User blog:Leolab/Leolab's Battles/Part 5

Round 1
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Lloyd sits in his tent, examining the candle-lit contents of the small chest he was given – part of the terms of this contract. The exact details of the contract were hazy to him, but all he knew was that he had to take the castle before him.

He looks up from a remarkable well-drawn birds-eye of the area to the eight figures standing before him.

“Crossbow Commander Errol, step forward.”

“Yes, sir.” One man of the eight stepped forth, in plated chainmail not unlike Lloyd’s own.

“Siege Commander Dante, you as well,” A second man, also in plated mail, but with a helmet, steps forward and salutes. “And you, High Marshall Mateus,” One of the two figures in two layers of plated fabric steps forth. “Dante, you’re under Mateus for the moment. Errol, 10 squads of your crossbowmen are under him as well. Mateus, coordinate the crossbowmen to give covering fire so that we can properly set up the siege weapons. Errol, have the remaining 15 squads harass the defenders on the walls. You three are dismissed.”

“Cavalry Commander Boscogn, step forward…”

Within the castle itself, Celina was giving her own, much simpler orders to her troops, who are all gathered in the castle’s main hall, about to have a dinner.

“Men on the cannons! Fire at the enemy. Pound them hard all night,” she said, but stopped as she heard a poorly disguised whisper from the back ranks

“She wants a pounding all night? I can…”

Celina glares at the speaker until he shuts up and apologizes.

“Crossbowmen, when morning comes rain bolts down on them,” though again she hears an interruption.

“Comes? Just leave it to …”

Celina glares again. “Infantry, train and wait until there’s a breakthrough. Everyone is dismissed. Good night, and eat well.” She walks over to the officer’s table and sits down, and everyone starts eating.

Back outside, Lloyd is finishing up his orders.

“… Have your Infantrymen and the Reserve train with the shock troops. Not to exhaustion, but don’t let your skills flag, either. You are dismissed.”

The last few generals leave the tent. He looks at the captain of his guard. “Test my food and tent for whatever it is you fear. I need to eat and sleep.”

1 Month, 13 Days, 16 Hours.

Lloyd is walking along the south side of the encirclement, examining the preparations. He’d lost several men to his opponent’s cannons and archers already, not to mention the desertions. Since there were too many of the archers to deal with at the moment, he simply takes aim with his Recurve bow at one of the cannoneers. He fires, and quickly reloads and takes aim again. He fires a second shot, and retreats, meeting up with the squad of crossbowmen and his guard.

“You grazed him the second time, sir.” The Squad Commander

“Should’ve stayed in my tent, then. But they’ll be looking for where I was; try further up that way.”

At that moment, a messenger came up to him. One of Boscogn’s light cavalry. He unrolled the message, and smiled. “I’ll be back. There’s a matter of some import to take care of.

Inside the castle, Celina is poring over the maps, trying how to best defend the castle. Her enemy had delayed one supply route with repeated attacks – she effectively only had one to work with. And it was enough of a headache keeping her people fed, not to mention they were mysteriously down about 50 men. Add that to those killed by the enemy’s crossbowmen, and she’d count herself lucky if she could keep their siege weapons down.

Then she heard a soft, wet thump on her roof. And then another. And yet more. It sounded almost like rain. Hearing yells from the castle, she walks out to see what is happening and sees dismembered body parts raining down. She ducks just in time to dodge a phallus to the face. Using her suctum as an impromptu umbrella, she quickly runs about restoring order.

After she’s calmed her men, one of her officers comes up to her, holing a rather distinctive arrow.

“Someone fired two of these at one of our cannoneers this morning, ma’am. It’s poisoned, so be careful. It grazed him, but he’s in the infirmary right now,” the officer says.

“Will he live?”

“Probably, but he’s not going to enjoy the next couple of days. I could hear his screams from outside.”

“This looks like… Oh, no. We’re up against Lloyd. The mercenary general.” Her officer pales.

Lloyd looks at the aftermath of the meat bombardment through his telescope. He’d managed to build his trebuchet in secret, and used them to bombard the enemy with dead flesh. His High Marshalls used the ensuing moment of panic to have the mining teams start tunneling. Turning back to the tent behind him, he enters and walks down to the makeshift underground prison his mining team built, turning to face the prisoner.

“Well well, the one deserter my men didn’t shoot. I’ve got a couple questions for you. Don’t make me use force.”

2 Months, 5 Days, 15 Hours.

Celina is pacing back and forth in her command room, trying to determine what went wrong. The dead body bombardment had slowed, though chunks of retted meat were still flying over the walls. About a third of her remaining force was sick, the other third were starving, and the final third were considering joining the other half of her former army. Lloyd had cut off both supply lines, and had been raining down jars of fire for the past night with her trebuchets. Deciding it was time to take a look around, she stalks out of her quarters – skirting around piles of rubble – and walks up to the battlements near the gates, taking cover between the husks of two cannons as she surveys her opponent’s newest offensive.

Lloyd stands watch as the preparations for a new assault begin. He’s abandoned the Belfry – too many construction problems, and the walls were still defended enough for ladders. His canons would instead bombard the front gate, or as close to it as he can get. The Trebuchet would provide covering fire. Chuckling at his own mental pun, he surveys his troops to see if they are ready.

Satisfied, he salutes the High Marshalls in charge of the ground assault and moves up to take personal command of the siege weaponry.

“Give it all you’ve got – Celina can’t hold out much longer. That last deserter said she was down to less than half strength.”

The cannons started firing, making quite a racket. The trebuchet launched clusters of Greek Fire jars in the castle’s general direction, making it harder for the defenders to maneuver. Lloyd takes out his looking glass and sees that the cannonballs are having little effect – the door is too small a target, and when they hit it the wood is too thick.

“Curse me for a fool. Why didn’t I see it before?” Lloyd mutters to himself, before standing up and bellowing out his new orders: “Cannons! Trebuchet! Switch roles! Cannons, cover the trebuchet while it hits the gate with the fire!”

The cannonneers and trebuchet operators look at him in bewilderment.

“The door’s fucking wood. I’ve been thinking the wrong way. Breaking it down is a pain, so let’s burn it!”

Hearing his rationale, and slightly disconcerted by the diabolical laughter, the crews do as he says. In short order, the gates are breached.

“Okay, everyone stop. Gather your melee weapons and meet me at the staging area.”

Once his army is gathered around him – still 8,000 strong after two months – they start to charge up towards the castle, under the covering fire from the crossbowmen. The castle is taken by storm, with small pockets of vicious, close-quarters fighting. In the end, Lloyd’s troops have taken 1,500 enemy troops prisoner, and have lost 1,000 men. Lloyd seizes the castle, and goes for a walk along the battlements. Passing the gate, he finds a badly-burned corpse amongst several broken fire jars, as well as two cannons.

There’s a brief flash of light, and he gets transported back to the waiting area.

End of Siege.

Statistics:
Total Time: 2 Months, 5 Days, 17 Hours, 30 Minutes Total losses: 9,000 men.
 * Celina: 6,000
 * Lloyd: 3,000

Round 2
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Tian Sheng is poring over the materials in the small chest in his tent, joking with his second-in-command, Abdu Shalim. It had been a while since he thought of himself as Tian – the name Christian Kenway had usually fit him like a glove, but it seemed… odd now. He couldn’t remember why he was here, just that he was being paid to do so. Slightly disoriented, he switches to a slightly more formal language to cover it.

“General Shalim, is the encirclement complete?”

“Nearly so, sir.”

“Good. Let me know when it’s finished – I’ll lead the prayer afterwards.”

Shalim leaves the tent, leaving Kenway alone with his maps, looking over the supply lines and the surrounding area. Forming a plan to try and deprive his enemy of the necessary supplies, he sends a runner out to the bonfire messaging system and calls in Rahmann Zhao, Cornelius the Young, and Fernando da Madrid. The latter two show up together.

“I want you both to secure our supply lines. Make sure we keep them; they’re vital,” he says, having a glaring match with Fernando. As they leave, Fernando stumbling to walk backwards, Rahmann Zhao walks in, nodding at Kenway. “And you, you need to scout out and attack the enemy supply lines. Deprive them of their supplies.”

Meanwhile, inside the castle, Austontio is attempting to put up a defense.

“Man the cannons, everyone! AND USE THE FIRE! Hahahaha…. This will be FUN!”

“Umm… sir… there’s no one to man the cannons.”

“Hahahahehehohoheheha… what? No one? What do you MEAN there’s no one?”

“You brought in the canons, sir, but none of us know how to use them.”

“WHAT??? This won’t do, it won’t do at all… someone must BURN!” And with that, he activated his flamethrower hat and swept it across the front ranks, incinerating several of his own men.

“Archers! USE THE FIRE!”

Abdu Shalim enters his commander’s tent. “Sir,” he says, “The encirclement is complete, and I have other good news. Oh, and I borrowed the telescope.” He puts said object down on the table, smiling apologetically.

“What’s the news, Abdu?”

“We’re facing Austonio Austonio Machete Michelangelo Rasputin Elder III, Esquire, Practicing Wizard at Law. He’s batshit insane, and is just as likely to kill his own men as he is ours. I recognized his soldiers – those psychedelic colors and the look of terror on their faces is unmistakable.”

“Excellent. Let’s make the rounds for the daily prayer first.”

1 Month, 11 Days, 13 Hours.

One month. One month and Christian Kenway almost had his opponent in his grasp. His War Elephants had thrown Austonio’s forces into panic, and he was picking up defectors by the hour. He almost had his Belfry up, and was a few hours away from victory. He had just sent out a runner to the bonfire system to summon Abdu Shalim to his tent to smash the opposition.

That is why he was so vexed by the parchment in front of him.

Adbu Shalim enters the tent. “Sir?”

“Austonio has asked for a cease-fire and challenged me to a duel. If he were saner, I’d put it down to desperation. But I don’t know what to think.”

“When would the duel be?”

“In half an hour. Do you have an idea?”

“Yes… send one of the deserters back with an acceptance, and set the field to be near the front gates. We might be able to get him to take an arrow in the back.”

“And even if we don’t, he’s not sane enough to fight properly. Your council is to my liking, old friend. Let’s do it.”

An hour later, the two forces are arrayed outside the fort, leaving a 5-meter diameter ring in the center, where their generals are putting on their armor and weapons.

They both step into the ring, with their ranged weapons at the ready. The signal is given, and Kenway fires an arrow at Austonio, who ignites it with a stream from his flamethrower, incinerating the shaft. The arrowhead bounces off the pants he’s put on his head, and he grabs his Guan Dao and charges forward, keeping the flamethrower on.

Pulling out his Xyston, Kenway strikes several times at Austonio’ managing to knock the Guan Dao out of his hands with the Xyston’s shaft. Attempting to keep the pyromaniac at bay, however, has badly charred his spear, which crumbles as he discards it. Kenway takes out his shield and Gladius, and attempts to protect himself from Austonio’s flail and still-firing flamethrower. The flail makes repeated dents in his Aspis, and the flamethrower slowly heats it up, nearly making it too hot to hold.

Then the flamethrower runs dry.

Austonio draws his shortsword and starts wildly striking Kenway’s shield, trying to break through with a frenzied assault. The clang of metal on metal reverberates, until suddenly it falls silent. Austonio, having his own momentum pushed against him by a savage strike from Kenway’s shield, is on the floor, bleeding.

The last thing he sees is the galdius of his foe striking at his throat.

Kenway holds the severed head, high, and with a flash of light returns to the waiting area.

End of Siege

Statistics:
Total Siege Time: 1 Month, 11 Days, 13 Hours, 45 Minutes. Total Losses: 5,200 men
 * Sheng/Kenway: 34
 * Austonio: 5,166

Round 3
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Ryan the Dreaded is sitting in his tent, completely ignoring the contents of the small chest within. He has his cannons at the ready, with loads of grapeshot. All that’s needed is getting them up close. And he has 5,000 men.

“Captain,” one of his men called, striding into the tent, “we have around 50 or so deserters.”

“Excellent. Choose 5 at random. They will be my evening entertainment. As for the remaining number, well… we now have reserves,” Ryan says, smiling pleasantly.

The man who went by Master paced up and down in his quarters, trying to puzzle out where his 50 men – a tenth of his elites – went. He had asked them to scout the enemy forces, but they hadn’t returned. He stormed out into the hall, walking towards the war room, drawing stares and mutters from his soldiers. He looks over the contents of the chest he was given, and started to formulate a plan.

1 Month, 4 Days, 19 Hours.

Ryan the Dreaded walked towards his tent, grinning from ear to ear. He’d lost a lot of his troops, but every day his men picked up more deserters. Taking five for his nightly fun, he launched their remains over the walls with his cannons each week. As he strolled into his tent, he stopped short seeing several of his men inside.

“Captain, we’ve had enough.”

Within the castle, the man who went by Master stalked out of his room. He only has a token force left, not enough to face the waves that his opponent threw at him day after day. He walks out on the battlements, blood-red sky behind him as he surveys the rotting field before him. He felt an arrow pierce his lung. Gasping he turned towards the archer behind him.

“Sir, we’ve had enough.”

The soldier draws his arrow from his struggling commander. The last thing Master sees is his own subordinate loading two arrows. The last thing he remembers is the points tearing his eyes out.

In his tent, Ryan is pinned down by his own soldiers, struggling against their grip. Their leader raises his cutlass high and stabs him though the heart.

That night, two poles are erected. One is a boarding pike holding Ryan the Dreaded’s severed head. The other is a Jida Lance impaled through the body of the man who went by Master, his back a pincushion for his archers.

A brief flash of light and the two bodies disappear.

End of Siege

Statistics

 * Total Time: 1 Month, 5 Days, 6 Hours, 30 Minutes.
 * Total losses: 10,038
 * Master: 5,507
 * Ryan: 4,531

Round 4
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Yao Long paced back and forth in his tent, trying to determine how to take control of the enemy’s fortifications. He had no siege engines, yet he needed to breach the castle before him. He couldn’t remember why, just that it was relevant to his blood feud against the Mings. Cursing himself for a lack of preparation, he summons an officer to his quarters and tasks him with the only thing he can think of in a time like this: a continuous arrow bombardment.

James Evans is sitting in his quarters, cursing himself for not bringing any troops trained to use his countermeasures. Still, the enemy hadn’t put up siege weaponry yet, so that was a good sign. One of his men knocked at his door.

“Come in, soldier. Report.”

“The enemy has started an arrow bombardment, sir.”

“Then they’re trying to put up siege engines. Can we retaliate?”

“That’s the thing, sir, there seems to be no activity other than the arrows,” the soldier says. Evans smiles at the news. The British hadn’t supplied his enemies well enough. They were desperate.

“Have the men stay within the castle, but post lookouts on the towers if they try anything difficult.”

“Yes sir.” The soldier leaves, and Evans tries to puzzle out how he’s going to get his supply trains inside with the arrow bombardment.

1 Month, 22 Days, 15 Hours.

Yao Long had the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Thanks to his quartermaster, he hadn’t run out of arrows yet, though it was only a matter of time. However, the opportunity to capture the castle had fallen right into his lap.

“He wants single combat. I’m going to accept,” he told the officer he had summoned, It’s the best chance we have. Send a messenger back to him, placing the field in front of the.

Evans is looking over the battle plans in his quarters, examining how he can try and salvage the situation. The arrow bombardment was more effective than he thought – he was having trouble getting supplies through. One of his soldiers walks in, escorting a blindfolded messenger. He takes off the blindfold, and gives Yao’s acceptance of the duel.

“Perfect. I will see him when it starts. Let’s say… 3 hours – go back and tell him. I will take a cessation of the arrows as an agreement.”

After the arrows stopped, Evans sent runners out to the supply trains, instructing them to work double-time, since they have a short window in which to restock.

Three hours later, the two generals don their armor and meet on the field of battle.

At the signal, Yao tosses his Flying Guillotine, picks up his spear and charges at Evans, who sidesteps the projectile and grabs his Alabarda. Yao faints left, and goes for a quick, low stab to the groin. Evans nearly falls for it, but follows through on his defensive chop and hits the spear’s shaft, splintering it. The blow is absorbed on his armor, and the spear breaks. Yao does a combat roll out of the way, and draws his Dao and Hook Sword. Evans tries to use the range of the alabarda to his advantage, but Yao traps the weapon in his hook sword.

Forced to discard his polearm, Evans runs back to his starting area, and grabs his Yumi. He fires two shots, hitting Yao Long in both eyes.

A brief flash of light, and the two generals are transported back to the waiting area.

End of Siege

Statistics:

 * Total Time: 1 Month, 22 Days, 18 Hours, 10 Minutes.
 * Total Losses: 4,086
 * James Evans: 2,509
 * Yao Long: 1,577

Round 5
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Celina Lucyna looks at the contents of the small chest in her tent that she was given. It contained a scout’s report of the area, along with the locations of supply lines and a spyglass. She looks up at one of her officers entering.

“Ma’am, we don’t have canons or catapults here.”

“That shouldn’t be right. I’ll contact the quartermaster immediately. In the meanwhile, start firing with the crossbowmen, and have the Infantry protect them with the Tesudo formation. Tell the cavalry officers to have their men scout the area.”

“Yes Ma’am. Right away.”

Within the castle, Markus Thaowan is looking through the contents of the chest he’d been given. Looking at the positions of his supply lines, he picks up his looking glass and walks out towards the wall, intending to survey the fight.

Creeping up to the battlements, he takes a quick look at the enemy formation. He quickly ducks back down, narrowly avoiding a crossbow bolt. His looking glass is not so lucky. Tossing the now-useless piece of metal off the wall, he makes his way back to the safety of the interior. As he makes his way back to his quarters, one of his captains jogs up to him, white cape billowing with his hurry.

“Sir! We’ve captured a deserter!”

“A deserter? Our men should know better than that.”

“Not one of ours. One of the enemy’s. He says he has information for us.”

“Very good work, my friend. Let’s talk to him and see what he has to say.

Celina storms out of her quartermaster’s tent, furious at her Roman superiors. They hadn’t received any requests for siege equipment. She was stuck trying to capture a castle without anything to use. Fuming, she walked back to her tent. The catcalls of the off-duty men did nothing to lighten her mood. She had almost reached her tent when two stones flew overhead. They narrowly missed the quartermaster’s tent and stockpiles.

They can't even die right. She thought. Those stones hit more valuable men than them.

She starts running towards the carnage, urging her men to help find survivors amongst the mess.

1 Month, 13 Days, 13 Hours.

Markus surveyed the carnage before him. He no longer worried about a crossbow hitting him; his trebuchets had taken care of the massed formations nicely. His archers had whittled down the numbers of the enemy's cavalry, as well, and they had hit the enemy's infirmary several times. He turns to one of his captains, and gives the order to commence the latest bombardment.

Celina ran through her camp, dodging the unending rain of rocks. She tries to get her men up, only to see them get crushed by the falling rocks. As the bombardment ends, she wanders in a haze, remembering her hometown's destruction.

Markus surveyed the battlefield. He'd routed his enemy, though there appeared to be one still living. He picked up his bow, and drew the arrow. He fired.

Celina saw the arrow coming at her. Her brain was too sluggish to react, and it pierced her throat.

A brief flash of light, and the two generals returned to the waiting area.

End of Siege

Statistics

 * Total Time: 1 Month, 13 Days, 13 Hours, 45 Minutes.
 * Total Losses: 10,033
 * Celina Lucyna: 10,001
 * Markus Thaowan: 32

Round 6
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Austonio was pacing in his tent, waiting for a burst of inspiration. He had no care in the world for strategy – that was for the sane. Unbidden, an idea struck. Cackling, he exits to inform his men of his plans, such as they are.

Cadwalader is looking over the maps in his room, trying to decide what his opponent is trying to hide in his apparent randomness. He writes out orders that he thinks should leave all bases covered, and sends out runners to his men. Deciding to mull over his opponent over a meal, he moves to the door to make his way to the fort’s dining hall.

“Sir?” one of his soldiers says as he opens the door, “You might want to see this."

“Lead on.” Cadwalader followed his soldier into a courtyard – lit from above, despite the sun being blocked by the castle walls. “What the..?” He looks up, seeing hundreds of flaming arrows streak across the night sky. They are all exactly between the flags of Wales flying on the towers to each side. “I think he’s just trying to intimidate us,” Cadwalader says. “No, wait… those uniforms earlier, the disorganization, the fire… we’re facing Ausontio.”

Cadwalader’s face slowly stretches in a grin.

1 Month, 4 Days, 10 Hours.

Cadwalader leaned back in his quarters, satisfied with the outcome of the siege. Austonio’s men had unconditionally surrendered upon knowing who they faced. All that was left was the man himself, and his former subordinates had offered to bring him in.

Austonio is running around the camp wearing only his flamethrower hat, burning anything flammable he can find. Tents, grass, people, it mattered not. Just that it burned. His men had abandoned his path of inspiration to defect to the boring, sane side of the Welshman. He didn’t much care – he had his flamethrower. Running to the most brightly-colored tent of the lot, he burns it. He cackles madly until; he hears a telepathic scream.

“NICHOLAS! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

He runs into the burning tent, and grabs the now-charred corpse of his cat. He runs outside, goes up to the highest point he can find, and raises the corpse to the sun.

“YOU CAN’T DIE A BEELESS DEATH!”

When he next wakes up, he is bound, hand and foot, in front of his foe. Cadwalader nods at a point above him.

As the headsman kills Austonio, a flash of light returns both generals to the waiting area.

End of Siege

Statistics:

 * Total Time: 1 Month, 4 Days, 11 Hours, 5 Minutes.
 * Total Losses: 5,342.
 * Austonio: 5,340
 * Cadwalader: 2

Round 7
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Ryan the Dreaded paced in his tent, trying to piece together an attack plan. His men were in position, and he just needed to get the canons up and running. The defenders of the fort hadn’t harassed him as much – they’ll learn how he dealt with overzealous authorities! They took away his… his…

He couldn’t remember what it was. Just that it was something important to him.

“Cap’n,” his first mate, Marc Barón Angulo, said, running up to him, “I have a report.”

“Okay, Marc, what is it?”

“Well, cap’n, they don’t seem to be prepared to repel anyone. Or anything. One of the men threw a grappling hook all the way up the top, and this one bloke just stood there holing a flaming arrow. He didn’t even have a bow,” he said, and nearly burst out laughing. Ryan smiled.

“This will be fun.”

“Though they seem to have someone with this very odd weapon. They dropped it down from the top, and it covered one man’s head. When they yanked it up, there was no more head.” Ryan smiled again, looking slightly more sinister.

“I want that.”

Inside the fort, Yao Long is trying to decide whether the attack was good or bad. He was horribly undersupplied – he didn’t even have proper weapons for his men. The most he could do was use his Flying Guillotine to pick them off, but there were thousands of them and he was only one man. There was only one thing to do.

“Cap’n!” Marc called, grinning from ear to ear, “Boy do I have news for you!”

“What is it?”

“The enemy general just turned himself in! We’ve put him in the torture tent.” Ryan smiled, knowing his night would be fun.

Yao Long’s screams echoed throughout the night. When they fall silent, a flash of light returns both generals to the waiting room.

End of Siege

Statistics:

 * Total Time: 0 Months, 1 Day, 4 Hours.
 * Total Losses: 1
 * Ryan: 1
 * Yao: 0

Round 8
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Celina Lucyna storms out of the Quatrermaster’s tent, furious at her superiors in Rome. Due to a mix-up in the city itself, she was left without any kind of siege weaponry, yet she still has to take the fort before her. She stalks back towards her tent, trying to formulate a strategy through both her bad mood and the catcalls that only made it worse.

Christian Kenway walked along the battlements, trying to pick out targets for his Scorpion Ballistae. His men had just finished placing the barricades – one in front of each side. He spotted what appeared to be an officer at the latrine. Or he at least looked important. “Do you guys see the man trying to shit with a shield?” He passes his telescope to the man operating the Scorpion.

“Yes, sir. I see him. You think he looks important?”

Kenway takes the telescope back. “It looks to be a good 50 metres away, and I think the wind is of medium strength, from left to right. Can you hit?”

“At this distance? I can call my target…. I’m aiming for the neck.” He fires.

“Haha! You got him!” Kenway shouts, clapping the ballistaman on the back. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a flask. “Here. Have a couple swigs. And don’t tell Fernando – he’d have a fit.”

The ballista’s crew all have a drink, and pass the flask back to Kenway. “Damn, that’s good stuff,” the loader says, “Wish I could get some of that for myself.”

“It’s all our quartermaster has. If you want some, tell him I sent you.”

Celina sat down in her tent, highly irritated. One of her officers – one in her loyal inner circle, no less, had been killed. While at the lavatory, no less. It pissed her off enough to send out an order to start the crossbow volleys earlier than she wanted to. There’s obviously a sharpshooter up there, she thought, rationalizing, I need to make them keep their heads down if we’re to win.

1 Months, 23 Days, 20 Hours.

Celina Lucyna threw her fork at her tent’s post. She’d just finished eating, and a report came in that another of her officers had been sniped. Along with the mounting desertions, as well as the raids that kept coming nearly every night, she was going to run out of men, fast. She walked out amongst her troops, trying to figure out where the raiders would strike next.

Christian Kenway pointed at the map on the table that was held down by rapidly-draining glasses of whiskey.

“Hit here in a couple hours.”

“Sir, that’s our fort. You’re drunk.”

“Oh. Then try… here. Shots for all who get back alive, double round for whoever gets the enemy general.”

“Got it, sir.” As his raiding party leaves, one of them turns to him.

“You know, sir, you’re not so bad for a merc.”

Celina Lucyna went on watch herself this night. All too often, the men who were posted on night watch weren’t seen the next morning, though their partners swore they saw nothing. Noticing her watch partners slacking, she rebukes them, “Keep sharp, men. You never know when they’ll raid. If you’re caught napping, you’ll be impaled on their swords.”

“And if she’s caught napping, they’ll impale her a different way,” one of the men muttered, not quite under his breath.

“Admit it. You’d like to do the impaling,” the other muttered back.

“So would you.”

At that moment, they heard hooves thundering towards them. Before they could sound the alarm, the riders swarmed over them, ransacking the camp and burning the tents.

“I get double shots, sir,” the raiding party’s leader says, plunking a sack down in front of Christian Kenway. He unties the sack, revealing the head of Celina Lucyna.

“Oh, that’s just sick,” Christian says, “Get that thing out of here, and go get your drinks.”

A brief flash of light, and the generals are back in the waiting area.

Statistics:

 * Total Time: 1 Month, 24 Days, 0 Hours, 48 Minutes.
 * Total Losses: 9301
 * Celina: 6215
 * Christian: 3086

Round 9
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Cadwalader the Cunning is looking over the contents of the chest in his tent. He’d just given his orders to his commanders, and his sappers should be on the job soon. He picks up the spyglass, his quiver and his bow, beckoning to a few members of his guard to follow him. He walks a short distance away from the tents, and scans the walls of the castle with his spyglass. He signals to one of his guard.

“Are the trebuchets up yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell them to grab buckets from the latrines and fling the contents over the wall. Try to hit some of the defenders if you can.”

Markus Thaowan had just finished giving orders to his men. Grabbing the spyglass from the chest in his tent, he walks up to the battlements, and takes a look out at the battlefield. Waving over one of his trebuchet operators, he points at an area he thinks is the mess hall.

“They should be eating around now. Can you hit that from here?”

“We should be able to, sir.”

“Good. Get all trebs on this wall firing at it. Let’s do some damage.” Thaowan stands up and then gets hit in the face by something warm, smelly, and travelling quite fast. “I.. what?” he asks, confused.

“This seems to be taken straight from a latrine, sir.”

“So now they’re acting like monkeys. Wonderful.”

1 Months, 30 Days, 15 Hours.

Cadwalader the Cunning had just finished assembling his troops in the staging area. Between his trebuchets and sappers, there was nearly made a hole in the wall – the cracks were nearly large enough to let men through. The last stone was thrown, and with a resounding crash, the wall fell. “CHARGE! You know what to do!” Cadwalader nodded at his two High Marshalls, and his army marched forth.

“Come on, men, reinforce the breach!” Markus shouts, waving forward the pikemen who haven’t succumbed to sickness. ”Hold here! We haven’t lost yet!” He takes a few steps back and sheaths his steel shortsword, and picks up his own pike, helping reinforce the gap with his tower shield. His opponent’s army crashes in, and he feels himself getting pushed back.

They break through. Markus catches the eye of the man who appears to be commanding, and flourishes his shortsword in a salute. The man turns to face him, salting him in turn with his longsword.

Cadwalader holds his sword and hammer in a fighting stance, staring down what appeared to be the enemy general. He charged in, swinging the spike of his hammer at the shield, attempting to hook it out of the way, while raising his main hand up to parry the inevitable counter attack.

Caught off-guard, Markus raises his shield to absorb both impacts, and lashes out with it, pushing Cadwalader back. Cadwalader disengages, pulling the spike of his warhammer out of the shield. Markus reinitiates the exchange, coming in with a high chop, which is parried by Cadwalader’s shield. The two duel, with Markus easily taking Cadwalader’s blows on his shield, while Cadwalader moves around and parries Markus’ slashes and thrusts.

Eventually, Markus overextends with a stab. Cawdalader swiftly punishes the mistake, bringing his warhammer down full-force on his foe’s limb. Markus’ armor protects him, but Cadwalader quickly uses the crossguard of his longsword to trap his foe’s shortsword. He pulls, throwing Markus off balance, and spins around behind him. Cadwalader drops his longsword and swings the spike of his hammer two-handed into the base of his foe’s skull.

Meanwhile, the battle rages, seeming to be a draw. Cadwalader walks towards the front lines, and throws down Markus Thaowan’s head. The Asaean troops recoil in horror, and their captains surrender.

A brief flash of light returns both generals to the waiting room.

Statistics:

 * Total Time: 1 Month, 30 Days, 18 Hours, 29 Minutes.
 * Total Losses: 10,125
 * Cadwalader: 3733
 * Markus: 6,392

Round 10
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Lloyd Kumar is taking his meal in his tent, looking over the contents of the chest he was given. He didn’t know why his employers wanted this castle taken, just that they gave him the army and promised a fortune. He had just finished writing and encoding his orders when a messanger runs up to him.

“Sir! The enemy is leaving the castle!”

“I… what?” Lloyd walks out of his tent, and sees the opposing force running, full speed, towards his army. “Tell the others to let them pass through. This is nearly the expected enemy force.” The messenger nods and runs off, and Lloyd watches as his army splits before the invaders.

As the force rides past, he orders his crossbowmen to the front, and gives the signal to firing volleys. Wave after wave of bolts spring forth, falling through the now-scattering enemy host. Lloyd spots the man who looks like their leader, draws his bow, and fires, hitting the man in the shoulder. After the opposing force disappeared, Lloyd ordered his shock troops inside the castle, backed up by suqads of infantry and crossbowmen.

Ryan the Dreaded had ran out with his men, and they stopped to make a camp for the night. Ryan pulled the arrow out of his shoulder, and lay down to rest. In the morning, his first mate found him lying in a pool of his own blood, with more flowing from every orifice in his body.

Lloyd looked around from the Castle battlements, still weary of a trap. Satisfied, he returned below. It was the easiest fortune he’d ever made.

A flash of light returns both generals to the waiting room.

Statistics:

 * Total Time: 1 Month, 1 Days, 10 Hours, 27 Minutes.
 * Total Losses: 1148
 * Lloyd: 1
 * Ryan: 1147

Round 11
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Christian Kenway is drinking with his generals and his men, trying to keep morale up for the coming fight. He’d given his orders already, so he didn’t worry about taking another round. He was on his… his… well, he couldn’t remember, but he asked for another drink anyway.

Abdu Shalim carried his commander’s passed out body back to his tent, helped by one of the infantrymen. I’m not going to envy him come morning, he thought, I hope he can command.

The man known as Master paced up and down in his quarters, trying to formulate a plan through his frustration. His men had taken to calling him “Billybob.” He didn’t know why that pissed him of so much, but it was interfering with his planning. He had to come up with a strategy quickly.

1 Month, 10 Days, 12 Hours.

Abdu Shalim met with the small group that came under a white flag, carrying what appeared to be a human-shaped dagger rack.

“We would like to meet your general, sir,” a soldier said,

“I am the leader for now, at least until General Kenway gets over his hangover.”

“Well, sir, we have the body of our leader here. We’re surrendering.”

A brief flash of light returns both generals to the waiting room.

Statistics:

 * Total Time: 1 Month, 10 Days, 12 Hours, 40 Minutes.
 * Total Losses: 7,923
 * Christian: 423
 * Master: 7,500

Round 12
0 Months, 0 Days, 18 Hours.

Yao Long is trying to prepare a battle strategy to assault the fort before him. He had an uphill battle – both literally and figuratively. It turned out monastery life was terrible at preparing him for an assault. He had no siege weapons, nor did he have any arrows for his bowmen. Sighing, he calls in none of his officers.

Celina Lucyna is in her quarters, looking over the plans she drew up to counter the army camped at her doorstep. She looked over her plans well into the night, trying to puzzle out why there had been no aggressive maneuvres from her opponents.

In the morning, she went out to the battlements to survey the enemy.

There was none.

A brief flash of light returns both generals to the waiting room.

Statistics:

 * Total Time: 0 Month, 1 Days, 9 Hours, 15 Minutes.
 * Total Losses: 5
 * Yao: 3
 * Celina: 2