The Road to Rolbury

Through Kell with Haste

Brondold made for the stables with haste clutching tight to the parchment bearing the Imperator's orders. He had already memorized them but he was awash with anxiety. It was to be his first engagement, his first marching order and the beginning of what his life was to become.

Kell to Rolbury, Kell to Rolbury he kept repeating to himself. Rolbury, was that west?

The road to Kell was a short one and he held position closely behind the army. He heard shouting coming from the front; banners spotted on the horizon, his heart began to pound.

The army marched slowly in formation and soon came upon the small contingents of Thalmarkin and Reven; poised and ready to draw blood. Brondold exhaled with relief and gave the order to stand down. He watched the battle closely and saw the Reven cavalry charge recklessly into a torrent of arrows. He could not understand why such an order would be given. Even he, a new cavalry commander himself wouldn't dare such a maneuver. The fools! He thought to himself.

The army began to move once more towards Rolbury with the Gilded Sun taking position as rearguard. Brondold made a point to keep an eye on the road behind them, glancing every now and again to be sure there were no banners in sight. As they strode through dawn he could still hear the wailings of men and beast as they sought to cling what life remained. It is a sound he would not soon forget. A sound that no doubt awaited him in Rolbury.

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The Battle at Rolbury

The Account of Sir Brondold Thrane

A war horn droned and the Army of the Vales quickly took to formation. It was a much better display of military discipline than the previous encounter Brondold had witnessed in Kell. The infantry snapped into their columns as the archers locked arrows and readied their shots. To Brondold's he could see Marshal Owain; mounted confident and proud bearing a rather odd shield, perhaps from some forgotten kingdom.

There were shouts among the troop commands to hold steady as the throngs of peasants began to amass. There was another long blow of the war horn ushering the infantry to advance. Strangely enough, through the thicket of imperial banners, there could be seen a lone contingent from Reven also moving forward. The archers released their volley, the sharp iron rain sinking into earth and flesh with a thick thud. 

Three short bursts, once more from the horn and with it the Melody of Destruction began to charge. The Gilded Sun followed suit, their galloping now sounding of thunder. They tore through the peasantry, again the sounds of man and beast howling, screaming and dying consumed Brondold's ears. This time louder and longer than before. Dried earth had been kicked up in the charge and now veiled the battlefield in a brownish haze. 

It all seemed, on one hand, to last forever and on the other surprisingly short. Brondold could not recall the details but did remember a few of his horsemen panicking and leaving the field. As dusk gave way into night and after the dead were gathered Brondold found himself tired, dirty and in need of strong drink. He strode through the encampment in search of reprieve. 

The Account of Sir Rodderick O'Deathh

Rodderick instructed his archers to form up in the busy battle lines. He spat a curse at the unwelcome Revenite noble unexpectedly arrayed with them - but turned his attention on the massed peasant militia advancing. Filthy and disorganised their swelled numbers needed to be met by a tight formation. The first volleys of arrows cut down many of the unruly peasants but more filed forward. As the first nervous greenhorns seemed to be wavering in the lines - a great commotion began – a roaring rage of contempt for the enemy – all enemies – as Marshal Owain commenced the cavalry charge on the left flank. Glittering armour with a new banner joined them in a combined cavalry charge not seen in the Vales for some time and Rodderick tipped the new noble a salute along with the infantry of another new commander who advanced into the centre of the melee. An ordered battle formation restored – Rodderick commanded his archers to switch fire to the right flank – his admiration going to those taking the heat of the battle.

With the enemy scattered he raised his drinking horn in celebration – and slight envy – of those who led the line that bloody day.

The Account of Marshal Owain Bolton

Soon after the hails of arrows punctured the lines of the peasants the infantry charge followed by the calvary decimated their pitiful attempt at resistance.

As the Melody of Destruction trampled over the miserable peasants Owain could hear bones breaking under the hooves of his horse. These poor miserable peasants had no idea what they had gotten themselves into when they had decided to try and defend their livelihoods from Owain’s marauding force. Now they would pay with their lives.

The battle was over in short order and the corpses of the peasants littered the field. The odor of blood was heavy in the air and cries of the not yet dead permeated the atmosphere.

“Music to my ears…” Owain muttered to himself, a grin on his face.

After the conflict, Owain turned to address his men.

“Kill any survivors and let their corpses be food for the plants. Make your preparations, we move to Kell in the morning”

With that Owain strode his horse back to camp, patiently anticipating the next chance he could wreak destruction upon the people of :Beluaterra; for that is what Shaitan demanded of him.

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