Thread: The Coming Storm (Zaila & Alvis)

It had been a long and bloody war, one that had claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands in the headlong charge towards the domination of the region. The Empress leaned back, trying to relax in her throne, and keep the thought of how many had been slain in the last push to claim the final city that had opposed her rule. And now, her legions had been largely broken down, and the soldiers allowed to return home. Her empire now controlled a huge swathe of territory, cities numbering in the hundreds, and a population that numbered in the tens of millions. Great tracks of forests, fields, and mountains dotted her land, and she had even managed to gain control of a portion of the great desert, and the great city within, Gol Lorhain. She let her eyes close a moment, before the booming sound of the great doors that kept her throne room sealed swinging wide open snapped her to attention. A ragged, worn out messenger was approaching her dais. She stood, and he dropped to a knee. Rise messenger. What word do you bring? She asked. The man shakily rose to his feet, clearly exhausted beyond measure. They are coming Empress. From the North West. The Panron Dominae. A host beyond counting. It is as if they emptied the very land itself of people, and have sent them all towards us. He panted out. The Empress felt her blood run cold a moment, before fury grew within her. Then we shall meet them! Summon my generals! Assemble the legions! We will confront this threat head on! But Empress...the Legions were only just disbanded. I do not know how many we can assemble in time. We will summon all we can. Bring in the reserves, send out the garrisons. Assemble the full might of my Empire, and prepare to defend it with blood and steel. It's confirmed then? The attack is moving into the Empire? Arclivia asked his aide. The smaller man nodded to his commander. Yes sir. The council has approved of the hiring of our legion, and placed you in charge of defence. He said, his high voice grating on the nerves of those around him. Then make sure everyone knows their business. Recruit all we can. And shore the defences up as much as we can. Have the scouts out, and bring word the moment the horde starts to make for here. Gol Lorhain must not fall. Yes sir. The man scurried off, heading out to convey the given orders. Arclivia leaned on the stone rail of the balcony he stood on. It offered a commanding view of the city. Gol Lorhain was known as the shining jewel of the desert, and it was a central trading hub. Thousands of merchants flocked here, bringing vast amounts of wealth to the city. Unfortunately, the wealth ended in the hands of the nobles, and not the peasantry. This led a massively corrupt city, incapable of maintaining anything the resembled a proper army. Now, with the invasion on the rise, the largest city on the border land made for a tempting target. So, Arclivia had led his mercenary legion in, and made their offer. The city had first baulked at the thought of the incredible cost of hiring them, until they had heard the special circumstances of the legion. One and all, dedicated to Ulric, the god of war, wolves, and winter, they would never turn back from the fight. Now, they were setting themselves to defend a city only conquered by the Empire not a decade ago. Arclivia only prayed to Ulric that they had repaired the city wall. The heavy leather armour settled onto his shoulders. Thick enough to turn aside any but the most determined sword blow, it was heavy, but not nearly as much so as the heavier plating that the heavy infantry, the Urdomen, had to wear. Elrane pulled the gauntlets on, and buckled on his sword belt. He was a captain of the medium infantry, the Bekalites, and he was to lead them in advance of the main force of the army. He stepped from his tent, and forcibly averted his eyes from the camps of the Tenescowri, the vast peasant army that accompanied them. They were sprawled out in their hundreds of thousands, covering the ground like a layer of ash on a field. While they were a reason that the Panron Dominae had expanded as well as it had, but they disgusted him all the same. He was a soldier, a man of arms, and he saw the purpose and honour of being a soldier fighting for the glory of his people. The Tenescowri were driven by a singular force, and their mannerism horrified him. He shook himself off, and walked to the front of his column. Sixty men waited for him. They would drive hard and fast, hitting any outlying villages. They would return with any spoils, and rejoin the main army as it advanced. The column moved out.