The Maretonian Campaign, Part 6
- Location
- Maryland
All things considered, you think you rally your train of thought pretty quickly.
You turn to the signal company commander behind you, the stunned Griffon still staring up at the sky where the titans of scales and flames continue to chase after the Maretonians fleeing towards the besieged city, the sudden movement in his peripheral drawing his attention away from the battle unfolding above. When he realizes exactly who is addressing him, he quickly snaps to attention, but you haven't the time for the typical pleasantries or protocol.
"Lieutenant, sound withdraw, all Divisions."
Your words are carefully chosen. In the Imperial military vernacular, the order to Withdraw is very distinct from the order to Retreat. A withdrawal is a tactical relocation, a momentary disengagement from the enemy to allow soldiers to regroup, rearm and lick their wounds, whereas a retreat is a full blown flight from the battlefield.
The officer doesn't balk at the order, quickly flying off in a burst of speed to shout orders to his subordinates. Signal flags go up, horn calls ring out, and the units of skirmishers that had been harassing the walls quickly pull back to the divisional encampments, linking up with the rest of their comrades to form defensive positions as they seek to put distance between themselves and the two warring factions of hostiles that now confront them.
Your commanders get the message: pull back and let your foes fight each other.
If the dragons notice the sudden lack of Griffons in the sky, they show no indication of it, continuing their single-minded pursuit of their chosen prey, the harried Storm soldiers putting all their remaining energy into a desperate airborne sprint for the perceived safety of Mare-a-Thon's walls. Some of them aren't fast enough, brief flashes of fire in the sky precipitating the fall of charred bodies that indicate when the winged reptilians catch up to them. But the rest of the Pegasi are still faster than their pursuers, and quickly soar over the fortified walls of the city. This is not the end of things however, for the dragons do not break off their pursuit, even as their prey enter a heavily fortified airborne bastion. If anything the beasts actually accelerate, briefly rising upwards before diving down onto the city of solid cloud, spewing flames the entire time.
(Storm vs Dragons, Initial Exchange: 42 vs 62)
The horde of Storm soldiers upon the walls send out a volley of lightning bolts, the energetic projectiles impacting two of the oncoming armored dragons. Were these bolts the product of only one or two Pegasi they would likely have little effect upon the massive creatures, but with hundreds of Pegasi channeling their magic through mana-saturated cloudstuff to produce each bolt, the effect is devastating. The massive suits of iron and steel plate light up with bolts of static visible from afar, the flying scaled titans convulsing in midair before suddenly dropping from the sky. The ground quakes with their impact, massive plumes of dust rising up to obscure the shattered forms of the draconic attackers killed by those who they had seen as beneath them.
The sight of two of their own felled by their enemy does nothing to impede the remaining drakes, who fall upon the Storm army like a dozen flaming meteors, impacting the defensive works with such force that you swear you can see the city jolt in the sky. Flames jet out from gaping maws in unison towards tightly packed formations of soldiers, igniting hundreds in an instant. The screams are audible even from your position well below and outside the city.
You are not idly observing the battle above however, still belting out orders to your troops even as the fight rages on. You summon up the army's demolitions experts and direct them to begin assembling explosive charges loaded with shrapnel, barrels of black powder quickly repurposed into improvised bombs.
As that is being done, you gather all of the mages in the army, Maretonian and Canterburian alike, and ask them to begin scrying the battlespace to determine the exact locations of your draconic foes and the densest concentrations of House Storm soldiers within the city.
(Marking Targets: 70)
Merlin leads his fellow mages in a mass casting, a mass of Unicorn horns lightning up in all the colors of the rainbow and then some, more than two dozen mirror-like irises appearing in a semi-circle around the group of spellcasters, each one displaying a hectic corner of the battlefield, illusion magic being used to depict something that is very much real in crystal clear detail.
(Storm vs Dragons, City Assault: 15 vs 58)
The battle above has descended into a chaotic melee full of fire and lightning as both sides engage within the confined quarters of the airborne city's streets. More than one dragon now lies dead within the boundaries of the citadel, their blood pooling upon solidified water vapor, but for each one that has been felled dozens or even hundreds of Pegasi have been slashed, crushed or incinerated by the armored sky-titans.
You watch individual Pegasi, blades mounted to gauntlets attached to their forehooves, perform coordinated hit and run attacks against the dragons, hitting their joints and the points where their armor and scales are thin, heedless of the dangers as some of their number are incinerated or bisected by razor sharp claws.
You see a collection of lightly armored Pegasi circling above the swirling melee unfolding below them, tossing down spears in an attempt to skewer the beasts pushing deeper and deeper into their home.
You see a grey-scaled dragon, it's chest blackened and scarred from multiple lightning bolts, one of it's eyes weeping a viscous fluid, incinerate a squadron of Pegicles' elite with a blast of fire from its maw shortly before a tremendous bolt of electricity falls upon it from above, it's skeleton briefly becoming visible as it cooks from the inside out.
You see a band of Pegasi bearing no armor or weapons at all, only bands of cloth dyed in the colors of House Storm advertising their allegiance, pushing large clouds back and forth over the city, summoning forth showers of rain in an attempt to douse the fires raging throughout it. More than one is suddenly snatched out of the air by a passing dragon, two of the beasts rapidly flying through the city streets setting fire to everything they can in an attempt to divide the attentions of the defenders.
You see a Pegasus in the gilded armor of an officer cut down two of his own soldiers as they try to flee, staring down the remainder and ordering them back into combat against the scaled death-dealers laying waste to Mare-a-Thon.
You see all of this carnage, and are suddenly very glad that you ordered your troops to pull back and just let the two sides tear into each other.
Scenes of previously unimaginable chaos and bloodshed aside, you can clearly make out several targets of opportunity, both draconic and equine in nature, and with the barrels of black powder and shrapnel prepared, begin phase two of your plan.
A few of the mages glance nervously at the person-sized bombs as their fuses are measured. Teleporting objects to precise coordinates in space is something that they are familiar with, but doing so with live explosives set to go off in seconds? Never mind the fact that only the Canterburians have any real experience handling black powder at this point. Still, the alternative would be confronting both the Dragons and House Storm directly, and the depiction of the bloody clash between the two factions still playing out in the scrying mirrors is enough to convince them that playing magic hot potato with barrel bombs is the safer option.
(Suddenly, Explosions: 87)
This is not the first time in history that a military leader has sought to weaponize teleportation. More than one Equestrian, Canterburian or Maretonian commander has set a fortified town alight from outside its walls with bundles of flaming tinder, or put a strike team inside a castle to open the gates from within. But this is the first time black powder has ever been used in combination with the space-warping spell.
A system is quickly devised for the new tactic. Pairs of mages are given a bomb and a set of spatial coordinates displayed through a scrying portal. Working in concert, one ready to compensate for the other should it be necessary, they teleport the bomb to the indicated position the moment it's fuse is lit.
The results are devastating.
Platoons of soldiers suddenly find barrels of explosives materializing in the middle of their tightly packed formations moments before detonating, shrapnel and splinters tearing through them and killing scores in seconds. With no unicorns of their own among them there's nothing they can do to stop the rain of magically-delivered bombs appearing in their midst.
The dragons are not spared either, explosions bracketing their massive forms, holes blasted into their flanks, their armor pierced and sundered by the explosions ripping through Mare-a-Thon as the barrel-bombs are teleported next to or underneath them. One unfortunate drake actually has a bomb teleported into his mouth as he opens it to breath fire, his head vanishing in a flash of light and a spray of gore, leaving behind only a mangled stump before the mages hastily close the scrying mirror.
The battlefield descends into chaos as the mages continue their teleport bombing. Pegicles' troops scatter as any large groups find themselves subjected to pinpoint bombardment, any officers trying to rally the their subordinates swiftly assassinated via improvised explosive device, the dragons lashing out frantically in a berserk rage as they try in vain to strike back against unseen opponents, causing yet more casualties amongst the city's defenders.
It's a form of warfare quite unlike any you've ever seen...unlike anyone's ever seen. A relatively small group of combatants, so far from the enemy they are fighting they can't even see them without magical assistance, causing mass slaughter with minimal effort and risk to themselves. The term "fish in a barrel" seems almost inadequate. At least a fish can see the creature attacking it.
You don't even need the mages' scrying spells to see the effects your tactics are having by this point, the smoke and blasts of fire visible from your position on the ground, the bellows of the few remaining dragons mixing with the screams and shouts of countless panicking Pegasi as they faintly reach your ears past the intermittent explosions. You can see more than a few of the city's defenders fleeing into the sky by now as well, though their numbers are relatively few, only a handful of Pegasi daring to drop their weapons and make a run for it by abandoning the city and their comrades. The fact that they do so despite having seen their superiors cut down others for trying to do the same only serves to reinforce just how hopeless the once proud soldiers perceive the situation to be.
(Storm vs Dragons, Panicked Rage: 79 vs 15)
After a few long minutes of bloody madness the explosions finally taper off, the mages and demolition crews ceasing their onslaught as they pause to catch their collective breath. This does little to reduce the bloodshed however, as the battle between the dragons and pegasi rages on. But by this point, between the losses they have taken fighting in the city streets and sustained due to your bombs, only a small fraction of the dragons that had assaulted the city are still alive by this point.
They do not remain so for long.
Maybe the defenders hit their second wind, or perhaps the surviving dragons have exhausted themselves fighting furiously to breach the defenses of the city, but the remaining flying reptiles are quickly swarmed by winged equines who skewer them with spears, stab them with swords, slash them with bladed gauntlets, and fry them with conjured lightning.
Through one of the scrying mirrors, you can see a climatic battle. A Pegasus stallion in black and silver armor is engaged in an aerial duel with the last dragon, a house-sized behemoth with scales the color of lava. The smaller and more nimble flyer weaves and dodges around the flames and claws of the reptilian killing machine, blades attached to his wings cutting into the joints and soft spots of the creature as he soars past it over and over, a whirlwind of slashes that eventually severs the beast's wings from its body, sending it plummeting to the ground far below, the creature bellowing vengeance until it strikes the earth with a meaty thud that resounds throughout the entire battlefield.
A sudden silence falls as the dark-armored aerial ace seems to almost stare directly into the invisible gaze of the scrying spell that had provided a close-up of his duel, the sun behind him casting a heroic silhouette as the eyes of Mare-a-Thon's defenders turn to him.
Pegicles unsheathes the sword at his hip and raises it above his head in in a gesture of triumph, eliciting ragged cheers from his followers as they celebrate their victory over the dragons.
You silently turn to regard Captain Kaboom, the Diamond Dog smiling wide and almost vibrating with excitement as he holds a torch next to a barrel of black powder.
The last one.
The one you'd ordered kept in reserve for this very moment.
You glance to Merlin, the Archmage's horn already lit, a tired but determined expression on his wizened face.
You give both a nod.
"Proceed."
(Magic Drone Strike: 98)
There is the fizzle and whoosh of a fuse catching, then a pop and a flash of light.
Through the scrying mirror you get to see Pegicle's eyes widen just before a hundred kilos of black powder goes off in his face.
To your dying day, you will recall the sound of the ragged cheers of House Storm suddenly cutting off into dead silence as their leader's mangled body falls to earth as one of your guiltiest pleasures.
You give one more order, the scrying mirrors vanishing as the exhausted mages gather their remaining magic for one final spell.
And you speak words that are heard by all those who are left alive in Mare-a-Thon, your voice amplified a thousand-fold.
"Inhabitants of Mare-a-Thon. Pegicles is dead. Your city is surrounded. Your forces have been devastated and are grossly outnumbered."
"There is no need for further bloodshed. Throw down your weapons, and your lives will be spared."
"Lay down your arms, and this mad war will end."
There is a tense silence as the world seems to hold it's breath.
(Storm Capitulation?: …)
And then the sky begins to rain armor and spears and shields as the inhabitants of the flying city surrender en masse.
The cheer that rises up from your forces, along with those of the Abolitionists and Royal Guard, shakes the earth.
—————————————————————————————
Things progress swiftly from there. Once the rain of metal finally ceases, the defenders of the wrecked city lower the banners of their now dead leader and raise white flags. The army of the coalition enters the city unopposed, former slaves and the Queen's bodyguards walking through its open gates side by side, and shortly afterwards the banners of the Abolitionist Army and the Maretonian Royal Guard begin to fly over the city. No Imperial banners join them, something you are insistent upon. Though your forces won the battle, this was not an act of conquest for Gryphus, contrary to what Pegicles told his troops.
The Maretonian occupation force, Griffons absent from their number in the streets of the cloud city, swiftly extinguish any fires still raging and see to any wounded ponies. But while those providing aid are native Maretonians, the tools with which they administer it are not. In a display of cosmic irony, bandages and medicines manufactured in the Empire are used to heal those who had so recently fought against it.
The weapons and other martial instruments found scattered on the grassy plain beneath the city are gathered up, along with the bodies of the dead. Those few who died in service of the Empire are cremated in a somber ceremony that you preside over, a funeral with tens of thousands of attendants. The disposal of the bodies of the Maretonians, the Storm troops in particular, is a task left to the locals. You possess no knowledge of Pegasi funerary practices, and have no desire to accidentally commit a grave cultural taboo.
Attempts are made to cremate the remains of the dragons, but unsurprisingly the bodies of creatures capable of swimming through lava are remarkably resistant to heat, refusing to catch even with the assistance of your flamethrowers. Your troops eventually resort to blasting massive graves into the ground with the use of black powder, dozens of Griffons working to push each one of the bodies into the craters before the draconic cadavers are buried by the efforts of hundreds of Diamond Dogs, leaving behind over a dozen hill-like burial mounds.
The mystery behind the unexpected appearance of the Draconic attack force is resolved when a handful of battered and traumatized Pegasi, survivors from the "relief force" that was almost literally mauled by them, offer up an explanation, along with some much needed context that you had been missing.
It would seem that the lands to the South of Maretonia are primarily inhabited, and ruled over, by dragons. These dragons exist in a feudal hierarchy of the strong, with older and larger dragons demanding fealty and tribute from their smaller and weaker kin. And while most dragons seek to pay this tribute and grow their hoards by bullying weaker dragons or digging for precious metals and gemstones themselves, some seek to gather tribute of their own from members of other races that live further afield.
And if this tribute is not given voluntarily, it is taken by force.
The band of dragons that now lie dead beneath Mare-a-Thon had crossed the border intent on raiding and pillaging and flying off with all the material wealth they could carry, something that they had made clear when they had run into the Storm force and demanded the soldiers to hand over their valuables before tearing into them when they had refused to comply. And unfortunately for Pegicles and his army, with much of the Kingdom impoverished as a result of the civil war, Mare-a-Thon was the closest and most attractive target.
The news actually brings you relief. You had feared that the attacking dragons had been soldiers under orders from some sort of lord or monarch, but it would seem that the drakes you killed were acting alone, and you have not just entered into a war with a previously unknown foreign power. Still, the new information is cause for concern. You'll have to address your advisors on this when you return to Gryphus.
You gather together the united war council one final time as dusk falls, your contingent of the army bedding down for the night in their original siege encampments while the Abolitionists and Royal Guard share garrison duty in the city above.
Burro Delver and Jewelius Pranceus eye each other from their positions on the opposite sides of the table in the command tent, the rest of your command staff giving the two a wide berth. You eye the two Maretonian commanders from your place at the head of the table, quietly considering the challenge before you. While you'd like to assume the best of the two males, you don't trust them to not come to blows over "ownership" of the city the moment your army pulls out. After a few moment's deliberation, you break the silence, all eyes turning to you.
"Our primary objective has been completed. Pegicles is dead, his forces destroyed, his city now in the hooves of coalition forces."
Coalition. Not Abolitionist, not Royal Guard, not Imperial. This was a victory secured through cooperation, and you hope that it will lead to a peace secured through the same.
"With House Storm destroyed and House White Star reduced and splintered as it is, the Abolitionists and Royal Guard are effectively the only factions of any significance remaining in Maretonia."
The rival leaders glance at each other. You doubt they need a reminder of that fact.
"Our mission was to end the civil war and prevent a House Storm victory to ensure that a warmonger like Pegicles did not become King of Maretonia, and at that we have unquestionably succeeded."
You give the Donkey and the Unicorn measured looks. Pranceus remains impassive but you can see Delver fidget a little under your gaze.
"The war is over. Maretonia has seen enough bloodshed for a hundred lifetimes."
You press your talons against the table, leaning forward to give your words weight.
"I am not ignorant as to the disagreements that your respective groups have with each other. But it is my hope that you will be able to put your differences aside in the interest of preserving this hard-won peace."
You push yourself off the table, satisfied that your point has been made.
"Tomorrow morning, I and my people shall return to our homeland."
You give the two males a respectful nod.
"Gentlebeings, it has been a pleasure to fight by your sides. I wish you naught but the best in your future endeavors. I look forward to seeing Maretonia reunited."
You think you can see Pranceus's face twitch, but both he and Delver return your nod and offer up words of thanks for your assistance as well as vague statements that essentially state that they will abstain from stabbing each other in the back the moment you leave. You suppose that that is the best you're going to get at this point.
You depart the command tent with a sigh, staring up at the cloud city above you.
You sincerely hope that this kingdom has had enough of internal conflict. Hopefully, with Pegicles gone, the place will finally begin to heal.
Your wife's voice jars you from your somber thoughts as she sidles up next to you. You find yourself extending a wing to pull her close, the two of you breathing a sigh of relief as you realize that you have made it through yet another military campaign unharmed.
"First Brochard, then Sombra, now Pegicles. We're three for three now."
Gabriella huffs.
"Reckon the world's gonna throw a fourth one at us anytime soon?"
You sigh.
"Don't jinx us love."
Maretonian Campaign Result: Victory.
Imperial Army of Gryphus
24,840 Warriors
12,500 Polearms
12,471 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
4,382 Freedom Fighters
2,500 Polearms
1,986 Arbalists
9 Cannons
8 Maretonian Battle-Mages
Maretonian Royal Guard
998 Pegasi Thunderers
400 Earth Pony Ground-Pounders
50 Unicorn Spell Soldiers
18 Maretonian Battle-Mages
If that battle seemed anticlimactic...blame the dice. They seem to favor Gryphus an awful lot.
Congratulations. You've accomplished a nearly impossible feat of foreign policy: a successful intervention in another nation's civil war in which your own forces suffered minimal casualties.
Additional posts detailing the immediate aftermath of the Griffon Emperor's successful intervention in the Maretonian Civil War will be coming soon, along with the rumor mill and the next turn.
Glad to see this arc brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
You turn to the signal company commander behind you, the stunned Griffon still staring up at the sky where the titans of scales and flames continue to chase after the Maretonians fleeing towards the besieged city, the sudden movement in his peripheral drawing his attention away from the battle unfolding above. When he realizes exactly who is addressing him, he quickly snaps to attention, but you haven't the time for the typical pleasantries or protocol.
"Lieutenant, sound withdraw, all Divisions."
Your words are carefully chosen. In the Imperial military vernacular, the order to Withdraw is very distinct from the order to Retreat. A withdrawal is a tactical relocation, a momentary disengagement from the enemy to allow soldiers to regroup, rearm and lick their wounds, whereas a retreat is a full blown flight from the battlefield.
The officer doesn't balk at the order, quickly flying off in a burst of speed to shout orders to his subordinates. Signal flags go up, horn calls ring out, and the units of skirmishers that had been harassing the walls quickly pull back to the divisional encampments, linking up with the rest of their comrades to form defensive positions as they seek to put distance between themselves and the two warring factions of hostiles that now confront them.
Your commanders get the message: pull back and let your foes fight each other.
If the dragons notice the sudden lack of Griffons in the sky, they show no indication of it, continuing their single-minded pursuit of their chosen prey, the harried Storm soldiers putting all their remaining energy into a desperate airborne sprint for the perceived safety of Mare-a-Thon's walls. Some of them aren't fast enough, brief flashes of fire in the sky precipitating the fall of charred bodies that indicate when the winged reptilians catch up to them. But the rest of the Pegasi are still faster than their pursuers, and quickly soar over the fortified walls of the city. This is not the end of things however, for the dragons do not break off their pursuit, even as their prey enter a heavily fortified airborne bastion. If anything the beasts actually accelerate, briefly rising upwards before diving down onto the city of solid cloud, spewing flames the entire time.
(Storm vs Dragons, Initial Exchange: 42 vs 62)
The horde of Storm soldiers upon the walls send out a volley of lightning bolts, the energetic projectiles impacting two of the oncoming armored dragons. Were these bolts the product of only one or two Pegasi they would likely have little effect upon the massive creatures, but with hundreds of Pegasi channeling their magic through mana-saturated cloudstuff to produce each bolt, the effect is devastating. The massive suits of iron and steel plate light up with bolts of static visible from afar, the flying scaled titans convulsing in midair before suddenly dropping from the sky. The ground quakes with their impact, massive plumes of dust rising up to obscure the shattered forms of the draconic attackers killed by those who they had seen as beneath them.
The sight of two of their own felled by their enemy does nothing to impede the remaining drakes, who fall upon the Storm army like a dozen flaming meteors, impacting the defensive works with such force that you swear you can see the city jolt in the sky. Flames jet out from gaping maws in unison towards tightly packed formations of soldiers, igniting hundreds in an instant. The screams are audible even from your position well below and outside the city.
You are not idly observing the battle above however, still belting out orders to your troops even as the fight rages on. You summon up the army's demolitions experts and direct them to begin assembling explosive charges loaded with shrapnel, barrels of black powder quickly repurposed into improvised bombs.
As that is being done, you gather all of the mages in the army, Maretonian and Canterburian alike, and ask them to begin scrying the battlespace to determine the exact locations of your draconic foes and the densest concentrations of House Storm soldiers within the city.
(Marking Targets: 70)
Merlin leads his fellow mages in a mass casting, a mass of Unicorn horns lightning up in all the colors of the rainbow and then some, more than two dozen mirror-like irises appearing in a semi-circle around the group of spellcasters, each one displaying a hectic corner of the battlefield, illusion magic being used to depict something that is very much real in crystal clear detail.
(Storm vs Dragons, City Assault: 15 vs 58)
The battle above has descended into a chaotic melee full of fire and lightning as both sides engage within the confined quarters of the airborne city's streets. More than one dragon now lies dead within the boundaries of the citadel, their blood pooling upon solidified water vapor, but for each one that has been felled dozens or even hundreds of Pegasi have been slashed, crushed or incinerated by the armored sky-titans.
You watch individual Pegasi, blades mounted to gauntlets attached to their forehooves, perform coordinated hit and run attacks against the dragons, hitting their joints and the points where their armor and scales are thin, heedless of the dangers as some of their number are incinerated or bisected by razor sharp claws.
You see a collection of lightly armored Pegasi circling above the swirling melee unfolding below them, tossing down spears in an attempt to skewer the beasts pushing deeper and deeper into their home.
You see a grey-scaled dragon, it's chest blackened and scarred from multiple lightning bolts, one of it's eyes weeping a viscous fluid, incinerate a squadron of Pegicles' elite with a blast of fire from its maw shortly before a tremendous bolt of electricity falls upon it from above, it's skeleton briefly becoming visible as it cooks from the inside out.
You see a band of Pegasi bearing no armor or weapons at all, only bands of cloth dyed in the colors of House Storm advertising their allegiance, pushing large clouds back and forth over the city, summoning forth showers of rain in an attempt to douse the fires raging throughout it. More than one is suddenly snatched out of the air by a passing dragon, two of the beasts rapidly flying through the city streets setting fire to everything they can in an attempt to divide the attentions of the defenders.
You see a Pegasus in the gilded armor of an officer cut down two of his own soldiers as they try to flee, staring down the remainder and ordering them back into combat against the scaled death-dealers laying waste to Mare-a-Thon.
You see all of this carnage, and are suddenly very glad that you ordered your troops to pull back and just let the two sides tear into each other.
Scenes of previously unimaginable chaos and bloodshed aside, you can clearly make out several targets of opportunity, both draconic and equine in nature, and with the barrels of black powder and shrapnel prepared, begin phase two of your plan.
A few of the mages glance nervously at the person-sized bombs as their fuses are measured. Teleporting objects to precise coordinates in space is something that they are familiar with, but doing so with live explosives set to go off in seconds? Never mind the fact that only the Canterburians have any real experience handling black powder at this point. Still, the alternative would be confronting both the Dragons and House Storm directly, and the depiction of the bloody clash between the two factions still playing out in the scrying mirrors is enough to convince them that playing magic hot potato with barrel bombs is the safer option.
(Suddenly, Explosions: 87)
This is not the first time in history that a military leader has sought to weaponize teleportation. More than one Equestrian, Canterburian or Maretonian commander has set a fortified town alight from outside its walls with bundles of flaming tinder, or put a strike team inside a castle to open the gates from within. But this is the first time black powder has ever been used in combination with the space-warping spell.
A system is quickly devised for the new tactic. Pairs of mages are given a bomb and a set of spatial coordinates displayed through a scrying portal. Working in concert, one ready to compensate for the other should it be necessary, they teleport the bomb to the indicated position the moment it's fuse is lit.
The results are devastating.
Platoons of soldiers suddenly find barrels of explosives materializing in the middle of their tightly packed formations moments before detonating, shrapnel and splinters tearing through them and killing scores in seconds. With no unicorns of their own among them there's nothing they can do to stop the rain of magically-delivered bombs appearing in their midst.
The dragons are not spared either, explosions bracketing their massive forms, holes blasted into their flanks, their armor pierced and sundered by the explosions ripping through Mare-a-Thon as the barrel-bombs are teleported next to or underneath them. One unfortunate drake actually has a bomb teleported into his mouth as he opens it to breath fire, his head vanishing in a flash of light and a spray of gore, leaving behind only a mangled stump before the mages hastily close the scrying mirror.
The battlefield descends into chaos as the mages continue their teleport bombing. Pegicles' troops scatter as any large groups find themselves subjected to pinpoint bombardment, any officers trying to rally the their subordinates swiftly assassinated via improvised explosive device, the dragons lashing out frantically in a berserk rage as they try in vain to strike back against unseen opponents, causing yet more casualties amongst the city's defenders.
It's a form of warfare quite unlike any you've ever seen...unlike anyone's ever seen. A relatively small group of combatants, so far from the enemy they are fighting they can't even see them without magical assistance, causing mass slaughter with minimal effort and risk to themselves. The term "fish in a barrel" seems almost inadequate. At least a fish can see the creature attacking it.
You don't even need the mages' scrying spells to see the effects your tactics are having by this point, the smoke and blasts of fire visible from your position on the ground, the bellows of the few remaining dragons mixing with the screams and shouts of countless panicking Pegasi as they faintly reach your ears past the intermittent explosions. You can see more than a few of the city's defenders fleeing into the sky by now as well, though their numbers are relatively few, only a handful of Pegasi daring to drop their weapons and make a run for it by abandoning the city and their comrades. The fact that they do so despite having seen their superiors cut down others for trying to do the same only serves to reinforce just how hopeless the once proud soldiers perceive the situation to be.
(Storm vs Dragons, Panicked Rage: 79 vs 15)
After a few long minutes of bloody madness the explosions finally taper off, the mages and demolition crews ceasing their onslaught as they pause to catch their collective breath. This does little to reduce the bloodshed however, as the battle between the dragons and pegasi rages on. But by this point, between the losses they have taken fighting in the city streets and sustained due to your bombs, only a small fraction of the dragons that had assaulted the city are still alive by this point.
They do not remain so for long.
Maybe the defenders hit their second wind, or perhaps the surviving dragons have exhausted themselves fighting furiously to breach the defenses of the city, but the remaining flying reptiles are quickly swarmed by winged equines who skewer them with spears, stab them with swords, slash them with bladed gauntlets, and fry them with conjured lightning.
Through one of the scrying mirrors, you can see a climatic battle. A Pegasus stallion in black and silver armor is engaged in an aerial duel with the last dragon, a house-sized behemoth with scales the color of lava. The smaller and more nimble flyer weaves and dodges around the flames and claws of the reptilian killing machine, blades attached to his wings cutting into the joints and soft spots of the creature as he soars past it over and over, a whirlwind of slashes that eventually severs the beast's wings from its body, sending it plummeting to the ground far below, the creature bellowing vengeance until it strikes the earth with a meaty thud that resounds throughout the entire battlefield.
A sudden silence falls as the dark-armored aerial ace seems to almost stare directly into the invisible gaze of the scrying spell that had provided a close-up of his duel, the sun behind him casting a heroic silhouette as the eyes of Mare-a-Thon's defenders turn to him.
Pegicles unsheathes the sword at his hip and raises it above his head in in a gesture of triumph, eliciting ragged cheers from his followers as they celebrate their victory over the dragons.
You silently turn to regard Captain Kaboom, the Diamond Dog smiling wide and almost vibrating with excitement as he holds a torch next to a barrel of black powder.
The last one.
The one you'd ordered kept in reserve for this very moment.
You glance to Merlin, the Archmage's horn already lit, a tired but determined expression on his wizened face.
You give both a nod.
"Proceed."
(Magic Drone Strike: 98)
There is the fizzle and whoosh of a fuse catching, then a pop and a flash of light.
Through the scrying mirror you get to see Pegicle's eyes widen just before a hundred kilos of black powder goes off in his face.
To your dying day, you will recall the sound of the ragged cheers of House Storm suddenly cutting off into dead silence as their leader's mangled body falls to earth as one of your guiltiest pleasures.
You give one more order, the scrying mirrors vanishing as the exhausted mages gather their remaining magic for one final spell.
And you speak words that are heard by all those who are left alive in Mare-a-Thon, your voice amplified a thousand-fold.
"Inhabitants of Mare-a-Thon. Pegicles is dead. Your city is surrounded. Your forces have been devastated and are grossly outnumbered."
"There is no need for further bloodshed. Throw down your weapons, and your lives will be spared."
"Lay down your arms, and this mad war will end."
There is a tense silence as the world seems to hold it's breath.
(Storm Capitulation?: …)
And then the sky begins to rain armor and spears and shields as the inhabitants of the flying city surrender en masse.
The cheer that rises up from your forces, along with those of the Abolitionists and Royal Guard, shakes the earth.
—————————————————————————————
Things progress swiftly from there. Once the rain of metal finally ceases, the defenders of the wrecked city lower the banners of their now dead leader and raise white flags. The army of the coalition enters the city unopposed, former slaves and the Queen's bodyguards walking through its open gates side by side, and shortly afterwards the banners of the Abolitionist Army and the Maretonian Royal Guard begin to fly over the city. No Imperial banners join them, something you are insistent upon. Though your forces won the battle, this was not an act of conquest for Gryphus, contrary to what Pegicles told his troops.
The Maretonian occupation force, Griffons absent from their number in the streets of the cloud city, swiftly extinguish any fires still raging and see to any wounded ponies. But while those providing aid are native Maretonians, the tools with which they administer it are not. In a display of cosmic irony, bandages and medicines manufactured in the Empire are used to heal those who had so recently fought against it.
The weapons and other martial instruments found scattered on the grassy plain beneath the city are gathered up, along with the bodies of the dead. Those few who died in service of the Empire are cremated in a somber ceremony that you preside over, a funeral with tens of thousands of attendants. The disposal of the bodies of the Maretonians, the Storm troops in particular, is a task left to the locals. You possess no knowledge of Pegasi funerary practices, and have no desire to accidentally commit a grave cultural taboo.
Attempts are made to cremate the remains of the dragons, but unsurprisingly the bodies of creatures capable of swimming through lava are remarkably resistant to heat, refusing to catch even with the assistance of your flamethrowers. Your troops eventually resort to blasting massive graves into the ground with the use of black powder, dozens of Griffons working to push each one of the bodies into the craters before the draconic cadavers are buried by the efforts of hundreds of Diamond Dogs, leaving behind over a dozen hill-like burial mounds.
The mystery behind the unexpected appearance of the Draconic attack force is resolved when a handful of battered and traumatized Pegasi, survivors from the "relief force" that was almost literally mauled by them, offer up an explanation, along with some much needed context that you had been missing.
It would seem that the lands to the South of Maretonia are primarily inhabited, and ruled over, by dragons. These dragons exist in a feudal hierarchy of the strong, with older and larger dragons demanding fealty and tribute from their smaller and weaker kin. And while most dragons seek to pay this tribute and grow their hoards by bullying weaker dragons or digging for precious metals and gemstones themselves, some seek to gather tribute of their own from members of other races that live further afield.
And if this tribute is not given voluntarily, it is taken by force.
The band of dragons that now lie dead beneath Mare-a-Thon had crossed the border intent on raiding and pillaging and flying off with all the material wealth they could carry, something that they had made clear when they had run into the Storm force and demanded the soldiers to hand over their valuables before tearing into them when they had refused to comply. And unfortunately for Pegicles and his army, with much of the Kingdom impoverished as a result of the civil war, Mare-a-Thon was the closest and most attractive target.
The news actually brings you relief. You had feared that the attacking dragons had been soldiers under orders from some sort of lord or monarch, but it would seem that the drakes you killed were acting alone, and you have not just entered into a war with a previously unknown foreign power. Still, the new information is cause for concern. You'll have to address your advisors on this when you return to Gryphus.
You gather together the united war council one final time as dusk falls, your contingent of the army bedding down for the night in their original siege encampments while the Abolitionists and Royal Guard share garrison duty in the city above.
Burro Delver and Jewelius Pranceus eye each other from their positions on the opposite sides of the table in the command tent, the rest of your command staff giving the two a wide berth. You eye the two Maretonian commanders from your place at the head of the table, quietly considering the challenge before you. While you'd like to assume the best of the two males, you don't trust them to not come to blows over "ownership" of the city the moment your army pulls out. After a few moment's deliberation, you break the silence, all eyes turning to you.
"Our primary objective has been completed. Pegicles is dead, his forces destroyed, his city now in the hooves of coalition forces."
Coalition. Not Abolitionist, not Royal Guard, not Imperial. This was a victory secured through cooperation, and you hope that it will lead to a peace secured through the same.
"With House Storm destroyed and House White Star reduced and splintered as it is, the Abolitionists and Royal Guard are effectively the only factions of any significance remaining in Maretonia."
The rival leaders glance at each other. You doubt they need a reminder of that fact.
"Our mission was to end the civil war and prevent a House Storm victory to ensure that a warmonger like Pegicles did not become King of Maretonia, and at that we have unquestionably succeeded."
You give the Donkey and the Unicorn measured looks. Pranceus remains impassive but you can see Delver fidget a little under your gaze.
"The war is over. Maretonia has seen enough bloodshed for a hundred lifetimes."
You press your talons against the table, leaning forward to give your words weight.
"I am not ignorant as to the disagreements that your respective groups have with each other. But it is my hope that you will be able to put your differences aside in the interest of preserving this hard-won peace."
You push yourself off the table, satisfied that your point has been made.
"Tomorrow morning, I and my people shall return to our homeland."
You give the two males a respectful nod.
"Gentlebeings, it has been a pleasure to fight by your sides. I wish you naught but the best in your future endeavors. I look forward to seeing Maretonia reunited."
You think you can see Pranceus's face twitch, but both he and Delver return your nod and offer up words of thanks for your assistance as well as vague statements that essentially state that they will abstain from stabbing each other in the back the moment you leave. You suppose that that is the best you're going to get at this point.
You depart the command tent with a sigh, staring up at the cloud city above you.
You sincerely hope that this kingdom has had enough of internal conflict. Hopefully, with Pegicles gone, the place will finally begin to heal.
Your wife's voice jars you from your somber thoughts as she sidles up next to you. You find yourself extending a wing to pull her close, the two of you breathing a sigh of relief as you realize that you have made it through yet another military campaign unharmed.
"First Brochard, then Sombra, now Pegicles. We're three for three now."
Gabriella huffs.
"Reckon the world's gonna throw a fourth one at us anytime soon?"
You sigh.
"Don't jinx us love."
Maretonian Campaign Result: Victory.
Imperial Army of Gryphus
24,840 Warriors
12,500 Polearms
12,471 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
4,382 Freedom Fighters
2,500 Polearms
1,986 Arbalists
9 Cannons
8 Maretonian Battle-Mages
Maretonian Royal Guard
998 Pegasi Thunderers
400 Earth Pony Ground-Pounders
50 Unicorn Spell Soldiers
18 Maretonian Battle-Mages
If that battle seemed anticlimactic...blame the dice. They seem to favor Gryphus an awful lot.
Congratulations. You've accomplished a nearly impossible feat of foreign policy: a successful intervention in another nation's civil war in which your own forces suffered minimal casualties.
Additional posts detailing the immediate aftermath of the Griffon Emperor's successful intervention in the Maretonian Civil War will be coming soon, along with the rumor mill and the next turn.
Glad to see this arc brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
