Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Remind Elson how vital our regiment's task is likely to be.

You pipe up. "Surely, sir, you must realize how vital our role is. If the Antari were to overwhelm us, they could take the army in the flank and roll up the entire line as quickly as a carpet. Surely we have been assigned this task because somebody higher up considers us more steadfast under fire than any other regiment in the King's Army."

Your combination of enthusiasm and cold hard facts seems to win Elson over at least a little. "Perhaps you are right, dear fellow. We shall see then, shan't we?"

You do not hear Captain Elson speak to himself again. Although he doesn't quite crack a smile, he sits straighter in the saddle than before.

-​

The ruined castle of Blogia is actually a rather impressive sight once you approach close enough to behold it despite the early morning gloom. The two decaying towers, standing some sixty or so paces apart, thrust into the sky like great pillars, surrounded by the ruins of the curtain wall which once encircled both them and the town standing in its shadow. The ruined old stronghold does not have the low, businesslike profile of Fernandescourt's Old Fortress nor the picturesque grandeur of Noringia's ruined town walls.

However, the decaying and overgrown castle has an air of romance around it, as if heroic deeds were meant to take place in its shadow. It is, of course, also a perfect defensive position, impervious to everything except siege artillery and covering the gap between the thick forest behind you and the extreme flank of the main body of the Duke of Wulfram's army.

By the time you and your Dragoons set up fighting positions within the musty ruin of the western tower's upper floors, the field before you is lit in bright yellows and oranges by the now-rising sun. However, the sight beyond that field interests you more: the great mass of Prince Khorobirit's army as it moves into position on the opposite end.

When you had first spied the vanguard of the Antari host less than a week before, you had thought that no sight wrought by mortals in the world could ever leave you so shaken again. Being proven wrong does not do much to calm your nerves.

The difference between an army on the march and an army with ranks dressed and ordered for battle is the difference between bud and flower. What you had once beheld as a mass of fighting men on the march now unfolds in petaled splendour by the battalion: thousands of infantry, with their weapons and metalwork blazing orange in the morning sun, a wave of flesh and steel and brown peasant homespun. Behind them stands a sea of horses, furs, and bright plumes of a hundred colours: the Antari light cavalry. The terrible spectacle of the army that the Lords of the League Congress have sent to throw your army into the sea envelops the entire horizon. From one end of the field to the other, all you can see is the glitter of steel and the vast billows of dust behind it.

Your men, it seems, are in even more awe.

"How the bloody hell are we supposed to fight that?" One of them shouts. More of your men nod dumbstruck as if they were doing battle with the Saints themselves.

Before you can respond, a confident, measured voice answers from behind you. "They aren't gods, that army out there."

Regardless of his own thoughts on the matter, it seems Captain Elson is still doing his best to boost the confidence of the men under his command. "You're all afraid; well, I can't help that. What I can tell you is this: to keep a tight grip on that fear, to sit on it, listen to it when it seems to be speaking sense, but do not let it rule you."

More men gather around to take some measure of confidence or comfort in your captain's words.

"Every man fears; for a hero is not a man without fear, but a man who fears and fights on regardless. So keep fighting, dear fellows! Keep fighting and let the enemy give in to their fear first because they will be thinking the exact same thing as you. The only thing keeping them going forward is the hope that we will break before they do. Well, that hope will turn to ashes in their throats, for they know not who we are!"

Elson has the entire squadron in rapt attention now: over two hundred ears begging for his next words. He does not disappoint. "And who are we?"

The answer is thunderous from every throat, yours included. "Dragoons! Dragoons! The King's Dragoons!"

Your regimental cheer is still ringing in your head when Elson comes up to you, his expression jubilant.

"There! Right there!" He points at a glimmer of silver shining in the dust behind the vast formation of Antari light cavalry. "Take a look at that!"

You snap your field telescope to your eye for a closer view: on closer inspection, the faint, dust-masked image shows itself as a suit of armour, alight with the characteristic blue glow of bane-hardened plate.

"The Hussars, Castleton! The Hussars are here. Better yet, they are on our flank! We shall face the finest heavy cavalry in Antar today!"

[] I remind Elson that having to face several thousand elite heavy cavalry is no cause for rejoicing.
[] Elson is right. If we win against Hussars, our glorious deeds will stand forever!
[] I remain skeptical that the Hussars will attack our flank.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] I remind Elson that having to face several thousand elite heavy cavalry is no cause for rejoicing.

The Captain shakes his head vigorously at your words. "Surely you must understand what a privilege it would be simply to face these men in battle! Victory matters, but no more so than the fact that we will have a chance at glory everlasting!"

Your brow furrows: you consider asking if the Captain had ever heard the old proverb about fame and dead men. As you open your mouth to voice the thought, you are quite rudely interrupted. Your words, and indeed your very thoughts, are drowned out by the rattle of a thousand drums and the breathy whistle of just as many fifes as the serried ranks of the King's Army finally begin to take the field.

You lean out the castle window for a better view as the regiments of the King's Army, of your army, advance to their positions along the ridge. Battalions of orange-coated soldiers advance in a great, graceful arc four thousand paces wide, extending from the shadowy bulk of the Eastern tower to the distant haze of the forest on the horizon. Their ranks sparkle with the flashes of the morning sun on naked bayonets and polished musket barrels. The mortared stones under your feet rattle and tremble under the mighty force of boots trampling the battered earth to the direction of drumbeats as loud as thunder and as cacophonous as hail.

The sound of the advancing Tierran army is joined by a blast of trumpets and the rapid beat of hooves. You behold a great mass of horsemen, their armour silver in the sun: the Wolf's Head Cuirassiers, the White Rose Lancers, and two or three other line cavalry regiments led by the two dozen armoured knights of Wulfram's bodyguard. They ride beneath a cloud of colourful banners: the three silver wolves courant on blue of your army's commander, the fortresses and ship of Havenport, the arch and river of Castermaine, and (greatest of them all) the quartered gryphons and towers of the royal house of Rendower.

Some of your men give a ragged cheer as they see their fellow Tierrans take the field. The appearance of an allied host that seems just as mighty as the enemy has put fire into their bellies and a thirst for victory into their hearts.

The cavalry, and Wulfram's staff, take a position on the far end of the line. The sound of fife and drum fade away as the massive formations of line infantry settle into their appointed positions in the battle line. Closer to you but hidden by the bulk of the castle's other tower, you hear the full-throated shouts of gun crews as they wrestle the great iron barrels of their cannon to bear on the enemy.

You remember the figures from the briefing: seventeen thousand and three hundred men in twenty-four regiments, accompanied by forty-eight pieces of artillery. But numbers pale in comparison to the great army that stands alongside you. It is the greatest army that the Unified Kingdom of Tierra has ever fielded, facing the most formidable enemy host ever seen in its hundred-and-fifty-year history.

Today, history is to be made.

You watch the field in what is almost a dreamlike state as the human tide of the Antari host edges closer and closer to the waiting cannon, muskets, and sabres of the King's army. Minutes, perhaps even hours, pass as the sun climbs high in the sky, and men in their thousands march and sweat and make what might be their final peace with the Saints all around you.

A concussive blast shatters your fugue state. Your last shreds of reverie fly away as you see the black trail of a heavy iron ball arc through the air away from your lines. The cannonball ploughs into the front ranks of the Antari infantry, leaving a trail of bloodied earth, body parts, and screams in its wake.

The great battle has begun.

More cannons fire. Given such a huge target, you doubt that the men servicing the iron field guns are much slowed in their reloading by a need for aim. Soon, every single one of your army's artillery pieces spits out cast iron defiance at the great host before them. The blast of cannon, near or distant, becomes all your ears know of the world. You can smell nothing save the acrid stench of burning powder. Entire regiments are swallowed up and hidden by the billows of powder smoke issuing from the constantly firing guns.

Still, the Antari continue their implacable advance. Despite all their thunder and fury, your army's cannons seem to do nothing more than throw pebbles into the encroaching tide of enemy soldiery. Though every iron ball hits its mark and leaves ripples of blood and death behind them, the dead and wounded are simply swallowed up by the mass of the living, and the tide grows ever closer.

Though torn to ragged shreds by your cannon, the forward edges of the Antari foot continue to advance, lest they be trampled by the great mass of men behind them. As they step ever closer, the ground beneath your boots begins to shake with their tread. Their cries of war, defiance, or mere nervousness reach your ears, as incoherent and wordless as they are.

Still hundreds of paces away, the enemy foot lacks the discipline of their Tierran counterparts. Distant pops and soft wisps of smoke mark those among the enemy ruled too much by their nerves, having fired their weapons long before their foes were in range.

The sound of Antari shouts and tread are deafening now, drowning out even the sound of your own cannon. The forward elements of the enemy infantry are no more than three hundred paces from the Tierran line when a thunderous wave of fire, smoke, and fury flenses them into shreds of bone, blood, and flesh like a storm of flying blades. You have never seen what the artillerymen call "case shot" — a metal canister packed with hundreds of musket balls — in action before. However, after seeing the gory effects of the volley, even from a distance, you doubt you would ever want to see them again.

For a moment, the Antari advance falters as screams of rage turn into screams of pain and fear. Confusion seems to reign supreme, and you wait with bated breath for the other boot to drop.

From the Antari line, a man wearing a uniform dyed far too bright to be peasant homespun steps forward. In one hand, he carries a long blade of good steel; in the other, a blood-red standard marked with the silver double-eagle of Antar. He is not alone. All along the line, similar men step forward, waving their banners and exhorting their less enthusiastic fellows to resume the advance. The Antari horde begins to march forward again.

Victory, it seems, will not be so simple.

The cadence of the Antari advance picks up speed from a walk to a full run. It is clear now that the enemy has no intention at all of forming ranks and giving fire like a properly drilled army.

"Battalion! Make ready!"

The command echoes down the vast line of orange-coated soldiery, relayed by red-faced sergeants. On command, the first rank of each battalion, some four or five hundred men total, crouch, their long bayonet-tipped infantry muskets pointed upwards. The second rank kneels behind them; the third snatches up their weapons, ready for the next command.

"Battalion! Present! Arms!"

The sight of a company of a hundred men bringing their muskets to bear on the enemy in a single motion is an impressive show. To see a battalion of four hundred perform the same task is something of a wonder. To see twenty-seven battalions and more than ten thousand men bring their weapons up to their shoulders and point them forward is nothing short of unforgettable, but it pales before what you know is very soon to follow.

"Battalion! Fire!"

Your world explodes in a cataclysm of smoke, fire, and rolling thunder as the main body of Tierran infantry fires their muskets. Less than a hundred paces in front of them, the forward edges of the Antari advance melt away like ice under an open flame. The closely packed enemy tide stumbles upon itself, tripping and reeling over the windrows of their own dead now underfoot and before them. Some of the Antari standard-bearers step forward again to resume the advance, but not many.

No sooner have the Antari begun their steps forward does the steady crack of musket fire begin again: the battalion commanders have ordered their men to "fire in their own time." All along the ten thousand-man-strong line, each individual soldier is reloading and firing at the approaching enemy as quickly as they can. A trained infantryman could manage three such shots in a minute, though there have been rumours of men who could do six.

Individually, a single man firing independently could do little harm to the Antari foot. However, as one among an army, the steady storm of fire eats away at the ragged vanguard of the Antari foot, devouring the front ranks as others step forward to take their place. The miasma of battle begins to envelop you: the stench of powder and death. The smoke is everywhere, hanging over the entire field like an ash-grey funeral shroud until it blots out the sun and the battle both, leaving your position in a thick and choking darkness.

For the better part of an hour, the universe's edges retreat to the walls of Castle Blogia. Hemmed in by powder smoke and bounded by the rattle of musketry, screams, and the occasional clatter of steel on steel.

"Damn me," you hear one of the other Dragoons say. "I thought we was to be fighting today."

He is not the only one. Some of the others around him grumble in agreement. How do you respond?

[] "Perhaps the battle is to pass us by."
[] "Fear not, gentlemen. We shall have our fill of blood by the day's end."
[] "Keep an eye out. The Antari may attack us yet."

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] "Keep an eye out. The Antari may attack us yet."

The enlisted man squints into the thick fog, then shakes his head. "Aye sir, they might, and they'd be halfway ramming their bayonets up our arseholes 'fore we see them, or they us."

The man looks about him, clearly expecting a laugh. He doesn't get one. For all you know, the Antari could be a dozen paces away, hidden in the thick powder smoke.

Finally, an hour after midday, the sounds of battle fade away. The powder fog begins to thin under the gentle urging of an early afternoon breeze. You peer into the distance, trying to make out the situation on the field. A hole forms in the smoke, just large enough to give you the sight of the Antari foot soldiers fleeing before the fixed bayonets of the Tierran infantry!

"Is it over?" Elson looks out, leaning out the window to your left, his tone disappointed.

Cazarosta appears at your right. "Hardly. Our infantry has merely repulsed their first attempt."

As the smoke clears further, the wider image resolves itself: the Antari foot are in full disarray, their standard-bearers dead or fleeing with the general mass of their comrades. Behind them, the battered but intact ranks of Tierran infantry advance down the ridge, their fixed bayonets gleaming in the returning sun.

You are not the only one watching; your men see it too. Despite Cazarosta's cynicism and their previous complaint, they seem quite happy to cheer their impending victory.

Suddenly, a scattering of blows strikes the Antari rear. The trailing elements of the retreating foe halt as ragged holes are blasted into their tightly packed mob.

"Our artillery does not seem quite content with letting the Antari leave the field," Cazarosta observes.

Elson shakes his head, his expression full of confusion. "Our guns haven't the range to strike so far."

You reach for your field glass and put the lens to your eye just in time to see puffs of smoke sprout from field fortifications far to the rear of the Antari army. A moment later, another volley of cannonballs slams into the backside of the enemy foot.

"The Antari are firing into their own men!" You exclaim.

Captain Elson slams his fist against the stone wall, his countenance furious. "Damn their barbarism! To turn one's own guns against one's own bloody army! What madness has possessed the Antari to do such a thing?"

"Not madness, pragmatism," Cazarosta replies, his voice chilly. "Look."

He points at the ragged mass of the Antari infantry, now attacked from both sides, as they turn to face the fixed bayonets of the Tierran line once more. "They are now more fearful of retreat than they are of advance, so they take the path of least resistance."

Both men glare at each other, their difference in opinion clearly irreconcilable. They turn to you to solve their dispute. What do you think of this?

[] Elson is right! I am saddened that the Antari would stoop so low as to fire upon their own men.
[] Cazarosta is right! This measure may have been extreme, but it stopped the Antari retreat.
[] I don't agree with either of them.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Elson is right! I am saddened that the Antari would stoop so low as to fire upon their own men.

You open your mouth to voice your opinion.

"Oy! Sirs! Wassat?"

You, Cazarosta, and Elson turn to where the enlisted man is pointing. You spot a shimmer of movement along the far end of the Antari line, moving quickly and growing larger. Almost in unison, the three of you bring your field telescopes to your eyes.

Your heart freezes when you see them: Church Hussars, thousands of them, gleaming in bane-plate, angel wings glittering in the summer sun; charging out from the woods on the opposite end of the field and riding at full gallop at the flank of the Tierran army, a great banner emblazoned with the sword-carrying bear of House Khorobirit fluttering at their head.

​

"By all the Saints!" Your captain exclaims, his spyglass clutched tightly in his trembling white hands.

Even Cazarosta's formidable composure seems rattled. "Did Wulfram not assure us that those woods were impassable?"

"Apparently, Prince Khorobirit disagrees with that assessment." Elson's terrified tone is much at odds with his flippant words.

You mutter under your breath as you struggle not to let fear overtake you.

"What was that?" Cazarosta asks.

You repeat yourself more clearly this time:

[] "What shall be our next move?"
[] "Can we still win this battle?"
[] "How can we survive this?"

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] "What shall be our next move?"

Cazarosta shakes his head. "We can do nothing. If we charge out there alone, we would accomplish nothing."

Elson makes a little strangled sound in his throat as he bites back a hot retort. Cazarosta continues unfazed, his voice as cold as ice. "Wulfram, on the other hand, must ride out to meet Khorobirit's Hussars. He has all the cavalry on his flank, save for us, and if he does nothing, those Hussars will be able to roll up the line and cut down the entire army at their leisure."

A distant blast of trumpets brings your attention to the field once again. Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the Duke of Wulfram's banner flutter free in the grey wind as the Duke and his Tierran cavalry ride forth to meet the enemy hussars head-on. You watch with bated breath as the two massive formations of cavalry converge on each other, sabres, broadswords, lances, and armour glittering in the sun. The ground trembles as the Antari and Tierran horse surge towards their titanic clash.

"Battalion! Fire!"

In an instant, powder smoke and fire blot out your view. The sound of the distant clash is drowned out by the closer sound of massed musketry as Tierran infantry fire upon the returning horde of Antari foot. Once again, your world shrinks to a single floor of a single tower, bordered by smoke and fire and the screams of the dying.

A half-hour later, the battle pierces the veil of fog and fire again, this time in the form of a messenger: one of the Duke of Cunaris's staff. "Begging your pardons, sirs. The Colonel wants to see all three of you downstairs right now."

You descend the crumbling stairs to the ground floor of the tower to see Cunaris surrounded by the other officers of the regiment and speaking in hushed tones with a man wearing a major's insignia covered in blood, filth, and bruises. It is only when you get close enough to hear their conversation you realize he is wearing the grey-green of the Dragoons.

"—have already battered them to pieces. Tourbridge's brigade is being hit hard in the right flank."

Cunaris's expression is tired and drawn as if he were a man twice his age. "And Wulfram?" he asks, his voice soft with anxiety.

The other officer bows his head in sadness. "Dead, sir. The Earl of Welles and Viscount Halford too. If anyone is still in command of the cavalry, I know not whom."

You hear Elson give a choked sob. He staggers as if he had been struck in the stomach.

The door slams open. "What's all this? Wulfram? Dead?" Asks a new voice belonging to Lieutenant Colonel Marras, the commander of Sixth Squadron and second-in-command of the regiment.

Cunaris nods. "As Major Keane was in the process of telling us, the battle goes poorly. Our right flank is in disarray, as is the chain of command. I am afraid that this regiment must act now independently if the situation is to be made salvageable. Have you gentlemen any suggestions?"

Marras claps his hands together before any discussion could ensue. "We must attack!"

For a moment, there is only silence as the regiment's second-in-command strokes his unfashionably luxuriant facial hair. Then, as enthusiastically explosive as before, he continues, "Yes! If we strike from this flank, the Antari will be forced to face us and give our brothers on the other flank the time to gain the initiative! Let us lead a valiant charge and tip the balance of the battle in our favour, your Grace! For King, for glory, and all the Saints! Let it be so!"

Perhaps it is something in the air, but the Lieutenant Colonel's exuberant bloodlust seems contagious. Cunaris, on the verge of despair a moment before, speaks with a new energy.

"I concur. Marras, you will assemble your squadron before the enemy. I shall do the same. Major Keane, find whoever is in command now and report back with news. Captain Elson, you will maintain two of your troops here to hold the castle and receive Major Keane's report. The rest shall join us in the advance."

The strange enthusiasm that has infected Cunaris seems to have afflicted Captain Elson as he grins in boyish glee. "Cazarosta, you and your men will remain here to guard the towers."

The deathborn's eyebrow climbs. "Sir?"

Elson's grin turns ugly, and his high spirits turn instantly into a burning fury. "Damn your insolence, sir! You will remain here to command the defence of this fortification, and you will do so until ordered otherwise or until the end of the world!"

Cazarosta nods. "Very well… sir."

Elson turns to the rest of his lieutenants, yourself included. "Now, who will stay with the bastard?" He asks, his voice still hot with fury.

[] Volunteer to guard the castle with Cazarosta. My skills are of more use here than in the field.
[] Hide in a castle while the rest of the regiment fights for glory? Not a chance!
[] I volunteer to stay in the castle, but only to give myself a chance to escape this certain defeat.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Volunteer to guard the castle with Cazarosta. My skills are of more use here than in the field.

You watch the rest of the regiment assemble and set off on its attack before heading back up the stairs to the tower where your men await you. At the top of the stairs, you find Cazarosta waiting for you.

"Let us not waste time, Castleton, and see to making this position defensible," he says, his voice entirely neutral. You nod; such a course of action gets no objection from you. Cazarosta continues. "First, I shall require you to place yourself and your men at my disposal."

You blink in surprise as Cazarosta's words sink in. Surely he does not expect you to simply subordinate yourself to an officer of the same rank and deathborn beside.

Apparently, he does. "If the worst comes to pass and we find ourselves the only force holding this flank, then I shall require your complete and unquestioning obedience if we are to stand a comfortable chance of surviving this day with our… honour intact."

The deathborn officer may have a point. You know Cazarosta's mastery of the soldier's trade to be almost unmatched; despite his bloodlust, complete disregard for the customs of war, and callous manner, it is quite likely that he might be able to get you and your men out of this alive. However, should you survive in such a way, there is no doubt that Grenadier Square would look poorly upon your inability to maintain command of your own men. Such a thing could not be good for your career.

Although you doubt either Cazarosta or his troop would submit themselves to your command, surely you can dissuade him from usurping your command out from under you, should you so wish.

[] I try to convince him of the tactical merit of allowing me to retain command of my men.
[] I attempt to persuade Cazarosta to allow me to retain command of my men.
[] Cazarosta has no right to command my men. I tell him so, bluntly.
[] I allow Cazarosta to take command of my men.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] I try to convince him of the tactical merit of allowing me to retain command of my men.

You shake your head. "Surely, Cazarosta, you must realize that if we are to hold both towers, then we require one commander for each tower to defend both effectively. What benefit would there be in a unified command if we must fight separately, regardless?"

Your words give the other officer pause for a moment as he ruminates on your attempt at reason. Finally, he nods. "Very well. It shall be so."

Suddenly, you hear the sound of hobnailed boots pounding up the stairs. You both reach for your pistols, only to relax measurably when Major Keane's bedraggled figure emerges. "Who's in command here?"

"We are jointly in command," Cazarosta replies somewhat reluctantly.

The Major looks at the two of you warily but reports his news anyways. "His Grace, the Duke of Havenport, sends his compliments and wishes to inform you that he is taking command of the army. He has also charged me to inform you that he is withdrawing from the field in the best order he can manage. He believes our main priority should be to maintain the army in good order as we retreat."

Cazarosta takes this new intelligence coolly. "Very well. What are our orders?"

Keane grits his teeth. "You have Lord Havenport's leave to withdraw at your own discretion. Any questions?"

[X] "What about the rest of the Regiment?"

Keane casts a furtive glance northwards into the thick fog of battle. "Havenport's orders were for me to proceed to the castle and proceed no further. If you are capable of informing the rest of the regiment, do so. Otherwise, they are on their own."

Cazarosta nods, his face unreadable. "Very well, then."

[X] "Very well, we will stand and hold this position then."

Keane's eyes go wide. "Lieutenant?" He asks, clearly thinking that you have gone quite mad.

"Sir, if the Antari bypass the rest of the regiment, they might pass through this position without opposition. Should they do so, they would be in a perfect position to strike the main army in the flank. I hope I do not need to elaborate."

The Major does not need further explanation to grasp the point: most of a battle's casualties are inflicted when the victorious army pursues the defeated one. Still, he seems skeptical. "You would hold this position with eighty men?"

You nod. "We shall try. I gladly give my life for crown and kingdom. My men would likely say the same."

Keane breathes a long sigh, having clearly given up on convincing you to cut your losses. "Very well. I will return to the Duke of Havenport and inform him of your decision." His tone makes it very clear that he does not expect to see any of you alive ever again.

"Saints go with you, gentlemen."

No sooner does the Major depart the room does Cazarosta turn to you.

"Very well, then. Castleton, shall we see to the castle's defence? I have a plan which might—"

You raise your hand to interrupt as you feel the first tinges of a bane-signature emerging from the direction of the Antari. Cazarosta, far from annoyed by your abrupt gesture, turns towards the northwards facing windows, his expression poised in question. You nod.

"Dragoons! Make ready to repel attackers!" You shout, sending the Dragoons near you scrambling for weapons, cartridge boxes, and pre-arranged firing positions.

Tension is high as you wait for the pinpricks in your mind's eye to come out of the fog. Oddly enough, those men approaching have neither the formation nor the speed of an Antari attack. Regardless, you stand ready to fight off any attack and keep pistol and sabre at hand. It is only when the approaching figures ride out of the fog that you recognize the grey-green and red of Dragoon tunics.

"Stand down!" Your frantic voice orders as your fellow Dragoons ride up into the shadow of the tower. Cazarosta stares at them as they pass under the sights of his pistol. Some of the newcomers are bloodied and bruised, but there are too many of them still left unscathed to be a truly beaten force.

"They shouldn't be here."

"And yet, here they are," you find yourself saying.

The other officer nods. "Then let us find out why."

The languid young man at the head of the retreating Dragoons manages a rather aggravating sneer as you and Cazarosta approach him on foot.

"Lieutenant Wittelbrook; joined our squadron last week," Cazarosta explains while you are still some distance away. "The Saints have seen fit to make him a troop commander, though I may disagree with their opinion."

The leader of the newcomers looks down his long hooked nose at you as you draw close. "Lieutenant Castleton, was it? How goes the defence?" He asks in an infuriatingly superior tone, ignoring Cazarosta entirely.

[] Answer politely.
[] Answer coldly.
[] Ask Wittelbrook what he's doing back here.
[] Wait for Cazarosta to say something.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Answer coldly.

"There has been nothing worth reporting, Lieutenant. Is there anything else?" You ask, your voice as cold and sharp as steel.

Cazarosta steps forward without warning. "What are you doing here, Wittelbrook? Where is the rest of the regiment?"

Wittelbrook ignores him entirely, addressing his response to you as if Cazarosta were not even there.

"Captain Elson bade me withdraw from the field. The Antari cavalry are advancing in great force upon this flank, and he wished for us to report this news to higher command," he says as if he were responding to an accusation and not a mere question. "Do you have an issue with Captain Elson's orders?"

You seriously doubt that Elson, or any other sane commander, would order a nearly-unscathed troop to leave the field at such a critical juncture. A single messenger would have sufficed to send news. Wittelbrook is lying.

Cazarosta shakes his head. "Stop trying to lie, Wittelbrook. You are very bad at it."

The mounted officer grits his teeth in anger as he glares at you. "Surely, you will not allow this deathborn bastard to impugn my honour!"

[X] "Surely I shall. Tell us the truth."
[] "I shall not; carry on."

Wittelbrook recoils in his saddle as if hit by a musket ball. "Surely - you cannot —" he sputters.

"He can, and he will," Cazarosta answers, as cold as ice.

"That damned fool Elson ordered us to meet the Antari horse in charge!" The mounted lieutenant blurts out. "I will not carry out my orders if there ain't no sense to them!"

Cazarosta nods. "Then why attempt to flee the battle entirely? Surely you know that your men are needed here."

"Are you blind as well as deathborn, you blockheaded bastard?" Wittelbrook shouts. "This battle is lost, and I will not die, sirrah, for the likes of you!"

[] Convince Wittelbrook of the dire consequences of his proposed actions.
[] Wittelbrook is a lost cause. I speak to his men instead.
[] Do nothing.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Convince Wittelbrook of the dire consequences of his proposed actions.

You step forward, close enough so that Wittelbrook, and only Wittelbrook, can hear you. "I beg your pardon, sir: have you any idea what the army will do to you when they catch you?"

The other lieutenant peers down at you from atop his horse, stone-faced. "Do to me? I suppose they shall throw me out of this regiment. I could always find another."

You shake your head. "They will shoot you for a deserter and shoot your men for following you."

"They cannot!" Wittelbrook exclaims, genuine surprise knocking the superior airs out of him. "I am—"

"They will not care who you are. King's Articles of War, Section XVII: You fled from battle and took your men with you. They will give you a blindfold and put you up against a wall. If you are very, very lucky and find yourself joined in your cowardice by too many officers for the King's Army to feasibly execute, they will merely ensure you are unable to sell your commission and given the most miserable assignment possible for the next thirty years. That is, of course, if that one," you tilt your head at Cazarosta, "or Captain Elson doesn't kill you first."

The other lieutenant nods shakily. "Very well then. I place myself under your command."

Cazarosta gives you the slightest ghost of a smile as the two of you walk away. "You handled that situation well."

"I did what I thought necessary," you reply, somewhat anxiously. You are not used to getting anything close to praise out of the deathborn officer.

Cazarosta nods as the two of you step back into the tower. "What you thought necessary has just given us the better part of forty extra men. We can use them, especially if what Wittelbrook said is true, is that not so?"

The Deathborn officer takes a deep breath as the two of you reach the top of the stairs.

"They will listen to you better than to me. I am giving you command of them. Unless you've any objections, let us see to our defence."

Cazarosta pulls out a hastily drawn map as the two of you return to the second floor of the Western tower. A quick discussion ensues as the two of you try to come up with a workable plan to defend the castle. The ever-present need for haste keeps your words clipped and short. Any potential argument is resolved quickly; there is no time for superfluous exchanges of a personal variety. It does not take long for the two of you to come up with a suitable scheme.

Your defence will be in two parts: while a blocking force bottles the Antari attackers up directly by holding a defensive line across the passage between the two towers, a second force will be stationed in the towers themselves to catch the enemy force in the crossfire and, if necessary, support the blocking force with more direct methods.

Of course, the real question would be assigning each troop to one force or another.

"Wittelbrook's men cannot be trusted or pushed too far," Cazarosta observes. "They do not seem to have the stuff of martyrs to me. I would not rely on them to hold the defensive line, and neither would you. Is that not so?"

The deathborn has a point. Although you have suborned Wittelbrook and his men for now, the fact remains that they have already fled one engagement and must be put in a situation where they could not easily flee again.

"The castle, then?" You ask.

Cazarosta nods. "Which only leaves the question of where our two units are to be deployed. I can think of ways to meet the Saints in glory through either path, and your judgment is sound enough. I leave the choice to you."

[X] Ask my sergeant for advice.

Staff Sergeant Lanzerel takes one look at you and then one look at the men around you — your men. "I think we can take the chance and stick our necks out into the fire, sir. If you've the thought of putting our men out between those two towers, the men should hold. They're drilled well enough, and they've got enough fire in their bellies to throw the Antari back if it comes to it."

[] Block the passage between the two castle towers with my men alone.
[] Block the passage between the two castle towers with Cazarosta's men reinforcing my own. I could use the help.
[] Deploy my men in the castle towers with Wittelbrook's troop to offer covering fire for Cazarosta's men, who will hold the line.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] Block the passage between the two castle towers with my men alone.

You point at the gap between the two towers through which the Antari cavalry must pass. "I'll take my men to block the passage."

Cazarosta nods and pencils in your position on the map. "Should you require my assistance?"

You shake your head. The Deathborn nods back. "Very well. I doubt we've much time until the Antari are upon us. You should see to your men. I will see to mine. Saints go with you."

It is only the work of a minute to have your men assemble at your designated line of defence between the two towers of Castle Blogia: a space some fifty paces wide. Though hardly a great distance, you have no doubt that your forty men might be a bit hard-pressed in defending it against saints-knows how many Antari cavalry, even with Cazarosta's troop providing cover fire from the towers.

With the area ahead clear for now, perhaps it would be best to find some way to bolster your defences in the short amount of time you have before the enemy is upon you.

[] Rally the men with a speech; they will fight better if their spirits are high.
[] I should find a way to make my defensive position more formidable. A barricade, perhaps.
[] I shall prepare the ground around my position to help stop any Antari charge.
[] I cannot think of anything I could do.