cobbled, and the path is now wide enough to accommodate three horses riding abreast.

With the monotony of riding along a good road comes a certain mental wanderlust. Your thoughts quickly turn to the situation which must await you upon your arrival. From the snippets of conversation you hear from those riding behind you, it seems your men are thinking the same thing. It seems proper that you should reassure them by telling them what they are likely to expect.

You decide to tell them:

[] That this will likely be a routine mission.
[] To expect a bit of a fight.
[] To be prepared for anything.