Hallo and stay a while. This here Rp I wrote in anticipation of a big battle between the realms of Fissoa and Luria Nova. Some 1255 men vs 955. Its a particular dilemma because Aldrakar has friends on both sides of the battle line. They are fighting directly for the honor of the Emperor as the Region they will be fighting in and over is the personal holding of the Emperor. Its being TO'ed by the Fissoans. Enjoy!
Before the eve of Battle
Long columns of men marched down the sloppy excuse of a road that existed between the lands called Grodno and the Imperial Holding of Outer Giask. It was the first day of winter but this far south, snow never touched the land. Birds that flew in the sky darted away as the reflected light of the hundreds of shining breastplates, helmets and unpainted shields blinded them. That very same armor would be saving lives in but a few hours from now.
Scouts darted in an out of the Luria warhost, some carrying letters but most had draw crude maps or offered guesstimates on the number of Fissoan's they were about to face. Last Aldrakar heard the Fissoan's outnumbered the Lurians 4 to 3, odds that gave him enough cause to worry. He tried not to show it to the men but they struggled with very similar problems. They laughed without merit at the jokes of their comrades and fussed over the smallest of things. These were not boys, these were grown men.
The recurring jolt of inspiration came in the form of army sergeants reminding the men that at least they had bellies full of food and never had to fight on an empty stomach! Something the enemies of Luria couldn't always claim! or so the sergeants insisted. Aldrakar studied the faces of his men and saw that it had little effect. He moved closer to their lines and marched with them. It was the least he could do and pretty soon he would be standing next to them when the storm of violence plucked them from life. One last honor to them when peace still reigned.
''Sir, do you think we can win the coming battle?'' Came that most dreaded of questions from an old veteran. His left eye milky and his face as crumpled as forgotten parchment. The man looked calm enough but nonetheless licked his lips in anticipation. Aldrakar looked him in the eye for a moment and gave a different answer than the one their eyes communicated to one another. ''We can. All we need to do is throw 3 javelins at the start of the battle, rush forwards when the arrow-clouds come our way and defend the streets the infantry take once we get into the town itself. Think you can manage that?'' Aldrakar's feeble attempt at levity. To his surprise was he greeted by chuckling and laughter from all the men that had overheard. A hard smile decorated his face for a while as he thought: that's the fear of battle laughing.
The rest of the morning was spend in much the same way. Hard marching and trying to comfort each other as they inched ever closer to the beast that was known as battle. Most of it Aldrakar spend being in a bad mood. There was no avoiding it. Soren and Evelyn would be there and possibly friends of theirs. Duty, friendship, killing , what was to take precedence, who could tell?
Aldrakar spend his time trying to figure out a way to fulfill both his duty and not kill any friends. Unfortunately for him, that was a paradox that would stay with him until the moment battle was joined.
