To the eternal credit of you and your command staff, it doesn't take you all that long to get over the shock of seeing a gigantic, multi-story star bear punch its way out of a mountain. As the rank and file of your army seek to put some distance between themselves and the massive monster, officers shouting at their troops to move back as they attempt to formulate a plan, you quickly turn to your resident Archmage.
"Ambrosius!"
The ancient Unicorn's horn lights up, his face twisted in concentration.
"Already on it!"
A stream of visible magic flows forth from Merlin's horn, surging like a fluorescent stream through the air. It rapidly closes the distance between your command staff and the beast, the stream quickly splitting into five smaller tendrils, each one converging on one of the Ursa's sensory organs. The streams of golden, glowing energy abruptly turn black as night as they wrap around the monster's eyes, ears and nose.
(Magic Man: 83+20(Archmage)+10(Supporting Mages)=113)
The star bear ceases it's slow but inexonerable advance towards the bulk of your army, suddenly rearing up on it's hind legs and releasing a roar of rage and confusion that shakes the air and disrupts cloud formations directly above it. The unicorn battle mages scattered throughout the gathered allied armies, seeing the spell matrix affecting the multi-story behemoth, quickly add their own magic to it, multicolored streamers surging up to meet the river of gold weaving its way through the sky.
You see a bead of sweat form on Merlin's brow, his eyes screwed tight with the mental exertion necessary to cast an illusion of this level.
"It's blind and deaf now, but it's still a threat! If you're going to do something do it quickly, I can't keep this up forever!"
You turn to the Grandmasters, resplendent in their armor, their weapons drawn and ready.
"My friends, I do believe that it is time that we commit the Knightly Orders."
You gesture to the Ursa Major, now turning this way and that, it's uncertain footsteps making the ground shake as it struggles to orient itself without the use of its three primary senses.
"Bring it down."
Your Grandmasters, the leaders of the Empire's Elite, salute you in unison before unfurling their wings and taking to the sky, moving to join their respective Orders which have already risen into the air in preparation to attack the beast.
You then turn to Burro Delver and Jewelius Pranceus, the former of which is still staring at the towering star-creature, the other eyeing Merlin with an unreadable expression.
"Comrades, if any of your forces could possibly lend assistance to our efforts it would be much appreciated."
Both of the native Maretonians glance between you and the Ursa before nodding in the affirmative, the donkey looking somewhat uncertain but speaking with a steady tone.
"I'll ask my flyers to see if they can toss some lightning at that thing. Don't know if we'll do more than singe it's hide but we'll do our best."
You think you see Pranceus suppress a snort of derision at the words of his Abolitionist counterpart before he turns to the Pegasus courier next to him and begins giving orders to be relayed to his unit commanders. You move on quickly; you can mentally address the tension between your allies later, preferably after Pegicles is defeated.
Finally, you turn to regard your signals troop, a talon-full of Griffons armed with horns and gathered around a collection of flags who offer up salutes the instant you make eye contact with any of them. You take a moment to wax nostalgic for the days when all you needed to command your army was a few banners, horns and sufficiently loud captains. But an army of more than fifty thousand souls requires a more robust and adaptive communications network.
You take a moment to think and determine the best course of action before addressing the messengers.
"General message to all unit frontline unit commanders: ranged troops to the front, skirmish tactics. Inform all battery commanders: danger close precision fire."
The troopers and junior officers salute yet again before hurrying to their task. Flags are waved and trumpets are blown; a code made up of audio and visual cues that every Imperial soldier learns in training relaying your exact words to the generals, colonels and captains that command the Imperial Army.
Your words had been carefully chosen when issuing those orders. "Skirmish Tactics" was tactical shorthand for ordering one's troops to fly forwards into effective shooting range, fire, then retreat to reload before repeating the process. "Danger Close Precision Fire" was the official term used to describe artillery fire that could potentially hit friendly forces, circumstances in which the gunnery crews had to exercise utmost care and only fire when they were absolutely certain they would not hit their fellow Imperials.
The orders and code phrases had been originally devised with more conventional opponents in mind, but they were certainly coming in handy today.
In a way, your vast army is even more of a gargantuan, ungainly beast than the Ursa, and it takes time for your orders and the orders of the allied commanders to trickle down the chains of command, but after a minute or so of watching the beast stumble around, roaring in confusion and blindly swiping its house-sized paws through empty air, thousands of Griffons, Ponies, and Diamond Dogs begin to move in unison.
Your melee troops pull back, their arbalest-bearing colleagues closing to firing range as the Knights surge forwards to stab at the Ursa with their blades. With the beast blind, deaf and dazed as it is, they can afford to take their time moving into position before the strike. Dozens of heavily armored Griffons move to hover over the creature's back, or under its belly, or around its hind legs, anywhere where it won't be able to reach with its forepaws or its massive jaws. Cannon and Bolt-thrower crews carefully adjust their aim, taking care not to point their weapons towards their colleagues as they line up their sights on the beast's center of mass while in the skies above, Pegasi in the colors of the Abolitionists and the Royal Guard push clouds into position for lightning strikes.
All the while, the great beast wavers back and forth indecisively, enraged but confused, unable to sense the legion of fighters assembling to bring it down.
Then, with an unspoken signal, the varied units strike as one.
(Coordinated Assault: 62+20(Magic Crit)+10(Anti-Magic Weapons=92)
There is a great clatter as triggers are pulled on thousands of crossbows, the air filling with arrows that sail through the air in great clouds. Most simply bounce off the Ursa's thick hide, but a few find soft spots in the beast's flesh, drawing thin rivulets of blood the color of midnight. By contrast, the handful of Ballistae bolts fired all strike true, biting deeply and summoning forth larger spurts of black gore. Your knights raise their blades and plunge them in up to the hilt before rapidly withdrawing and thrusting them in again, seeking out the veins, arteries and ligaments buried behind walls of flesh and muscle, trying to cut deeply enough to cause serious damage. Thunderbolts blast smoking craters into the back and sides of the star-bear, the smell of burnt flesh and hair and ozone wafting over the battlefield.
The Ursa roars out in pain and agony, raising it's head and paws to strike at the cloud of insects that it cannot see, before dozens of Cannon rounds impact its star-covered skin with harsh thuds, the creature recoiling as if punched from each and every blow, roaring in confusion as it staggers, stunned.
Thousands of wounds big and small are cut and gouged and blasted into existence in a matter of seconds, the ground beneath the town-sized goliath becoming soaked with a rain of pitch-black ichor.
The Ursa thrashes, it's movements frantic as it swats blindly, wheeling and striking out in every direction as it tries to defend itself. Several Griffons that cannot move out of the way in time are sent flying by blows from muscles the size of buildings, or crushed underneath it's massive paws, but still the assault continues, a legion of ants seeking to bring low a titan through a death by ten thousand cuts.
Through it all, Merlin and his fellow Unicorns work mightily to keep up the illusion spell, the only thing preventing the beast from truly striking back. You see sweat drip from the elderly stallion's brow, and few of the regular battlemages actually collapse from magical exhaustion as they pour every ounce of energy they have into maintaining the spell matrix, but still, the illusion holds, the Ursa kept blind and deaf.
You are not sure how long the battle rages on, how long the beast rages, how long your knights and soldiers shoot and stab away at a creature that seems utterly unaffected by their efforts. But slowly, gradually, even as your own casualties mount, the beast begins to slow, its movements becoming more sluggish and lethargic, striking out less frequently, taking longer and longer to recover from each volley of cannon fire. Its roars become quieter and hoarser sounding as it begins to pant and breathe heavily, swaying and stumbling like a drunk.
Finally, after over a dozen volleys of artillery, hundreds of lightning strikes, thousands of stabs and slashes, and tens of thousands of crossbow bolts, the colossal ursine finally collapses, falling to earth with the force of an avalanche, taking out several more Griffons on its way down. The earth shakes with the force of the impact as the beast struggles faintly, still trying to move even as it weeps an ocean of blood from innumerable wounds, streams of black flowing into the nearby river and clouding its waters.
You watch as the color seems to literally drain out of the creature, the vision of the night sky decorating its body fading as wisps of multicolored smoke waft upwards into the sky before dissipating, the creature quite literally evaporating before your eyes. Within moments its musculature becomes visible, followed shortly thereafter by its skeleton, bones the color of swirling nebula peeking through before they are shrouded by a cloud of rainbow-colored steam.
When the smoke finally clears, the only remaining sign of the beast is the imprint of its body in the ground, along with a massive, lake-sized pool of pitch-black blood.
There is a long silence that falls over the valley, the entire army stunned by the realization of what has just occurred.
Then the cheering starts.
You turn to an exhausted-looking Merlin and give him a grateful nod as your wife stares at the spot where the Ursa fell.
"Well....that was....different."
—————————————————————————————
The day doesn't end there of course. The handful of stragglers hiding within the remains of the mercenary encampment are swiftly flushed out and rounded up, a perimeter established as the valley is finally declared secure. The dead, relatively few that there are on your side, are tallied up and identified, their remains collected and cremated in a brief but solemn ceremony which you personally preside over. Meanwhile, the logistics train, loitering at the entrance to the valley behind you, receives the all-clear signal, swiftly catching up with the main body of the army and setting up camp. Stocks of ammunition are replenished, rations distributed, and canteens refilled from barrels of freshwater that had been hastily sourced from nearby settlements and other sources, the nearby river which the battle had been fought over temporarily polluted by the demise of the Ursa.
You almost cant believe how today's engagement turned out. Despite facing down an army of thousands and an Ursa Major you've suffered only a couple hundred casualties and completely annihilated all of your opposition. Still, you don't think for an instant that things will be this easy going forward.
As the sun begins to set, the command council meets once again to discuss the army's next move, the most powerful beings on the continent gathered around a map of Maretonia.
Pranceus's horn illuminates the Hoof River Valley, indicating your current position, then traces a path South, towards the carved hunk of wood that represents the moving city of Mare-a-Thon, now only a day's march away.
"Abolitionist and Royal Guard scouting parties have corroborated their Intel: As we suspected, Pegicles has consolidated his forces in and around his capital. He's moved it out over open ground, right in the middle of a large plain where his aerial reconnaissance flights will be able to see any force coming from miles away. Aside from moving and fortifying his citadel, he doesn't appear to be conducting any other operations. It seems that he intends to force a decisive battle for the fate of Maretonia there."
You eye the map, humming in thought.
"Any ideas what he might be planning?"
The Captain General shrugs.
"Even before the war, Mare-a-Thon was the most heavily fortified city in Maretonia. With Pegicles paranoia and preparation, it's likely even more-so now. It is probable that he intends to try and bleed us dry through a battle of attrition where he holds the high ground and the defensive advantage."
There are some murmurs among the other council members at that. There's no doubt that Mare-a-Thon will be a tough but to crack. With Pegicles having the ability to make it fly however high he wants it to, it will almost certainly be out of range of your cannon, effectively making the bombardment of the city by conventional means impossible.
You tap a talon along the ground, considering what course of action to take. You'll have to develop a plan of action now. With the wide open space around him and height advantage afforded to him, Pegicles will doubtlessly begin to react the moment your forces enter visual range, a significant distance out from his city.
What is your plan for the Upcoming Engagement?
[ ] Dig In: Park your army within visual range of the city, put it to siege, and wait. With Pegicles forces concentrated as they are, they have to be consuming a great deal of supplies. Supplies that he will find difficult to replenish with his city in an isolated area of the nation, and an army outside ready to intercept any shipments he might try to sneak through. Despite having travelled hundreds of miles, your supply situation is actually better than his! All you have to do is wait him out, and eventually, he'll have no choice but to sally forth from his city to attack you, forcing him to give up the advantage of its defenses.
[ ] Scorched Earth: On the other hand, you may not be content to simply wait for however long it takes for your enemy to get frustrated enough to attack you. Mare-a-Thon is a great fortress, but it's position in the sky means it can't grow it's own food. That task falls to the numerous farms and plantations scattered across Pegicles' territory. You can't lock down each and every one of those farms to prevent them from supplying Storm forces...but you can certainly set them on fire. Most of them are owned by Nobles loyal to Pegicles anyway, and a few even have slaves working on them, so you certainly have a justification for doing so. Of course, Griffons setting fire to the Maretonian countryside will doubtlessly paint a less than positive picture of you and your forces...
[ ] Storm Them: Defensive fortifications can only get you so far. Your cannon may not be effective against a Flying Fortress, but you have hundreds of Pegasi of your own, each capable of launching lightning strikes against Mare-a-Thon. Between them and the overwhelming numbers your Griffons can provide, you should have enough of an upper hand to take the Cloud Citadel with an all-out assault.
[ ] (Write-In)
Imperial Army of Gryphus
24,840 Warriors
12,500 Polearms
12,500 Arbalists
3000 Diamond Dogs
28 Mobile Ballistae
59 Cannons
20 Flame Projectors
Canterburian Mages
Archmage Merlin Ambrosius
Sky Mage Rafale
Earth Mage Puissant Arbre
Imperial Knightly Orders
The Black Watch
22 Black Knights (Black Steel Armor and Weapons)
The Knights Lion
Grandmaster Konrad Hardbeak, (Orichalcum Katana, Runic Armor)
31 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
243 Imperial Knights
289 Squires
600 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
The Knights Talon
Grandmaster Colombroni Pigeonio (Orichalcum Blade, Runic Armor)
22 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
293 Imperial Knights
247 Squires
500 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
The Knights Panther
Grandmaster Adrian Dawnquill (Orichalcum Blade, Runic Armor)
26 Knights of the Inner Circle (Black Steel Weapons)
239 Imperial Knights
290 Squires
600 Griffons-at-Arms
200 Diamond Knights
Abolitionist Forces
4,400 Freedom Fighters
2,500 Polearms
2,000 Arbalists
9 Cannons
8 Maretonian Battle-Mages
Maretonian Royal Guard
1020 Pegasi Thunderers
400 Earth Pony Ground-Pounders
50 Unicorn Spell Soldiers
18 Maretonian Battle-Mages
Omake Bonuses weren't used because, as you can see, they weren't necessary. As always, there will be a 24-hour moratorium to allow for discussion and proposal of any Write-ins before voting commences.
