Having enjoyed the spoils of a battle well fought, the council met to decide it's next move. Sitting fat and happy was not an option. Russia is a daunting task, encompassing vast open lands, towering mountians, and a winter air as frigid as the deepest waters of the deepest ocean.
Having taken the beaches of Murmansk and front lands of Apatity. We set our sites on Petrozavodsk.
It is here that the next adventure in our story begins.....We can hear the cries of the innocent, we can see the smoke from fires hastily smothered. Ten days of forced marching makes even the strongest solider weary. It seems that the innocent always suffer the most, perhaps not with their lives, yet with the loss of identity.
We take what is left to feed our bellys, stopping only to break the horses. As the sun begins to rise after ten days on our feet, we begin to see in the distant fog, the walls of the fortresses of Russian_Zlato.
Making camp their is not much tall amongst the men. No matter how long I have lead these fine warriors, I always stop and wonder, in the still before the storm, if their confidence is ever shaken knowing their lives are commanded by a woman. It is during this quiet that I recall the lives who have already been left to drift across this land, Godless, inhospitable, yet not without beauty.
How many have come before us, how many will come after...As the sun rises the drums and horns sound. the earth beneath us begins to pound with the marching of an army as vast as the sky. Standing front, we peer at the walls, higher than any we have ever seen, and with the drop of my hand, CRASH, the fury of God's own thunder rips from our cannon, the shrill cry of the cavalry as the ride to aosta certain doom.
As the morning turns to day, we pull back from our first assault, though we inflict damadge, it is delt back in kind. Our makeshift hospital fills with wounded, the dead left to rot on the ground. We shift tactics, we begin to aim at the flanks, looking for a weakness, desperately trying to gain a foothold.
Into the night the battle rages fourth, the Zlaton Generals hurl everything they have at our lines, devastating our center, but the horns of our.heavy horse are distinct and cut threw the frigid dark air, we have turned their left flank and begun to encroach behind their lines. Panic ensues as civilians mix with soilder, all running for their lives. The crash of the cannons growing closer as the mighty walls of Petrozavodsk begin to crumble beneath the onslaught of molten metal.
Finally, as the new dawn approaches, the flags of Zlato are all but gone. There is no one left to surrender, The ones who did not escape during the panic, have been executed.
I walk amongst the men, their faces tired and bruised, yet alight with their well earned victory. Our enemy was formidable, and they fought with all their might. Yet despite our many crashes (glitched battles) The Hordes that are LastRites took the feild again.
to be continued. .....
Having taken the beaches of Murmansk and front lands of Apatity. We set our sites on Petrozavodsk.
It is here that the next adventure in our story begins.....We can hear the cries of the innocent, we can see the smoke from fires hastily smothered. Ten days of forced marching makes even the strongest solider weary. It seems that the innocent always suffer the most, perhaps not with their lives, yet with the loss of identity.
We take what is left to feed our bellys, stopping only to break the horses. As the sun begins to rise after ten days on our feet, we begin to see in the distant fog, the walls of the fortresses of Russian_Zlato.
Making camp their is not much tall amongst the men. No matter how long I have lead these fine warriors, I always stop and wonder, in the still before the storm, if their confidence is ever shaken knowing their lives are commanded by a woman. It is during this quiet that I recall the lives who have already been left to drift across this land, Godless, inhospitable, yet not without beauty.
How many have come before us, how many will come after...As the sun rises the drums and horns sound. the earth beneath us begins to pound with the marching of an army as vast as the sky. Standing front, we peer at the walls, higher than any we have ever seen, and with the drop of my hand, CRASH, the fury of God's own thunder rips from our cannon, the shrill cry of the cavalry as the ride to aosta certain doom.
As the morning turns to day, we pull back from our first assault, though we inflict damadge, it is delt back in kind. Our makeshift hospital fills with wounded, the dead left to rot on the ground. We shift tactics, we begin to aim at the flanks, looking for a weakness, desperately trying to gain a foothold.
Into the night the battle rages fourth, the Zlaton Generals hurl everything they have at our lines, devastating our center, but the horns of our.heavy horse are distinct and cut threw the frigid dark air, we have turned their left flank and begun to encroach behind their lines. Panic ensues as civilians mix with soilder, all running for their lives. The crash of the cannons growing closer as the mighty walls of Petrozavodsk begin to crumble beneath the onslaught of molten metal.
Finally, as the new dawn approaches, the flags of Zlato are all but gone. There is no one left to surrender, The ones who did not escape during the panic, have been executed.
I walk amongst the men, their faces tired and bruised, yet alight with their well earned victory. Our enemy was formidable, and they fought with all their might. Yet despite our many crashes (glitched battles) The Hordes that are LastRites took the feild again.
to be continued. .....
