Chapter 1 - Sarnach (Western New World)
First time posting on Frozen in Carbonite. Welcome to my fiction !
Alright, so after a whole bunches of research I've decided to write a story of my own that I have long wanted to make. I'll try to make it as realistic as possible, though inaccuracies are still likely to remain. Also, beware of grammar errors, as I am not a native English speaker.
Any suggestions, feedback, corrections, opinions and advice that anyone would like to give would be welcomed.
Gyen Togun was nervous as he trod across the grassland with the rest of his platoon toward the natives' line. One of the few cavalry units the commander had at his disposal was moving just up ahead, covering the vulnerable infantry against the far more numerous, but from what Togun had heard, technologically inferior enemy horse. Behind them and the handgonners were ranks of billmen, ready to fill in any gap that would open up. That said, it was still unnerving seeing how much they were outnumbered, but he had been told to move forward and skirmish, so he did. Togun counted himself fortunate that he was not assigned to the crossbow platoon of his company, whose members were now running for their lives back from their sniping positions, chased by obscene native insults and all kinds of missiles.
To his left, the sharpshooters were already firing with their enormous matchlocks, peppering the enemy centre with heavy shots that felled several men with each hit. At this distance, they were going to miss a lot, but the effect of sustained firing was never to be underestimated. Too bad they would not been able to deliver a lot of shock, but every killed soldier eased his job a little bit. He really needed it, as according to the briefing there were over five thousand angry Ardenians gathering on the open field up ahead, against just over one thousand Vitenese and twice as much that number in native Rymeran allies. Sure, some of the enemy had been left behind to man the siege lines at Sarnach, but the numerical advantage the natives enjoyed was still significant. As they got closer, he could now make out the details on the opposing side's clothing. Many of the opposing horsemen wore plumed helmets that looks like a bucket made out of a block of solid metal, with tiny slits that he guessed provided ventilation and visibility. Encased from head to thigh in shimmering, tubular-looking suit of bronze armour, they made for a daunting sight, even though the footmen were a lot less well equipped.
''They are going to boil under all that armour'' mumbled Manam, one of his squadmates.
The day was an unusually hot one for this land. To be fair, this was nothing compared to his tropical homeland, but the blazing sun coupled with the sight of plumes and banners the Ardenians carried were beginning to take its toll. Togun felt beads of sweat running down his face.
The lancers ahead just stopped. Togun's platoon slid themselves smoothly into the gap between the two blocks of horsemen, and the men of the first rank had already brought their handgonnes up. Togun took a deep breath and began checking his weapon: all three barrels had been loaded and primed, the slow match was in the holder, the piece of wood separating the match from the priming pan was still in place, but could be removed easily if he needed to fire, and the spearhead was in place between the barrels, fitted snugly in the grooves drill into the head of the handle. Luckily the distance between men in the formation was wide enough that there was almost no risk of somebody accidentally stabbing their comrades in the next rank when they fumbled trying to reload.
''Fire!'' cried the captain. A blast rang out, alongside a not at all insignificant cloud of smoke, and the men of the first rank ran back through the gap between files. Two pairs of rockets launched by the support teams in the back shrieked towards the native vanguard, cutting bloody paths through the Ardenian ranks by the sheer power of the projectiles, one of them managed to pierce several men before finally exhausting its momentum. By the time his rank had move to the front of the platoon he could clearly see the devastation wrought by his companions. Dozens of corpses strew across the ground as enemy skirmishers and infantry moving forward to engage the handgonners. Arrows and crossbow bolts flew by, missing most of the men, but the few that met its mark did cause some issues, though at the Vitenese's volley fire range their lethality were heavily reduced. Togun jerked as a bolt whipped by, missing him by only a few centimetres.
''Concentrate!'' The captain shouted, trying to keep the men from wavering. Togun didn't think he had sweated this heavily before. The anxiety was getting to him; he needed to act, and fast.
''Make ready!''
''Present!''
Togun braced his weapon against the right shoulder, left thumb on the match holder, while his right hand held the grip firmly to keep the handgonne steady and on target, and also to prevent himself from shaking too much from fear. He grasped it so tightly in his clutch that the skin on his hands had already begun to turn white, but in the heat of the moment he paid them no heed.
''Fire!''
The handgonner pressed down his thumbs, pushing the match into the flash pan and the weapon lurched backward with an ear-shattering blast. He stepped sideway into the gap, allowing the next man to take his position. Within seconds, the cries of the enemy grew louder as Togun caught a glimpse of something big moving through the thick smoke.
XxXxXxXxX
Even the reserve at the rear could see that something was wrong. The men were agitated, and from her position at the front Lijta of Trettow could hear the terrible dins of battle and see the smoke coming out from whatever infernal weapons the Outsiders were employing against their allies. She should not have doubted the eventual victory of the followers of Solhunn, however if the rumours were true then facing them were no ordinary man but the demons of legends themselves, the Great Enemy who more than a millenia ago had brought untold destruction to the land of Ardenia, leaving only fire and death left in their wake. The thought of facing the spawn of Nija turned her legs into jelly, yet it wasn't fear she felt, but an unrecognizable feeling of oppression that weighed heavily on her chest. Had they truly returned after all these years to exact vengeance on those who had driven their ancestors back behind the Veil?
''Your Reverence!'' a dispatch rider ran up forward and kneeled so fast that he almost tumbled. ''The Lord Baron requests immediate support on the right wing, by the headstones and the copse of trees.'' He stopped for a second to catch his breath then continued ''I'll lead the way.''
''Closed column by company!'' the abbess issued her orders without missing a beat ''Full pace!''
Her feet moved immediately upon hearing the commands, as even the lowliest of novices knew that abbess Rosynde did not take kindly to hesitation or weaknesses. The Luminous Sisterhood detachment of six hundreds quickly formed into formation and marched out toward the beleaguered right wing. Try as she might, the sister still could not shake off the faint trace of doubt lingering at the back of her mind, and the pressure in her chest only grew larger with every step closer to their foes, making it hard to even breath, let alone concentrate. She was not in any way green, having seen heavy action during the Hadrian Wars, yet what was unfolding before their eyes was not an ordinary battle, if there indeed existed such a thing. The accompanying cavalry and footmen apparently shared her uneasiness, but in the harsh gaze of the abbess they wisely kept their voice down.
The noise grew louder, and a scene of terrible carnage welcomed the sisters. Ardenians, both nobles and commoner, lay dead in droves upon the battlefield. Her column quickly formed up into line, but came under attack before they could finish deploying. Groups of enemy infantry threw smoke and fire from their hiding place in the trees just to the right, then just as suddenly a man or woman fell to the ground clutching their bloody wounds. Casualties were especially heavy on the novices; those poor girls had been sent ahead to act as skirmishers and had paid dearly for their bravery as they closed within javelin range, cut down by the dozens as if they had been struck by lightning before being driven back towards the fast-approaching main force. The sisters marched forward toward the enemy in a rock-solid wall of bronze plates, great axes and swords, ignoring their companions falling all around them. The choir began to sing, causing the invisible burden weighing her mind and body down to suddenly vanish. The abbess' banner grew brighter with every verse, filling their surrounding with divine light and the heart of men with great fervour. Even those who had run just a moment before had returned, the reinforcement and the tattered remnants of the right formed up into a huge wedge, ready to plow through all who stood in their way.
Lijta could see the opposing side clearly, being in one of the first few ranks of the wedge. Behind the familiar hillmen of Rymer stood lines upon lines of Outsiders, their long spears hold high to form a menacing hedge of metal points that would make lesser men flinch. Most of them wore a sleeveless coat over their shirt as the only form of body armour, which reached down to their thighs, as well as an open faced helmet, some conical, but most with a domed skull piece and narrow sloping brim; all were black, though she could just make out some strange red symbols painted over them. As exotic as their clothes were, their weapons were much more curious. The thin line of infantry ahead of her carried extremely long spear that must have reached up to twenty feet in length, and the skirmishers, who had caused them so much grief, had a strange contraption that looked like a short spear, but with three tubes attached to the shaft whose every discharge was accompanied by unnatural roars that sounded like thunderclaps.
Was it magic? The men of Nija, for all their mastery over iron, or maybe because of it, had never shown any sign of arcane aptitude, the soul spark that was necessary for such thing simply did not exist within them. Yet many things must have changed in the thousand of years since they had last retreated behind the Veil as, try as she might, Lijta could not recognize a single similar facet between the current Outsiders and the fiends described so thoroughly in the Scriptures of Dawn. If it had not been for their iron armaments she could have sworn they were another race altogether.
But her duty was to fight and obey commands, not questioning the validity of the Scriptures, which would undoubtedly be true in any case, If a thousand years before the ragtag host of the faithful, driven forwards only by their belief, had managed to defeated the Outsiders on the apogee of their power and casted them back to their thrice-cursed homeland in humiliation then a victory in His name today was all but assured. Praying that her novice, Ermelinde of Corver, would survive their ordeal, she lifted up the axe and let out a war cry, feeling a renewed surge of strength and determination coarsing through her body. The skirmishing bands of enemies ahead quickly fell back behind their spearlines in the face of the charge, while to the right and left the opposing horsemen had begun to clash. The entire host of the Luminous Sisterhood glowed with the light of Solhunn's blessing as they rushed forward, eager to avenge their fallen.
Alright, so after a whole bunches of research I've decided to write a story of my own that I have long wanted to make. I'll try to make it as realistic as possible, though inaccuracies are still likely to remain. Also, beware of grammar errors, as I am not a native English speaker.
Any suggestions, feedback, corrections, opinions and advice that anyone would like to give would be welcomed.
XxXxXxXxX
Gyen Togun was nervous as he trod across the grassland with the rest of his platoon toward the natives' line. One of the few cavalry units the commander had at his disposal was moving just up ahead, covering the vulnerable infantry against the far more numerous, but from what Togun had heard, technologically inferior enemy horse. Behind them and the handgonners were ranks of billmen, ready to fill in any gap that would open up. That said, it was still unnerving seeing how much they were outnumbered, but he had been told to move forward and skirmish, so he did. Togun counted himself fortunate that he was not assigned to the crossbow platoon of his company, whose members were now running for their lives back from their sniping positions, chased by obscene native insults and all kinds of missiles.
To his left, the sharpshooters were already firing with their enormous matchlocks, peppering the enemy centre with heavy shots that felled several men with each hit. At this distance, they were going to miss a lot, but the effect of sustained firing was never to be underestimated. Too bad they would not been able to deliver a lot of shock, but every killed soldier eased his job a little bit. He really needed it, as according to the briefing there were over five thousand angry Ardenians gathering on the open field up ahead, against just over one thousand Vitenese and twice as much that number in native Rymeran allies. Sure, some of the enemy had been left behind to man the siege lines at Sarnach, but the numerical advantage the natives enjoyed was still significant. As they got closer, he could now make out the details on the opposing side's clothing. Many of the opposing horsemen wore plumed helmets that looks like a bucket made out of a block of solid metal, with tiny slits that he guessed provided ventilation and visibility. Encased from head to thigh in shimmering, tubular-looking suit of bronze armour, they made for a daunting sight, even though the footmen were a lot less well equipped.
''They are going to boil under all that armour'' mumbled Manam, one of his squadmates.
The day was an unusually hot one for this land. To be fair, this was nothing compared to his tropical homeland, but the blazing sun coupled with the sight of plumes and banners the Ardenians carried were beginning to take its toll. Togun felt beads of sweat running down his face.
The lancers ahead just stopped. Togun's platoon slid themselves smoothly into the gap between the two blocks of horsemen, and the men of the first rank had already brought their handgonnes up. Togun took a deep breath and began checking his weapon: all three barrels had been loaded and primed, the slow match was in the holder, the piece of wood separating the match from the priming pan was still in place, but could be removed easily if he needed to fire, and the spearhead was in place between the barrels, fitted snugly in the grooves drill into the head of the handle. Luckily the distance between men in the formation was wide enough that there was almost no risk of somebody accidentally stabbing their comrades in the next rank when they fumbled trying to reload.
''Fire!'' cried the captain. A blast rang out, alongside a not at all insignificant cloud of smoke, and the men of the first rank ran back through the gap between files. Two pairs of rockets launched by the support teams in the back shrieked towards the native vanguard, cutting bloody paths through the Ardenian ranks by the sheer power of the projectiles, one of them managed to pierce several men before finally exhausting its momentum. By the time his rank had move to the front of the platoon he could clearly see the devastation wrought by his companions. Dozens of corpses strew across the ground as enemy skirmishers and infantry moving forward to engage the handgonners. Arrows and crossbow bolts flew by, missing most of the men, but the few that met its mark did cause some issues, though at the Vitenese's volley fire range their lethality were heavily reduced. Togun jerked as a bolt whipped by, missing him by only a few centimetres.
''Concentrate!'' The captain shouted, trying to keep the men from wavering. Togun didn't think he had sweated this heavily before. The anxiety was getting to him; he needed to act, and fast.
''Make ready!''
''Present!''
Togun braced his weapon against the right shoulder, left thumb on the match holder, while his right hand held the grip firmly to keep the handgonne steady and on target, and also to prevent himself from shaking too much from fear. He grasped it so tightly in his clutch that the skin on his hands had already begun to turn white, but in the heat of the moment he paid them no heed.
''Fire!''
The handgonner pressed down his thumbs, pushing the match into the flash pan and the weapon lurched backward with an ear-shattering blast. He stepped sideway into the gap, allowing the next man to take his position. Within seconds, the cries of the enemy grew louder as Togun caught a glimpse of something big moving through the thick smoke.
XxXxXxXxX
Even the reserve at the rear could see that something was wrong. The men were agitated, and from her position at the front Lijta of Trettow could hear the terrible dins of battle and see the smoke coming out from whatever infernal weapons the Outsiders were employing against their allies. She should not have doubted the eventual victory of the followers of Solhunn, however if the rumours were true then facing them were no ordinary man but the demons of legends themselves, the Great Enemy who more than a millenia ago had brought untold destruction to the land of Ardenia, leaving only fire and death left in their wake. The thought of facing the spawn of Nija turned her legs into jelly, yet it wasn't fear she felt, but an unrecognizable feeling of oppression that weighed heavily on her chest. Had they truly returned after all these years to exact vengeance on those who had driven their ancestors back behind the Veil?
''Your Reverence!'' a dispatch rider ran up forward and kneeled so fast that he almost tumbled. ''The Lord Baron requests immediate support on the right wing, by the headstones and the copse of trees.'' He stopped for a second to catch his breath then continued ''I'll lead the way.''
''Closed column by company!'' the abbess issued her orders without missing a beat ''Full pace!''
Her feet moved immediately upon hearing the commands, as even the lowliest of novices knew that abbess Rosynde did not take kindly to hesitation or weaknesses. The Luminous Sisterhood detachment of six hundreds quickly formed into formation and marched out toward the beleaguered right wing. Try as she might, the sister still could not shake off the faint trace of doubt lingering at the back of her mind, and the pressure in her chest only grew larger with every step closer to their foes, making it hard to even breath, let alone concentrate. She was not in any way green, having seen heavy action during the Hadrian Wars, yet what was unfolding before their eyes was not an ordinary battle, if there indeed existed such a thing. The accompanying cavalry and footmen apparently shared her uneasiness, but in the harsh gaze of the abbess they wisely kept their voice down.
The noise grew louder, and a scene of terrible carnage welcomed the sisters. Ardenians, both nobles and commoner, lay dead in droves upon the battlefield. Her column quickly formed up into line, but came under attack before they could finish deploying. Groups of enemy infantry threw smoke and fire from their hiding place in the trees just to the right, then just as suddenly a man or woman fell to the ground clutching their bloody wounds. Casualties were especially heavy on the novices; those poor girls had been sent ahead to act as skirmishers and had paid dearly for their bravery as they closed within javelin range, cut down by the dozens as if they had been struck by lightning before being driven back towards the fast-approaching main force. The sisters marched forward toward the enemy in a rock-solid wall of bronze plates, great axes and swords, ignoring their companions falling all around them. The choir began to sing, causing the invisible burden weighing her mind and body down to suddenly vanish. The abbess' banner grew brighter with every verse, filling their surrounding with divine light and the heart of men with great fervour. Even those who had run just a moment before had returned, the reinforcement and the tattered remnants of the right formed up into a huge wedge, ready to plow through all who stood in their way.
Lijta could see the opposing side clearly, being in one of the first few ranks of the wedge. Behind the familiar hillmen of Rymer stood lines upon lines of Outsiders, their long spears hold high to form a menacing hedge of metal points that would make lesser men flinch. Most of them wore a sleeveless coat over their shirt as the only form of body armour, which reached down to their thighs, as well as an open faced helmet, some conical, but most with a domed skull piece and narrow sloping brim; all were black, though she could just make out some strange red symbols painted over them. As exotic as their clothes were, their weapons were much more curious. The thin line of infantry ahead of her carried extremely long spear that must have reached up to twenty feet in length, and the skirmishers, who had caused them so much grief, had a strange contraption that looked like a short spear, but with three tubes attached to the shaft whose every discharge was accompanied by unnatural roars that sounded like thunderclaps.
Was it magic? The men of Nija, for all their mastery over iron, or maybe because of it, had never shown any sign of arcane aptitude, the soul spark that was necessary for such thing simply did not exist within them. Yet many things must have changed in the thousand of years since they had last retreated behind the Veil as, try as she might, Lijta could not recognize a single similar facet between the current Outsiders and the fiends described so thoroughly in the Scriptures of Dawn. If it had not been for their iron armaments she could have sworn they were another race altogether.
But her duty was to fight and obey commands, not questioning the validity of the Scriptures, which would undoubtedly be true in any case, If a thousand years before the ragtag host of the faithful, driven forwards only by their belief, had managed to defeated the Outsiders on the apogee of their power and casted them back to their thrice-cursed homeland in humiliation then a victory in His name today was all but assured. Praying that her novice, Ermelinde of Corver, would survive their ordeal, she lifted up the axe and let out a war cry, feeling a renewed surge of strength and determination coarsing through her body. The skirmishing bands of enemies ahead quickly fell back behind their spearlines in the face of the charge, while to the right and left the opposing horsemen had begun to clash. The entire host of the Luminous Sisterhood glowed with the light of Solhunn's blessing as they rushed forward, eager to avenge their fallen.
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