Ryanark
the Fell Omen
THE SACKING OF RAEVENDRECHT
30th of Eden's Shine, 1532
Citizens of Raevendrecht escape into the river, as the forces of Silas try to hold against the ruthless Hadrian onslaught.
"SILAS! COME OUT, YOU HERETIC!"
— Lieutenant Aleksandra Salier
[!] This information was made known to the world. [!]
There was a thin frost permeating through the men on this cold northern evening.
Soldiers sneak through the woods— stopping just as the warm fires of Raevendrecht peek through the icy fog.
Huddled in a tight formation, kneeling at the foot of the road.
The Legion patiently awaits the signal...
30th of Eden's Shine, 1532
Citizens of Raevendrecht escape into the river, as the forces of Silas try to hold against the ruthless Hadrian onslaught.
"SILAS! COME OUT, YOU HERETIC!"
— Lieutenant Aleksandra Salier
[!] This information was made known to the world. [!]
There was a thin frost permeating through the men on this cold northern evening.
Soldiers sneak through the woods— stopping just as the warm fires of Raevendrecht peek through the icy fog.
Huddled in a tight formation, kneeling at the foot of the road.
The Legion patiently awaits the signal...
On the warm morning of the 30th, the Imperial Legion of Hadriana is mustered for routine training. They engage in duels with each of their comrades, fighting their utmost until noon, when a break is called. They are asked to keep their armor on, something of a peculiar request.
The confusion is almost immediately cleared up, as the Lord-Commander, Ser Siegfried od Albion calls the legionnaires to action, immediately setting off on a march toward the city of Raevendrecht with a small band of soldiers— numbering about 10 legionnaires and mercenaries on foot, and one cavalryman.
The soldiers make a quick move towards the city of Raevendrecht, hoping to catch the city off-guard. At the front of the formation was the Lord-Commander himself, and Lieutenant Aleksandra Salier at his side, the men moving at a brisk pace behind them as the cavalryman moves to scout ahead of the formation.
By mid-day, the band of soldiers reaches the outskirts of Raevendrecht, their approach well hidden by the tall spruces and tight vegetation. The formation breaks and the men are ordered into the nearby woods, just across from the western gate of the red city, their presence unknown to any passer-by, as they spread out along the treeline. Patiently awaiting the signal.
They did well to hunker down while they could, digging foxholes and brewing tea as they patiently waited for nightfall to approach. They could not afford to build any large fires, for fear of being spotted. The sentries of the make-shift camp were on alert, eyes peeled to the icy walls of Raevendrecht at all times. Meanwhile, the cavalry rode unobstructed, scouting the perimeter of the city to make sure no foul moves were made under the infantry’s noses.
Just a stone’s throw away, the red city was winding from the activities of the day. Citizens were going home, stoves were being lit inside their abodes, and the opening of the tavern was all surely underway. Yawning guards were stationed along the walls, looking out into the empty nothingness of the cold north, oblivious to the presence of the Imperial Legion within the woods. All they could think of was when they finally get to go home for a warm drink.
The quaint fires were snuffed out. The men picked up their swords and hammers, and the horn of war was blown, echoing throughout the cold night.
A blanket of confusion was cast over the city, and the meager guard force of the night was rudely awoken from their daydreams, scrambling to rally whomever they could for the imminent surprise attack — All the while, the band, commanded by Ser Siegfried moved its way up to the northern side-gate, just a small distance away from the main western gate they watched so carefully. Under cover of night, all the panicked men of Raevendrecht could hear was chain and plate rattling in the night, the snow giving way to their march.
The band approached the gate virtually unchallenged, all the while arrows loosed from a lone cavalryman kept the guards of the main western gate at bay, and a hail of deadly arrows befell the city. The main infantry group was all the while forcing their way through the doors of the gate, and with a great crack, the doors failed, letting in a harrowing tide of iron will, and steel swords barrelling through the red city. The clueless citizens scattered in a great panic, their cries heard miles away as they rushed to flee from the onslaught— though they were not the target.
A skirmish broke out, blows traded and the great song of blades began to ring so violently throughout the city among the cries of women and children. A meager force was there to meet Ser Siegfried’s charge head-on, quickly beaten back into the relative safety of the palace. A distracted legionnaire is caught between the gate, separated from the main force, and slain by a shifty guard of Raevendrecht, reveling for a moment in short victory. An illusion of safety was cast over them. Returning fire, the city’s guards loose arrows down upon the legionnaires, Lieutenant Salier diligently giving calls for shields as they ascended the palace, looking for any nook and cranny to sneak through. A failure such as this would cost the city dearly, and so it did.
The crafty legionnaires breached the palace, they were inside. The clashing of swords rang throughout the halls of the once-quiet palace, heard from the streets of Raevendrecht as their protectors were slain in a few scattered skirmishes. A legionnaire slips and cracks his skull open after falling a few stories down, dying upon impact. Surrounded, a guard in embellished armor slips out, haplessly caught in a chase across the rooftops of Raevendrecht — like a rat skittering across wet tiles. The man dives into the muddy canal, promptly slain by the pursuing Lord-Commander. His body drifts away with the current after the legionnaires relieve him of his armor.
The raid carries on. It is not over yet, for Ser Siegfried has his eye on a certain quarry of his; the Stadtholder himself. After an hour of frantic searching, he is discovered, having cowered in a watchtower for some time since all of his men were slain in battle. To his credit, he makes a defiant last stand, crawling out of the tower into the hallway, meeting the gaze of three legionnaires. Following a small skirmish in the tight corridor, he was beaten, and captured.
The Imperial Legion rejoiced in victory just outside the palace of Raevendrecht, the Stadtholder Silas Moetiour in tow, shackled in iron cuffs. The legionnaires took what they could from the palace; ripping ceremonial armor off the show dolls, taking weapons from dead Hinterlanders, and grasping for any food just in reach from the stalls of the streets as they marched out of the city in victory.
Blood stained the cobbled streets of Raevendrecht, and women wept sorrowfully at the dead laying out on the streets, gore and entrails scattered across the walls of peoples’ homes. The smell of ash and smoke filled the evening air, frigid but warm with the sweet result of the victory, the heat of battle still rushing through the hearts of the legionnaires.
The defenders of Raevendrecht were slain, their leader captured at the hands of Lord-Commander Siegfried, and so the Imperial Legion marched back, singing all the way back home to the city of Adelsburg. The climate was much warmer, and the mead much stronger; they were welcomed with a great jubilee, and a congregation met them along with the presence of the Kaiser and his family. Then, the prisoner and the royal family were brought to the palace, the gates slamming shut as the talks began…
AVE HADRIANA!
LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!
ALDER BLESS THIS DAY!
Beginning
Hadriana - 11
Raevendrecht - 8
End
Hadriana - 9 (Losses: 2)
Raevendrecht - 0 (Losses: 8, 1 captured)
Hadriana - 11
Raevendrecht - 8
End
Hadriana - 9 (Losses: 2)
Raevendrecht - 0 (Losses: 8, 1 captured)
