[X][TH] Accept token tribute (+1 Wealth, +1 Stability, +1 Prestige, end of war)
[X][HK] Attempt a White Peace (Good chance of being accepted, +1 Stability if accepted)
[X][Berserk] No
Reshemhetari, Son of the Sun, Cupbearer of the Waters Djeb, Golden Prince of the Moon Crescent of War - was tired.
"How... how many?" He asked while sitting, half-collapsed, upon the field stool brought to him at the end of this madness.
The high level clerk assigned to him looked more than a little uncomfortable and began, "My Glorious Prince, we are still sorting through the dead..."
"How. Many?" Reshemhetari demanded.
There was quiet for a time before the clerk spluttered for a moment and then asked awkwardly, "I ask my Glorious Prince if you have ever deigned to ask the clerks of some of their more esoteric numbers..."
"Are you asking if I would even understand the numbers?" Reshem snapped.
"Err... yes, my Glorious Prince," the clerk replied.
"Then are men as grains of wheat to spill through the fingers of clerks, the sands of Seshhemat? Tell me your number," the prince demanded, but more softly this time, the weight and horror of it all weighing upon him.
"We believe the total number of dead on both sides to be in excess of one hundred thousand, with our side suffering somewhat fewer casualties due to your expert leadership," the clerk stated.
One. Hundred. Thousand.
Dead.
Since it was his job to understand these things, in reflecting back upon the absolute insanity that just happened, he breathed, "We must have brought seventy to eighty thousand each to this fight, and suffered nearly two thirds casualties each."
"It is a testament to your skill my Glorious Prince that we did not break under such circumstances," the clerk replied.
Glancing at the stub of the sword that he had dropped nearby - not even his original blade but one of his bodyguards who had died in the midst of it all! - and then at the lumps draped in linen sheets that had once been the men who had watched over him since childhood, Reshem snorted in disgust and then waved in the vague direction of the enemy camp. "For some value of 'not broken'! And neither did they!"
At the other end of this bloodstained valley the banners of the enemy still snapped in the wind. The bulk of the enemy forces were obvious conscripts and militia - somewhat similar to his own - and the bulk of his forces had reaped a terrible toll upon them as they had done upon his forces, but the hard core of their warriors remained strong. He was lucky that he had had years to learn from their style of war, to divide his forces into blocks depending on their roles and keep some away from the press of melee until they were needed, until he could press fresh troops into weak lines - either his or the enemy's, or when their actual main forces showed up this would not have turned well for him. These Northerners could fight!
Worst of all were those under the Red Banner and those under the Banner of Sokbhet. The first had the best equipment and the best training and could go toe to toe with any three of his own companies and expect to win more often than not, while the second seemed to be the personal company of their king, possessing the majority of their cavalry forces and having the Sun Devourer's own luck at somehow being in the right place at the right time. In one engagement it had come to the muscle for both groups when he and his personal bodyguard had come into contact with the enemy command group. On the one hand he had nearly slain their commander, but on the other he had nearly been slain in turn. The Sokbhets had also been the ones that had managed to break open the sieges and bring about this field battle for the day.
Holding out a hand that had not quite stopped trembling from the combination of exhaustion, fear, and exhilaration, he remembered that fight. He had no idea how the temples would commemorate it, but he would probably have to tell the priests and artists personally that if they dared make it look like he was dominating the fight he would have them flayed and left out alive for the vultures. His guards needed to be commemorated properly, their sacrifices remembered. While he had never actually tripped, an image of Horeshimi interposing himself between an enemy's blade and Reshem while he was sprawled out on the ground would probably work well enough. But what a fight! The confused swirl of melee as commanders and their guards desperately tried to kill each other and also extricate from the situation. And at the heart of it all was Reshem and the monster.
Assuredly a demon of Sokbhet in human flesh - or possibly a statue given animation by evil magic! - the creature had been standing behind the commander whispering in his ear just before Reshem and his forces had slammed into the group. Clad in black scales and wearing a helm of bronze cast in the shape of the giant serpent skull that flew on their banner, with further bronze castings like serpent skulls upon the shoulders. At the back of the helm was a massive headdress of dozens, perhaps hundreds of black feathers arranged in an impressive crest, and the demonic impression was further enhanced by the only sound the creature made being crocodilian hisses and avian squawks. And then the two groups collided and Reshem could take in no more details, even if his appreciation for the creature was not yet done.
What madness! What violence! The two groups had fought with the fury of the possessed, the finest trained and equipped warriors of both sides going at each other like a farmer upon grain when the taxman was watching. Swords, axes, and spears had flashed back and forth at the point of contact, golden bronze versus their black and silver, sparks kicking up from the points of contact. With mace and sword Reshem had hooked, smashed, and slived his way through three men before he came into contact with the demon, at which point his royal khopesh met the thing's blade and was found wanting, the bronze giving way and twisting to uselessness. While the demon was obviously unused to its form, its motions lacking any refinement, they came on with frightful speed and brutality. The guards of both sides attempted to separate demon and sun prince, but all they ended up doing was feeding the blades of the opposite, and feeding their champions fresh weaponry as the clash between them grew ever more frenzied. Reshem lost track of how many blades he broke, how many lifelong companions fell to that monster, but at the final clash...
At the final clash...
He ran his hand across the line that would forever mar his face. He had dented the the thing's armour, pierced it in places, and in turn it had given him scars upon the arms. His whole body felt like lead and just holding his arms up against their own weight - to say nothing of the weight of his arms and the remains of his own armour! - was a challenge comparable to holding up the dome of heaven. The demon seemed in a similar state though, so he mustered up the last of his strength to charge forward, at the last moment his strike whipping about like a serpent from a telegraphed slash into a hammer blow by the pommel into the helm. Unfortunately the demon had similar ideas, and while his blow landed first and most powerfully, it was not enough to keep the thing's blade from running across his jaw. Before the demon could fall, before there was even the chance of another blow being struck, an enemy conscript charged in, and while easily dispatched it became evident that the general melee had swirled in their direction. Guards on both sides managed to physically drag their charges away from the chaos.
In the end, the Northerners began the signal to fall back first... but the Sun Prince and his army was in no capacity to pursue. Both sides had fallen back in utter exhaustion to their camps at either end of the valley where they had met to do battle, walls and hills of dead between them marking the places where they had been in contact. Soon enough priests from both sides had met to ask for the collection of their dead, and now the two groups rested as the sun set, the red light of sunset hiding the literal river of blood trickling its way out of the terrain.
And then Reshem made up his mind. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he said to one of his attendants, "Signal the enemy that I wish to parlay. This will take more than a day to clean up, the truce should last longer than until sunset."
It was twilight by the time a delegation from each side was able to meet in the carrion eater choked neutral ground between them. Torches held by both sides gave illumination in the twilight, although the shadows were somewhat welcomed to hide the extent of injuries and exhaustion. Translators from both sides were the closest together, while those with the actual power to determine the course of things were surrounded by what was left of their guard detail. Reshem saw no sign of the demon, although he was somewhat intrigued by the presence of a ghostly pale woman among the group of nobles.
After going through the typical preamble of introductions and the like, Reshem said, "I'll skip out on further posturing, we've done enough of that today. I have spoken with captives and they say that you are under a divine mandate to protect land you have settled. I understand the weight of divine law, even as my own orders compel me onward. We have taken each other's measure and we are obviously not found wanting. So, I extend to you this offer to end this fighting: acknowledge the divinity of the Master of All, and the Master of All shall acknowledge the right of the north to the land they have already settled. We need not fight further."
One of the nobles nearby hissed, "My Glorious Prince, you-"
"My father will listen to me, one way or another," Reshem hissed back, and the warriors around him shifted subtly. His father had started this fight and expended incredible amounts of resources clashing with a people he had known nothing about, while he had under his personal command the finest warriors the world knew. While frowned upon, sometimes god-kings needed to shed their mortal coils early, and so long as the next king was already the Cup Bearer the problems this caused could be plastered over with only a bit of effort. So long as he had something to bring back to show for all of this, the court could be convinced of his victory and the Master of All -whoever that might be - would agree to the peace.
The translators had gone back and forth over his message a bit before word was passed back to him, "They ask what you would demand as this acknowledgement."
The Khemetri are offering terms
[] Acknowledge superiority (-15 Prestige, loses King of the Hill, peace, chance of +1 Stability)
[] Offer tribute (-5 Prestige, -10 Wealth, keeps King of the Hill, chance of +1 Stability)
[] The war will continue (War continues, have mid-turn actions before next War Mission rolls to potentially regenerate forces)
