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The High King of Aerthys is dead, and many more have died because of it.

You are General Winfield Belmonte, commander of the Army of the Antary and you look across the green valleys outside the city of Foebaddyn with a frown. There is a nip of cold in the early morning air. All around you your army deploys across dewy fields and sections of green woods. Where once pastures had been framed by split rail fences they were now open, the rails broken up as firewood for the army. Barns across the area were devoid of food, looted by the withdrawing Chartists and scoured clean by your own foraging parties.

The locals of this area are firmly within the Chartist camp. They look on your army with derision, hate, and fear. To them, it is you who is the invader. Young men are scarce, it is mostly children, women, and the elderly who glare out of their doorways at you.

It's hard to imagine how your nation will ever recover from this devastating blow to once again become whole. So much hate had built and built, fear, distrust and division were rampant. There was a cold and calculating part of your mind which had hoped this sanguinary struggle might change that. So far enough mutual blood had been spilt to fill a river and it wasn't enough, neither side would yet yield.

Perhaps today, perhaps this morning that would change.

God knew that your boys had suffered enough for it. From the early scuffle at Shedford Downs it had fought in an escalating series of conflicts. Bare Bluff, where you'd seen regiments swept away like dry leaves by close-range canister fire. Petyr's Mill, where you'd traded General Branch, your most trusted field commander, for a Lordship and a victory. Clearhallow, where you'd heard the anguished crying of wounded men echo through the valleys. Cedar Mountain, where in smoke-wreathed evergreens men had fought blindly with bayonet and rifle butt.

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And now, Heiland Creek, the final resting place for three thousand of your men. Another fifteen thousand were left scarred, some of them permanently disabled. Heaps of severed limbs formed outside of the surgeon's tent as he worked through the night amputating shattered limbs to stave off inevitable death from gangrene. Including the missing and captured, you'd lost over one fifth of your total fighting force. It would be a devastating loss had it not also secured the destruction of the enemy army and the death of their celebrated commander. This sort of tragic toll was called "Victory".

You'd held a council of war the night after the fighting ended to determine how next to proceed. The mood was muted, but the decision clear: the attack must be pressed while the enemy was weak. You had been forced by the reality of the situation to take days to rest, rearm and re-organize your force.

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Van Rosser's corps was all but annihilated. There simply wasn't enough left to put together a reasonable fighting force. Against his strenuous objections, you'd broken off his most able units and parceled them to your other battered corps, and left Van Rosser and his survivors to see to the multitude of enemy prisoners and captured wagons. Your son, Sylas, now commanded one of Van Rosser's old regiments though you tried not to think about it.

With your remaining three corps and your cavalry, you'd rallied up and advanced on the city of Foebaddyn and its defending forts.

Where previously an enemy army opposed you, now there was nothing but scattered cavalry and skirmishers to harass and slow you. Your envelopment of of the enemy flank had overrun their baggage train and all but anihilated their army. Most of the enemy had surrendered and only loose groups of men slipped free to flee back to their lines. That wasn't to say the enemy was defenseless.

Unable to oppose you on the field of battle they'd elected to hide behind fixed fortifications. Two, large, stonework and masonry citadels guarded the main approach to the city of Foebaddyn, your objective. These would be easy enough to reduce with your siege guns, the problem was instead the earthworks and redoubts.

You look through a pair of field glasses at some now. Green pastures were cut through with angry red-brown lines, trenches, rifle pits, embankments, ditches, palisades, abatises. These defenses dot the hills and keep your heavy guns out of range of the main forts. However, if all goes according to plan you won't have to deal with them.

You don't need to wait long, a lone rider carrying a white flag of truce gallops from the enemy lines toward you. His white uniform is stained a ruddy brown from road dust, but he's still unmistakably a Legitimist, one of yours. You wait the painful minutes for him to reach you, your heart sinking at his grim expression. He horse stops beside yours.

"Major, report," you say.

He shakes his head. "No surrender, sir. The enemy won't hear of it. They intend to fight."

You want to swear but you don't, it wouldn't do any good. The egos of men will lead to yet more deaths. Unless the enemy know something you don't.

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Your army is not the only Legitimist Army in these parts, a second army- the Army of Southmark- operates much further south, ideally keeping the enemy engaged and distracted for you to take this town unopposed. As it happened, you'd engaged and defeated what you think was the main enemy body. Was there another group of enemy marching to relieve Foebaddyn? You'd heard no rumors from the soldiers you'd captured, but it was conceivable that they just didn't know.

In either case, whether there is an enemy relief force or merely battered pickets returning here, they are likely to be closely followed by General Collins, the commander of the Army of Southmark. Assuming his men have fared better than yours, you could make use of fresh troops. Taking the redoubts would be easier with them, though it will likely be some days before they arrive.

You don't have enough men to encircle the city effectively, so starving them out through siege isn't feasible. You might leave a small force to fix the enemy defenders here while you march a large chunk of your army through snaking backwoods valley roads to attempt to take the city from behind, bypassing the forts entirely, but the risks of such a plan failing are multitude. Not the least of which is the enemy recognizing the flank march and simply redeploying the bulk of their defenses.

Lastly, you could try a direct assault. Before you can take the city, you need to reduce the forts, and to reduce the forts you need to take the redoubts, and that will require a main infantry attack. The enemy forces are well sited, their flanks anchored on steep valley walls. Though you outnumber them you'll face a difficult fight clearing them out of those earthworks.


>We'll consider options for an attack on the redoubts
>We'll dig in and wait for General Collins to arrive with reinforcements
>We'll leave a diversionary force and attempt to march around their flank to find a weak spot.
>Write in

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>>5063151
>Send our more woods worthy units through the forests to flank the fortifications while pounding the shit out of the enemy earthworks with our heavy artillery.

>>5063164
+1. Always enjoy this one, QM, BEEN great so far.

>>5063164
support

>>5063164
+support

>>5063151
Supporting >>5063164

There are a few things to consider. I don't think we should flank the city because we'd be abandoning our position on the railway that brings our supplies. However, hypothetically there is some merit to it, if they are forced to abandon their forts and redoubts to mount a hasty defence of the city from the north or south then we could crush them, after all they don't have enough men for a proper field army anymore, so they either forfeit the city or face us in the field, WE determine the engagement now, not them.

Still, I think just going through the redoubts and forts is overall less risky despite the toll it will take on us.

Part of the reason I think this is because there are a couple of things that could happen from a operational or narrative perspective. Here's some quotes that may be relevant.

>Once across the river, you can turn southeast and move into the valley and toward Foebadyn. I'll leave the specifics to you of course, but you'll have some options on how you approach the city. The terrain there is hilly, an easy place to conceal an army. Your cavalry will be of the utmost importance.
> "Major Belmonte hasn't written," Sylas says stiffly. "I'm told the army is already on the march, seeking to turn the usurpers back from Dukensk."
>Carlisle neatly folds the slip and puts it in his breast pocket. "The other forces then I think can be sent west. The governor of Dukensk is calling for fresh troops to handle a Chartist incursion."

>The combat around the city of Dukensk has raged across the open plains of the north for quite some time, with the Legitimist forces often coming out worse for wear. Your son Llewelyn has written often about the stinging defeats the army there has suffered. Time and again they find themselves outfought, outgunned, and outmaneuvered.

>"If their luck keeps up we'll lose Dukensk before year end," you say bitterly. The loss of such a major logistical hub could undo all your efforts up north.

Hypothetically there could be some forces hiding in the hills and forests around us, waiting for us to either make an overly aggressive move before moving in to flank us or waiting for reinforcements in order to reorganize into a fighting-fit force capable of once again engaging us, some forces did escape our previous battle.

Alternatively there could've been forces dispatched to shadow Collins or to outright do battle with him, it is possible that Collins could've been delayed or destroyed, though I find the latter to be unlikely, but anyways there could be enemy forces returning from battle fresh off a victory, so we should be wary of enemies returning from the south.

A farther flung possibility that I consider unlikely is that Dukensk to our north and west(?) could've fallen and an army could be heading our way, but I consider this to be extremely unlikely, more likely is that if it does fall it will be the site of our next campaign.

>>5063151
>>We'll consider options for an attack on the redoubts

Fire on them with our siege guns first, only send our men in once the defending soldiers are broken. Even though they're entrenched they won't be able to endure heavy fire forever.

>>5063151
>>We'll dig in and wait for General Collins to arrive with reinforcements

>>5063164
>>5063166
>>5063204
>>5063267
>>5063367


Writing

>>5063166
Thanks! Good to be back

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The valley sides are too steep for major movement. No division, or even brigade, could cross that ground and any attempt would certainly be detected by the pickets the enemy surely has on the high ground. That isn't to say that a regiment of light infantry well-versed in bushwhacking wouldn't be able to do it. A small flanking force would help to sow confusion in the enemy lines, possibly leading them to believe that a larger force had somehow gotten around them. The real challenge would be dealing with the redoubts and trenches.

The fortified redoubts dotting the high ground represent keystones in the enemy's defense but they aren't alone. A network of trenches connects everything and isolated rifle pits sit further up to break up any massed attacks and provide early warning. When coupled with the obstacles the Chartists had built, it would be damned hard to cross.

You have siege guns a plenty to shell the enemy with, these earthen redoubts would pose little challenge for them, but the problem is ammunition.

You wheel your horse back and trot along the road toward your main baggage train where scores of wagons are assembled. Team drivers and porters are in the process of unloading bags of cornmeal, flour, and oats as well as cartons of tinned meat, barrels of salt pork, fresh uniforms, bandages, ammunition, everything an active army needs. You know all too well how voracious an appetite a force in the field has. You'd burnt through nearly all of your allocated ammunition at Heiland Creek and had only managed to spring forward on this fresh offensive because of the liberated supplies you'd taken from the Chartist baggage. It was fortunate that both sides of this civil war still use the same rifles and cartridges.

Soon enough you reach the heavy siege guns. Crews are unlimbering pieces and wheeling them into position. Men with picks and shovels preparing positions for them to fire from. These guns each have a limited amount of shells stockpiled, and bringing in more will be time consuming, even with the captured railroad line. Maintaining a constant, heavy barrage simply isn't possible. You'd intended to save the bulk of these shells for reducing the two stone forts but you may be able to use them now to break the line.

A short but intense bombardment followed by a heavy infantry assault might shock the enemy sufficiently that your infantry can overrun the trenches and redoubts. Your soldiers will have to carry the brunt of the fighting but speed and shock may carry them through.

You might also simply being saturation shelling of the enemy lines. A slow, long term bombardment to break their resolve over several days, It will be time consuming but would be sustainable. After several days of relatively light shelling the enemy might be willing to surrender, otherwise you could launch your infantry offensive.

Most dramatically, you could throw prudence to the wind and simply unleash your entire arsenal on this line, leaving nothing for the forts. If the enemy lines crack you may have a chance to quickly take the forts by infantry assault before they can be properly manned. Otherwise you could then dig in and wait the next few days for your supply lines to replenish ammunition for the final push.


>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault
>Long, slow barrage to try to wear them down
>Expend all ammunition to destroy the redoubts and then mount an infantry assault on the forts.
>Write in

>>5064228
>>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault

>>5064228
>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault

>>5064228
>>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault

Hopefully our skirmishers on the flanks will contribute to the shock and confusion.

>>5064228
>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault
Can we send the Calvary to go around or have them scout the hills and places an army can hide?

>>5064227
We use rifled guns and have cartridge ammunition?

>>5064228

>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault

This ain't WW1, they don't have machine guns, probably don't have siege guns to form a counter-battery, and a short intense barrage should both reduce the enemy defences and force them to keep their heads down, which should allow us to get right on top of them, particularly if we advance closely behind our own barrage. Funnily enough, once someone is close, trenches work against the defender, it is easier to shoot down into a trench and you have a advantage in melee fighting down with bayonet and musket, saber and pistol in hand.

A long barrage could allow us to take a bloodless victory but it is a straight up "you either get total victory or lose out on the advantage of a sudden intense barrage to give your assault the advantage", though we'd still get the benefit of reducing their obstacles and some inflicted casualties.

As for the final prompt, I'd rather not risk it, better save some ammo for the forts.

>>5064228
>>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault

>>5064228
>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault
We're going to have some moniker like "The Butcher" by the time this campaign is over.

>>5065026
If we were woman would that change to "The Butch"?

>>5065079
No?

>>5064581
>Can we send the Calvary to go around or have them scout the hills and places an army can hide?
You could, but it's a long way around and will leave your army cavalry-less or leave the detatchment you send very isolated.

>>5064675
>We use rifled guns and have cartridge ammunition?
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mini%C3%A9_ball

Yes. Paper cartridges, not modern brass shell casings. Since there is no Claude-Étienne Minié in this universe I don't feel right calling them Minie balls, but that's what they are.

>>5065026
>We're going to have some moniker like "The Butcher" by the time this campaign is over.
It's funny how much General Belmonte parallels Robert E Lee both intentionally and accidentally.

https://www.historynet.com/the-butchers-bill.htm

Both in his public persona as an honorable gentleman but in his very real tendency to commit to deadly and aggressive assaults.

>Short Intense shelling followed by infantry assault
Writing

>>5065720
What if we only sent 20 men in pairs to scout?

"Take a message for me, lieutenant," you say, signaling a nearby aide. You dictate a rough sketch of your bombardment plan to your chief of artillery. If you can lay a heavy barrage on the enemy your main body should be able to close to close range and turn those trenches into their graves. The key will be moving your men over, around, and through the obstacles strewing the ground between here and there. Effective command and control requires your men to be neatly drawn up or else an army becomes an armed rabble and an armed rabble generally won't advance into fire left to their own devices.

You have the aide read your orders back to you to ensure he's taken them down properly before sending him on his way. Satisfied, you continue your ride back through the camp, seeking your chief of staff. The mood is subdued. Nearly everyone here has lost comrades in the fighting at Heiland Creek, many of them friends, others blood relatives. Fathers, sons, brothers, cousins, uncles, neighbors, left to lie in fallow fields. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but you'd gladly make such sacrifices again if it will end the fighting sooner.

There's no music in the camp this time, fiddles and fifes are silent while men cook a truncated breakfast for themselves. You've seen this army through hell and out the other side, but you may be about to send them in again.

You take sight of Major Carlisle standing outside your headquarters tent, holding an envelope and looking shaken. You manage to dismount and approach on foot before he notices you.

"General," he blurts, saluting.

"Major, I'd like you to take word to General Maddocks personally, I'd like two regiments of his finest light infantry. Bushwhackers, men with tracking and hunting experience. I have a special assignment for them."

"Y-yes sir." He looks distracted.

"Something the matter, Major?"

He looks at the envelope in his hands and you follow his gaze. He hesitates a moment and in that brief second, your heart seems to stop. He extends the letter to you. "Telegram from the Army of the North, sir. General Brennan."

You take the envelope with an unsteady hand. There's few reasons Brennan would telegram you directly. "Thank you, Major," you say with a calmness you don't feel. "See to my orders."

"General, I-"

"With haste, please."

Carlisle's jaw snaps closed and he salutes then marches off.

You take the letter into your tent before opening it.

General Belmonte,

I am saddened to inform you that your son, Major Llewellyn Bellmonte, has been wounded in action. He has been struck twice by Chartist musketry, once in the thigh and once below the elbow. He was unsaddled leading a saber charge on an enemy flank. His gallantry and courage led his regiment to run down at withdrawing Chartist infantry assault and I have made recommendation that he receive proper honors for this act.

I had Major Bellmonte attended by my personal surgeon and he believes his prognosis is good to save his leg. Llewellyn has been sent from Dukensk by train back to your family estate for rest and recuperation. I have made arrangements that he will be seen to and I have sent ahead to his wife.

As you will no doubt soon see in the papers, there has been a great and terrible engagement fought here outside the gates of the city. The enemy has been repulsed with heavy loss of life. The commitment of Vance's division that prevented the enemy from turning our flank. I hope that is some consolation to you.

Dearest regards and deepest sympathies,
Brennan.


You fold the letter up and lay it on the nightstand beside your cot. They may save Llewellyn's leg, but you note that Brennan makes no mention of his arm. Your eldest son will likely now be yet another invalid among the battalions of amputees that are rapidly filling the country. You know you should be grateful he is alive at all but . . . all you feel is sorrow. Sorrow, and fear for your youngest son, Sylas, now a regimental commander. You can only pray that one of your children will escape this war unscathed.

***

You are Major Sylas Bellmonte, and you feel very out of place. The uniform you wear, like the uniforms of all the officers of your army, was custom tailored for you. Your sisters had made it for you, stitching each seam and embroidering your cuffs and collar with your rank insignia, though it still shows you as a captain. It's a little looser on you now than it once was, a result of the weight you'd lost on campaign. It was dirtier, rougher, but no less stylish. You'd taken great care to cultivate an air of 'dash' to emulate your older brother's natural swagger as a cavalryman.

Now however, you stand out like a sheep among goats.

The men of your regiment wear road-beaten, dusty, homespun clothes. Wide brimmed cloth hats. Rather than your own neatly trimmed facial hair, they have beards to a man which they either wear long, bushy, or patchy if they're young. They chew tobacco, swear, tell dirty jokes, and have little regard for regulations, hardly even able to form a straight line at roll call.

And yet, they are one of the most elite units in the Army of the Antary. The 12th Debyn Vyre. Occasionally called "Jenner's Regiment" though Jenner had to relinquish command when they amputated his hand at the wrist- casualty of a Chartist musket ball which shattered the bones in his hand. More commonly, they are known as the Banshees, masters of loose-order skirmish tactics. In addition to the long, thin bayonet scabbards that hang from their belts they also carry the stout, thick-bladed machets that they used for clearing undergrowth in their swampy homeland.

You adjust the antique sword and scabbard on your own belt- a gift from Jenner which had been passed down to him from the regiment's original commander before his death. You feel more like an imposter than ever, a boy playing at being a man. These men have lived the reality of war while you only dreamed at it.

The regiment has been re-ordered into four companies after the losses sustained at Aerrol. Many of the regiment's officers were killed our wounded in that engagement so your company commanders are all fresh save for one, Lieutenant Dekker. The regiment had missed most of the fighting at Heiland Creek, being left in Aerrol to oversee Chartist POWs. They arrived in time to see action in the final hours on the final day, late enough to avoid the decimation that claimed most of Van Rosser's corps.

"Major Bellmonte, orders, sir!" The courier takes you by surprise but you hide it as well as you can, rising from the stump you sat on to take the sheaf of paper. You read over the scrawled note, a message from General Maddocks. Your regiment has been detailed a special assignment as part of the coming attack. A sneak attack through the woods on the flank in order to unseat the enemy.

You read the order again, and then a third time as your heart races. Your first command and your first combat just days later. This is what you had wanted, but now you find yourself wondering just how bad you want it. You'll need to brief your company commanders and the men, men you hardly know. There's no time for socializing. How will you try to come across?


>You are an aristocrat and they are your men. You don't need to be on the same level as them for them to take your orders. Remain aloof and professional.
>It would be best to try to integrate with them. Ditch your fancy uniform and portray yourself as a man of the earth at heart.
>You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination.
>Write in

>>5065723
You have scouts already deployed in the surrounding area to warn of any enemy approaches

>>5065765
Damnit son, we urged prudence, not heroics! Still, you did good.

Is Vance the leader of the detachment we separated from our own command to assist Dukensk?

>>5065769
>You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination.

We aren't a commoners and shouldn't try and fake who we are, our father managed to be popular where we were from despite his wealth and status, we should do the same. That being said, it probably wouldn't pay to be stiff, so lets focus them on the enemy and our common hatred of them.

Ah, Vance was under Van Rosser. It's good that we took the middle road with that earlier choice, just enough to repulse the enemy and still left us enough to get through Heiland Creek.

>>5065769
>>You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination.

>>5065769
>>You are an aristocrat and they are your men. You don't need to be on the same level as them for them to take your orders. Remain aloof and professional.

Our father is a lord and the general of this army. We should act like it.

>>5065720
>Both in his public persona as an honorable gentleman

I predict we'll lose that image once the papers say we killed General Winnower.

>>5065769
>You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination.

We do not lead from behind, this uniform will earn it's mud.

Part of me is interested in making Sylas play the kid out of his depth role tho.

Depending on how well this goes we could try pulling the diversionary attack on the forts and side step them once we have the operational room to maneuver past the trenches. At the least we'll be able to see what lies beyond.

>>5065769
>You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination.

>rising from the stump you sat on to take the sheaf of paper.
I first read this as Sylas wiping his bum before answering the summons. After all, he had been thinking deep thoughts during a momentary reprieve.

>>5065769
>>You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination.

>>5065769
>>You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination

>>5065769
You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination.

Time go away from me today, sorry guys. I'll post tomorrow

>You don't have anything in common with them save a hatred of the enemy. Show them your resolve and impress them with your determination

Writing

>>5066053
>I first read this as Sylas wiping his bum before answering the summons
lmao. No such luck I'm afraid!

>>5065787
>Is Vance the leader of the detachment we separated from our own command to assist Dukensk?
Correct, he is off in the north right now.

You send a young private around to fetch the men, mustering them up into loose bunches centered on company officers. Everyone is dirty, everyone is tired, and all of their eyes are on you. They lean on rifles as you speak.

"We've been given orders, men," you say, trying to sound confident. You don't dwell on the fact that many of them here are near as old as your father. "A daring sweep across the enemy flank, across the valley wall and down from the hills, like Banshees."

No reaction.

You hesitate before speaking. "The truth is men, we aren't as acquainted as I would like. I know you only by reputation, and I doubt any of you know me. You are neighbors and family, you are a tight bunch, that much is clear. I can't say that we share any bond beyond a mutual hatred of the enemy. The usurpers encamped around Foebaddyn are afraid, and rightfully so! They've dug themselves in like ticks and we're going to root them out. Burn them, blast them, stab them, and shoot them." You drive a fist into a hand. "I won't be content to breathe the same air as the usurpers. In that, we feel the same." You nod appreciatively toward the men.

They mostly stare blankly back. A few shuffle about. There is no rousing cheer or applause, but it was foolish to think there would be.

"Officers, see to your men, we march in ten minutes." You turn away before you can show too much embarrassment.

The next minutes are a blur as you load your revolver, cap by cap, and ensure your saber is buckled on carefully. You don't expect you'll need it, but you never know.

The regiment marches out in loose order, a thin spread line, more a chain of wedge-shaped companies led by their officers into the woodline. No effort is made to maintain order as you begin the ascent of the steep, wooded slope.

By coincidence, you end up walking near Lieutenant Dekker and his company. Dekker is a young man, relatively speaking, though probably a few years your senior. WIth dark, unkempt hair and a wild look in his eyes, he makes you uncomfortable to be around. It's rumored that he was a smuggler before the war but through accident or design, ended up a volunteer in the infantry.

"Rousing speech, my lord," he says with a cocky grin.

All around is the soft crackle of dead leaves and snap of branches as the mean move through with as much stealth as can be managed.

"I'm no lord, lieutenant. That's my father's title, not mine."

Dekker grins wider. "Oh, beg to differ, sir. I suppose that to me- or any of us- you might as well be a lord."

You don't answer, keeping your eyes ahead, your mind on climbing the slope.

"I must say, reckon you won't win many hearts that way, sir."

You can't help but reply. "Which way?"

"The old blood and guts method. I reckon that takes you real far at tea parties and the like, but most of these boys'd rather get home alive. Rather than be tin soldiers for a prince."

You don't fail to recognize the barb at you. Dekker- you've been told- is a skilled and brave fighter, but tact isn't a trait of his. "I'm more concerned with winning the war."

"I can see that, sir."

You give Dekker a hard look but he busies himself hacking clear through a tangle of briars with his machet. "If I wanted us all to get home safe, I'd disband the regiment," you say. "We'd all just call the whole thing off, but I don't think that will get us very far, do you?"

"Depends on how well you can hide."

"Speaking as myself? Not very well. The fastest way home, for me, you, or any of us-" you point ahead. "Is that way. Through the enemy and into Foebaddyn."

Dekker shrugs and carries on. "Not me you have to win over, sir. I'm here with you aint I?"

You don't know how to respond to that and simply follow along. As you climb, the path ahead seems to only get steeper, the valley walls more sharp, soon becoming less a hill and more a cliff face. Along this treacherous ground the banshees creep forward, now moving parallel to the main valley.

After several minutes, the regiment suddenly halts, men dropping to their haunches and holding still. You follow their example.

"What's the delay?" you hiss the question to Dekker who shrugs.

A moment later a scout trots back, ducking through the undergrowth to find you. "Enemy sentry ahead, sir."

"You're sure?" you ask.

He nods.

A sentry could be trouble. It wasn't enough to stop you, but if he got a warning shot off or called out it could warn the enemy of your advance. Circling around him would mean climbing further up the valley wall and moving on even steeper ground which would be difficult and slow. You would likely arrive after the main attack was underway.

A lone man would be easy to overwhelm, and if you gave an order to shoulder arms, you might be able to kill or capture him just with the weight of a charge. If the sentry did manage to fire, a single rifle shot could be dismissed as an accident or an enterprising hunter. Bowling through his position would be quick, but potentially messy.

You might also send forward a lone man, the best scout in the regiment to sneak up on the sentry and do him in with a few stabs of a dagger. Dangerous, but if it pays off it would be a clean way through to the enemy lines.

>Circle around and march further uphill
>Charge through with weight of numbers
>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry
>Write in

>>5069532
>Circle around and march further uphill

Arriving after the main attack has begun could be advantageous, after all a single regiment even on the flanks can't do much on its own.

There could also be more than one sentry, just because we only see one doesn't mean there aren't more hiding or just around the corner, for that reason I'd prefer to go in with numbers rather than the lone scout if we did choose to attack rather than bypass.

>>5069532
>>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry

I mean, they are bushwackers afterall.

>>5069532
>>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry

>>5069532
>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry
If we had any sneaking skills we ought to do it ourselves.

>>5069532
>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry
Have Dekker nominate a man to send forward, he'd know far better than us who would be good enough to get at this sentry without being detected.

>>5069532
>>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry

>>5069532
>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry

>>5069532
>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry

>>5069532
>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry
But send a second man from the opposite way. Or at least provide cover if there are more of them.

>Send a lone scout to bushwhack the sentry

Writing

You chew your lip in thought. You'd rather not delay. These men are meant to be stealth specialists after all. You decide to hold them to it.

"Dekker?"

"Sir?" Dekker looks over at you, his smirk replaced with deadly seriousness.

"Who's your best scout? A bushwhacker."

"Aelfric, sir."

"Send him up to take care of this."

***

You are Aelfric Redden, thirty years old, a trapper by trade. You used to travel the length of the bayou in your skiff, wading through the mangrove swamps and camping in the shade of cypress trees. Your business was skin. Gator skins. It made for fine leather and earned you a pretty penny.

Now you are a soldier, have been for years. You've seen the horrors of war and participated in some of them. You've seen how men come apart under machet blows and you've stared death in the eyes without blinking.

You reach the center of the line where Dekker and the new regimental commander are.

"Aelfric, got a job for you," Dekker says

"Sentry?" you ask.


"Do him in. Quiet."

You nod and hand the lieutenant your rifle and cartridge box. You won't need them, it'll slow you down. You'd left your canteen and bedroll already with the quartermaster before the march so all you have left is your thick-bladed machet. You're not one for sentimentality, you want to get this done.

Slinking through the undergrowth you move up serpent-like, taking a round about course toward the sentry. Straight lines aint natural. Aint no straight lines in nature and it's a good way to get yourself shot.

You're a tough bastard but you're not immune to fear. Your heart beats like a startled bird in a cage, your machet is cold in your hand. Each step you take is slow, measured, smooth.

There he is. You spot the sentry. Young kid, too small for the crimson overcoat he wears. He clutches a rifle and peers into the woods, glancing side to side occasionally. He'd put a bullet between your eyes if you give him half a chance, but you're going to get too close for him to do that. He's already a dead man. The question is if you can get him done before he calls out or takes a shot.

You creep closer, circling around through a shallow gulley and approaching him from the side, blade in hand.

Your muscles are coiled, tense, and once you're close, you strike.

***

Roll 1d10

I need 3 rolls.

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>5070607

Poor lad

File: mfw.png (67 KB, 222x193)

67 KB PNG

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>5070607

>Mfw dice in a previously dice-less game.

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>5070607

Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>5070667
Maybe if we rolled a crit, we coulda knocked him out and taken him alive.

I doubt we'll be rolling for the actual battles, probably just for these uncertain moments that hinge on these less determinate actions.

>TK has been secretly rolling for battles behind our backs the entire time

>>5070917
Yes, this is the first time we've actually played as a rank-and-file soldier in this campaign, dice rolls make sense to account for the much greater role of chance in these sorts of situations as opposed to the strategic and tactical decisions we've been making so far.

>>5070669
See
>>5070917
>>5071254

This is correct. Having a scout make a clean kill is objectively the best choice here, but it's also not a guarantee of success. There is an element of chance to it. I won't do this for command decisions.

7, 7, 2
>Writing

Your blade meets the startled youth's neck with enough force to knock him onto his ass. His rifle falls from his hands as his blood wells out from the gash, spurting across his already red uniform.

Yanking the machet free, you fall on him, chopping again and again, his fingers and hands coming apart as he tries to ward off the blows, eventually he stops struggling and lies still. You wipe your blade on his trousers and stand up, staring down at the kill. Whatever divine spark lived within this boy is gone now.

You slide your blade into its leather sheath and whistle. The regiment moves up like ghosts from fog.

The new commander passes, very carefully not looking at the body just as you don't look at him.

Dekker slaps your back and hands you your rifle. "Nice work."

"It's done."

You are Major Sylas Bellmonte, and you feel sick to your stomach. The grisly sight of that butchered teenager didn't help things, but more than that, you're nervous. Your regiment has begun to wheel, turning to come down the valley side toward the unsuspecting enemy and battle is coming.

An impossibly long peal of thunder splits the pleasant, cloudless morning.

You and the rest of the regiment freeze, looking up at the blue sky, transfixed.

The shriek and howl of ordinance passing overhead disrupts the illusion of supernatural thunder. Shells begin to explode ahead. The bombardment has begun.

"On the double, men!" you call out. "We don't want to be late!"

The regiment picks up speed, trotting and crashing through the undergrowth. There's no sense being quiet now, you need to be quick. Within minutes the shelling tapers off to nothing. The attack will be starting now.

You emerge from the edge of the woods and come face to face with the broken landscape of the valley floor. You're looking down the length of the enemy entrenchments. You see burgundy-clad soldiers scrambling to get to firing positions to meet the wave of white and grey approaching from your left. Chartist gun batteries wheel into position and start their deadly work the same as you must begin yours.

Just ahead, up a short slope is an enemy redoubt, a fortification of earth and wood intended to make direct attack too costly. This one has been hammered by shellfire and part of it smolders. None of the defenders within have any idea you are right on top of them.

"Attack by company!" you say, directing your men. "Use the bayonet, use your blades, let's clear this position and move on to the next!" The more redoubts and earthworks you can clear, the more lives you will save.

The Banshees rush up the hill as a deadly mob, weapons at the ready before dropping into trenches and climbing over parapets with alarming speed. You follow behind, pistol clenched tightly in your right hand. You're determined not to let Lieutenant Dekker get too far ahead of you.

Gun fire splits the air, men scream in panic and pain.

"Traitors! Traitors in the redoubt!" Someone- a Chartist- screams.

You follow Dekker over a dirt parapet and into a fighting position. The floor is lined with wood planks and a battery of smoothbores peers out over the open ground. The crew here look startled.

You level your revolver at the first one you see and start squeezing the trigger.

He raises his hands instantly, dropping the ramrod he held.

The rest of the battery crew does the same, dropping weapons. "We give! Godsake you got us!" All across the redoubt men are surrendering. These are young men, many of them likely fresh draftees from Foebaddyn and the surrounding farms, militia and the like. There's no fight in them.

There's also dozens of them, maybe nearly a hundred manning this redoubt and the surrounding defenses. To accept this surrender will mean detaching a guard, a sizable one given that you only have four companies at your disposal. It will take time to round the prisoners up effectively, time that could be used advancing on the next position.

Your finger is already tight on the trigger. One shot will turn a surrender into a massacre.

>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on
>Kill them all as quick as you can and attack the next redoubt
>Write in

>>5071916
>Kill them all as quick as you can and attack the next redoubt

>>5071916
>>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on

>>5071916
>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on

We'll lose some momentum but we've still caught them on the flank, it'll be fine.

For real though, rounding of POWs after or even during an assault is pretty normal and standard practice. Modern armies have SOPs specifically for this with rally points and assigned people per squad to ziptie and coral prisoners and everything. This era's procedures may not be as sophisticated but it shouldn't be a long hassle that we have to give a long detailed five-paragraph order out to our men just to detail how they should deal with these guys, they should know what to do with a quick order.

They'll take a lot of men to initially tie up without them making a break for a weapon or running over, but once they are trussed up they'll only need a few men with gun and blade in hand to be able to cut down any initial runners or resisters, the rest should sit back down unless it is a coordinated effort, and even then trussed up men cannot fight armed foes with truly ludicrous numbers and luck.

Our assault will probably slow but not terribly.

>>5071935
without truly ludicrous numbers*

What if we order them to strip nude and march through the woods and head home or far away from battle, if we see them return we will kill them.

>>5071916
>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on

>>5071916
>>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on

These are our countrymen afterall.

Can we turn the guns on the chartists? They haven't spiked them I'm assuming?

>>5071916
>>Kill them all as quick as you can and attack the next redoubt

>>5071916
>>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on

>>5071916
>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on
If word gets out we are slaughtering prisoners then this war will never end. It's already one gun battery down.

And if any of ours are looking to tie this problem up quick without prisoners staying alive then tell them every man we kill here is another 7 we will have to kill in Foebadyn once word gets out.

>>5071916
>>Kill them all as quick as you can and attack the next redoubt

Asking for us to stall.

>>5071916
>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on
Certain "rules" of war still apply.

>>5071916
>>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on

>Kill them all as quick as you can and attack the next redoubt
>>5071923
>>5071994
>>5072343

>Accept the surrender, round up the prisoners in this area and detach a guard to watch them before moving on
>>5071927
>>5071935
>>5071963
>>5071992
>>5072001
>>5072062
>>5072410
>>5072431

Writing

You release your claw grip on the trigger and gesture with the barrel. "Against that wall. Drop those things, move!"

Dekker gives you a sidelong glance, rifle still leveled at them. "Sir, don't you think we oughta-"

"Detach a detail from your company, Lieutenant Dekker," you say. "Round these men up into a concentrated area and keep watch until we can get them back to our lines. Once they've been secured we'll resume our advance."

"Sir," Dekker says, "We ain't playin a game out here. This is for keeps."

"I'm aware, Lieutenant. "But these men are Aerthyians like you and I. We have certain immutable rules in warfare. This is one of them. If we start with what you're suggesting then this war will see the country burned to ashes before anyone wins."

Dekker isn't pleased but he nods. "Sir."

Once he's gone you let out a shaky breath. You'd nearly given in to fear and rage. This was a war, and war may be hell, but that didn't mean you had to be hellish in return. The attack would stall for long enough to take stock of the prisoners here before you proceed on.

"Banshees, with me!" You wave your saber overhead. "Let's turn these guns on the enemy!"

You are General Winfield Belmonte, commander of the Army of the Antary and you're wondering if your son Sylas is safe. He's somewhere in the melee ahead of you, but you can't let your thoughts dwell on it. Sylas isn't the only man on that field you feel responsibility for.

Your siege guns had done the heavy lifting, cracking open many of the enemy redoubts and suppressing others. Now infantry were storming the trenches, slaughtering, capturing, or driving out the defenders row by row. It was bloody work for both sides. Within an hour you could make out a steady stream of retreating Chartists fleeing for the perceived safety of the forts.

This operation wasn't elegant in the way you'd been trained to be elegant on the field of battle. There were no sweeping flank marches, no gallant cavalry charges, just a bloody slog straight into the enemy's teeth. Even your regimental flanking attack had lacked the punch you'd hoped for. There was no climatic envelopment of the enemy which meant there would likely be yet more fighting, this time centered on the forts and maybe the town beyond.

"General Belmonte, sir!" A courier arrives breathlessly. His uniform indicates he's one of your cavalrymen, part of Moers' corps which is strung out in the farmland around your army screening for enemy flank attacks. "Message from the rear."

"Go on."

He swallows dryly and takes a moment to recall the details of the message. "Chartist cavalry are tearing up the rail lines to our rear, sir. At least a couple regiments are riding roughshod across our lines."

Rail lines weren't impossible to repair, but it took time and manpower. So long as the rail line was under threat, any shipments of supplies along it would be vulnerable, most especially heavy shells for your siege guns.

"Where is General Moers?" you ask.

"He's spread thin, sir, but he's requesting permission to gather in strength and sweep the enemy out of that area. He proposes leaving a brigade of cavalry to act as pickets while the rest clear the enemy raiders."

Moers has the soul of a cavalryman, bold as always. A mass cavalry action would be valuable if the enemy began acting more boldly, raiding passing trains and the line. Of course, you already have a small stockpile of shells. You might simply let the enemy have their way with the rail lines and hope that your stockpile is enough to handle both forts and force the enemy to surrender.

Otherwise, there is also the Crown Prince who came with a force of Royal Hussars who could be dispatched to deal with this while leaving Moers to screen your army.


>Send Moers to clear the enemy
>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy
>Let the Chartists do as they please, we'll take our chances with the stockpile we have
>Write in

>>5072846
>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy

>>5072846
>>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy

>>5072846
>>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy

>>5072846
>>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy
A good lesson for him. Logistics is paramount to any military operation.

>>5072846
>>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy

Gotta question QM, do you know what the result of each decision will be before hand? Or do you think of it afterwards. Must be a lot of planning if it's the latter.

>>5072846
>>Send Moers to clear the enemy

I feel that we chasing after raiders would be better suited to Moers, the crown prince and his flashy hussars could well be baited into an ambush with their bravado.

>>5072899
I have a solid idea of the outcome of every choice before it's decided, good or bad. Write ins and things can tweak this, but I generally know what will happen once voting is done.

>>5072846
>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy

>>5072846
>>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy

Inb4 the Crown Prince gets captured

>>5072846
>>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy

>Send the Crown Prince to clear the enemy
Writing

"I think Prince Donavyn would appreciate a chance for action," you say. "And a deeper understanding of the importance of logistics."

The courier looks at you curiously, as if wondering if he should repeat this as part of the message. Best that he didn't.

"Tell the Crown Prince and his hussars that this task calls for their skills. The division will move west and secure the rail lines from Chartist raiders. That and no more. Understood?"

The courier resists a smile and salutes you. "Understood sir."

You watch him ride off at a canter. The tempo of things is increasing. The critical moment is coming like a crescendo in a concert. Once the final pockets of resistance ahead are cleared out you can move your guns up to the heights and begin shelling the forts. Imposing as they are, they won't be able to withstand concentrated shelling. They will fall, and when they do, the city will as well.

It's only a matter of time now.

***

You are Crown Prince Donavyn, rightful heir to the throne of Aerthys, first son of the True King, Chartist Usurpers be damned, and you are finally free of the yoke placed around your neck by Lord Belmonte. You trot at the head of a column of your Royal Hussars along a scenic valley road. The wind is in your hair, your spurs jingle, your saber rattles in its scabbard, and all is exactly as it should be. You hardly even notice the tight press of pistol-armed body guards surrounding your horse.

Belmonte isn't particularly bad, you ponder. He's a talented officer, beloved by the men, just perhaps a little too melancholic for your tastes. He lacks the sort of drive you would have expected a man of his caliber to possess. Worse still, you can't help but note that he doesn't seem terribly invested in the fate of your family. Certainly he's a soldier in your cause, but he feels rather detached from it. You hope that won't become a problem at some future date.

A splash of red by the roadside makes you slow your horse.

A dead Chartists cavalryman lays beside his stricken horse, victim of some earlier skirmish. The sight of the dead doesn't trouble you, such is the price of war, or in this case, profit. One less dead traitor to trouble you.

You pull back on the reigns so your horse stops, your body guards do likewise.

"Trouble, highness?" One asks.

You gesture to the dead man. "This is the enemy?" you sneer.

The dead Usurper wears homespun trousers and carries a shotgun in place of a carbine. Instead of a proper saber there is a sickle at his side.

"This is what's given us such grief?" You chuckle and shake your head. "This war will be over soon, gentlemen. Mark my words, and we'll be the first to make it so."

A commotion ahead draws your attention. You hear a smattering of rifle fire before you see a courier galloping back toward you. You don't wait, spurring your horse to a gallop to meet him.

"Enemy ahead, Highness!"

"Numbers?'

"A regiment at least! They've thrown back our videttes, they're moving in force on the rail line." The courier rattles this off without a breath.

"Calm yourself," you say. "A fight isn't something to be feared."

"Highness, Captain Erenmore fears that there is more than scattered raiders in this valley."

Erenmore was the man you'd put ahead of your column, operating widely dispersed cavalry videttes to flush out and locate the enemy.

"On what evidence?"

"Tracks, signs of a camp. He thinks there's a proper cavalry formation out here sir."

The news brings a smile to your face. At last.

"Map!" you snap gloved fingers and an aide unrolls a map nearby. You'd been schooled by the best tutors in military science the nation had to offer before the war, you knew how to read terrain and what was suitable ground for a cavalry engagement and which wasn't fitting. "There. This pasturage. If an enemy body gathers, this is where they will do it."

The pasturage was large, several interconnected fields surrounded by thing wood lines and bisected with a narrow dirt road. The enemy would be watching most approaches, but with speed or deceptive maneuvering you could catch them unaware.

Your division is made of two brigades of two regiments each, their numbers mostly intact despite some light skirmishing throughout the days before. Such a body of elite horsemen would be murder for any sickly Chartist force.

You lock eyes with the courier. "Ride to Captain Erenmore and have him break contact. Pull back and away, don't let the enemy get an indication of our numbers or disposition."

"Sir!" The courier salutes and gallops away.

If your hunch was correct, the enemy cavalry would be mustering in the pasturage ahead, screened by dismounted pickets, likely what Erenmore was facing now.


>We'll circle around their skirmishers and sweep the field at a gallop with sabers
>We'll deploy a regiment on foot to draw their attention while the main body splits in two and seeks to strike both their flanks
>We'll feint an attack on the field and then draw them back into waiting ambush with dismounted cavalry

>>5076110
>>We'll deploy a regiment on foot to draw their attention while the main body splits in two and seeks to strike both their flanks

>>5076110
>We'll deploy a regiment on foot to draw their attention while the main body splits in two and seeks to strike both their flanks

>>5076110
>>We'll circle around their skirmishers and sweep the field at a gallop with sabers

Less moving parts, the less that can go wrong.

>>5076110
>We'll deploy a regiment on foot to draw their attention while the main body splits in two and seeks to strike both their flanks

>>5076110
>We'll deploy a regiment on foot to draw their attention while the main body splits in two and seeks to strike both their flanks

>>5076110
>>We'll feint an attack on the field and then draw them back into waiting ambush with dismounted cavalry

>>5076110
>>We'll circle around their skirmishers and sweep the field at a gallop with sabers

>>5076110
>We'll deploy a regiment on foot to draw their attention while the main body splits in two and seeks to strike both their flanks

We'll fix them in place before moving in and destroying them.

>>5076110
>>5076158

>We'll deploy a regiment on foot to draw their attention while the main body splits in two and seeks to strike both their flanks
>>5076128
>>5076138
>>5076186
>>5076209
>>5076507

Writing

A gesture calls up one of your many waiting staff officers. "Take a regiment, I don't care which, and have them dismount and advance into these woods. They are to engage the enemy and keep their attention. Fix them, understand?"

"Yes, Highness!" He salutes you and rides off.

You summon another and relay your plan to split the division in half, one brigade per flank roughly. Once orders are relayed you turn to the captain of your personal guard.

"I'll attend to the left flank personally," you say.

"Is that wise, Highness?" his face betrays nothing, but you can smell his fear from here. "Your orders will be more difficult to relay from that position."

You laugh. "Let's be honest with ourselves, Captain, it's not my orders you're concerned about. The Hussars know how to handle themselves. Come. You have a job to do and so do I. You protect and I lead."

"Yes, Highness," he says ruefully.

You ride left along a rutted cowtrail as the sound of musket fire intensifies from your dismounted advance. It may be your imagination, but the air here in this valley seems crisper than it did before, more potent somehow. You stand on the precipice of greatness. What had begun as a dull chore, protecting a rail line, now held the promise of true clash of arms!

You find the brigade command staff ahead. You get the usual dead-eyed stares that you've come to expect from professional officers who resent the meddling of what they see as an amateur.

"Gentlemen!" you stand on your stirrups and draw your saber. You point it behind you, toward the gunfire. "The battle is joined! Our brave brothers in arms have fixed the enemy in place. Now let us smash them!"

The speech draws a few hurrahs and after a couple commands, the attack is mounted, the brigade fanning out into a line as the ground opened up. Spurring your horse, you work your way toward the center front of the line, over the protestations of your guards.

The mass advance of cavalry full resplendent in their glory is a rush without compare! This is the sort of thing that hasn't been seen since the wars against Casmia in your father and grandfather's time, now you too ride upon the field of glory.

Ahead the musket fire sounds far more intense than a mere skirmish you were expecting. Thick drifts of smoke waft up from the woodline. No time to worry about it, there is a line of trees long a creek barring your path. Beyond that is the pasturage the enemy cavalry are no doubt in.

Your line slows as the horses and riders skillfully navigate the steep banks and brush. Your own mount splashes through the clear water and struggles up the far slope to emerge into the open where you see the Chartists gathering.

You pause, but only for a moment. The cavalry are in fact here and it greater number than you ever expected, easily a full division, maybe more. Despite the great range, they seem just as surprised to see you as you are to see them.

A more prudent commander might order his men to dismount and use the cover of the creek bed to harass these cavalry troopers in the open. You are not a prudent commander. You are Prince Donavyn, Heir to Aerthys.

You wave your saber in a flashing circle overhead, a single command passes your lips. "Charge!"

The hussars around you spur their horses with gallant cries, sabers aloft as they race toward the enemy. You outrun your bodyguard in your headlong attack against the Usurpers.

***

Roll 1d10

I need 3 rolls.

Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>5077180

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>5077180

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>5077180

>>5077186
>>5077187
>>5077241

>Writing

>>5077241
And someone get this man an Aerthyian Valor Cross.

You cross the ground with alarming speed, everything a blur but your target, the enemy. The enemy horsemen come about to gallop toward you and the distance closes in seconds. You're ready for them.

You feel hardly any resistance as you slash the first Chartist across the chest with your saber in passing. You cut a jagged gash across another's neck and send him spilling from the saddle before you wheel around.

There's no time for shouts, taunts, or commands, just thundering hooves and slashing sabers. You deflect a blow aimed at your face and follow up with a cut across his sword arm, sending the enemy rider reeling away.

Someone discharges a pistol and a horse screams. Your body guards arrive with sabers flashing in the light, trying to interpose themselves between you and the enemy.

Another pistol shot unsaddles one of them, the Hussar falling lifelessly to the earth.

All around you the two cavalry forces have merged into a swirling melee as riders jockey for position, taking shots with pistols, carbines, and shotguns when they aren't close enough for sabers.

Sharp pain radiates across your right arm and you drop your saber in surprise, grabbing your wrist just below a wound welling blood.

"Highness!" Your captain of guards halts his horse beside you but is struck in the head with a musket ball before he can finish speaking and backward lifelessly.

You grit your teeth against the pain and jerk the reins, trying to get your horse under control when a second shot strikes your steed in the neck.

The wounded animal screams and bucks, sending you crashing to the ground beside your captain's body.

A prince of Aerthys doesn't retreat! You draw your pistol with your left hand as your right arm is rapidly going numb, the white sleeve of your tunic stained a deep red. You cock the hammer and take shots at Chartist horsemen who have the audacity to charge you.

A fresh Hussar arrives beside you, dismounting his horse even before it finishes moving. "Highness, we have to draw back!"

"To hell with you, sir!" you call back. "I'll not give them an inch!"

"Highness you're injured, your mount is dead, we are outnumbered!"

"Damn you!" you shout in his face.

He doesn't recoil. He shoves his horse's reins in your hand. "Draw back, Highness or Aerthys will have a martyr for a prince!"

You want to argue, you start to argue, you open your mouth to argue, but you stop. You are aggressive, it's true. You are headstrong and self-assured. But you aren't suicidal. You mount the fresh horse with help from the Hussar who draws his own pistol and is already turning to fight on foot.

You'll need to make sure fresh reserves are brought up. With a kick of your spurs, you gallop for the rear, cradling your wounded arm.

You are General Winfield Belmonte, commander of the Army of the Antary and news from General Moers is good. After the Crown Prince raised the alarm over the large enemy cavalry body to your rear, Moers and his corps pressed the attack and drove the enemy back, dealing heavy losses to them.

The news isn't all good. The Hussars received a mauling at the hands for a much larger force. It was only by virtue of their decidedly bold attack that the Hussars gave pause to the enemy long enough for Moers to wheel his cavalry and drive them back in what is undoubtedly the largest cavalry engagement of the war so far.

You put the dispatches down and step out of your tent, turning your eyes east. The sun fades beneath the hills behind you and the sky is dimming. More importantly, the bombardment has begun. Heavy guns boom in the dusk and shells burst across the face of the forts. You'll shell them throughout the night until they surrender or are ready to be taken by infantry assault.

Just a matter of time.

Word that the Crown Prince has been seriously injured is not good, not good at all. You can only imagine how the King will react to this, let alone the public. It's fortunate he wasn't killed given his rash behavior on the field. You'd never expected that the Chartist cavalry was still operating with such impunity.

You're tired. You've been pushing this army forward for days on end with little rest. You aim to sleep tonight while you can. You consider going to see Donavyn, but you worry that a personal visit from you might only exacerbate things, especially if he tries to blame you for what's happened.

You also haven't yet told Sylas about his brother's wounding. You haven't spoken with him at all since you sent him to the infantry.

>Meet with the Crown Prince
>Meet with Sylas
>Write in

>>5078538
>Meet with the Crown Prince

>>5078538
>Go to bed early and try to get a good night's sleep.

>>5078538
>>Meet with the Crown Prince

Least we can do.

>>5078538
>>Meet with the Crown Prince

We shouldn't tell Sylas about his brother, at least not before this campaign ends. He is now a commander of a regiment in our army, we don't want him to panic or get demoralised.

QM: How much time has passed since our dinner party with Donavyn? I wonder how close we are to the one-month deadline he gave.

> "This time next month we'll have dinner in Foebadyn, gentleman," Donavyn says, toasting his glass.

>>5078629
>QM: How much time has passed since our dinner party with Donavyn? I wonder how close we are to the one-month deadline he gave.

A couple weeks maybe. You're still on track for dinner in Foebadyn.

>>5078538
>Meet with the Crown Prince

>>5078538
>>Meet with the Crown Prince

>>5078538
>Meet with the Crown Prince
Get a debrief, ask his opinion thinks more forces will be coming and if the enemy Calvary seemed to be an amalgamation of other units put together or a cohesive unit that was stationed in range.

>>5078538
>Meet with the Crown Prince
Obligations and all that, ensure the Prince isn't in any danger of dying.

>>5078538
>>Meet with the Crown Prince

>>5078538
>>Meet with the Crown Prince

>>5078538
>Meet with the Crown Prince

>Meet with the Crown Prince

Writing

>Go to bed early and try to get a good night's sleep.
Lmao. Ice fucking cold

Night insects have begun to chirp by the time you arrive at the small mountainside inn which has been transformed into a grisly field hospital. Cavalry troopers, primarily Hussars, are in various stages of treatment and a growing pile of amputated limbs sits outside. You wonder with a bit of nervous tension if the Prince's limbs are among those amputated.

You push aside your apprehension and enter the hospital where you are directed to the upper floor, a private room. Entering, you find a team of nervous looking doctors and surgeons. The privilege of class that one man should receive such careful attention while just below overworked butchers are sawing legs and arms off of his soldiers.

One of the doctors, a grave-faced man with spectacles and a long beard steps to you to speak quietly. "We've treated the wound the best we can. It was a clean hit. No indications of damage to bones and no bullet fragments. He's quite lucky." He glances over his shoulder at the bed in the room. "He refused to be fully anesthetized and likewise refused to let us amputate. We feel that's the best for his chances of survival but he wouldn't hear of it. If infection were to set in . . ." he trails off.

He's seeking your authority to override the prince. You're not certain you have that authority. You're not certain anyone has the authority to force the Prince to save his own life beyond maybe the king, and you'd just as soon not have to telegram the capital for permission to perform an amputation on the Crown Prince.

You nod briskly at the doctor and continue past him, approaching the bed the Prince lays in. His white tunic is in tatters on the floor around him, cut away by the doctors, his chest is bare and sweaty. He looks pale, but is conscious. The arm, still intact, is bandaged tightly and held in a sling.

"Lord General Belmonte, good of you to visit," he says. His words are slow in coming, a result of whatever drug they'd given him to dull the pain.

You draw up a wooden chair and sit beside him, taking a moment to collect your words. "I am terribly sorry to see you in such a state, Highness."

Donavyn nods.

"I am told you and your men fought gallantly."

"It is so," he says, "We could hardly be held back any longer. Our sabers thirsted for the blood of our enemies." He shifts in bed slightly and grimaces as his arm moves.

"It will surely be a battle for the history books," you say. "I am glad you've come through alive."

"As am I. As will all the nation be."

You nod again. "Tell me, Highness, the cavalry you fought, were they regulars or militia?"

"A mixture I think," Donavyn says. "I've heard from my officers afterward that this was an amalgamation of the enemy's unengaged cavalry as well as a heavy levy placed on local militias. After the mauling we've given them they won't be a problem."

You've heard as much from Moers and his scouts. The enemy had shot their last round it seems, a desperate push of cavalry.


>Encourage Donavyn to trust his doctors and accept losing his limb to safeguard his life
>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel
>Write in

>>5079712
>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel

>>5079712
>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel
We can't force the kid. He just fought and survived a bloody battle and shouldn't be a cripple "yet". It's also not good for the future king's health if he were a cripple.

>>5079712
>>Encourage Donavyn to trust his doctors and accept losing his limb to safeguard his life
Ladies love cripples don't you know

>>5079712
>>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel

>>5079712
>>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel

If Kevin Costner can survive it so can the Prince!

>>5079712
>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel

If the Crown Prince dies, we have no cause, but perhaps that will be for the best. Still, with a clean hit and intact bones and the bleeding staunched I think he'll be fine. And if he can recover successfully then he'll certainly be glad he still had his hand.

>>5079712
>>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel

>>5079712
>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel
>Write in
Ensure he's kept clean, and everyone washing hands, and fed well. Also check bandages twice a day and drain any puss that forms.

Should we try using moldy bread?

>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel

>>5079845
I think we should try pissing on the wound

>>5079845
how is the medical knowledge of the kingdom here anyways? I mean amputation seems to be at US civil war levels but do they still believe in the Thomsonian methods and miasma or do they follow some form of sanitation?

>>5079712
>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel

>Wish Donavyn a speed recovery and arrange to get him back to the capital as soon as he's healthy enough to travel

writing

>>5080116
>how is the medical knowledge of the kingdom here anyways?
Circa 1850s-1860s. Miasmatic theory is the prevailing belief in the medical community. Sources of foul odor are dealt with swiftly and efficiently. But otherwise sanitation is nonexistent. Surgeons do not wash their hands between patients, they are often covered in blood as a result of their work as well.

Donavyn is fortunate in this instance that he has private surgeons.

"I'll arrange for you to be sent back to the capital by train once you are well enough to travel, Highness."

Donavyn's eyes widen with alarm. "The battle is not yet won, General! You deny me victory?"

You shake your head. "No such thing. This battle is won, thanks in part to your efforts. I'm merely here to see things finished. I'm afraid in your current state you'll be a distraction for the troops. They will fight harder knowing your Highness is safe." A white lie, most of your troops likely don't give a damn for Donavyn, but whatever will make him see reason.

"Yes," he says, sounding unconvinced. He sits back in his pillows. "Yes, as you say." He looks at you in a way that feels calculating. There's a cold shrewdness to those eyes that belies his vapid personality. You don't like it.

"Is there anything further I can do for you, Highness?"

"No," he says, gaze fixed on you still. "See things through here. That is all."

You bow at the waist, snap your heels together and leave, feeling more uneasy than when you'd entered.

You sleep is fitful. The boom of the guns and crash of shells wakes you infrequently throughout the night. Before long you give up on sleep entirely, exiting your tent to stand on a nearby hill and watch your guns work. Despite the cool evening, they gunners and loaders are stripped to the waist, swabbing guns and firing with mechanical regularity. The shells that fall on forts burst and flash in the dark. Flames flicker beyond the stone walls, casting an eerie orange glow into the sky.

Not long now. Not long at all.

Eventually you manage to return to your tent and sleep. You're awoken again to a new sound, silence. You're up and dressed just before your aide finds you.

"The shelling has stopped, why?"

"The enemy has abandoned the forts, sir, I've just received word myself."

"Surrender?"

"No, sir, they've fallen back into the town."

You grimace. It will be bloody work getting them out.

The aide still stands in the entrance of your tent.

"There's more?" you ask.

"Sir, I . . . it's irregular but the city leaders have come to meet with you."

You blink a moment. Whatever reason Foebaddyn's civil government has for being here, you're sure it's not good. "Why?"

The aide shakes his head.

"Very well. Are they present?"

He nods.

"Ten minutes."

Ten minutes later you're dressed in your finest uniform and arrive at the outdoor gathering area where your corps commanders wait along with the civilian government of Foebaddyn centered on an elderly mayor. One seeing you, he removes his top hat and gives a short bow. As the mayor of a Chartist city, you wonder how much that action pained him.

"On behalf of the City of Foebaddyn I thank you, Lord General Belmonte for agreeing to meet with us. I understand that in military circles this sort of thing is quite unusual."

You come to stand among your officers and regard the civilians warily. "In wartime military matters have a habit of superseding civil affairs. As such it's unusual for us to treat with governors and mayors."

The mayor smiles back nervously.

"What is it that you want, sir?"

He clears his throat, holding his hat in his hands and kneading the brim with his thumbs. "AS you no doubt know, your fearsome barrage last night has reduced both of our defensive forts to ruin." He hesitates. "The commander of Foebaddyn's defenses has opted not to surrender his army and chose instead to draw them into the city proper where he aims to conduct as final defense."

You shake your head. "Foolishness. He knows he cannot win. Surely you all can see that as well."

"Yes, sir. Clearly," the mayor says. "I can't pretend to understand his mind but I believe he aims to fight to the end if he must."

You almost admire such courage. Almost. As it stands now, if the fool insists on continuing the fight, it will come with a great amount of death and destruction dealt out to Foebaddyn's civilian population.

"How many do the defenders number?" you ask.

One of the mayor's staff opens his mouth and snaps it shut again at a sharp look from the old man. "Sir," he says, "I'm afraid it would be improper to divulge such information in these circumstances."

"In that case, what will you have of me?" you ask. "I'd order him out of your city if I thought there was a chance in hell of him obeying that command."

"I ask . . . an allowance, Lord."

"Go on."

The mayor considers his words. "The army, they're just boys my lord. Too young to march out with Winnower when he set out. Children."

"We've children aplenty in our army as well, I'm afraid," you say. "This war is no stranger to the blood of boys."

"The defenders will agree to throw down arms and surrender Foebaddyn," the mayor says, "if you promise them safe passage out of the city and back to friendly territory."

"You can't be serious," the outburst comes from General Harlan. "They expect we'll let them leave?"

You hold a hand up for Harlan's silence. "How many are they?" you ask the mayor again.

He stares back definitely a moment before his gaze drops. "Naught more than twenty thousand souls."

A fraction of your own army. To let them march free, even if they leave their weapons behind, means you will very likely face them again in the future. But to fight and destroy them now will bring untold devastation to Foebaddyn and its civilians.

"Let them lay down arms, and march free with honors," the mayor repeats. "Such things have been done before, yes?"

"In more civilized times," you say, "Yes." But not in this war.

Twenty thousand boys in Foebaddyn prepared to fight to the last at the behest of a butcher. You wonder if you would surrender were you in his place.


>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors
>This is war, not a game. If they insist on fighting to the death, then death they will receive
>Write in

>>5081032
>>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors


The objective of our mission is to take the city.

>>5081032
>>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors

At the end of the day, these people are still our country men, and we're going to be living with them after the war.

Plus we're going to be gaining all their arms.

>>5081087

Actually, scratch that, can we offer to give all of Foebaddyn's citizens safe passage through our lines? Get them out of the way for the fight?

>>5081032
>>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors

A bunch of unarmed boys marching out? Hardly a loss on our end vs capturing the city unharmed. I'm sure that not only will we benefit materially in a massive way it'll ease the transition of power in the region. Besides that, I'm sure many of those boys will desert.

Perhaps we can sweeten the pot on that end in some way? Promise safe haven to those that wish to remain?

>>5081032
>>This is war, not a game. If they insist on fighting to the death, then death they will receive

>>5081090
That would require the defending general to agree to that and there's little reason to suspect he would.

Not to mention it would be very difficult to evacuate the entire town in a reasonable amount of time.

>>5081032
>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors

>>5081032
>>Write in
These are bloody times and it requries blood solutions
We offer the mayor the only solution to not turn the city into a graves for children
We will kill the leader of the charist forces!
The mayor will get the enemy leader into a vulnerable position, like a forward outlook post and we will shell the position, killing the leader and his officers and breaking the will of the defending army.

This is the only way the mayor can save these 20 000 poor lads from being either killed here or in a few months times on some distant battlefield

>>5081032
>>This is war, not a game. If they insist on fighting to the death, then death they will receive

>>5081032
>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors

Slaughtering them like animals may well yet encourage a greater number to enlist in order to fight us if they think they are facing a monster. That, and the damage to the economy we may end up inheriting if we destroy the city and its people may not be a pill worth swallowing. We may end up hurting our manufacturing or logistics by killing key skilled people or destroying infrastructure or by encouraging the people of this city to form partisan groups if we engage in butchery.

Though, I will say that it may be worth giving some thought to either lying to the mayor or involving him in some trickery such as getting the men to march out of the city past us unarmed and then capturing them or assassinating their leaders and disbanding their formations afterwards.

>>5081032
>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors

>>5081281
Not worth the loss of trust we would get in the future from future surrender opportunities.

>>5081281
That would hurt us more than help us I would think.

Perhaps attempting to lure some of them into deserting or changing sides as they leave the city might be a decent idea rho.

>>5081032
>Write in
Let the privates go free, but imprison the officers and NCOs. Or at the very least, hope for this:
>>5081097

>>5081032
>Write in
Perhaps we can ask the prince on his opinion?

>>5081357
I agree, At the very least we can offer the enlisted men to go free except for the Officers and the NCOs.

>>5081032
>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors
I agree with >>5081344, this act of mercy may help to encourage additional surrenders in similar positions, not to mention the lives saved on our side by not having to take the city by storm.

>>5081032
>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honours.
>Write in

We should add one extra condition: the enemy commander, the one who intends to sacrifice those boys and the city on the bloody alter of this war, we want him surrendered to our custody. It's men like him who've turned our homeland into a charnel house, he's far too dangerous to remain free.

>>5081357
I don't think that is up to us. We can only accomplish that via trickery. If we demand the surrender of some then the general in charge will simply refuse and we will be back to where we started and have to kill them and damage the town. It is all or nothing, the general isn't going to willingly surrender himself or his officer corps. And if the grunts were willing to turn on their superiors or desert then they would do so anyways, if they are the type that is loyal to the Chartists then they will be willing to stand with their officers and fight to the death and if they aren't then they'd have deserted and found freedom anyways or they will in the near future.

Unless what your offering is that we'd take the officers prisoner but let the unenlisted to avoid being a POW. But that is a risky offer to make and if the officers get word of it and enforce discipline on their men and the men don't turn on them then we lose the option to accept their arms and take the city bloodlessly as they will no doubt not trust us after we do this. The primary focus of this choice is on whether we are willing to damage the city and its inhabitants to crush this force to prevent them from linking back up with the enemy, don't lose sight of the bigger picture.

The choice isn't between letting the young men go so as avoid pissing off the mayor and letting them go.

>>5081581
If the Mayor is in a position to credibly offer the desertion of the city by the Chartist troops then that means that the commander is in no position to enforce discipline on his soldiers absent the fight-or-die threat of the Legitimist army right outside of the gates. We know that the commander wants to fight to the bitter end, but if the civil government can get the army to drop their weapons and leave then they can apprehend the commander and hand him over to us.

>>5081032
Gonna change to
>This is war, not a game. If they insist on fighting to the death, then death they will receive.
The rest of the men will surrender when we start blasting them apart. I'm thinking we raze the city to the ground, perhaps offer the Mayor a chance to pull out women and children, with as much food and clothing as they can carry. Any military aged men with them will be detained.

I doubt we have to kill all 20.000 men, I'm sure half or a quarter will surrender.

>>5081032
>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors
If they surrender be nice. If they don't then you bring hell down upon them.

>>5081678
Bad idea

>>5081032
>>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors

Both options will prolong the conflict in my opinion. Best take the one that comes with a bonus to reputation and economy. I'm also in favor of adding the part about safe haven. It might tempt a few.
Show the people of this country who the better leaders are, and we win. If both sides stick their heels in the ground and fight it out to the end there won't be a fucking country left to govern. And it's not like there isn't anyone around to profit from our weakness, as mentioned in the first thread.

>>5081032

>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors

A surrender! A glorious surrender! This is a bloody war, but in the end, we intend to rule all of Aerthys, not only half of it, every man we kill or cripple is one less worker, one less subject. A massacre here (and don't think for a moment that urban combat in this era wouldn't lead to a massacre) would maim the country, lead to permanent division. The children of Chartists would speak of the "Massacre at Foebaddyn" a century later, if not more. We are fighting this war to enforce our political aims, not to kill as many chartists as possible.

>>5081281
>>5081581

Anon, your ideas our retarded. We are the Grey Gentleman.

>>5072846
>>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honours.
Agreeing with the other anons about continuing the "hearts and minds" approach to which we have adhered. A legendary slaughter of civilians will harden their resolve to fight us for every mile.

>>5081281
>>5081581
>>5081766
Your ideas are* retarded.

>>5081032
>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors
BUT
>Write in
Ask him how he intends to force the commanders hand.
Ask him who that commander is and if we know him.

I think it's better long term and short term to capture the city intact. We can't forget that our allies are marching this way, and I'd bet that they have another Chartist army in their heels.
You might then ask: why are we giving the enemy 20k reinforcements? Better to fight them defensively here and force the enemy to feed and arm those 20k with no close supply base. It might force their commander to rashly attack unprepared.

>>5081032
>>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honours.
Urban warfare is vicious for all sides, including the poor civvies caught in the middle. If it means we don't have to spend blood and treasure, I say we do it.

>>5081766
lmao, most of your votes this entire thread line up with mine. You also misunderstand.

This >>5081281 was prompted by >>5081188 just to encourage discussion, it is not my preferred method of doing things, I voted for the same thing as you dumbass. Furthermore >>5081581 isn't even a suggestion or idea merely a criticism of another anons idea. Apparently you can't read.

>>5081599
I don't entirely disagree that it may be possible to apprehend the general, it is taking the NCOs and other officers that I consider unlikely. It seems to me that if discipline were truly so poor then the unenlisted would've done as they pleased already or deserted, we don't have the city surrounded as far as I know. I don't think the army would necessarily object to the general being taken in by us, but all their officers and NCOs? It seems unlikely to me that they would be willing to turn over all their officers yet still be the kind of people who asks to be able to return to their lines to fight against us some other day rather than asking for amnesty and being able to return to civilian life or something.

>>5082362
What if we loudly shouted and broadcasted to the defenders that we will spare all their lives if they surrender and lay down arms. That should set off the men...

>>5082412
*Shrug* It could work.

However, I was under the impression that the troops WANTED to return to Chartist lines rather than be remanded to our care despite them being young boys. If it was only the officers that wanted that and the enlisted didn't, then I don't think the officers would be able to stop them, though I think we'd have already seen desertion or resistance by the younger men if that was indeed the case.

They are already willing to hand us over the city and surrender their arms, I just don't think they want to be taken prisoner by us or be forced to abandon the war. I could be wrong though.

>>5082362
*enlisted

Made the mistake of saying unenlisted instead of enlisted.

>>5082422
The fact that the mayor is offering this is strange in itself and perhaps it is intended as a slight against us or a breakdown of command? I'm curious as to why none of the enemy officers are present and suspect this is a attempt at pulling a fast one on us in getting a better deal for them than they could get otherwise or are to prideful in even willing to parlay with us.

Honestly I think the costs in taking 20k enemy combatants out of the war permanently is worth it as to let them fight us again under better and more favorable conditions means more casualties for our side.
What cost less lives in the long run, taking out 20k men while they are in poor situation with no support and poor defenses, low supplies and no artillery, or let them get rearmed and set up in good defensive or fighting positions?

I say we offer to let the civilians evacuate then try to negotiate or parlay with them further. I'm honestly a bit upset the enemy isn't willing to speak to us directly. I want answers on that.

>>5082570
The cost of attacking against an enemy entrenched in an urban area will be massive on our end, nevermind the cost against the city we've come to capture. We'd probably lose out less by facing them in the field at a later date.

Don't forget our men have already taken quite a beating, if this goes badly we may not have much of an army left.

And for all the big brains who keep talking about evacuating civilians, where are they going to go and how long is it going to take them? They'll just clog up the roads and take forever allowing the enemy more time to dig in, assuming they allow them to leave in the first place.

>>5082750
The nearby towns we passed and they can follow the railroad tracks. Tell them to walk beside it not on it.

I don't think they can do anything while we shell and starve them out. They'd have to leave the city to attack.

At the very least I want to meet with the oppositions highest ranked man or second in command.

>>5082807
>The nearby towns we passed and they can follow the railroad tracks. Tell them to walk beside it not on it

So you want a gaggle of civilians not just to march out of town, but out of town towards us? And you expect them to do it in an orderly fashion following our direction? Your expectations will not match reality.

>>5082826
The can if you work crowd control.

We can also tell them to move in groups of no more than 500 at a time separated by some distance. We can even use trains to transport them after they unload supplies to us.

>>5081032
>>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors

>We can agree to that. If they surrender their arms and the city, they can march free with honors
>>5081041
>>5081087
>>5081097
>>5081118
>>5081278
>>5081344
>>5081423
>>5081573
>>5081680
>>5081720
>>5081722
>>5081998
>>5082160
>>5082200
>>5083036

+
>Write ins

Writing

"Who is the commander?" you ask.

The mayor seems reluctant to answer at first. "General Pyner."

"Poyner," you repeat, willing to match a face to the name. "Richard Poyner?"

The mayor nods.

You'd known Poyner as a young lieutenant in the engineers during the war with Casmia. He had been humorless, tough as nails and difficult to get along with. It was hard to imagine him as a general, of course it was hard to imagine yourself as a general as well. "If General Poyner is willing to negotiate, then why has he not brought me these terms himself?"

"To be frank, sir, General Poyner is not willing to negotiate with you."

"Then he will reject these terms?"

"You misunderstand," the mayor says. "Poyner might see reason from me. It's you he won't negotiate with."

You're momentarily speechless. "General Poyner won't negotiate with me in particular?"

"That's correct."

"Why?"

The mayor is distinctly uncomfortable. He looks to his entourage for support thought they offer none. "A personal matter I think."

"Personal?" you snort. "I hardly know the man. I haven't spoken to him in years and then only briefly. What is his quarrel with me?" A foolish question to ask of an enemy officer, but you ask it the same.

"General Poyner feels your army fought without honor."

"Without honor?" you repeat, incredulous.

"He blames you for General Winnower's wounding."

You are silent. Poyner has no way of knowing that you did personally order your guns to fire on Winnower when he and his command staff rode into the open. Poyner can't possibly know that he's exactly right. Through either dumb luck or actual deduction, he's decided to blame you for the intentional targeting of the enemy army's commander. A ruthless tactic to be sure, if not exactly underhanded.

"Should I blame Winnower for the death of Van Mercer? Branch? Withers? Or what of the wounded? My own son was struck twice. Prince Donavyn was injured in the fighting. Does the blame fall on Poyner? Winnower?"

The mayor struggles to reply. "Sir, I mean no offense. I don't share General Poyner's belief. All war is butchery, sir."

"That it is, and I would dearly like to avoid visiting it on your town and its people."

"Then let me go to Poyner with your blessing, General," he says. "If you can promise me these terms, I can convince Poyner to accept them. We can spare the lives of thousands. Please."

You're still unable to believe that Poyner would drag down the lives of the civilians of the town as well as his own men in order to spite you. It only reinforces your belief that this war cannot end soon enough. You'd like to see Poyner hanged for this callous disregard for human life, but you know if you try to enforce that demand it would only disrupt any chance at peace.

"The enlisted will stack arms in Foebaddyn," you say. "All muskets, all ammunition. Any artillery pieces as well. The officers make keep their sidearms and horses, they may take along just enough wagons to keep them fed on their march. All other supplies will be left in the city."

The mayor nods, unwilling to meet your gaze.

"My only other condition is a formal ceremony of surrender. I insist to meet Poyner and his staff in the open."

The mayor opens his mouth to protest but you cut him short.

"If Poyner expects to be treated with honor then he'll have to swallow his pride and face the truth. He is beaten. His army is doomed if they fight. I will show mercy if he shows proper courtesy. This is the old way of doing things, and we will adhere to it or there will be no peace."

The mayor's jaw snaps shut. He gives a defeated look to his other staff and then nods. "Yes. I will make the general aware.

You remove a riding glove and offer the mayor your hand. After a brief surprise, he takes your hand and shakes.

"I respect what you've done here today, sir," you say.

"It's not enough," he says. "So long as men like you walk this earth there will be carnage a plenty. A feast for the buzzards."

You release his hand and give him a tight, humorless smile. "Let me assure you, sir, I want peace as much as you do, maybe more so. However, I believe it can only be reached through war, and I will now as always conduct war with a view to reach an early conclusion to this horrible fighting. This country has been drenched in blood, but it is not I who continues this war. Look to your own leaders to solve that mystery."

The mayor doesn't reply.

"Take these terms to Poyner. He has six hours to decide. If I have not heard back then, we will commence our shelling."

The mayor nods again, face hardened with bitterness.

You watch him and the other city leaders leave your camp, back for their horses where they mount up and hurry back for Foebaddyn. Your staff gather at your side as you watch. Something stirs within you, a faint hope that this bloody campaign may be nearing its end.

"We ought to drop a round into town square to remind that bastard Poyner of his mortality," General Harlan says.

You allow yourself a wry grin. "Nothing would give me more pleasure, General, but I believe we'll show restraint for now."

"Do you think Poyner will accept?" Maddocks asks you.

"It's his only choice," you say. "I won't consider the alternative." You remind yourself of your own obligations. You have an army to lead. "Gentlemen, advance your commands, secure the fort ruins and prepare fortifications of our own. Ensure that we have proper outer security as well. General Collins marches to us and he may be driving a host of the enemy before him. We'd do well to be prepared."

Your commanders disperse with your orders, all except Maddocks.

"I wonder how much longer this hateful war will continue," he says. "Will Aerthys ever be whole again?"

"We will stand as one or we will die apart," you say. "We have enemies aplenty who would love nothing more than to carve us up."

"How can this war ever end with men like Poyner in charge?"


>Sanity and reason will prevail. We are all brothers and that instinct will win out
>We will burn the lot of them from the countryside if we have to.
>I wish I knew the answer to that, General
>Write in

>>5084319
>>I wish I knew the answer to that, General

>>5084319
>Sanity and reason will prevail. We are all brothers and that instinct will win out

This won't become an insurgency, we will take each city, township, and village that pledges allegiance to the Chartist cause, take possession of their industry so that they have no means or producing the armaments needed to keep fighting, round up their leaders and hang them, burn their precious charter, and then when all that is done the common man will see that there is to be no victory for them, the God favours the true High King, that the blood of their fellow countrymen has been spilled in vain for a false cause, that there are greater foes without to be attended too, and the land shall be restored. Sanity will prevail, if not, then war weariness will make the people cry out for it to end. Whatever our divisions, we speak the same language, are inheritors of the same legacy, a line of continuity runs from past to present through the history of our people, we will not be apart for long.

Blah, blah, blah, etc, etc. For real though, this war will be bloody, but our land and people will heal, if nothing less than because we will force them to at gunpoint.

>>5084319
>>Sanity and reason will prevail. We are all brothers and that instinct will win out

>>5084319
>>Sanity and reason will prevail. We are all brothers and that instinct will win out

>>5084319
>>Sanity and reason will prevail. We are all brothers and that instinct will win out

>>5084319
>Sanity and reason will prevail. We are all brothers and that instinct will win out

>>5084319
>I wish I knew the answer to that, General

>>5084319
>I wish I knew the answer to that, General

What if the enemy officers try to shoot us?

Also, what if the enemy general asks if we ordered the targeting of General Winnower? Do we lie?

>>5084319
>>Sanity and reason will prevail. We are all brothers and that instinct will win out

It's a civil war, not an occupation. If the Chartists start throwing the civvies at us, those civilians will start to oppose them, just like they would have opposed us if we had torched the city. If given the choice between a government that is willing to accept surrender and abide by some standard of decency and a bunch of radicals with a martyr complex, I don't think anyone can doubt the result. Better surrender and spare your life and city. Your average citizen won't support a political line that gets them used as human shields.
Besides, with Foebadyn in our hands, they only have a few more cities where they can pull that kind of stunt. We're fighting on their side of the country. We're going to snowball eventually.

So yeah, I'm optimistic, barring some terrible luck or outside inference.

>>5085059
>Also, what if the enemy general asks if we ordered the targeting of General Winnower? Do we lie?

He already knows we did it. We should admit to it.

>>5084319
>Write in

>Men like Poyner feed on the blood shed by the war. The war will end when they cannot have their fill, either by all the blood being gone, or people refusing to shed the blood.

That's what we are doing here, in a sense. Bloodshed begets bloodshed, so refusing to be brutal here, apart from strategic considerations, speeds up the healing process.

>>5084319
>>We will burn the lot of them from the countryside if we have to.

>Sanity and reason will prevail. We are all brothers and that instinct will win out
>>5084338
>>5084348
>>5084372
>>5084382
>>5084842
>>5085086


Writing

File: Foebaddyn.png (611 KB, 781x365)

611 KB PNG

"Men like Poyner are an outlier, General," you say, hands clasped behind your back as you look toward the city. Around you, your army stirs to life. NCOs and officers shout commands as battalions, regiments, and brigades form up. Arms are shouldered, lines dressed, and your ragged army of dirty scarecrows in white and grey begins to advance on the ruined forts in neat lines.

"You think so?" Maddocks asks.

You nod. "They feed on the bloodshed of the war. This war will end when they cannot have their fill. We'll either bleed the country white or men will come to their senses."

"And which do you think is more likely, General? Given what you know of men." A grim smile tugs at Maddocks' mouth. You spare him a look.

"Sanity and reason will prevail of course. The very desperation of this choice shows us that. Men like they mayor outnumber men like Poyner a hundred to one." You nod toward the city. "This is the first major Chartist-aligned city to fall under our guns, general. More will come. Each city we take robs them of that much manpower and manufacturing capability. Pure hate can only sustain an army so long. They need bodies and bullets. Once we round up their leaders, hang them, and burn their precious charter then there will be nothing left of them to oppose us with. Soon the common man will see that God favors the true High King. Whatever our divisions, we speak the same language, are inheritors of the same legacy, a line of continuity runs from past to present through the history of our people, we will not be apart for long."

Maddocks looks amused. "Waxing poetic, I see."

You chuckle, you can't help yourself. "We have to find meaning in this madness and suffering." you give him a more serious look. "Llewellyn was wounded."

Maddock's grin dies, replaced by shock.

"He'll live. Likely as a cripple. But he'll live."

"General, I . . . I'm sorry."

You nod and bite back a comment you'd almost made about joining the ranks of cripples you'd made in your own campaigns. "Thank you."

"I expect you'll want to go home to see him."

"I'll see him when this cruel war is over," you say, turning away from Foebaddyn. "Summon me when Poyner has made his mind." You make for your tent and get a start on the letters you'll be sending to the widows of your officers killed in the latest round of fighting. You have staff to handle these sorts of tasks for you of course, but you find it's better to handle what you can yourself, it gives you perspective.

You get scarcely an hour to yourself when you're interrupted by the delivery of a telegram.

General Belmonte,

My highest compliments for your successes against the enemy. We have just crossed the river to the south and met the usurpers in battle ourselves. We've sent them packing eastward and are marching to join you now. Expect the Army of Southmark to arrive in three days time. If you are able to seize the city before then, please see to it. Your victory is all the talk of the camp, news has spread to the capital and I am told your name is the most toasted of all.

In the event Foebaddyn proves unassailable, we can link up with you and encircle the city to starve them out. It seems doubtful to me that the enemy can raise a relief army in time to break their companions free, but I trust your judgement in these matters.

Regards,
General Collins
Commander, Army of Southmark

Collins men in just a few days. A shame they won't be needed by the time they arrive. You've already accepted a bloodless seizure of the city. A prolonged siege will be costly to both sides and time consuming. Better to let things proceed as they are.

You start penning a response immediately, starting with informing Collins of the impending surrender and parole of the fort's defenders. As you write you consider the future. The Chartist armies here are shattered, their forces in the north have been checked for now, all initiative lies with you. Your men are bloodied, worn, exhausted, but there is little to oppose them that you know of.

A daring move would be to springboard straight from Foebaddyn deeper into Chartist territory, not pausing until you reach their capital. You don't know how your army will handle such a relentless tempo of operations, but coupled with Collins forces they may be able to handle it. If you're wrong however, shattered morale could set you back, the Chartists might even be able to muster an army strong enough to throw you and your men back across the Antary river, undoing all that you've gained here.

A more deliberate strategy would be to secure your gains, dig in, rest and recuperate throughout the spring and early summer before resuming the offensive. It would give the Chartists time to re-deploy their forces, but would leave you better prepared for an offensive action.

Collins men are mostly fresh, not having been put through the meatgrinder that yours were. Splitting his army off to continue the attack while your men rest at Foebaddyn seems a neat middle ground. Collins is a capable commander, but lacks imagination. Without your support his army could be overwhelmed and destroyed if luck fails him.


> Once we join forces I advise we march on the enemy capital without rest
>There's no need to link up, continue your attack and advance deeper into Chartist land
>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.
>Write in

>>5085562
>>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.

If we push too hard the army will break, best we consolidate our gains.

>>5085562
>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.

>>5085562
> Once we join forces I advise we march on the enemy capital without rest

>>5085562
>There's no need to link up, continue your attack and advance deeper into Chartist land

I don't think we should push our own army, they are exhausted and probably ill-supplied at the moment. The enemy probably isn't on death's door, they can absolutely form an emergency militia and melt dishes or whatever to make bullets. Just a short while ago we were discussing how to fuel this war and whether or not we should enact conscription or something, the enemy can do the same and I think they were portrayed as stronger than us, so the fight isn't over.

However, Collins despite lacking "imagination" has been described as competent, we should make gains while we can and the enemy has no sizable army in the local area. Our army has reached its culminating point, but Collin's has not, there is still more to be gained. As long as he doesn't go balls deep and make a lunge past the point where logistics can keep up then he should be fine, if he is an "unimaginative" or conservative commander than he is more likely to be the type to refuse battle if some huge Chartist army comes out of nowhere to try and fight him.

>>5085562
>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.

>>5085562
>>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.

>>5085562
>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.
Never rush head first.

>>5085562
>There's no need to link up, continue your attack and advance deeper into Chartist land
>Write in
I say we make this more about land grab and creating buffer zone and expendable land we can afford to lose but the Chartists would have to retake and fight for.

>>5085562
>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.

We have achieved the aim of this campaign, and even if the Army of Southmark is fresher, I think it'd be better to have both armies in the field to add weight, and prevent the Chartists from isolating Collins and destroying him. Resting until late summer puts us near the last parts of the campaigning season, but it is much better than the other options.

>>5085930
Just to be clear, I do want to avoid any major fights we can't decisively win, I want to hit the farmlands and smaller production centers to deprive the enemy of food, supplies, and war material. Maybe we can force a large with drawl back to their capital.

>>5085562
>There's no need to link up, continue your attack and advance deeper into Chartist land
>>5085963
This.

>>5085562
>>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.
Don't want to give them the chance to even the score. Plus the men will be needed rebuilding the defenses of Foebadyn should the enemy attempt a counterattack.

>>5085562
>> Once we join forces I advise we march on the enemy capital without rest

No update today guys, It's been a day.

We'll continue tomorrow.

>We look forward to receiving you for some needed rest and re-armament.
>>5085565
>>5085570
>>5085667
>>5085753
>>5085922
>>5085935
>>5086061


writing

You send a response to Collins as quickly as you can write in. You've asked so much of your army, more than any one could have dared to hope for, and they'd delivered. It was through their bravery and courage that the battle was won as much as it was your tactical choices. You can't risk letting that machine come apart now. Rest is best, and with Collins army soon to join you you expect that the end of the Chartist movement isn't far off.

The next few hours pass with painful slowness. All activity in the Legitimist camp has died down to virtually nothing. Men smoke, chew tobacco, and look north, toward the city. Your guns have been emplaced, rounds stockpiled, gunners at the ready, set for the bombardment.

Your infantry rest in shallow earthworks, staring uneasily toward the city, ready to advance into hell if the order comes.

It doesn't have to.

You see the delegation advance from Foebaddyn on horseback, their burgundy uniforms stand out against the bright green pasturage around them. They ride under the red and white banner of the Chartists as well as a white flag of truce. They're briefly detained at your forward picket line but soon escorted through to you.

You're ready and waiting with your staff when the Chartist riders reach your tent. You're face to face with the enemy again and their distaste is apparent on their faces. They're all young, like your men, but the horrors of war weight heavily on them.

The leader of this group, a captain, salutes. "General Belmonte."

You return the salute. "Captain. I trust General Poyner has weighed my demands."

"He has," the captain says, the lack of a 'sir' as loud as a gunshot. "And he has accepted them."

You nod. "That I think is best."

The captain doesn't tell you what he thinks about it. He reminds you of your son Sylas. You wonder if he and Sylas might have become friends in another time, a kinder time. "General Poyner will lead the army out of the city at noon today in full procession. We will march out under our colors and adhere to the provisions you stipulated."

"Very good," you say. "I will meet with Poyner outside of town," you say. "Between the lines in the old custom."

The captain nods. "It will be arranged. Will there be anything else?"

You look at each of the chartists in turn and the anger burning in their eyes behind their exhaustion. "Nothing, gentlemen."

The captain wheels his horse without another word and gallops back for Foebaddyn.

"Testy aren't they?" one of your staffers mutters.

You give him a look. "They're Aerthyians," you say. "Defeat doesn't sit with us well."

Final preparations are undertaken for the surrender and you lead a contingent of your army forward in full battle array into the open ground outside the city. The lines are closely dressed, razor-straight. Your colors are in full billow overhead, the white and gray cross, the banner of the High King, and countless regimental and regional flags.

After some minutes, you hear the mournful drumbeat of a march and the Chartist column emerges from Foebaddyn. The enlisted carry no weapons, but they walk with the bearing of soldiers, heads high, backs straight. This column forms into line opposite yours and deploys to match you.

It's a tense moment, despite their obvious lack of firearms. How many times have you seen Chartists march just this way toward you? How many bloody fields across this country have you cut each other down with muskets, sabers, and cannon?

A knot of horse riders emerges from the center of the line, centered on a massive, gold-fringed Chartist banner. Even from here you can see it's shot through with countless holes yet to be patched. This is possibly the same flag your gunners targeted at Heiland when you'd killed Winnower. Poyner and his delegation trot for the center of the field and you spur your own horse to meet them, your staff following along.

Your saber feels more relevant than ever at your side. You can hardly imagine even a man like Poyner would stoop to such an underhanded tactic to attack you during a truce, but worse things have happened in this war. You'd just as soon be able to defend yourself.


You meet the Chartists in the open. Two groups of officers, one in dirty white, one in faded red stand opposite each other. No one speaks, horses snort and paw the ground uneasily and flags snap in the breeze.

You scarcely recognize Poyner. He wears a well-styled and lavishly embroidered burgundy coat but his face is locked in a scowl, his left arm held in a sling.

You salute him first, a courtesy you can afford. "General Poyner."

Begrudgingly, Poyner salutes you. "General Belmonte."

Along with the anger, there's hurt in his eyes beyond physical. "You and your men have fought their hardest, sir," you say. "They cannot be faulted for their performance."

Poyner nods weakly. "Aye." He draws his saber and spurs his horse forward.

Your heart hitches a moment before he brings his ride to a halt beside you and offers the hilt of his saber to you. "You can take my sword," he says, "But I'll be damned if I let you take our colors."

"I wouldn't dream of it," you say. "Keep your sword. This war isn't over yet and I expect you'll want it in the future."


Poyner stares at you a moment before he returns the weapon to its scabbard. "The next time I draw it at you," he says quietly, "I'll see myself dead before I sheath it. Know that."

You nod. "Of that I have no doubt," you say.

>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way
>Just make sure the next time you aim to throw your men's lives away that you have a good reason for doing so
>All I've done in this war, I have done in the name of ending it. Know that.
>Write in

>>5087998
>Just make sure the next time you aim to throw your men's lives away that you have a good reason for doing so

>>5087998
>All I've done in this war, I have done in the name of ending it. Know that.

>>5087998
>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

>>5087998
>>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

We have won, we don't need the last word.

>>5087998
>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

>>5087998
>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

>>5087998
>>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

Let's not debase ourself, after all it's manners and decorum that elevate gentleman and officers above the masses.

>>5087998
>>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

>>5087998
>All I've done in this war, I have done in the name of ending it. Know that.
And it's the honest truth.

>>5087998
>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way
The dead need no words.

>>5087998
>All I've done in this war, I have done in the name of ending it. Know that.
It's the truth, and Poyner deserves an explanation that we didn't kill Winnower due to any other reason.

>>5087998
>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

>>5087998
>>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

>>5087998
>>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way

>>5087998

>"Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die"

>Salute Poyner and allow his men to go on their way
>>5088054
>>5088091
>>5088117
>>5088176
>>5088341
>>5088353
>>5088554
>>5088593
>>5088601
>>5088625


Writing

Poyner spurs his horse and pulls away from you, riding back to his collected staff officers before turning back about once more.

There's no words that can fully express your feelings. There's no more to be said. The latest stage in this bloody war is over, but seems set to give way to yet another.

Poyner meets your gaze.

You salute him. A stiff, formal gesture, but one with all the respect you can muster. Poyner is, like you, a soldier of Aerthys fighting for what he believes to be the right cause. You can't lose sight of that, not now, not ever. The Chartists oppose you, but they are not your enemy, they are your brothers, your countrymen. That is what makes every death all the more tragic.

Poyner is still a moment before he returns the salute. The flags flutter around the two of you, banners that can only be reconciled in blood.

The moment ends as quickly as it came and you watch Poyner return to his army. His voice carries over the wind as he shouts commands which mobilizes his army. A drum roll begins from each regimental drummer before they unite in song with the fife players. It's a tune you recognize well, a martial version of an old Aerthyian Folk song.

The Chartist army begins to march in a narrow red column, winding past your assembled army. As they pass, your men take up the song themselves, at first individually, but soon whole brigades are singing. Chartist and Legitimist voices come together as one.

You watch silently as the Chartists pass. General Maddocks walks his horse to stop beside yours, his eyes fixed on Poyner's army. "Poor bastards," he says, gesturing toward your men with a slight nod of his head. "Don't they know they'll have to shoot and stab those kids in a few weeks time?"

"Let them sing," you say. "Let them forget that for today."

As the last of the Chartists vanish into the valley ahead, you give the command for your army to move into Foebaddyn. By rights you should be at the head of the column on entry into the city, but that honor has lost its allure for you. Instead you ride down the line, looking your men in the eyes as they pass. None of them cheer, but they remove their hats in difference for you, the Gray Gentleman, the man who would seem them safe, the man who would order them into danger, their protector and their butcher.

The line seems to go on forever, though not as long as it had when you'd set off on this campaign. Soon enough you see what you've been looking for: a group of men in ragged clothes marching under the banner of Debyn Vyre, the twelfth, the men they call Banshees. You dismount without a word, an aide quickly seizes the reigns of your horse.

The regiment's colonel, your son Sylas, marches at the head of these men. He looks startled to see you, more so to see you approaching him during a march.

"General, sir-" he starts, but he doesn't finish.

You pull him into a bear hug, clinging tightly to your son, overwhelmed to see him alive and well.

The men of the regiment part around the two of you, marching on like a river around a rock. The whole army moves on, heedless of you and your son.

You need to tell Sylas about his brother. But right now, you just need to hold your child in your arms.

In a moment, Sylas hugs you back, not an officer, but a boy. Neither of you speak. Right now, there is nothing to say.

***

I know dark clouds will gather round me
I know my way is rough and steep
But golden fields lie just before me
Where God's redeemed shall ever sleep

***

That concludes the Foebaddyn Campaign. Thanks to everyone who played, I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. This is going to conclude this story for now. Will I ever return to this setting and finish the war? Maybe. I didn't expect to run this game so anything is possible, but for now I have other projects that I'm going to pivot toward. If you're interested, pop into the Discord to say 'hi', we'd love to have you.

Rest assured that Aerthys will be whole again someday.

https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=saber+and+musket
https://discord.gg/BnJeeu4

>>5089137
Thanks for running, it's been a pleasure reading.

And you really should check out sabres/guns/lords of infinity.

Oh man, It ends here? Well it was a good run. I suppose we should have pushed further in hind sight.

>>5089199
I'll have to look into it! Thanks for playing!

>>5089223
It was going to end here no matter what choice you made. That only matters for the future conduct of this war. The campaign for the city is over.

>>5089137
Thank you for running this, it has been a pleasure to read. I hope we return to reunite Aerthys one day soon.

>>5089243
I have a question, QM. Was it ever possible for Winfield Belmonte to die and/or the Army of the Antary to be destroyed if we picked the wrong choices, or were we going to win no matter what we chose?

>>5089259
Thanks for playing! And me too!

>>5089378
I can't think of a time where Belmonte himself was ever really in mortal danger but both Moers and the prince came close to death at various points.

As far as your victory, no, it was not inevitable. You made (mostly) good command choices. Ultimately this victory was 100% optimal based on the potential outcomes, but this is a good ending. Defeat was certainly a possibility. Van Rosser's corps (or lack thereof) can attest to that.

>>5089394
Should be: was NOT 100% optimal

>>5089394

Interesting, does that mean there was a good, mediocre and bad choice or something like that?

>>5089788
Nothing so clear cut, but your army could have been wrecked, Foebaddyn destroyed, generals killed, your sons killed, etc. There were many degrees of potential failure.

>>5089862
What would battle have looked like if we fought the enemy army remnants to annihilation?

What if we somehow choose for no quarter be given?