Si Deus Nobiscum: A Polish-Lithuanian Scion Quest
- Thread starter Rolman
- Start date
- Mature Historic
- Pronouns
- He
[X] pursue the chambul to the south.
- Location
- United States
On one hand, if they're tied down with loot and captives, we have a good chance of catching these guys.
On the other, it feels like trying to hunt down individual raiding groups is a fool's errand, and we'd be better off linking up with the main group to hunt down their war camp.
On the other, it feels like trying to hunt down individual raiding groups is a fool's errand, and we'd be better off linking up with the main group to hunt down their war camp.
- Location
- Mists of Albion
Yeah, it's likely a small group, maybe a couple hundred to a thousand, they'll likely burn their loot and kill their captives and we'll spend even more time having to chase them and then rush back to the main force, leaving us exhausted and more vulnerable to ambush
[X] link up with allied forces to the west.
- Location
- United States
[X] link up with allied forces to the west.
- Location
- Mists of Albion
I just realised, though currently Polish Hussars have already transitioned to heavy cavalry and lancers, it was Stephen Bathory who turned the non-standardised Polish heavy Hussars into the standardised early Winged Hussars.
If Matthias wins, it will probably be good for the Commonwealth, way less corruption and civil wars (likely no wars with Sweden or Catholic absolutism either) and we have a big ally against the Turks and Russians, but…
No Winged Hussars.
If Matthias wins, it will probably be good for the Commonwealth, way less corruption and civil wars (likely no wars with Sweden or Catholic absolutism either) and we have a big ally against the Turks and Russians, but…
No Winged Hussars.
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Sertorius
Rebellious Legate
- Location
- Roma Invicta
Just the wings. The rest should still be there.
I would like to point out, that the Hussars were heavily armed. They were basically walking armouries. Besides their extra-long lance and armour, each hussar had a heavy sabre, a koncerz (usually first choice weapon in melee after shattering the lance due to range), a pair of pistols, a carbine and any other weapon of choice, that the hussar in question might like. Hussars were in general rich men, since the trained horse itself can be worth a whole village or two, not to mention his battle kit. Each one had at least a of couple of fighting men, that he equipped by using his own money to hussar standard (although not to the extent of their patron). Add the camp followers, servants, tents, etc. and you can guess why there were so few hussars around.
For example, take our banner of 200 men. Probably around 30-50 of them are true hussars, while the rest are hired hands, friends, servants and other guys equipped at their expense. A single such unit (hussar + his men) is called a poczet (lance). However, since this is our own household unit, it is entirely possible, that they are all just regular soldiers-nobles, which we have equipped with our own money.
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- Location
- Mists of Albion
IIRC Polish Hussars at this time also carried a bow and could fight in a 'Tartar' style.
Also they've only just abandoned their shields in exchange for heavier armour. So they're not that far along yet. Báthory standardised their equipment, their Mount breed, and forbid the sale of their horses outside of the commonwealth.
Sertorius
Rebellious Legate
- Location
- Roma Invicta
I just mentioned the most common version. Like I said, each hussar could customize his kit to suit personal needs. When on official campaign, lances were provided by the state. The rest was paid for by the soldier himself. I agree though, that the classic Hussar mentioned by me is from his heyday. Currently, they are in the transition period.
By the way, the classic cowboy lasso has an overwhelming presence as well. Called an arkan, it's used all over the place, but especially in Ukraine. Tatars, besides the bow, were masters of the arkan and used it to capture their prisoners, particularly other horsemen by forcefully dismounting them.
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Solarstream
It's all in the cards
- Location
- Zombie World
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] link up with allied forces to the west.
XXV-III. July 29-August 9, 1575. East of Bracław.
- Location
- United States
The men move out from Berdyczów at dawn in full panoply, with carbines loaded and quivers full. There's no telling where the Tatars may be; at any moment, a dust cloud could herald the coming of sudden battle.
Contact is finally made with friendly troops around Piławce — it's a supply train out of Kamieniec. After some surprise, it's established that the army is actually further to the east, traveling along the Southern Bug, supposedly numbering some six thousand men. They're primarily Ostrogski men but with a significant number of, dammit, Zamoyski troops. Apparently the standing Quarter has been slow to mobilize in these times of interregnum, and the Royal Secretary clearly possesses a similar rationale to yours. It's not like he's doing this out of the goodness of his heart.
As you head east toward Bracław, you find Jewish and Ruthenian villages still standing, but emptied out. Weeds are beginning to grow among the harvest-ready rye; the pastures and pigpens and chicken coops lie empty. Sometimes you'd find an idiot or drunkard wandering about — and you tried to help them as much as you could, as God wills — but it seems like even the most hardy have fled. As you escort the supply train you encountered, the only thing you find on the road is the occasional corpse or a still-saddled horse, which you give to the men as credit for the time being.
The sight of smoke from countless campfires makes your stomach drop. It's only as you approach that you breathe a sigh of relief: the red banners of the Crown and the Zamoyski-Ostrogski coalition stud the horizon over the sea of tents. You order the Radziwiłł eagle and the Pogoń Litewska to be flown high, and you sound your trumpets and hunters' horns.
A little mass of horsemen appear out of the camp's main avenue. and you ride out to meet them with Marszowski, van Gistel, and your other lieutenants.
Ugh! Naturally, it's Jan Zamoyski himself, flanked by the teenaged Prince Janusz Ostrogski and his similarly-youthful brother, Konstanty. Every man dismounts, exchanging bows and shaking hands.
The Royal Secretary smirks a bastard smirk through his mustache. "Your Serene Highness — just the man we were hoping for! Your scout-messengers are safe with us." But, hm, he sounds genuine.
He seems to read your mind. "No, I am not here to ruin you, or lead you to death or dishonor or anything of the sort. We ought to set our differences aside for now." He nods to Janusz and Konstanty. "After all, the good Princes here are friends of your folk — but the realm is under attack by proper barbarians, no?"
Alright, surely he's here to curry favor with the Ruthenians, same as you, there's no doubt of that. But genuinely wanting to cooperate? Well, you suppose that he's got good soldiers and a reputation on the line… Who says he cares about your people, though? You feel some prickles, as it were, as much as you curse the Crab under which you were born for making you so naturally agreeable. You can't help but want to believe him! You suppose that you'll at least work with him. After all, there's only two outcomes: victory and defeat, and the former most assuredly takes cooperation to achieve.
You nod and half-force a smile. "Glad to hear, Lord Zamoyski, truly. Let us squabble over the election some other time."
"It's all concord here, Your Serene Highness!" exclaims Prince Janusz. "Our differences mean nothing for the time being."
"Very good," you say, brightening slightly at the opinion of a man you actually have reason to trust. "I reckon I need some filling in," you say to the men, "things seem very grim."
"Indeed," says Zamoyski, to the nods of the Ostrogski brothers. "But you're just in time. We think we've sniffed out the war-camp; we're packing up tomorrow, and sending forward scouts to confirm it."
"Aiming for an assault?"
"Absolutely!" cry the Ostrogski brothers.
"Indeed, indeed," says Lord Zamoyski more coolly. "One large confrontation and they'll be back over the Dniepr — even if we lose, perhaps. But it's odd they're in this part of the country." He sweeps his arm at the low trees and grassy hills that define this part of Ruthenia.
"God won't allow us to face defeat," you say. Would He? "He is with us." You try to ignore the fact that you've hired Mohammadans to travel under your banner.
"And good cavalry is with us, too!" your perhaps erstwhile rival laughs. "Your column looks sizable, Your Serene Highness! Who have you brought along?"
"Two hundred of my sworn men, hussars all," you say with a sudden swell of pride. "Around five-hundred Litwin Tatars, and a little regiment of mercenary rajtaria. All chomping at the bit for a scrape."
"Very good; we'll need all we can get. There could be up to ten thousand of them. The chambuls are much larger than what's normal," Zamoyski says gravely.
"They must think us disunited," chimes in young Konstanty. "We ought to prove them wrong." Fiery lad.
By dusk, your men have glommed themselves onto the mass of the camp; it's a shame they'll only be afforded a night's rest. You've moved into a command tent with Lord Zamoyski and the brother-princes.
Numbers are reviewed: with the arrival of your forces, the army's numbers have swelled to about five thousand fighting men (earlier reports were exaggerated, it's revealed, conflating camp followers with soldiers). Four thousand are mounted troops of all stripes and caliber, with the remainder bardiche-musketeers. Rumors of possessing cannon have proven false. All in all, a fine force, though you wonder if Tatar numbers — should the reports prove true — would overwhelm it. You've no experience in military matters of this size, though you know from your extensive reading in France that discipline and killing power is ultimately what wins the day. You pray that the muskets and carbines and pistols and even the Lipkas' bows will do good work. Only God is the one who will truly carry the day. Let this become a Lepanto on terra firma, o Lady of Victory.
The men pack their things with haste before the summer dawn even crests the horizon, the sky purple like a bruise, with just barely enough light to work without torchlight. Clear skies and muggy air define the quick march to Bracław, where the army is greeted with tears of joy on the town's refugee-choked streets. But there's no time to revel in a hero's welcome; the army passes right through, only stopping to refill waterskins and buy strong liquor for what is to come.
The men boast fearfully. You can sense it: they trade war stories and feats of prowess in duels and drunken brawls, but there's just the slightest waver in their voices. Not fear — no, not at all — but something else. Something you've felt before, something hard to describe, a kind of dreadful excitement, staring death in the face while steeling oneself to kill all at once. Facing God and Sin and the reality of their profession; they're used to it, but they're preparing for it all the same. That is why they brag and drink and swagger about, and that is why they're so good at what they do. They wear that armor.
On the morning of the ninth, breathless scouts dispatched overnight return home, caked with dust. The war-camp's been discovered, or perhaps some kind of satellite. It's positioned atop a gentle hill overlooking the Southern Bug, with no bridges in sight. However, the waters are not rapids, nor is the shoreline marshy, and the scouts wager they may be forded by men on horseback easily enough.
They reckon that it may contain at least several thousand men, and compare it in size to your own forces' encampment – though the tents of Tatars are greatly different in shape and size, so who's to say? They don't believe that they were detected. Awfully far from the Dniepr, and quite deep in Christian territory, the Ruthenians note, confirming Zamoyski's prior thoughts. To your mind, the Tatars' hubris must know no bounds.
The Royal Secretary indeed suspects that there's a trick of some kind. He reckons they should be much further east and, by placing their camp in the scrubby, rolling hills of this area of Bracław Voivodeship, blunt their ability to fight on their own terms. "It just doesn't make sense," he says. "Besides, the men and horses need a rest."
The young Ostrogski Princes, meanwhile, agitate for an immediate assault on the camp, from multiple directions – they mean to not let a single Tatar escape, such is their thirst for vengeance.
All three men, Zamoyski your senior and the Ostrogski lads barely grown, now look to you.
[] Advocate for caution and further scouting.
Zamoyski's right, damn him: something isn't quite right here. Where are their patrols? Are their numbers really so exaggerated? Of course, if the Christian army is detected, the Tatars may well move to disengage.
[] Advocate for an immediate frontal assault.
The quality of Polonian horses means that even the armored hussars can catch a Tatar, should he withstand their arrows. Forget the musketeers, a speedy ambush will see us roll through their camp like a wave of gunpowder and steel, and render moot any fatigue on the part of our forces. After all, if the Tatars catch wind of a potentially-superior force bearing down on them in a more deliberate manner, they may just run, so time is of the essence.
[] Volunteer to be the hammer to the main force's anvil.
It will fall to you to outflank the Tatars in pitched battle, adding additional pressure and potentially cutting off a retreat – a blessing and a curse, as vengeance will be the Christians', while the foeman will fight like a cornered animal. In the event of a Tatar attempt to disengage, it falls to your force to bog them down until the Zamoyski-Ostrogski troops can make contact.
[] Suggest intentionally revealing yourselves to the Tatars.
Let them make the first move. They'll either run, make a bid to fortify the camp, or sally out for a pitched battle. You reckon that in the first case, you can catch them in an assault, or ford the river to meet them on the other side. In the second case: guns outrange bows, and they may be starved out in a matter of days. The third? Meet them with superior arms and armor.
[] Write-in.
Add a couple sentences describing the plan. Use your creativity!
Contact is finally made with friendly troops around Piławce — it's a supply train out of Kamieniec. After some surprise, it's established that the army is actually further to the east, traveling along the Southern Bug, supposedly numbering some six thousand men. They're primarily Ostrogski men but with a significant number of, dammit, Zamoyski troops. Apparently the standing Quarter has been slow to mobilize in these times of interregnum, and the Royal Secretary clearly possesses a similar rationale to yours. It's not like he's doing this out of the goodness of his heart.
As you head east toward Bracław, you find Jewish and Ruthenian villages still standing, but emptied out. Weeds are beginning to grow among the harvest-ready rye; the pastures and pigpens and chicken coops lie empty. Sometimes you'd find an idiot or drunkard wandering about — and you tried to help them as much as you could, as God wills — but it seems like even the most hardy have fled. As you escort the supply train you encountered, the only thing you find on the road is the occasional corpse or a still-saddled horse, which you give to the men as credit for the time being.
The sight of smoke from countless campfires makes your stomach drop. It's only as you approach that you breathe a sigh of relief: the red banners of the Crown and the Zamoyski-Ostrogski coalition stud the horizon over the sea of tents. You order the Radziwiłł eagle and the Pogoń Litewska to be flown high, and you sound your trumpets and hunters' horns.
A little mass of horsemen appear out of the camp's main avenue. and you ride out to meet them with Marszowski, van Gistel, and your other lieutenants.
Ugh! Naturally, it's Jan Zamoyski himself, flanked by the teenaged Prince Janusz Ostrogski and his similarly-youthful brother, Konstanty. Every man dismounts, exchanging bows and shaking hands.
The Royal Secretary smirks a bastard smirk through his mustache. "Your Serene Highness — just the man we were hoping for! Your scout-messengers are safe with us." But, hm, he sounds genuine.
He seems to read your mind. "No, I am not here to ruin you, or lead you to death or dishonor or anything of the sort. We ought to set our differences aside for now." He nods to Janusz and Konstanty. "After all, the good Princes here are friends of your folk — but the realm is under attack by proper barbarians, no?"
Alright, surely he's here to curry favor with the Ruthenians, same as you, there's no doubt of that. But genuinely wanting to cooperate? Well, you suppose that he's got good soldiers and a reputation on the line… Who says he cares about your people, though? You feel some prickles, as it were, as much as you curse the Crab under which you were born for making you so naturally agreeable. You can't help but want to believe him! You suppose that you'll at least work with him. After all, there's only two outcomes: victory and defeat, and the former most assuredly takes cooperation to achieve.
You nod and half-force a smile. "Glad to hear, Lord Zamoyski, truly. Let us squabble over the election some other time."
"It's all concord here, Your Serene Highness!" exclaims Prince Janusz. "Our differences mean nothing for the time being."
"Very good," you say, brightening slightly at the opinion of a man you actually have reason to trust. "I reckon I need some filling in," you say to the men, "things seem very grim."
"Indeed," says Zamoyski, to the nods of the Ostrogski brothers. "But you're just in time. We think we've sniffed out the war-camp; we're packing up tomorrow, and sending forward scouts to confirm it."
"Aiming for an assault?"
"Absolutely!" cry the Ostrogski brothers.
"Indeed, indeed," says Lord Zamoyski more coolly. "One large confrontation and they'll be back over the Dniepr — even if we lose, perhaps. But it's odd they're in this part of the country." He sweeps his arm at the low trees and grassy hills that define this part of Ruthenia.
"God won't allow us to face defeat," you say. Would He? "He is with us." You try to ignore the fact that you've hired Mohammadans to travel under your banner.
"And good cavalry is with us, too!" your perhaps erstwhile rival laughs. "Your column looks sizable, Your Serene Highness! Who have you brought along?"
"Two hundred of my sworn men, hussars all," you say with a sudden swell of pride. "Around five-hundred Litwin Tatars, and a little regiment of mercenary rajtaria. All chomping at the bit for a scrape."
"Very good; we'll need all we can get. There could be up to ten thousand of them. The chambuls are much larger than what's normal," Zamoyski says gravely.
"They must think us disunited," chimes in young Konstanty. "We ought to prove them wrong." Fiery lad.
By dusk, your men have glommed themselves onto the mass of the camp; it's a shame they'll only be afforded a night's rest. You've moved into a command tent with Lord Zamoyski and the brother-princes.
Numbers are reviewed: with the arrival of your forces, the army's numbers have swelled to about five thousand fighting men (earlier reports were exaggerated, it's revealed, conflating camp followers with soldiers). Four thousand are mounted troops of all stripes and caliber, with the remainder bardiche-musketeers. Rumors of possessing cannon have proven false. All in all, a fine force, though you wonder if Tatar numbers — should the reports prove true — would overwhelm it. You've no experience in military matters of this size, though you know from your extensive reading in France that discipline and killing power is ultimately what wins the day. You pray that the muskets and carbines and pistols and even the Lipkas' bows will do good work. Only God is the one who will truly carry the day. Let this become a Lepanto on terra firma, o Lady of Victory.
The men pack their things with haste before the summer dawn even crests the horizon, the sky purple like a bruise, with just barely enough light to work without torchlight. Clear skies and muggy air define the quick march to Bracław, where the army is greeted with tears of joy on the town's refugee-choked streets. But there's no time to revel in a hero's welcome; the army passes right through, only stopping to refill waterskins and buy strong liquor for what is to come.
The men boast fearfully. You can sense it: they trade war stories and feats of prowess in duels and drunken brawls, but there's just the slightest waver in their voices. Not fear — no, not at all — but something else. Something you've felt before, something hard to describe, a kind of dreadful excitement, staring death in the face while steeling oneself to kill all at once. Facing God and Sin and the reality of their profession; they're used to it, but they're preparing for it all the same. That is why they brag and drink and swagger about, and that is why they're so good at what they do. They wear that armor.
On the morning of the ninth, breathless scouts dispatched overnight return home, caked with dust. The war-camp's been discovered, or perhaps some kind of satellite. It's positioned atop a gentle hill overlooking the Southern Bug, with no bridges in sight. However, the waters are not rapids, nor is the shoreline marshy, and the scouts wager they may be forded by men on horseback easily enough.
They reckon that it may contain at least several thousand men, and compare it in size to your own forces' encampment – though the tents of Tatars are greatly different in shape and size, so who's to say? They don't believe that they were detected. Awfully far from the Dniepr, and quite deep in Christian territory, the Ruthenians note, confirming Zamoyski's prior thoughts. To your mind, the Tatars' hubris must know no bounds.
The Royal Secretary indeed suspects that there's a trick of some kind. He reckons they should be much further east and, by placing their camp in the scrubby, rolling hills of this area of Bracław Voivodeship, blunt their ability to fight on their own terms. "It just doesn't make sense," he says. "Besides, the men and horses need a rest."
The young Ostrogski Princes, meanwhile, agitate for an immediate assault on the camp, from multiple directions – they mean to not let a single Tatar escape, such is their thirst for vengeance.
All three men, Zamoyski your senior and the Ostrogski lads barely grown, now look to you.
[] Advocate for caution and further scouting.
Zamoyski's right, damn him: something isn't quite right here. Where are their patrols? Are their numbers really so exaggerated? Of course, if the Christian army is detected, the Tatars may well move to disengage.
[] Advocate for an immediate frontal assault.
The quality of Polonian horses means that even the armored hussars can catch a Tatar, should he withstand their arrows. Forget the musketeers, a speedy ambush will see us roll through their camp like a wave of gunpowder and steel, and render moot any fatigue on the part of our forces. After all, if the Tatars catch wind of a potentially-superior force bearing down on them in a more deliberate manner, they may just run, so time is of the essence.
[] Volunteer to be the hammer to the main force's anvil.
It will fall to you to outflank the Tatars in pitched battle, adding additional pressure and potentially cutting off a retreat – a blessing and a curse, as vengeance will be the Christians', while the foeman will fight like a cornered animal. In the event of a Tatar attempt to disengage, it falls to your force to bog them down until the Zamoyski-Ostrogski troops can make contact.
[] Suggest intentionally revealing yourselves to the Tatars.
Let them make the first move. They'll either run, make a bid to fortify the camp, or sally out for a pitched battle. You reckon that in the first case, you can catch them in an assault, or ford the river to meet them on the other side. In the second case: guns outrange bows, and they may be starved out in a matter of days. The third? Meet them with superior arms and armor.
[] Write-in.
Add a couple sentences describing the plan. Use your creativity!
- Pronouns
- He
[] Advocate for caution and further scouting.
It seam like the most mature option, but the hammer and Anvil tactic also tempt me
It seam like the most mature option, but the hammer and Anvil tactic also tempt me
Hmmmm. This is a rough decision here.
It's never too bad to get more information. But that information is useless if not acted upon. We've got the camp right in front of us, but Zamoyski's bullshit alarms are going off. And from what I keep hearing of him as an expert politician who masterminded Bathory's ascension to the throne of Poland-Lithuania, he's gotta have that bullshit meter tuned perfectly. And frankly, the fact that theres no activity from the camp does make me a bit wary. Are Tatars known for ambushes like this? I imagine if they were, then the tactic of going after the raiding camps wouldn't've been as successful as it was historically.
I am tempted heavily to go all in and do the Hammer and Anvil. If the Tatars are there, we'll crush them between the forces we're deploying, and as the hammer, we get the fame from the victory... But if the Tatars are otherwise using the camp as bait, and aren't there... Then we've an issue of a missing Tatar host to find.
It's never too bad to get more information. But that information is useless if not acted upon. We've got the camp right in front of us, but Zamoyski's bullshit alarms are going off. And from what I keep hearing of him as an expert politician who masterminded Bathory's ascension to the throne of Poland-Lithuania, he's gotta have that bullshit meter tuned perfectly. And frankly, the fact that theres no activity from the camp does make me a bit wary. Are Tatars known for ambushes like this? I imagine if they were, then the tactic of going after the raiding camps wouldn't've been as successful as it was historically.
I am tempted heavily to go all in and do the Hammer and Anvil. If the Tatars are there, we'll crush them between the forces we're deploying, and as the hammer, we get the fame from the victory... But if the Tatars are otherwise using the camp as bait, and aren't there... Then we've an issue of a missing Tatar host to find.
- Location
- Mists of Albion
[] Suggest intentionally revealing yourselves to the Tatars
This is my first instinct, it loses us the element of surprise yes, but the main part is about driving them out, and if this is an ambush, them attacking us with the rest of their force is likely and we'll be better able to respond to it and react to it. We also can run them down if we need to.
The issue would be the loot however, specifically the fact they may destroy it to distract us.
This is my first instinct, it loses us the element of surprise yes, but the main part is about driving them out, and if this is an ambush, them attacking us with the rest of their force is likely and we'll be better able to respond to it and react to it. We also can run them down if we need to.
The issue would be the loot however, specifically the fact they may destroy it to distract us.
- Location
- United States
[] Suggest intentionally revealing yourselves to the Tatars.
I'm mulling this one over. I agree with Zamoyski that there's something up, but instinctively dislike cooling our heels. This option feels like the one that potentially thwarts whatever scheme is up and still keeps the initiative in our hands.
I'm mulling this one over. I agree with Zamoyski that there's something up, but instinctively dislike cooling our heels. This option feels like the one that potentially thwarts whatever scheme is up and still keeps the initiative in our hands.