Post by Baka on Mar 23, 2008 13:08:07 GMT -5
The light of the moon shined down upon the fortress, bathing all below in its brilliant luminescence. It might as well have been daybreak as bright as it was, but the black and grey clouds that hovered above, along with the expansive dark tint of the surrounding area declared that it was night.
And what a night it was, for on this night, all hell would break loose and banner of the White Eagle would fly again. After years of oppression and loss the people of the former White Eagle Republic were prepared to take back the land that was rightfully theirs. Long had they laid in wait, biding their time until they were strong enough to lead a full on assault. The guerilla tactics they had been practicing thus far had garnered their cause much attention and earned them several allies. However, tonight it would be seen whether or not the people of the White Eagle were worthy of their land.
Mucking the dung out of his horse’s stall, Cecil Orlenz worked quickly and efficiently, using the wooden rake to cautiously clear back the straw, scoop up the waste and drop it in the large bucket beside him. His arms moved with speed, yet his touch was light enough so as not to unsettle the straw beneath the rake. It was no surprise that Cecil completed the task with such ease, especially considering the fact that a great deal of his childhood had been spent in the White Eagle Castle’s secondary barn.
After the tasks completion, Cecil set the rake outside the door and hauled the bucket out of the stable, emptying it in the dung cart at the end of the barn. Brushing the dust off of his hands with a linen work cloth, Cecil turned at the sound of footsteps entering the barn. Tossing the cloth atop a nearby barrel, Cecil moved to greet the approaching figure. Extending his arm, Cecil clasped hands with Rorin, one of the White Eagles many benefactors.
The large Geltian was broad shouldered and stood a full head taller than Cecil, who had been very surprised to learn that the former was not a warrior. Geltian’s were naturally large, it was a question of genetics, but size and strength was not what made a warrior. Rorin had spent a great deal of his life as an apprentice black smith before earning a smithy of his own. To a Geltian a black smith was the equivalent of a noble. It was largely due to Rorin and his support that the rebels had made it this far.
“Have you a plan of attack?” Rorin inquired in his booming voice.
“Aye,” Cecil responded motioning for Rorin to walk with him as he finished his chores. With the Geltian blacksmith lumbering along behind him, it would take Cecil longer to finish but at the very least he would have the worrying benefactor off his back. Cecil could understand a man’s desire to see the results of his investment, but to Cecil and his soldiers this was far more than a business investment; it was their homeland and their future.
Cecil set about combing and currying his horse as he explained his next step to Rorin. “The attack will play out in three stages. Stage one: myself, a small fist of the mages, and a platoon of soldiers will make our way to the marshes north of here. Within the marshes there is an old temple which share catacombs with the White Eagle.
“In the Republic’s earlier years it served as a means of transporting ‘special visitors’ in and out of the castle. Its location was revealed to only a select few, luckily one of the maidens in our care served as a Senator’s mistress and actually traveled the catacombs when the castle fell under attack.
“Stage two: While we are making our way through the catacombs, the bulk of the hired mage army will launch its assault on the castle. Coupled with the alchemists’ fire we’ll launch, the invaders will have their hands full trying to fortify the walls.
“Stage three: We will take the castle from the inside and open the main gates. That’s when the true battle begins.”
After slipping his saddle pad and saddle on the horse, Cecil brushed the remaining horse hair off of his hands. Rorin, who looked no more at ease than when he had entered the barn, rubbed his massive hands together nervously. “Aye, so you’re assured of victory?”
Peering out from behind dark blonde locks, Cecil smirked. “I’m not sure of anything anymore, but at the very least our deaths will be honorable.”
At that, Rorin looked sick. Mounting his horse, Cecil set off to prepare for battle.
